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Anger, Andrew knows, is one of those emotions that he's never going to be able to shake. It's as constant as his memory, something he's never not known. It simmers under his skin, a constant presence even when there's nothing tangibly wrong. One of the few things he and Neil have in common, Andrew used to think, but he knows better now. Neil's explosive and bright, in every sense of the word and anger burns fast in him, like gasoline poured over fire. It's quick and violent but dies equally as fast. Andrew's slower, a low simmer that never quite stops, and it makes his fists itch constantly. A fight is always brewing, for him, and it's kept him safe throughout the years.
Bee's always told him he needs to find a balance, but Andrew hasn't yet. Not when the anger, the fury, is a constant and a comfort. He knows that most people don't feel this same simmering day in and day out, that's it's something occasional but dangerous for normal people, but what he doesn't understand is this. Andrew doesn't understand how nobody else is mad, burning out with the fury simmering under his own skin, after everything. It makes everything worse, between the lack of medications running through his veins and the lack of…anything from everyone else.
The foxes, Andrew knows, do care. It's obvious in the way they orbit Neil, hovering just close enough to be reachable if he needs them but far enough to give him space. Normally, Andrew would find it irritating—it is irritating—but he defaults to how Neil feels on this. It's him, after all, it happened to. That doesn't mean that Andrew understands why the foxes aren't angry, though. Why they aren't furious about the healing cuts and peeling bandages that litter Neil's body.
Bee thinks it's because they're not responding the way Andrew expects, that it's thrown him off, and she's probably right to an extent. She usually is and Andrew learned early on to not doubt her, but he knows it's not all. She does too, Andrew can see it in the way that she chooses her words carefully, and he hates knowing exactly what she's avoiding saying. On principal, Andrew doesn't feel guilt. Life is unfair, if it wasn't his fault, then it would've been on someone else, so why bother with something as useless as guilt? Andrew's never understood it, not until Neil came back with a red hair and gauze on his cheek.
"Extra whip." Bee says, as she breaks the quiet that's lapsed. Andrew blinks slowly at her but takes the mug without argument. He watches as she wraps her fingers around her own mug, a new one that Andrew had bought her when they had been in Texas a week ago, and considers for a moment whether she's giving him extra because she's going to say something he won't like or she already did something she's asking forgiveness for. Andrew suspects, based on her calm expression, it's going to end up being both.
"Bee." Andrew says and crosses his ankles as he kicks lightly at the cabinet beneath him. She raises an eyebrow but doesn't confirm his suspicions. The anger stretches his skin taut for a breath before he reigns it back in. Bee, Andrew knows, would take his anger without batting an eye but she doesn't deserve it and Andrew will not give it to her without reason.
"You're angry." Bee observes, leaning her body against the counter top across from him. He watches her fingers tighten around the ceramic of the mug and she takes a small sip without breaking eye contact. Andrew should hate her ability to strip him down to his most basics, he had at first if he's honest, but it's not as infuriating as he once thought.
"Yes." Andrew says, though Bee already knows that. Of course she does. Bee already knows that he's always angry, but he knows that normal fury isn't what she's talking about. He looks down at his own mug, the hot chocolate sloshing inside, and wonders if it would be petty to not elaborate. But that's already what got them into this situation in the first place, with Andrew here in Bee's kitchen instead of in his own dorm, and he knows Bee will only let him get away with it for so long. The fact he's made it this long is a testament either to her patience or his stubbornness, though Andrew is not sure which deserves the credit. Bee, more than likely.
Andrew stares down into his mug of hot chocolate, watching the edges of the whip cream melt into the heat. He can feel Bee watching him, waiting him out, and he stifles the sigh he feels building in his chest. At this point, he knows he'll break, simply for the fact that Andrew wouldn't be here had he just brought it up in therapy that morning. Inhaling, Andrew tilts his head back until it connects with the cabinet behind him and says, "I don't understand why they're not as mad as I am. They should be, but they're not."
"They?" Bee asks patiently, though her tone says she already knows who Andrew is meaning. She just wants him to say it. Andrew levels a glare at her, knowing she won't flinch, but it makes him feel marginally better. Bee smiles at him.
"The foxes. They claim to be Neil's friends but they don't care!" Andrew throws one hand up in the air before plopping down his mug of hot chocolate so he can pace the length of the kitchen. Bee watches him but doesn't move, seemingly content to drink her own cocoa and wait him out. Andrew's thankful for it in a way he can't express as he turns back to her. "They should be mad! They should be furious!"
"Andrew." Bee says softly, the cadence of her words enough to tip Andrew off that whatever she's about to say is likely to piss him off. He glares at her again but stops his pacing, giving her the time to speak. "I don't think you're mad at the foxes. I actually don't think you're all that angry at all. I think you're feeling more than you're used to feeling and anger is the only emotion you remember."
Andrew feels his jaw tighten and he bites the inside of his lip hard enough that he tastes blood. It's enough of a distraction that he doesn't say something he'll regret but it doesn't stop the simmering fury that's settled deep into his chest. When it becomes clear that he isn't planning on answering, Bee just pushes herself off the counter she was leaning against and places her half-empty mug into the sink before stopping in front of Andrew. She doesn't touch him, but her hand hovers in the air between them.
"Stay as long as you want, Andrew." Bee says, her voice quiet and too caring, but Andrew can't bring himself to pull away from her no matter how hard he's tried. He nods once and she smiles sweetly, "I won't tell you how to feel. But I will remind you that staying angry probably won't help much."
She's right, as she usually is, but Andrew won't admit that. He's spent too much of his life clinging onto anger, at first because it kept him safe, then because it was all he could feel, and now…he's not sure. It doesn't make letting go of it any easier, but he bites his tongue and watches Bee leave the kitchen instead of saying that aloud.
In the end, it takes less than an hour for Andrew to figure out why Bee had given him extra whip on his cocoa when her front door creaks open. Maybe he should've been more concerned, at the possibility of someone he doesn't know coming into Bee's house, but he also knows her—nobody would dare come in without invitation.
"I never took Bee as someone who would call in reinforcements." Neil says instead of a greeting, rounding the corner. The bandages on his cheeks are peeling and bruises in various states of healing litter the exposed skin. It makes something inside Andrew's chest curl and he forces it down, as deep as he can manage, and stares at the other man. Neil shrugs, unbothered by him being watched, and ducks to peer into the fridge. He cracks a bottle of water and gulps.
"What happened to night practice? Done being a junkie?" Andrew asks instead, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. Irritation floods him when all Neil does is laugh before crowding closer. All it would take it for Andrew to lift his arm and he could touch the man and he can't bring himself to shy away from him, either. Andrew's grown used to the healing burns and bruises on Neil's skin in the days after Baltimore but he still traces them with his eyes when Neil is this close. Vaguely, he can smell his own aftershave wafting off of the sweatshirt Neil wears and something squeezes in his chest. It makes Andrew angry again.
"No. Figured you could drive me when we leave here." Neil shrugs, as if the words he says are fact, and Andrew should be more furious than he is at the man's words. He gives too easily, not that Neil needs to know that. Neil extends his hand, hovering it just around Andrew's elbow, and he's quiet as he asks "Yes or no?"
Andrew doesn't answer but he presses his arm into Neil's waiting hand, content to let that speak for him. Neil grins, squeezes his long fingers around Andrew's elbow, and leans his hip against the counter top once more.
Bee's place is always quiet, the humming of the air conditioner practically the only sound unless there are people talking, and Andrew relishes in it. It's such a stark difference from living in the dorms or Wymack's apartment that it leaves Andrew craving it more often than he wants to admit. Bee had asked him, once, if he thinks that sometimes he isn't as honest as he should be during therapy just so he can come here afterwards. Andrew had shattered a mug in response, the glass pieces of it scattering across the hardwood floor of her kitchen. If he stares hard enough, he still see the mark it left on the wall.
"You're mad." Neil observes, ever the watcher, and Andrew can't help the scoff. Neil huffs a sound that's close enough to a laugh that Andrew rolls his eyes and his hand squeezes. Neil tilts his head, adding, "Dobson already tell you that?"
"I don't need her to tell me how I feel. Or you, for that matter." Andrew tells him, turning away to snag the now cold cocoa off the counter. The whip cream has melted entirely now and Andrew sighs, dumping it down the drain before running the sink. He drops the mug beside Bee's abandoned one and tightens his grip on the metal rim of the sink as he hears Neil shuffling behind him. Warmth hits his back, but there's still enough space between them for Andrew to escape if he needs. He hates Neil more every day.
"I never said you did." Neil agrees, his voice lifted up in a way that says he's smiling and Andrew hates that he can see it in his mind without ever turning around. Just like Bee, Neil is too comfortable waiting Andrew out, and he wants more than anything to shove down all his emotions except for the anger. Unlike Bee, Andrew isn't able to do that with Neil.
"Leave it alone, Josten." Andrew warns as he turns, pressing his back into the counter as he shrinks to put more space between him and Neil. The other man steps back, raising an eyebrow even as he crosses to the other side of the kitchen. Andrew hates him, a burning passion that makes him want to strangle Neil far too frequently, and yet he's caught in the man's orbit all the same.
"Okay." Neil nods, lapsing back into silence. The air conditioner hums in turn, their soft breaths filling the quiet between it, and Andrew settles more than he imagined possible. It feels like seconds and an eternity all at the same time before Andrew pushes himself off the counter. He beckons Neil after him and doesn't have to turn to know the other is following, his footsteps light on the normally creaky floor.
For once, Andrew's knuckles ache more than his chest. Renee hadn't let them fight without wrapping, but she had been kind enough to not point out the fact that he only half wraps them. It leaves his knuckles splitting and painful but it grounds him enough that the all too constant anger has settled into an occasional wave instead of the never ending sea.
Neil's already on the roof when Andrew gets up there, legs dangling off the edge, and all the work Andrew had done to rid himself of the fury fails right then and there. His hand itches to yank Neil from the edge, drag him across the gravel of the roof, but he doesn't. Instead, he lights a cigarette and rolls it between two fingers as he watches Neil from the doorway. Neil's shoulders tense briefly, a clear sign he heard Andrew's arrival, but he doesn't turn.
"Planning to jump?" Andrew asks, coming closer, and his feet scrape over the gravel of the rooftop ground as he waits for a response. Neil laughs, a scoffing noise that sends something dangerously close to warm affection through Andrew's chest, and he swings his legs over to face Andrew. It settles some of the panic, long enough for anger to take root, and Andrew clings to it desperately.
"Let me see." Neil says, quiet enough that the words threaten to get blown away with the whipping wind. He holds one hand out, waiting, and Andrew holds his tongue before he says something he'll hate himself for. He watches Neil's hand instead, watches it hover in the space between them, and traces the cuts that are starting to turn to scars. Neil waits him out and Andrew isn't sure how long it takes, but the sun doesn't seem to have moved in the sky when he finally drops his hand into Neil's. "Can I ask a question?"
"Depends." Andrew tilts his head, pretending his entire body doesn't feel alight with emotion he refuses to acknowledge. Neil accepts the answer, seemingly content with it, and Andrew watches as he presses his rough fingers into the broken skin of Andrew's knuckles. It should hurt, but it grounds Andrew in a way he hadn't expected instead. "Ask your question, junkie. You'll hurt yourself if you keep thinking so loudly."
"You've been angry lately. Angrier." Neil observes and it's decidedly not a question. Andrew raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and Neil snorts like he can hear the words he didn't say. Neil turns over Andrew's hand, palm up, and traces shapes across it. "At me. At the world. I don't know."
"If you don't remember what a question is, you might need to get checked out." Andrew says instead, not loving how easy it is for Neil to read him. He wonders if it's the lack of medication in his system that makes him so open or if Neil was just better at keeping his mouth shut before Baltimore. It's almost laughable, the idea that Neil could keep his mouth shut.
"And yet, you know what I meant." Neil grins, unrepentant, and there's a snark in his tone that Andrew is used to hearing when he talks with the press. It's the kind of tone that usually has Kevin rolling his eyes and Dan warning him to be nice, but Neil never stops. At least that, Andrew thinks, hasn't changed. Neil is still as untrained with the media now as he was before.
Andrew wonders, not for the first time in his life and certainly not for the last, if he will ever be able to stop dividing his life into the befores and the afters. He's sick of it. Sick of forever splitting his life into pieces that barely make it more tolerable. Forcing the thoughts down, Andrew moves to toss the burnt butt of his cigarette off the roof and sits beside Neil. He resolutely faces the door, refusing to look over the edge, and doesn't touch the other man beyond where their hands are together.
"Andrew." Neil says quietly, too many things at once in that simple word. A request, a plea, a question. All things Andrew isn't sure how to abide by and answer. He swallows, tilts his head back, and watches the clouds above their head. The sky is turning pink from the sun setting behind them and he knows Neil is better at patience when it comes to this.
"You didn't ask me a question." Andrew says, needlessly difficult. Neil snorts, half-amused, and tilts his head in acceptance. His sigh is whipped away by the wind and Andrew watches it tousle his curls, something indescribable settling in his chest as he does.
"Why are you angry?" Neil asks, then shakes his head, like the words didn't come out right. Andrew watches him, a little too close, and it's another constant from the before. Before Baltimore, before Easthaven, just before. Neil turns slightly, entire body facing Andrew's own, and inhales quietly before, "You don't like why questions."
"I don't." Andrew nods, but doesn't tell end Neil's line of questioning. If it was anyone else, if it wasn't the cause of all his anger and everything else, Andrew would have long since left. Unfortunately, for him and for Neil, he doesn't. "Ask differently."
"I'm trying." Neil huffs, but he doesn't sound as annoyed as he should, and some of the tightness in Andrew's chest starts to unfurl. It feels too similar to how Andrew felt after his time with Renee downstairs and something eerie fills the cavity left by the anger. "Give me a second."
"One." Andrew says, not outwardly grinning but he knows Neil hears it in his tone. An elbow connects hard with his side, enough that it makes him gasp involuntarily, but Neil's grinning and Andrew can't be mad. He shoulders Neil lightly and without heat behind it, much to the other man's entertainment.
"You are mad at me. Or about me." Neil observes, then tilts his head and waits until Andrew meets his eyes. He's curious and Andrew, against all of his instincts for years, wants to give him everything he wants to know. That should make him terrified, and on some level Andrew thinks he is, but he isn't even able to focus on that.
"Maybe you're not mad enough. Maybe nobody else is." Andrew says, continuing his staring at the sky above them. He can feel Neil's gaze on the side of his head. Andrew's certain if he looked over, he'd get lost in the man's expressions and doesn't want to consider what that would cause. Neil nudges his side, gently and unobtrusive, but it's clearly meant to encourage Andrew to speak. He swallows, and adds, "You almost died. You don't seem to care."
"I think…" Neil says, stilted and in a way that tells Andrew he doesn't actually want to answer but will try solely for Andrew's sake. It shouldn't make him feel warm, and yet, the chill in the air has seemed to dissipate. Bee would be proud of him for not immediately fleeing this entire conversation, Renee likely would be too. Maybe one of those two would go easy on him next week, though he doubts it. "I never expected to make it this far. I never expected to make it through the season. I was supposed to die."
"So you're not mad that you almost did?" Andrew hears himself ask, but he feels like he's floating above the entire conversation, too far away to stop himself. There's a part of him that isn't mad about it, which is a new feeling, and he wonders if he wants to hold onto that or not.
"I think I was, at first." Neil says quietly, letting his foot swing until it wraps around Andrew's ankle and hums softly, trying to find the words. Andrew can see him, from the corner of his eye, and watches a smile carve its way across Neil's face. The scars on his cheeks turn softer than Andrew had expected and that, at least, is an image Andrew isn't mad he will never forget. "If it happened again? I honestly don't know how I would feel. But coach made me see Dobson after everything, which you knew."
"Are you about to tell me that seeing Bee helped you?" Andrew turns, unable to stop himself from smirking. Neil's insistence on not needing to see a therapist, Betsy Dobson included despite her prior awareness of his situation, was a common theme in the half arguments the two of them had. Neil's answer, whether he tells the truth or not, is already written across his face and Andrew knows he is never letting that go. Based off the way Neil's shoulders droop, he knows it too.
"I didn't say that." Neil grumbles but he's smiling, something quiet and private that Andrew knows is just for him. He doesn't know when it happened, when the two of them moved from sharp edges and harsh corners to this. It's another one of those befores and afters. Before Neil smiled at him like he hung the stars. Before Neil looked at him in a way that Andrew knows would be forever burned in his memory, eidetic or not. After Neil takes all of Andrew's anger and turned it into something else.
"What made you change your mind?" Bee asks, tucking her legs under her body and cradling another new mug between her hands. Andrew hadn't been the one to pick this one out for her, but he knows where it's from. Remembers Neil picking it up off the shelf in some airport and handing it off to Andrew without comment. White, with little bees flying over a series of painted flowers, and Andrew remembers turning it over in his hand for several minutes until Wymack had yelled at him to hurry up.
"Nothing. I still think this is stupid." Neil tells her, his own hands empty of anything, and Andrew watches him play with the string at the bottom of his shirt. It tears without sound, the seam ripping, and Neil frowns deep enough that it makes his entire face seem tight. Andrew kicks his shin as Neil tugs on the string again.
"I warned you, did I not? She likes to make you state the obvious." Andrew tells him, eyebrow raised without much emotion. Neil rolls his eyes, throwing his head back with a silent groan and instead stares at the ceiling. Bee smiles, a touch too serene, and Andrew knows that she's enjoying this on some level. It makes Andrew remember exactly why he trusted her in the first place, the too perfect persona a clear fake if you look close enough. He knows Neil's seen it too, now.
"Neil." Bee says, soft and a little too caring. Andrew watches Neil tense, his shoulders tightening and his back going straight. Andrew's spent more than enough time in the past year watching Neil, able to spot every minute move the man makes, and wonders if Bee catches it too. She swirls her mug and takes a sip, waiting until Neil looks at her, and then continues, "You do not trust me. I know that and I'm not offended by it. You do not have to answer anything you do not want."
"Isn't that kind of against the whole point of this?" Neil asks, crossing his arms over his body. His hands curl around his hips and he shrinks, ever so slightly, to look smaller. It shouldn't infuriate Andrew as much as it does.
From a logical standpoint, Andrew gets it. He does. He knows Neil well enough at this point to understand the other man's desperate need to not be noticed despite his loud mouth and insistence on stirring shit. That coupled with Neil's inherent distrust of Betsy makes this entire situation doubly uncomfortable for the man and Andrew also wishes he didn't appreciate it as much as he did. Getting Neil here hadn't even required nearly as much bribing as Andrew had expected.
"How about Andrew and I talk first?" Bee offers, sparing only a brief glance at Andrew to gauge his reaction. Outwardly, Andrew likes to think he didn't give anything away, but Bee knows him too well for him to believe that she doesn't pick up on his own opinion. Neil hums but doesn't answer and Andrew takes that as enough of an answer, as does Bee. Briefly, Andrew wonders if Bee is just that good at reading people or if Andrew's obsession with the man has given her enough information to read him. A scary thought, that is, and Andrew hates himself a little more than normal.
"Dragging me into this against my will again?" Andrew asks, no emotion in his tone, and Neil frowns before kicking him. It makes Andrew have to press his lips together to stop himself from smirking, an unconscious response and one he doesn't even remember becoming a normal reaction for him. Bee smiles brighter, hiding it in her mug, and Andrew refuses to meet her eyes.
"Are you still mad?" Bee asks Andrew, no hesitation in her voice, and Andrew watches her shift. She's lifting her knee to sit on the chair beside her, resting one arm on her knee, and it makes Andrew relax more than he wants to admit. It's familiar, in the same way Nicky and Aaron were, comforting to his mind no matter how hard he wanted to fight it.
"Less so." Andrew admits, feeling like he's pulling teeth. It's true, too, an unfortunate side effect of Neil at his side and knowledge that they're safe, at least for now. Riko is in the ground and the Moriyama's are happy with the deal Neil struck, so there is nothing for Andrew to focus on beside this. Warmth at his side, becoming as familiar as breathing, and Andrew wonders when it stopped making his skin feel like it was crawling and instead settled something inside him.
"Do you feel safe without the anger?" Bee tilts her head as she talks, endlessly content as she waits them out. Neil is glancing between the two of them, hesitance clear in the stiffness of his body, and Andrew presses his foot against Neil's own. Andrew blinks at Bee, curious on if she's going to have more to say or if she's biting her tongue due to Neil's presence. He wishes she wouldn't, it makes him feel off kilter and wrong in a way he cannot stand.
"Do not bite your tongue on his behalf. Neil will never trust you alone if you don't act truthful when it's both of us." Andrew says instead of answering and Bee takes a sip of her drink. Tea, today, because she said she hadn't wanted anything sweet. Andrew thinks she's trying to buy Neil's trust with that remark, but he won't say that aloud.
"Okay." Bee nods, setting her drink down on the table at her side. Neil sits up a little more, curious, and Andrew feels just a bit vindicated at the other man seeing Bee's true personality. Bee threads her hand together, "Anger has been your constant for years, yes? You've told me before it kept you safe."
Neil spares a glance towards Andrew and there's something impossibly soft in his expression, even if he appears neutral. Andrew pushes his face away with a huff, pretending he isn't holding onto the feeling of Neil's scars under his fingers, a proof he's alive.
"Yes." Andrew agrees, tilting his head in concession to Bee. She smiles softly, nodding at him to continue, and even without looking at him, Andrew can feel Neil's eyes on him. He swallows, shifts in his seat, and takes along sip of his hot chocolate before, "I think safety feels different, now."
Neil twists the plastic water bottle between his hands but it seems more like he doesn't quite realize he's doing so, the instinct of something to do with his hands as opposed to anything specific. He's staring at Andrew again, gaze burning a hole into Andrew's temple, and it makes Andrew swallow desperately, an attempt to stop the emotions he refuses to acknowledge.
"We are safe now, huh?" Neil says, quiet enough like it's meant just for Andrew, and Bee is kind enough to pretend she doesn't hear. She's learning that much, at least, to let Neil guide their conversations. Andrew isn't naive enough to think Neil will continue to see Bee without him, not for now, but he wouldn't be surprised if he could continue to convince the man to come with him. Neil, Andrew is starting to suspect, might be softer on him than he wants to think about.
"Staring." Andrew says, instead, and Neil huffs a soft sound that's closer to a laugh than anything else. It's not what Andrew wants to say, and he wonders if Neil knows that too, because he presses his leg closer to Andrew's body. Warmth floods where their bodies touch and Andrew, not for the first time, wants nothing more than to dig his feet into the ground and stay right here for as long as possible. Anger, he knows, was supposed to be the thing that kept him safe. He always considered himself, and others, not angry enough at the world around them. It kept him from being disappointed by the fosters he had, at first, and later Nicky and Aaron when he finally found them. It was the only constant for most of his life but here, sitting on Bee's couch, proves something else. There's more than one constant in his life now and Neil, at his side, is arguably the one Andrew wants the most.