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I.
Dobson's office is Aaron's least favorite place on campus. He hates its inoffensiveness, hates the stupid figures and cocoa packets and bland walls, furniture, therapist contained therein. He knows she knows it, and he knows Andrew knows it too, and he knows that the fact he keeps showing up is his admission that maybe it's not so much hate as his attempt to rationalize how uncomfortable he feels about the fact he's starting to want to spill his guts.
It is a cool October afternoon when he finds himself touching on something he'd rather have kept buried: the desire to be Andrew's first choice.
It began with a boy is what he says, because he isn't ready to entertain the thought that maybe it truly began before he even drew his first breath. Dobson listens to his clipped and angry sentences with warm eyes, steam from her cocoa curling across the apples of her cheeks. It began with a bar and a sticky dance floor and under-the-table payment for their help. A job, however unorthodox. A lifeline. A spectacular mess of sensation and frustration. Despite this, somewhere to be and something to bond over with Andrew.
"Then"—he draws into himself, feels the cringe and can't stop it—"Roland."
And when he puts it that way, it sounds like the world's saddest joke. Two Minyards walk into a club. One makes a friend. It's not the one who's desperate to be fucking normal.
Andrew is rolling his eyes on the other end of the couch, and Dobson does not point it out like she so frequently does when Aaron rolls his. Maybe she likes him more. Probably. Is that allowed? Because it shouldn't be, picking favorites between cli—
"What was it about Roland, Aaron?" she asks.
"You just didn't like the fact he was friendlier to me," Andrew says.
"You know what, fuck this. Fuck him."
Dobson glances to Andrew, who flashes his teeth and says, "Yeah, I did that too."
"You were the one who wanted me to come here and talk," Aaron snaps. "Are you going to fucking listen or can I just save myself the time and go?"
Andrew's anger is a heavy, molten thing that turns Aaron's bones to lead. He is no stranger to the way a Minyard rages; despite Dobson's presence, that threat pets at his longest-held fears. Andrew says nothing, just stares until Aaron has to work very hard at not allowing himself to shrink back in the seat. Dobson lets it spool and spool and spool between them, which Aaron adds to her list of sins with a heavy sigh.
"I thought it was going to be different, together," Aaron says. He stares at the floor and gnaws on the side of his thumb, tells himself that it's not a brief flash of contrition he glimpsed on Andrew's face, that Andrew—who he wants to still consider the real monster among them, despite the blood on his own hands—cannot feel anything of the sort. "It was a stupid thought," he continues. "Don't know why I expected anything better at that point."
Dobson's response comes slowly, and Aaron doesn't really hear any of it over the ceaseless tapping of Andrew's heel on the carpet. His regret is immediate and vicious and wraps its all-too-familiar hand around his throat and squeezes until Dobson's tone turns questioning and Andrew shakes his shoulder and he flinches without a second thought.
"Fuck," he spits. Then, "I can't do this." He's up and stalking out the door before he can process the fact that Andrew…touched him. And not, despite the shock of it, unkindly.
He doesn't let himself think about it.
Just walks.
—
He's still not thinking about it after practice that night, staring sightlessly straight through his biochem notes and letting Kevin's impromptu history lesson flow in one ear and out the other. There is no knock to announce Andrew's arrival, only a sharp curse from Kevin when the door flies open and startles them both. Neil looms behind Andrew, grinning when Kevin begins to harp at him about not being a creep, Neil, come in like a normal person, Neil, what do you want, Neil?
But it isn't Neil that wants, and it is Andrew who crosses his arms and says, "I'm going to talk to Aaron."
"Okay? Talk, then. God." Kevin shakes his head, already standing and cutting past Andrew to herd Neil back into the hall. And as nice as a night without Kevin pressing him into a lecture might have otherwise been, Aaron already knows he'd have preferred that to whatever's about to come out of Andrew's twisted mouth.
Silence.
More.
Aaron's pencil taps against his notebook with a hollow sound, punctuated by Andrew's nails zipping up and down his arm band. He says, "I have a test in the morning."
"Congratulations."
"What do you want?"
Andrew's jaw works. He looks everywhere but at Aaron; Aaron can only focus on his too-familiar face: the flyaways glowing gold, the dark smudges below hard eyes, the sharp downturn of his lips. Aaron stares and stares until that all-consuming choke rises in him and he knows he has to be anywhere but here.
Silence.
He stays put, stakes his claim on the space.
"You left," Andrew says.
"You obviously didn't give a fuck," Aaron retorts. "I had better things to do."
"No, you panicked, and you left." Andrew rocks up onto the balls of his feet, then back onto his heels. He's still not looking at Aaron. "It wasn't about me fucking him. That's not a new revelation; you know I'm gay. And if it was, it would be particularly hypocritical, given the fact you're also…" His eyes cut to the now-closed door and Aaron's cheeks heat.
"We're not—"
"Not yet."
"Christ, Andrew, just leave it. We're not, end of. Goodbye." Aaron scoffs and turns back to his homework. Tries to, at least. Very suddenly, there's a boot and a snarl and the power of a goalkeeper's muscle dragging his chair away from his desk, and he snaps, equally enraged and exasperated, "Like you really wanted me to intrude on your little chats anyway, right? At least I'm trying."
"You got along with Roland," Andrew accuses. Aaron thinks for too many seconds about biting the finger that's shoved in his face. "Where do you get off coming in and accusing him of being the issue when he never was before?"
Aaron slaps Andrew's hand away and stands, forcing Andrew a scant few inches back. But a few inches is enough, the spark to send his final fuck up in flames. "Get out."
"I live here. That's my bed." Andrew jerks his thumb toward his bunk. "Why Roland?"
Because, Aaron does not say, you wanted him.
That's the crux of it, isn't it? The thorn in his heart he has so carefully kept festering since Andrew first decided that Aaron was something to manage, and other people were something to enjoy. It feels petty and small and spiteful and God, God, he wants to be rid of that wound, but he fears so much that the rest of him would collapse without it.
Andrew is still staring, eyes narrow.
"I…" The words catch in Aaron's throat and he swallows hard, stepping sideways until he can no longer feel the warmth of Andrew's body. "He just…" He spreads his hands in front of him. I don't know. "He was fine, I just…"
"What was different supposed to look like?"
Aaron shakes his head and brings up his thumb to chew on. His nails are already too short, and he hisses when he pulls too hard at skin that does not want to be pulled. As much as he does not enjoy Dobson's mediation, he cannot deny the fact it's easier to talk to her than face Andrew directly. It had felt only marginally less mortifying to consider telling her that he still dreams of a more typical sibling relationship: the annoyance, yes, but more importantly the care. Andrew has long-since proven himself to be devotion's slave, but Aaron hasn't wanted devotion for years now.
Most days, deep down, he just wants some semblance of normal.
"I don't know," he admits, because normal was never a possibility for them.
"Picket fence and a lawn?"
Aaron huffs a laugh and shakes his head again, this time pulling on a half-smile. "We could barely afford the house. I don't think fencing was the concern."
"Right," Andrew says.
"I am trying," Aaron repeats when the silence grows too long.
"I know."
"Then why…" Aaron's brow furrows. "Why? Pathological need to be a dick?" Andrew shrugs, and Aaron rolls his eyes. This time when he sits, Andrew lets him go without issue. He picks up his pencil and taps it against the margins of his notebook. "If you wanted to fight, you didn't need to waste my afternoon on therapy."
"I do not. Want. To fight," Andrew says haltingly.
"Then stop doing it." The lead snaps. "Because I have better things to do than get dragged down to your level again and again."
II.
"Sounds to me," Renee pants, dancing out of Andrew's reach, "like that's progress."
Andrew pulls up short and scowls, fists raised. Despite the sweat dripping from him, frustration still pulses through him with every heartbeat. He hears the cheerleader's name with every one-two whoosh: Kate-lyn, Kate-lyn. Aaron couldn't shut up about her today, and because Andrew is trying to allow him space, he fucking let him, despite the fact that the whole situation with her makes his skin crawl.
Renee ignores the sour look and continues. "I mean, making it through a whole session without a fight seems like it should be good, right? Why the long face?"
"If I never see that bitch again it'll be too soon."
"Gonna be tough, unless you quit the Foxes," Renee says. She disengages, tipping her head toward her water bottle, and Andrew follows her to lean against the wall as she offers him the rest of what she doesn't drink. Before he can say his piece, she holds up a lecturing finger. "And no, you will not make her quit the Vixens."
"You're no fun," Andrew mutters.
Renee's laughter is bright, contagious, and despite himself, a smile cracks across Andrew's cheeks. He lets his head thud back against the wall, sighing loudly and dying for a cigarette.
Today's session was difficult. Even now, hours after leaving Bee's office, Andrew can't stop thinking about the fondness that fell over Aaron's face when recounting his relationship with Katelyn. (It has to be the fondness, because if he thinks too long about the secrecy casting its pall over the whole thing, he knows he will not be proud of any subsequent actions.) He loved her, he said, and he missed her, but—and here he looked away from Andrew, which stung, because needling shame always does—it's for the best they're not together anymore.
"It got to be too much, with the trial and the nightmares," Aaron said.
He did not say And Andrew, but Andrew heard it all the same.
Andrew has spent a lot of time hating Katelyn Mackenzie over the last year; somehow, moreso since she abandoned his brother when he—though Andrew is loath to admit it—probably needed her most. There is a limit to what he can provide for Aaron, and more often than not that line ends at protection. He will not—cannot—coddle and fawn over him. (It wasn't always fawning. He knows this. Katelyn had her own boundaries, and he can respect the fact she stuck to them, even if he cannot respect her.)
Renee's hand is warm on his shoulder as she asks, "Do this again tomorrow?"
"Mm."
She smiles, pats him once, and gathers her bag on the way out the door. When she's just across the threshold, she turns. "I'm proud of you, you know. You're doing a good thing."
"I know."
"Maybe up here." She taps her temple, then her chest. "I don't know if this has gotten the message yet."
"Okay, Bee, go," Andrew deadpans, shooing her with a brusque flap of his hand. By the time she's out of sight, he's already sliding down the wall to sit with his chin on his knees, arms hugged around his thighs.
He stays there for a very long time.
—
When Neil appears, it isn't so much a shock as the inevitability Andrew forgot to consider. He looks up into blue eyes and extends a hand; when Neil takes it, Andrew pulls him down to the floor and leans to briefly touch their shoulders together.
"Kevin was asking about night practice," Neil says. "Renee said you'd been sparring."
"Are you also asking about night practice?"
"No."
Andrew exhales slowly, awareness trickling back down into him by degrees. His body is wound tight enough that it will hurt to stand and stretch, there is a bitch of a bruise throbbing on his thigh, and he's colder than he'd like to be, skin pebbling wherever it's exposed to the room's cool air. Again he leans into Neil, but doesn't pull away. "He misses Katelyn."
"Not really your problem."
But it is, isn't it? It always seems to come down to Andrew when their problems are laid out: Andrew, who takes control; Andrew, who's willing to do what it takes; Andrew, who's spent so long clinging to scraps of Aaron's affection that those scraps have all but disintegrated.
Andrew makes a noncommittal hum, then admits, "I don't know how to give him what he wants. 'Normal.'" He grimaces. "We don't get normal."
"It's not a reasonable thing to ask," Neil says.
"But it's not unreasonable to want, I guess."
Neil looks at him then, really looks—the kind that still sets Andrew's jaw grinding, the kind that says "I see the parts of you you'd rather hide." Andrew allows it. Here, alone together, the perception is not the agony it might be with anyone else around to witness his dismantling. "Is it something you want? Something like that?" Neil asks. There's no judgment in it, but Andrew feels foolish for ever having considered it.
"Not anymore," Andrew says. He flips his hand over and Neil touches their fingertips together before asking "yes or no" and finally letting his coarse palm settle over Andrew's. It warms Andrew from the inside, and he relishes the feeling before tucking it safely away and pulling Neil to his feet. "And better for it, because you would make an awful cheerleader."
"Fuck you," Neil snorts. "I could do it."
Andrew pretends to idly examine his nails. "I think it would be very funny to see you try, rabbit."
"Yeah? Bet."
—
They're at Eden's over holiday break when Andrew watches Kevin lean down to kiss Aaron in the middle of the dance floor. It does not come as a shock, but still, his hand tightens instinctively on Neil's thigh as he points. "They look cozy," Neil says. "Since when is that a thing?"
"You miss the most obvious things sometimes, you know that? Kevin's been making heart eyes for months now."
"Ew." Neil wrinkles his nose. "Aaron?"
"Guess he really is into dorks."
Neil's laugh is raucous and does its best to soothe the nagging wrongwrongwrong that's already lodging itself between Andrew's ribs.
It fails.
Andrew seethes with the knowledge he can say, can do nothing about it anymore.
—
They do nothing to hide their relationship as it develops, and every shared smile or scathing remark about an opponent's failure on the court grates against Andrew's already frayed nerves. Bee and Neil recognize the backslide for what it is; everyone else writes it off as Andrew being Andrew. The worst of it is that he knows it's irrational: there is nothing tying Aaron to him anymore, and it isn't like he's cutting Andrew out of his life. They still see each other daily. They still sit in Bee's office for an hour a week and talk around the fact neither knows how to love one another.
Aaron is still there.
Still, it feels like he's slipping through Andrew's fingers like sand.
III.
Early spring sunlight shines brightly through the library windows, cutting across the table and making Aaron's eyes water where it bounces off of the glossy textbook pages in front of him. His head aches after waking up in a cold sweat every couple of hours, plagued by dreams about walking into a hospital for rotation only to look down and find himself covered in gore and everyone staring at him, horrified, before barring him entry. Eventually, he gave up trying to fall back asleep. He's been here since morning practice, throwing himself into studying to avoid the post-nightmare shakes and pre-Dobson anxiety that plagues him before every therapy session. It has not gotten easier over the months.
Still, he cannot deny there's been progress. Andrew is making an effort, no longer meets every one of Aaron's statements with scathing sarcasm, and despite his desire to keep quiet, Aaron has not stopped attempting to bridge the gap between them. While he doubts he'll ever look forward to the appointments, he can at least say—even with the nerves—he no longer actively fears them.
Today will be difficult. He's considered cancelling more than a handful of times already, because he does not want to talk about their deal and all the friction it's caused. Sitting on the couch and admitting that he's still pissed about Neil Josten being Andrew's breaking point is a far cry from his ideal afternoon. And make no mistake—he will admit it. He doesn't think he could stop himself if he wanted to. And then Andrew will bring up Kevin, and Aaron will prod the wound, and it'll all be downhill from there.
With a heavy sigh, he shoves his book away and checks his phone. There's almost an hour before he has to meet Andrew, but he's not sure he can take another minute of studying. The girl at the next table over gives him a dirty look when his chair drags across the floor. He ignores her and makes his way out as a text from Kevin comes through.
»»Where are you?
««Library. Why?
»»Just got out of class, I'll come find you.
And he does, though the five minutes it takes give Aaron plenty of opportunities to overthink what he might need. When Aaron asks—a little sourly—what he wants, Kevin frowns, shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, and says, "You had a bad night last night. I wanted to see you. Is that no longer allowed?"
"I'm still not…used to it, I guess."
Kevin's frown deepens. "Is it so awful?"
"No! No, it's—" Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. Forces his shoulders to relax as he meets Kevin's eyes. "It's fine. Thank you." He smiles wanly. "Coffee?"
It's easier than he thought it'd be, with Kevin. They fall quickly into step, and Kevin's voice is low, soothing as it washes over Aaron while they make their way to one of the on-shop campuses. His palm is warm between Aaron's shoulders.
"You're tense," Kevin says when they've secured seats.
"Therapy later."
"Ah." Kevin steeples his fingers in front of his face. "Maybe you can tell him to stop trying to kill me during practice."
"Tried that last time, didn't work. I think you've fallen out of favor. Can't say I'm too sorry about what it took, though." Kevin grumbles, and Aaron takes a long, scalding sip of his latte, surveying the gathered patrons. The two couples in the corner catch his attention: everyone laughing at an unheard joke and wrapped up in each other on opposite sides of the small table. Hesitantly, he shifts his chair so the length of his body is nudged up against Kevin's. When Kevin leans into him, his breath steadies. It's not quite relief—he's not sure the years of fearing Andrew's disapproval over chosen partners will let him go that easily—but there's some peace to be had knowing he does get to have this just as openly as Andrew gets to have Neil.
"I was thinking," Kevin says, knuckles dragging across the back of Aaron's hand, "that maybe we could do something together after champoinships are done."
"Like you've thought about anything but championships."
Kevin flicks Aaron's forearm, nose scrunching irritatedly. "I can think about other things. You, for one—" and Aaron very kindly does not point out that he is also inextricably linked to Kevin's exy obsession "—and…this." Kevin gestures between them. "I want to go somewhere. A-alone, maybe."
Aaron arches an eyebrow.
"Don't look at me like that," Kevin gripes. "Just for a weekend, or something."
It takes some time for full implications of this to settle in, but when they do—future plans, the acknowledgement Kevin wants this to carry on, is willing to take time for them—Aaron's gut clenches. He can't quite tell if it's excitement or the latent fear he tries so hard not to acknowledge, and he pushes all of it down to say, "Tell me all about it."
—
Andrew is in a particularly nasty mood this afternoon; Aaron could tell even before he shut Dobson's door behind them. Even Dobson herself seems a bit cowed, quiet as she makes Andrew's usual cocoa and doesn't bother asking Aaron if he'd like any. (He never does. He's still not sure whether or not it annoys him more to be or not to be asked, to be treated the same as Andrew.) When she settles across from them and asks if anything new has come up this week, neither speaks until Andrew mutters, "You're looking pretty comfortable with Kevin."
"So?"
Dobson opens her palms with a smile. "That's great, Aaron. I'm happy to hear that."
"Great," Aaron deadpans, which does nothing to dim her grin and everything to needle Andrew, who crosses every limb and snorts derisively. "Is that a fucking problem now?"
"No, no, Day's fine."
"Really doesn't seem like it."
Andrew's sideways glance pins Aaron to the couch as easily as any of his knives might. "I said it's fine."
"Josten's rubbing off on you."
"Ooh, good one. Try something helpful next."
Aaron scoffs, slumping back into the worn cushions and rolling his eyes. There is silence again, longer this time, in which he looks at Andrew twice. The first time, he sees an angry man, angry brother, angry boy draped with an adult's skin. The second, he catches Andrew biting his lip and averting his own gaze.
Dobson also notices says, "You've been close with Kevin since he came to Palmetto, Andrew. I haven't heard his name much over the past few months. Any reason for that?"
"He's not my business anymore."
"But is he your friend?"
"Andrew doesn't have friends," Aaron says. Blurts, really—loud and undignified and not what he meant to say. But like a bandaid from a too-fresh wound, it tears him open. "He has things. He just doesn't like that his things"—he makes a maliciously sarcastic set of air quotes—"play nicely together without him."
If Andrew had been carved from marble, he might have been livelier. Every inch of him now is stone, from the hard set of his jaw to the tension bunching in his thighs.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Aaron continues. There's something dangerous in him, howling down every synapse and nerve fiber until he's shaking with it. He doesn't have it in him to leash it; not today, not freshly off the high of a potential future built on want and not binding contracts. "You can't stand that you're not in control anymore, that we might not need you."
"You don't need me," Andrew says, voice gravel.
"Isn't it enough to want you?" Andrew's eyes go wide, but Aaron isn't finished. "Jesus, don't you get it? It's enough for your pet striker, so why can't it be enough for your own goddamn brother?" He looks at Dobson, spits, "There. There's my feelings about it. Is that what you wanted?" He looks to Andrew. "I've put the effort in. Your control issues aren't my problem."
"Thank you, Aaron. That was very vulnerable," Dobson says. She takes a sip of her cocoa and looks over the rim of the mug at Andrew, whose face is valiantly trying for nonchalance but hitting blatant upset instead. "Do you think there might be any truth to that statement, Andrew?"
Andrew shakes his head but looks guilty, unconvinced, like he's still trying to convince himself that his arrogance and disdain are warranted.
"We're planning a vacation without you," Aaron goads, though they didn't quite get to anything so concrete in the twenty minutes they stole together. "Anything to say about that, or are you just going to show up? Make sure your toys are okay?"
"Stop," Andrew says quietly.
"It's fine for you to fuck off with Josten, but not for me and Kevin?"
"Aaron," Dobson cautions, holding up a warning finger.
"It's always been like this, though!" Aaron exclaims, ticking off on his fingers. "Roland and Andrew, fine. Katelyn and Aaron, problem. Andrew and Neil, fine. Aaron and Kevin, problem. Fuck, I'll even give him Renee, because God forbid I have a close friend. I haven't even bothered with one, because I knew he'd just run them off."
"You've made your point," Andrew snaps.
"Have I??"
"Okay," Dobson interrupts, slightly too loudly. She sets her cup down with a definitive click and gives Andrew a stilted smile. "Andrew, would you mind if I took a minute with Aaron alone?" Andrew says nothing, just makes for the door without even a glance back. When they're alone, she says, "Thank you for your honesty. That feels like something you've been holding for a long time."
"I didn't think taking that stupid deal would make him into…" Aaron gestures helplessly. "This."
"You agreed to stick together until graduation, correct?"
"Didn't think it would mean I was his alone."
"You've both agreed to end this deal, though."
"Yeah, I guess."
Dobson nods slowly, staring just past Aaron's shoulder as she considers her next words. "What are your goals, Aaron?"
This throws him. "What?"
"With Andrew," she clarifies, retrieving her notebook and flipping back through the pages. "You've made the point a few times that you'd like normalcy. What might that look like in regards to your brother?"
"I…" His mouth opens and closes a few times. What does normal look like?
He knows what it could look like; his guilty pleasure is imagining they'd grown up like siblings in movies. Any movie, he's not picky. Beggars can't be choosers. More recently, the idle daydream has been Aaron—Aaron alone—and a house and pictures of Andrew on the walls that they can laugh over when Aaron hosts a holiday gathering. Sappy, domestic shit he knows is out of reach and he's unwilling to let pour out of him.
Instead, he says, "I want to choose him." When Dobson asks him to elaborate, he shrugs. "I want to… Like, I don't know. I don't want him to be an obligation, to have to consider him all the time, with anything I do."
"And that's what your relationship feels like now?"
Aaron nods at the table between them, arms crossed.
Dobson smiles. "I think we can work with that."
IV.
They're on the road after a late game later that week when Aaron pokes Andrew awake from behind and asks him if they can talk. Andrew nudges Neil awake, but it's Aaron who Neil glares at on his way back to the now-vacant seat next to a snoring Kevin. "What?" Andrew asks warily when Aaron is settled.
Aaron picks at the dead skin around his fingers before asking, "Did Dobson tell you she wants to see us separately next week?"
"Yeah."
"Thoughts?"
"You won't go alone," Andrew says. "I don't see the point in asking." His voice is low, almost sulky, and Aaron feels Andrew's shoulders round in defense. "You were a dick this week."
"Do you want me to say sorry?"
"…No." Andrew turns to the window and settles his elbow on it, biting down on his thumb as his jaw works. He mumbles something unintelligible.
"Can't hear you."
"I said I get it, okay?" Andrew sighs. "About, you know…Roland and Katelyn and shit."
"And?"
"Don't push your luck." Andrew elbows Aaron's bicep and stares back out at the lights whizzing by. "It feels like shit being on the outside of something like that."
"Sure does."
"Fuck off," Andrew says without heat or expectation. Mostly, he just sounds…tired. Almost like he's given up. When he turns back to Aaron, his brow is furrowed. "Do you think it might be serious?"
"I thought it was serious with Katelyn."
"And it wasn't."
Aaron shakes his head. "Couldn't be. Not the way it was, at least." He slumps down in the seat and tentatively leans over, resting against Andrew's bulk. Andrew stiffens, but doesn't pull away. "I think I might want it to be. I don't want that to be an issue."
"I can't promise it won't be," Andrew says. He also leans over, takes his time with it like Aaron won't allow him to come so close, and gently—enough so that Aaron wants to double-check it is truly his brother—lays his head atop Aaron's. Like this, close enough to feel the heartbeat in Andrew's neck, Aaron is surprised to find that the proximity feels…right, somehow. As though the part of him that flinches is no longer interested in the whole endeavor. Andrew continues, "I mean, really. Kevin?"
"Neil?" Aaron mocks.
Andrew snorts. "Yeah, fair enough."
Aaron exhales a long, drawn-out sigh and closes his eyes. "I told her I'd go," he says after a few minutes. "Alone. I want things to be better."
"And will you actually?"
Aaron nods, mashing his cheek against Andrew's shoulder more than anything.
"Then I'll leave you and Kevin alone."
"Promise?" Aaron sticks out his pinky.
Andrew links it with his own. "Promise."