Work Text:
When the clock brings the twenty-fourth hour of the day to an end, Neil’s eyes open wide with a quiet breath.
He grips the sheets of the bed abruptly, a remnant of a survival instinct that once composed the nerves of his spine. There wasn't a scream, nor even a sound, just the light shakiness of hands and a small jump of his chest alarmingly awakening him. There was, however, a nightmare — an imagery of fire close to his cheeks and sadistic faces in a cold and dark attic. An invisible trace of a key on his palm in a gentle goodbye, serving as a requiem to Andrew's kisses and fondness of a family he never thought he would ever get the chance to have. But then it vanished, as soon as his eyes opened again to reveal the ceiling of the room he shared with Andrew every night since they moved in together. Neil let his grip loosen up, trying to bring steadiness to his breathing pattern again as he turned around to glance at Andrew.
“Sorry.” Andrew was staring at him as Neil whispered quietly towards him. “Didn't mean to wake you up.”
“Same dream again?”
Neil didn't respond right away, opening up his mouth slightly, hoping the words could come out on their own. They didn't, but it wasn't necessary. Some nights were good and some weren't, and whenever they weren't, the smell of decaffeinated coffee and cigarette smoke didn't take long to fill the apartment entirely.
“I’m going to boil some water.” Andrew motioned to get up, shifting the blankets before Neil gripped the corner of his pillow to stop him.
“Can we–” Neil swallowed dryly to clean his throat. “Can you stay here for a few more minutes?”
Andrew stared at him in the dark and laid down again, covering himself with the blankets that were previously lying on the side. In most of these nights, Neil’s skin felt tight against his limbs — it was enough to compress his lungs and spread open a wound that had already closed in a scar years ago —, like phantom pain from a part of his body that was never removed. In most of these nights, Andrew's company was a ghostly touch that felt just right, never physical without a concrete confirmation that it could be. And sometimes, especially at nights like these, it had to be.
“Yes or no?” Andrew’s question was more like a murmur, and although he hadn't specified, Neil gladly accepted anything that came from him. He was sure that even the worst of news would sound beautiful if it came from Andrew’s lips.
“Yes.”
Andrew got closer, pushing away a few of Neil’s curls that fell rebelliously on his face, and caressed his cheek lightly. Neil leaned into the touch so desperately in need of an anchor, gently burying his face on Andrew’s palm, his breathing steadying slowly as he planted tender kisses on the callouses of the skin. The intimacy of it made prominent how starved Neil was, how slow the seconds passed whenever Andrew was out of reach and how fast it went when they were like this — it was an unbearable feeling, as fleeting as the soft encounter of his lips with the thin outer layer of flesh that covered Andrew’s hands.
Neil scooted over, nose brushing Andrew’s as his eyes searched silently for an ounce of rejection and, when he found none, the distance that kept their lips apart disappeared into the void of things that Neil no longer needed. It was subtle, almost like a peck, but soon developed into something deeper — Neil’s hands travelled to caress Andrew’s hair strands, pulling just slightly so the texture could become a new point of focus. Andrew was hot all over, sending shivers down Neil’s spine with careful brushes of his fingers on his back. Their touches usually didn't carry this kind of gentleness — they were harsher, desperate and needy, longing for relief to the ache of being apart —, but on nights like these, it was the delicacy of it all that made Neil’s heart rate beat normally again. Andrew kissed him until his lips went numb, teeth burying on fragile skin as if it could wash away the terrible memories that insisted on returning to haunt his sleep.
They parted the kiss as a sudden weight jumped onto the bed. It was too dark to know which cat it was, but soon the other followed with glowing eyes and a purring sound behind its whiskers.
“You’re still going to make us coffee?” Neil said under his breath, kissing Andrew between a word and another to get used to the absence of his lips again.
“As long as you feed them.” Andrew turned around to pet what it looked like King, judging by the fluffier fur shape, holding her while getting up soon after.
“I always do.”
The rest of the apartment was immersed in a dense shade of violet blue, the veil of the night covering each corner except for the kitchen, protected from its darkness by a warm light. Neil fed the cats as Andrew poured recently boiled water on a french press, no armbands and hair still fussy from the bedsheets, as beautiful as he always was. Neil mindlessly fiddled around with some kitchen utensils until the coffee finished brewing and went to the cabinet to get two mugs, stopping just to get his camera. The neighbourhood was so quiet from the balcony of their apartment, an odd thing since there were always a neighbour or two partying here and then, but this time the nightly air brought nothing but a cold breeze and a few crickets that had yet to go to sleep. Neil looked at the desert street through the camera lenses, letting the sight of ill-parked cars and the dim light of streetlamps serve as a distraction from his nightmare. He captured the stillness with two flashes, then pointed the camera at Andrew, who turned with a bored expression on his face. Such a cheap façade.
“Stop.”
Neil hadn’t realised he was smiling until Andrew’s hoarse voice rose through the steam of the coffee like a rough whisper.
“I thought you didn’t mind me taking pictures of you.” Neil waited for Andrew to deny. He never did, so Neil pressed the button of his camera again. This picture, however, was reserved for Neil and Neil only — too vulnerable, too intimate for the world to see. “There’s a light on.”
“There is.” Andrew turned his head to look at the apartment in the other building, shining in the darkness with the single power of a hanging ceiling lamp.
“That place is always so dark.” Neil lowered his camera to look with his own eyes this time, narrowed thanks to a poor farsightness, although still pretty visible. They did that sometimes — people-watching, a little game of guessing the whole picture just by looking at a small part of someone’s life. “Either they’re new tenants or it’s the first time anyone has set foot there in months.”
“It’s neither.” Andrew took a sip of his coffee and got closer to Neil. “I saw it on Christmas.”
“What?” Neil rested his face on one of his hands, alternating between looking at the apartment and then at Andrew, pouting slightly with fake annoyance. “I can’t believe I missed it. Remind me again the reason why?”
The corner of Neil’s mouth curved into a small smirk as a tingly sensation settled beneath his lips with the reminder of Andrew’s kiss under that stupid mistletoe — a tradition that Nicky kept trying to get them to follow the whole night, but it wasn’t until they were all alone that suddenly the little sprig hanged above the front door had a real meaning. It wasn’t until they were all alone that Andrew brought relief to Neil’s anticipation, eagerly kissing him around the house until their lips were red and swollen.
“Your memory’s fine.” Andrew blew some of the coffee steam into Neil’s face, drinking the rest of it soon after.
“It’s not as good as yours, though.”
Neil set his mug aside, dangerously and uncaring on the edge of the balcony, shifting his attention to the small space. He waited with impatience for two hundred milliseconds or so until the roughness of Andrew’s touch reached the nape of his neck, hungry as if nothing they ever did lasted long enough to satisfy an undying need for more — more of this, more of each other. So their hands did what their hands have always done: travelled to explore, to feel the bumps and sharp curves of skin suffocated under light clothes and an increased body temperature, until the fine line between what was Andrew’s and what was Neil’s disappeared and merged into one. And then, there was the distant crash against the asphalt as the glazed ceramic mug turned itself into smaller pieces and dust.
“Thank fuck that wasn’t one of Jean’s.” Neil turned to look, fingers still intertwined with knots of blond hair and body still glued to Andrew’s.
“You're buying me a new one.”
“I’m pretty sure we have, like, four of those in the kitchen cabinet.” Neil planted another kiss on Andrew’s lips before he could respond. “But if you want a new one, we’re getting you a new one.”