Archive of Our Own

Progress: The course or process of a series of actions, events, etc., through time; advancement through such a course. 

A better definition than some, in Andrew’s opinion. Because it didn’t really imply that things were getting better.

It didn’t deny that progress was not linear. That progress happened in small steps. That progress included steps in the wrong direction, walking in circles, getting lost.

It didn’t contradict Andrew’s own definition of the word, which was letting Aaron and Nicky go after graduating college – Aaron to med school and Nicky off to play house in Germany – and trusting them not to disappear from his life. It was picking up the phone when they called – Aaron every other week, Nicky every other day – and listening when they talked, and answering at least some of their questions. It was a bi-weekly call with Bee and late-night drives when he woke up from what weren’t nightmares but memories.

Sometimes, progress was half a pack of cigarettes smoked on the hood of the mas in the middle of nowhere instead of driving it off a bridge.

Other times, progress was not crossing state lines when Aaron told him he’d gotten a roommate over the phone to ensure the guy was safe, was not a problem, was no danger to his brother.

He just took another drag of his cigarette, exhaled the smoke and let the silence drag on and on and on.

In vain. Aaron had stopped getting uncomfortable by his silences somewhere during their second year at Palmetto, which was also around the time he’d grown a spine.

Andrew was still torn about whether he liked that particular development. Certainly not all aspects of it.

He had to be the one to break his own silences, now.

“A roommate?” His voice was raspy from smoke and disuse. He didn’t need to talk during practice, and Kevin was able to carry a conversation all on his own.

Lucky him.

“Yeah. I told you I was searching for someone, the place was too expensive for me. Too big, too.”

He knew. He’d offered to pay for it, but Aaron had told him he’d figure it out.

His guess was it wasn’t the money that was the problem, not really. It was the change from a dorm room stuffed to the brim with Kevin’s obsession and Nicky’s babbling and Andrew’s silence to coming home to an empty apartment, half a state and half a world away from his family.

Not that they talked about it.

“His name’s Josten, I think,” Aaron continued, unprompted.

Andrew hummed around the cigarette. “You think?”

“I don’t know. He’s strange.” His tone was light, the words unbothered.

Still, Andrew paused. “Strange how?”

“Just like… weird. Cryptic. As if… I don’t know,” he repeated, still unbothered by the red flags his words were raising. “It’s not drugs or anything though. He’s alright. Just some guy. He’s doing a PhD in maths,” Aaron said, voice disgusted now. “He says it’s fun. That might be the weirdest thing. Nicky’s working theory is that he’s not fully human.”

Andrew hummed again, and listened as Aaron veered off topic and started ranting about a professor of his and the course work and the perils of the path he had chosen on his own free will.

He listened. Smoked.

Hung up the phone when Aaron said goodbye.

Did not get into his car and make the six-hour drive.

Progress.

He learned about the roommate in increments. Bits and pieces.

Josten. Neil.

Maths.

He ran. At five in the morning, like a crazy person.

He didn’t bring people over. No friends, no partners, no nothing.

No wonder, Aaron said once in a passing sentence, He’s a bit of an asshole.

He’d taken to calling Aaron Cupcake for reasons unknown, which warranted a half hour rant over facetime that started with Andrew, extended to Nicky and included even Erik and Kevin, in the end. 

Cupcake.

Andrew felt something inside his chest that Bee would’ve called amusement even weeks later, and wasn’t that something. Cupcake.

He wasn’t messy, Neil Josten. He dressed like a hobo. He cursed in at least three different languages, which meant he probably spoke at least five. Aaron was shit with languages.

It was months, of this. Small breadcrumbs. Puzzle pieces, never enough to put together a full picture.

It was no longer protectiveness that drove him to Boston, to Aaron. It was no longer Aaron, if he was being honest with himself.

It was... fascination, maybe. Something like that. Something that felt awfully like want, although that was of course impossible.

Neil Josten.

A runner.

An asshole.

A problem, maybe, after all.

And then they got kicked out of playoffs.

Kevin’s hissy fit started with the buzzer that signalled the end of their final game and didn’t end for a week. Performance this and motivation that and too little effort and too much of something else and would you look at that Andrew had stopped listening.

Kevin was still sulking when Andrew belatedly realized their season was over. No games. No team practice for a few weeks. There was an empty stretch of time before him, waiting to be filled.

Kevin threw another hissy fit when Andrew told him he wouldn’t be participating in the non-mandatory practice sessions he had planned for them, this one somehow even less mature than the last one. It ended only when Andrew told him he’d been thinking they should visit their families, and then only because Kevin got suspicious he was being delirious and forced him to go see their team nurse.

Andrew was perfectly healthy, ignored all advice about smoking less and reducing his ice cream intake and used his clean bill of health as a bargaining chip to convince Kevin to part ways with the court for the foreseeable future. Which worked, for some reason. Kevin was a mystery Andrew had long since lost interest in figuring out.

And off they were, Kevin to spend some much needed time with Wymack and Andrew… Andrew went to Boston. For a surprise visit and some brotherly bonding.

Maybe a little bit out of curiosity.

Aaron wasn’t home when he knocked on the door. Which was fair, because Andrew hadn’t told him he’d be coming. Didn’t mean he wasn’t still irrationally annoyed by it. Aaron should’ve known he was coming, twin telepathy and all.

He decided against picking the locks, drove the half mile from Aaron’s apartment to campus because he didn’t do cardio when he wasn’t being paid for it, got an overpriced concoction that was more sugar than coffee in some wannabe whimsical student café and sent Kevin a picture, because he was nothing if not a menace.

Suitably armed, he started meandering across campus. How hard could it be to track down one student among a student body of thousands, with no prior knowledge of where that particular student was and what he was doing?

Aaron. He was searching for Aaron, of course. Not Josten. Not-

He stopped in front of the maths department. By chance. Pure coincidence. He hadn’t known where the maths departments was – hadn’t seen a single one of the signs and maps plastered on the side of every other building – so this could only be fate, really. And now that he was here… he realized he had no idea what Josten actually looked like.

He probably wouldn’t coming running past, holding a maths book and spouting insults.

Funnily enough, Fortuna was looking down at Andrew with a smile that day. And getting a kick out of throwing him curveballs.

Because that was exactly what happened.

“Yo, Cupcake!” someone shouted across the lawn.

Andrew gave himself a few extra seconds of staring at the building in front of him in disbelief before he turned around.

And shit.

Neil Josten was not just a problem. Neil Josten was a carefully curated series of personalized attacks on Andrew specifically. He looked custom-made.

He looked like trouble.

He did come running. He was holding a maths book. If Andrew hadn’t been busy being gobsmacked and mentally tripping over every new detail he discovered about Josten, he would’ve maybe found that amusing.

As it was, though, he was fighting for survival. Hoping and praying that his face didn’t show whatever the hell was going on inside his head, which wasn’t something he’d ever had to worry about before.

Runner’s legs. Running shorts, barely reaching mid-thigh, which left too much thigh exposed for Andrew to keep functioning. A runner’s build, all lean muscle and barely a few inches taller than Andrew himself. Easy to reach, but he was getting ahead of himself.

The hair was a problem. The eyes even more so.

Then came the face and the scars and the lips, full and set into a straight line.

Andrew was not entirely sure he was breathing, by the time Neil Josten stopped a few feet in front of him. Josten was flushed from running but not panting.

Stamina, Andrew thought, followed by nice. There was a drop of sweat, running down the side of his neck.

Andrew swallowed. His throat felt parched.

He needed a church or something.

He put a metaphorical lid on the horny mess inside his head, abandoned the enticing sight of Josten’s sweat and focused on his face instead. Not much of a hardship.

Josten was watching him, expression flat until it suddenly wasn’t and his mouth quirked up into a smirk Andrew took personal offense at.

“You’re not Aaron,” Josten rasped – rasped – out, and Andrew was too old to be feeling like this. It felt like at least a few hours had passed since he’d turned around and laid eyes on Josten, but ten seconds was probably more likely.

And yet.

Josten had recognized him. Knew he wasn’t Aaron, when even Nicky still had trouble from time to time. When even Aaron sometimes got confused once spectacularly drunk.

“I’m not,” he said, and thanked Kevin’s Exy gods for keeping his voice even. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Josten tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. In consideration and amusement, Andrew realized, and felt like he maybe needed to sit down. His nails were digging into the paper cup in his hand. He was lucky his grip hadn’t exploded it yet.

Very lucky.

The curl of Josten’s mouth was downright obscene, slow and syrupy and entirely satisfied with the situation. His eyes never once left Andrew’s face, and he kind of wished they would, if just for a chance to breathe.

“Oh, don’t worry. I know just what to do,” Josten said, drawled, and shit.

He had an accent that Andrew had somehow previously missed. A British fucking accent.

Kill him. Kill him dead.

His feet carried him a step closer without him having told them to do that. He quirked an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Josten’s eyes were dancing as he half-turned, nodding at Andrew to follow. “Come and find out?”

Andrew would’ve followed Neil Josten straight through the gates of hell, at this point. It probably wouldn’t end well, but t least he’s have nice view.

 He fell in step beside the redhead, gaze unwavering.

What followed was the most bizarre experience of Andrew’s life, and he’d had his fair share of those.

It was either torture or flirting. Or he was being had.

Or all three.

Probably all three.

Neil Josten talked. About everything and nothing, and it wasn’t annoying, somehow. Maybe because his voice sounded like sex. Lazy, drawn-out, really good morning sex. Plus the posh British thing.

Plus the occasional flash of sharp canines.

Plus the circles burned into half his face, the cuts peeking out of his sleeves.

Andrew had zero idea what was going on. Even less where they were going. Josten might be leading him to some dark alley to kill him.

Then again, Andrew was at least 80 percent sure Josten knew he was armed. He’d caught the flash of his eyes down to his armbands.

Had also caught the amusement following that discovery.

He was so fucked.

He was fucked enough to engage, which almost a decade of therapy and exposure to Nicky had not managed to accomplish.

One-word answers were enough for Josten’s eyes to find him. A whole sentence got him a curious glint.

A question in return got him that grin, and he chased it like an addict his next hit.

They did end up in some side alley, but for neither murder nor blowjob reasons, sadly. Josten herded him into a weird shop, somehow without ever touching him.

The inside was a cluttered, dusty mess. Books and crystals and candles and weird constructions made of sticks and feathers hanging from the low ceiling. A cat was sleeping behind the cash register, and Andrew briefly wondered if it was the one running the business.

Then a woman crawled out or teleported from behind a stack of books higher than Andrew himself and shuffled over to them and well…

Andrew knew a witch when he saw one. It didn’t get more witch than that.

“How can I help you?” the witch growled.

“Exorcisms,” Josten said confidently, as if they weren’t about to be cursed or transformed into frogs or something. “I need help with one. Was wondering if you might have a book or something.”

The witch narrowed her eyes at him. The cat lifted her head and did the same, which was just eerie. Very unnerving too, but Andrew pointedly did not hide behind Neil or the crystal ball next to him. He was armed. People were usually afraid of him. He could bench every living thing in this shop and then some at once.

Also, maybe this was some sort of weird foreplay. He did need to not look like an uncool loser in front of Josten.

The witch averted her gaze long after the pause had become awkward and shuffled back to where she’d come from. “I’ve got just the thing, dearie,” she barked over her shoulder, and Josten pushed his hands in his pockets and followed her like the poor, unsuspecting about-to-be victim he was.

Andrew trailed after him. Less unsuspecting. More knives.

He did not need them, in the end. No spells were cast. No monsters appeared out of the shadows between the shelves to attack them.

Nobody’s surprise was greater than Andrew’s.

They left the shop with a bunch of black candles, chalk, and a  book that looked as if it were older than the constitution. Josten kept flickering through the pages while walking, but paused to throw him a quick grin. “I was waiting for a chance to go in there,” he said. “What do you think?”

Of the shop, the witch, or the cat, anyone’s guess was as good as Andrew’s. “The cat didn’t like us,” was what he settled on.

Josten barked out a laugh. “They don’t like anyone, do they? Distrustful little fuckers with knives.” Here his grin turned into something else. Something that liquefied Andrew’s insides. “Gotta love those.”

Andrew did not fall flat on his face, but it was a close thing. Josten skipped ahead, attention back on his book and entirely unaware of the fact that he’d rendered Andrew speechless.

He was being flirted with. Right?

This… this was flirting. Almost definitely.

Most likely.

“Most of these require blood,” Josten continued, frowning down at the pages while Andrew tried to wrangle his crashout under control. “I’m not hurting animals. How do you feel about human sacrifices?”

It took a few seconds for the question to register, then another few for him to come up with an answer. Josten didn’t hurry him, just waited for him to speak. “Depends on the human,” was what he finally settled on.

The answer was apparently interesting enough for Josten to lift his head and look at him again, which made Andrew want to preen. He kind of hated himself a little bit.

“What about murder?” Josten asked, and the words were weighted, important. Josten was still looking at him, his stare like chipped ice.

“Depends on the human,” Andrew repeated, pointedly flickering his eyes over Josten’s face.

They had stopped walking, at some point. Josten’s lips pulled into a smile, a different one than before. It was like the slash of a knife. Cutting, cruel. Final.

It didn’t make him any less beautiful.

“The people who did this to me…” he motioned at his face, “I killed them. All of them. I tore one’s throat out with my teeth.” He took a deep breath. The smile twitched but stayed in place. “It felt amazing. Watching them die.” Another pause, another breath. The blue of his eyes made his stare hard to hold and impossible to look away from. “What do you think about that?”

What was he supposed to think about that? “Good riddance,” he shrugged, and Josten’s grin dropped, made place for consideration, for searching.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before the smile from before made its return. Slower than his cutting grin. Filled with genuine happiness, and lighting up the rest of his face.

“Aren’t you interesting,” Josten whispered into the foot of air between them, and Andrew wanted to reach out and grab the back of his neck and pull him those few inches down and-

“C’mon,” Josten said, moving again. “Almost there.”

There was the apartment Andrew had started his journey at, the one his brother had been sharing with this enigma of too blue eyes and too red hair for months without ever telling Andrew. Intentionally and malevolently, he was sure of that.

One didn’t have a gay and perpetually bored twin brother and simply forgot to introduce him to Neil Josten.

Aaron was a fucking asshole. Andrew was already thinking about ways to make it up to him. He thought Josten might be pretty helpful on that front.

“Home sweet home,” Josten crooned and kicked the door shut behind them.

Andrew knew the place, had helped Aaron pick it out and move his shit. He hadn’t been here since then, but it wasn’t difficult to tell which parts were Josten and which his brother.

Running shoes, by the door.

Textbooks that weren’t medical and a laptop that wasn’t Aaron’s on the low coffee table.

A blender and protein powder, which Andrew knew Aaron wouldn’t be caught dead consuming in any way, shape or form.

The door to the second bedroom, closed because it no longer functioned as an office-slash-study-space-slash-unused gym.

Josten, sadly, did not lead him through that door for some epic or furious or tender lovemaking. Josten kicked off his shoes, dropped his stuff into the living room and proceeded into the kitchen, where be put the witch’s book on the counter and started flipping between a few pages.

“So,” he said, squinting at the book, then Andrew, then the book again. “What type are you?”

“Type,” Andrew repeated drily.

“Yeah, you know.” Josten waved his hands. “I’m guessing some kind of sex demon?”

Andrew blinked. Mentally went through the last few minutes of conversation, then even further back. Had he missed something?

“You think I’m... a sex demon?”

Josten nodded emphatically, apparently suddenly deaf to sarcasm. Andrew genuinely couldn’t tell how serious he was when he put his finger on a line in the book and suggested “Incubus?”

“No,” he said, incredulous, calculating whether Josten was hot enough to make up for the fact that he was apparently a nutcase or if he should walk out of the apartment now.

The answer to that was very clear. He did not move an inch.

“Succubus?” Josten suggested next, frowning down at the pages as if something there had personally offended him.

“Very much also no.” Andrew stepped closer and leaned on the counter next to Josten to throw a glance at that book himself. “Why do you think I’m a sex demon?”

“Well,” Josten started slowly, no longer looking at the book. His eyes were on Andrew now, on his crossed arms and his eyes and a bit lower. Andrew made sure to flex his biceps, and if he wasn’t entirely mistaken, Josten’s breath caught in the air between them. “This, for one,” he said, motioned between them and then pressing his hand against his own chest with an expression that was half disbelief and half curiosity. “And my reaction, for two.”

“Your reaction?” Andrew tilted his head in question. Now things were getting interesting.

“Yes.” Josten nodded, his grin quick and disarming before his expression became serious again. “You’re wearing Aaron’s face,” he explained gravely, “which shouldn’t do anything for me because Aaron doesn’t do anything for me. Nobody does anything for me. But you appear out of nowhere with your voice and your eyes and your arms and...” He exhaled a great lungful of air and then nodded as if any of that had made sense. “Yeah. That’s my point.” 

Maybe it did make sense. Andrew certainly wasn’t going to question why the hot ginger was attracted to him.

“So this book of yours...” Andrew tapped his finger on the cover, brushing not-so-accidentally against where Josten’s hand rested on the old leather. “Anything about sex magic in there? Sex rituals?” He leaned a little further into Josten’s space, just to see what happened, and could watch his pupils dilate. “I think one of those might really help. Fight fire with fire, isn’t that an idea?”

Josten swallowed. Audibly. He glanced down at the book for only a second before his eyes were back on Andrew, blue as before but even more intense now, somehow. Heavy. Darker.

“You know…” He let go of the book, put his hand on the counter next to Andrew’s elbow and leaned his weight on it in a way that shifted him even more into Andrew’s space. “I think I might have seen something along those lines in there.”

He didn’t mind the closeness, that’s what was most curious about the entire thing. Maybe because Josten still hadn’t touched him, still kept his hands to himself.

Andrew moved then, until he had Josten cornered against the counter with an arm on each side of his waist. His sleeves brushed against the loose fabric of Josten’s atrocious shirt. Two inches of height between them. Maybe three.

An easy bridge to gap.

“Have you, now.” He didn’t miss the amused lilt to his own voice. Neither did Neil, if the answering twitch of his mouth was any indication. Andrew was very focused on that mouth. “How about we test a few of those, then? See where it gets us?”

Josten was blushing. Red, delicious and furious, working its way from his face down his neck. Andrew wanted, needed to know how far it went.

Josten was blushing, and Josten was breathing hard already, and Josten was nodding and tilting forward as if his centre of gravity had suddenly shifted.

Andrew grabbed his throat, could intimately, viscerally feel the softness of his skin, the rabid beat of his heart, the way he didn’t stiffen but relaxed into his hold. Could see, from two or maybe three inch away, the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the way they were wet and hung open ever so slightly.

“Josten,” he growled into the nothing left between them. “Yes or no?”

The answer was both heard and felt, an exhale of “Yes” against Andrew’s skin. And after nearly two hours of waiting, Andrew finally did what his first instinct upon seeing Neil Josten had been – he smashed their lips together and kissed him as if it were the last thing he’d do.

Waking up was rather unpleasant compared to the way he’d fallen asleep – Josten less than a foot away on the bed, hands in the space between them with their fingers barely brushing, the ginger’s smile slow and sated and his hair still wet from their shower – but he’d woken up worse.

It wasn’t nightmares or anything, not a violent reaction to being touched or feeling another body next to his. It was simply his brother’s shrieking, forcing their voice up in ways it wasn’t supposed to go.

“Josten!” Aaron screeched, and Andrew’s own vocal cords hurt in sympathy. “What are you doing in my bed?!”

Josten slipped out from beneath the covers, rolled half out of bed and put his feet on the floor. Then Josten brushed his hands over his face and stretched, the muscles in his back moving in a way that was somehow purely erotic. That back was conveniently very naked, and conveniently less than two feet away from Andrew’s face.

He’s gotten intimately acquainted with that back, last night. Had seen those muscles ripple in entirely different, no less enticing ways.

Had found out how far Josten’s blush extended.

“Hey Aaron,” Josten rumbled, voice gravely and the novelty had not worn off, apparently, seeing as Andrew was about to get turned on from hearing the rasp in his voice. “You’re back.”

“I’m- Yeah I’m back, what the fuck are you-”

“Listen.” Josten raised a hand between them, the gesture lazy and sleepy and somehow enough to actually cut Aaron off. “The craziest thing happened yesterday. You were here, but like… possessed.” Aaron’s eyes glanced past Josten to settle on Andrew, and he didn’t need twin telepathy to understand his brother’s Is that idiot being for real?.

Josten didn’t notice, seemed to warm up to the topic. “And you were, like, way hotter than usual. You’re not hot, usually. But that sex demon or whatever was really doing it for me.”

Aaron was getting red. Not in a cute way. He looked like he were about to explode.

“And I clocked it immediately too, you know? Got expert help and did the whole exorcism stuff. Sex-exorcism. Sexorcism. No homo, though.” He corrected himself before Andrew could point out that no homo only worked for men who didn’t get their dicks sucked by other men. “Well, full homo, actually and apparently. But not for you. You’re doing nothing for me, full offense. That sex demon though…”

“Josten,” Aaron cut him off, teeth clenched so tight Andrew was impressed the words found their way through. “Shut up. Stop calling him a sex demon and turn the fuck around.”

Josten looked like he’d rather go back to sleep even from behind, but he was in Aaron’s room and Aaron’s bed and half naked, so he did turn around.

It took him only a second to realize he wasn’t alone in bed. Less for his lips to pull into a smile upon meeting Andrew’s eyes, the expression somehow softer with his sleep-mussed hair. “Hey,” he rasped. “You’re still here.”

Aaron had reached his limit. “You’re- You’re still here?! You can’t be fucking serious!”

Josten didn’t turn back around. Josten kept staring. “See what I mean, though? He’s objectively hotter than-”

“We’re identical!” Aaron screeched, then realized what had just come out of his mouth and tried to backtrack.

Josten was faster. “You’re fucking not,” he snorted. “You’re a two, on a good day. He’s a ten, easily.”

Aaron floundered for a moment, then seemed to realized this was a lost battle and changed tracks. “You fucked my brother!”

That went through the mess of curls and Josten’s thick skull. He frowned. “Brother?” he repeated. “You don’t have a brother.”

“You know damn well I have a brother. I talk about him all the time!”

“Aw,” Andrew said, sitting up to finally join what was quickly becoming a very pleasant conversation. “You talk about me?”

Aaron’s glare would have made lesser men tremble. “Wait your turn,” he hissed, pointing his finger at Andrew’s chest. “I’ll start yelling at you once I’m done with this son of a bitch.”

“That’s not really an insult to me,” Josten piped up. “You know, my father-”

“Shut up,” Aaron snapped. “Seriously, Josten. Stop distracting me. This-” he waved between the two of them, “happening is bad enough, but why did it have to happen in my bed?” His voice turned into a whine at the end, which was also something their voice should never do.

“Well,” Josten drawled, “I couldn’t very well do it in my own, could I?”

It took a few seconds, but realization settled on Aaron’s face. “Why? Because of your massive boner for-”

“Exy merch,” Josten turned to Andrew for explanation. “My room’s full of that stuff. I’m a big fan. Exy in general and this one player in particular. Andrew Minyard, best goalie since the game was invented. His stats are insane.” He blinked innocently. “Ever heard of him?”

Andrew wanted to shove his stupid pretty face into the wall. He needed a smoke. “I hate you,” he told Josten, whose smile only widened.

“I love that for us,” he said, and then slid off the bed and past Aaron before the man had the sense to grab him. “Anyway, I’m going for a run. Hope you’re still here when I’m back! Not you, Aaron, I cherish every second I don’t have to spend in your company.” He gave them a little wave over his shoulder and slipped out the door.

The room seemed empty in his absence, and boring.

“I wasn’t fucking done with him,” Aaron grumbled, before he remembered that it took two to tango. His glare settled on Andrew. Andrew really hoped his own glare was more impressive, because Aaron kind of looked like a wet cat.

Aaron grabbed a pillow and smacked Andrew in the face. “You!” he hissed. “I literally hate you! Was that fucking necessary?”

“Necessary?” Andrew pretended to think. “No.”

“I hate you. And him. Mostly him.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Why are you even here?”

Andrew got prevented from having to lie about wanting to spend time with his brother by Josten’s head appearing back in the doorway. “Before I forget, how was your date with Kailee?” Andrew sat up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

“Katelyn,” Aaron corrected, sounding defeated. “It went well. I spent the night.”

Josten nodded, curls bouncing every which way. “Good, that. Do you need me to give her a shovel talk or something? Should I break into her apartment to intimidate her?”

“You- What? No!”

“Suit yourself,” Josten shrugged. “I bought some magic candles for you. Best friends and all that jazz. They’re in the kitchen.”

“I saw. The fuck am I supposed to do with magic candles?”

Josten shrugged again. “You’re the doctor. Figure it out.”

“Doctors aren’t fucking magicians,” Aaron said, sounding incredulous. Which Andrew found fair, at this point. “Which you would know if you’d been to a single hospital once in your godsdamned life!”

“What can I say…” Josten rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, the skin there as scarred as the rest of him. “Never needed to.”

His head disappeared. His steps through the apartment were almost soundless.

“Don’t break into Katelyn’s apartment!” Aaron shouted after him.

“No promises!” Josten yelled back. The front door slammed shut. He was gone.

Andrew gave Aaron ten seconds of reprieve. “That’s your best friend?” he asked, the question holding no little amount of judgement.

“Jurry’s still out on that,” Aaron grumbled. “At least I’ve known him for a while. How long did you know him before all that happened?” he grimaced while motioned at the bed and Andrew and his face and his neck, probably covered in teeth marks. Josten was a biter. “Less than a day?”

“An hour, give or take,” Andrew answered easily. “Who’s Katelyn?”

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up,” Aaron grumbled, pulling his phone out. “I need to text her. Josten is totally going to break into her apartment.”

Andrew thought maybe this was what love felt like. “I’m going to put a ring on that,” he told himself or his brother or the empty apartment around them.

Aaron’s head whipped up. Then started moving from side to side, rapidly. “No. Fuck, no, c’mon! You can’t be serious!”

Andrew finally climbed out of bed. “Like cancer. I’m calling it now. Don’t tell Nicky.”

“Like fuck I’m not telling Nicky,” Aaron snorted. “You had sex in my bed. With that… that cockroach!”

Andrew made to leave the room. “You can use that in your best man speech.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to look at his Minyard shrine. See if he has any creepy stalker photos of me.”

Aaron made a sound that was weird enough to stop him in his tracks. “I wouldn’t go in there,” his brother said with a grimace. “I’m pretty sure he has the room booby-trapped. He’s oddly possessive.”

Andrew considered that. They hadn’t really gotten that deep yesterday, but oddly possessive sounded familiar. “Foster kid?” he guessed.

Aaron’s grimace got more intense. Uglier, too. “Not touching that. Maybe try to find that out before you propose though, hm?”

Andrew was very much planning on doing so. He would find out everything there was about Neil Josten, and then some.

And then he was going to put a ring on it.

He’d known, that Neil Josten would become a problem. Long-term, it seemed.