Work Text:
It started the way most things between them did: without explanation, without permission, and without either of them naming it for what it was. Touch was never supposed to matter this much. Not in Exy, not in their lives, not in the carefully controlled distance they both preferred.
And yet it did.
Each time Andrew’s hand found Neil, it left something behind, something quiet, something persistent, something Neil didn’t have a name for but always recognized when it returned.
Neil didn’t ask for it.
Andrew didn’t offer it.
But it kept happening anyway.
1. The first time was an accident.
Neil didn’t even notice it at first.
He was too focused on Kevin missing the same shot for the third time in a row, too aware of the way frustration tightened in his jaw, and too practiced at pretending he didn’t feel Andrew’s gaze burning into him from the far end of the court.
Practice had dragged on too long. The Foxes were exhausted, sweat-soaked, and irritable. The fluorescent lights above the court buzzed faintly, turning everything a little too bright, a little too sharp. Coach had already barked himself hoarse, and Neil’s shirt clung to his back like a second skin, heavy with heat and effort.
Andrew appeared beside him without warning, as if he had simply decided space was optional.
“Move.”
Neil moved immediately, stepping aside without question, without hesitation, instinctive in a way that still unsettled him sometimes.
Andrew reached past him for his water bottle.
His fingers brushed the inside of Neil’s wrist.
Barely there. A ghost of contact. Less than a second but it landed like something heavier, like a mark pressed into skin that refused to fade.
Neil looked down at his arm.
Then up.
Andrew was already looking at him.
Neither of them spoke.
The air between them felt briefly altered, as if something had shifted in a way no one else would ever notice but neither of them could ignore.
Andrew took the bottle and walked away as if nothing had happened.
Neil stayed still, staring after him longer than he meant to, aware of the strange heat lingering where Andrew had touched him.
“You’re staring,” Nicky said from somewhere behind him, far too amused, voice cutting through the noise of the court.
“I’m not.”
“You 100% are.”
Neil forced his attention back to the court, but it didn’t stick. His focus kept slipping, like his mind had been slightly knocked off balance and hadn’t quite righted itself yet.
Andrew was already looking at him again.
Neil decided, with reluctant clarity, that yeah… maybe he had been.
2. The second time was on purpose.
They were in the car.
Andrew drove because Kevin had threatened to walk home rather than endure another minute of Nicky’s commentary, and Nicky had, in turn, threatened a dramatic and deeply theatrical death if forced to listen to Kevin complain for the entire ride. Aaron had tried to mediate. It had not helped.
Neil sat in the passenger seat, hands loose in his lap, shoulders still carrying the residue of practice.
His knee kept bouncing.
Fast. Restless. Uncontrolled, like something inside him couldn’t settle.
Andrew reached over without warning.
Neil went still instantly, like a switch had been flipped.
Andrew’s hand closed around his knee, firm and unyielding, grounding him in place with quiet certainty.
“Stop.”
Neil blinked, caught off guard by the contact more than the command, the weight of Andrew’s hand more noticeable than the words.
“Stop what?”
“Bouncing.”
Neil looked down at Andrew’s hand like it had appeared from nowhere, like it didn’t belong there and yet somehow had always been there.
“Right.”
Andrew didn’t let go.
Neither did Neil move away.
The car hummed around them, tires steady against asphalt, the world outside blurred with motion and passing streetlights. The radio was low, something Nicky had insisted on that no one else was listening to.
After a moment, Neil said quietly, “You’re still holding me.”
“I know.”
“Oh.”
Andrew glanced at him briefly, eyes sharp and unreadable in the dim light of the car interior.
“You want me to let go?”
Neil considered it. Really considered it, the way he considered everything that mattered.
The answer came easier than he expected.
“No.”
Something subtle shifted in Andrew’s expression, so small it might have been imagined, like a crack in a wall that only existed if you were already looking for it.
His hand stayed where it was for the rest of the drive, steady and unchanging, as if it had always belonged there.
3. The third time was because Neil was bleeding.
“It’s nothing.”
Andrew looked at the blood tracking down Neil’s face like he was evaluating a problem that had already become annoying, something inefficient and unnecessary.
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I know.”
Andrew stepped closer and grabbed Neil’s chin, tilting his face up with abrupt precision that left no room for argument.
Neil went completely still.
The room was empty except for them, the silence stretching tight and expectant, thick enough to feel like pressure against skin.
Andrew wiped the blood away with his thumb, slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world and no interest in wasting it.
Neil watched him the entire time.
Andrew’s expression didn’t change, but his focus was absolute.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Lie.”
Neil paused, then exhaled through his nose.
“…A little.”
Andrew nodded once, as if that confirmed something he already suspected.
Then, without warning, his thumb brushed along Neil’s cheek, away from the cut, away from the injury, lingering just long enough to be unmistakable.
Just skin.
Warm. Careful. Unnecessary in a way that made it feel like something more than care.
Neil’s breath caught before he could stop it.
Andrew noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
His eyes sharpened slightly, attention narrowing.
“Problem?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Andrew let go.
The absence of his hand hit harder than the contact had, like something essential had been removed from the air. Neil hated that. Hated even more that Andrew probably knew exactly why.
4. The fourth time was in public.
It happened after a game.
The Foxes were loud, sweaty, electric with victory, already halfway to tearing the locker room apart in celebration. Someone had started chanting. Someone else had thrown a towel. The air smelled like adrenaline and victory and exhaustion.
Neil was trying to slip out unnoticed.
Andrew caught the back of his shirt.
A simple grip. Effortless control. No force needed beyond certainty.
Neil stopped immediately.
“What?”
“Stay.”
One word. No explanation. No room for argument. No softness in it, but no distance either.
So Neil stayed.
Around them, chaos continued.
Matt shouted something incomprehensible across the room.
Nicky laughed too loudly at his own joke, nearly collapsing into Kevin, who looked personally offended by the concept of joy.
Kevin complained about everything, as usual, as if victory was personally offensive and required correction.
Andrew stepped closer.
Then he placed a hand at the back of Neil’s neck.
Firm. Grounding. Possessive in a way neither of them acknowledged out loud, but both of them understood too well to pretend otherwise.
Neil’s heart stuttered.
Andrew looked at him for a long moment - long enough that everything else faded into background noise, like the world had politely stepped back.
“You did well.”
Neil blinked, caught off guard.
“You too.”
“I know.”
A faint, almost-smile tugged at Neil’s mouth before he could stop it, small and fleeting but real.
Andrew’s fingers tightened slightly, just enough to be felt, just enough to say he noticed.
No one else noticed.
Or if they did, they were smart enough not to comment.
Neil leaned into it, barely, instinctively, like his body had made the decision before his mind could object.
Andrew didn’t move away.
5. The fifth time was the hardest.
It was raining.
Not a light rain, either, but the kind that soaked through everything, heavy and persistent, turning the world into blurred edges and muted sound. The kind that made everything feel further away than it was.
Neil had never liked rain.
Rain meant roads. Roads meant distance. Distance meant memory. Memory meant things he didn’t always want to carry.
Andrew found him sitting outside the dorm, soaked through, staring at nothing in particular, water dripping from his hair and sleeves, unmoving.
He sat down beside him without a word.
The silence between them was familiar now. Comfortable in its own strange way, like something they had built without ever agreeing to build it.
Eventually, Andrew took off his jacket and draped it over Neil’s shoulders.
Neil looked down at it.
“You’re gonna get cold.”
“Don’t care.”
“You’ll get sick.”
“Don’t care.”
Neil pulled the jacket closer anyway, fingers curling into the fabric like it was something solid enough to hold onto.
It smelled like Andrew -clean, sharp, faintly familiar in a way that made something in Neil’s chest tighten uncomfortably, like a knot being pulled too tight.
That somehow made it worse.
“Andrew?”
“Hm.”
“Why do you do this?”
Andrew turned his head slightly to look at him, rain still falling around them, steady and unrelenting.
“Do what?”
“This.” Neil gestured vaguely, struggling to put it into words. “The jacket. Driving. Staying. Touching me.”
Andrew was quiet for a long moment, rain filling the space where words might have gone.
Then, simply: “You don’t like it?”
Neil answered immediately.
“I do.”
Andrew nodded once.
“Then shut up.”
A small laugh escaped Neil before he could stop it, soft, surprised, almost disbelieving, like he hadn’t expected it to exist.
Andrew looked at him like he was trying to understand the sound, like it was something new he hadn’t catalogued yet.
Neil looked back.
For once, neither of them moved away.
+1. The one time Neil touched Andrew first.
Andrew was asleep.
That alone was strange enough that Neil stood in the doorway for a long moment, just watching him.
No tension in his shoulders. No sharpness in his expression. No awareness of the world around him, no readiness to react, no distance held between himself and everything else.
Just Andrew.
Unarmed in a way Neil had never seen before, and might never see again.
Neil crossed the room quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb anything, careful in a way that felt almost foreign to him.
Andrew didn’t wake.
Neil hesitated.
He had spent months learning Andrew’s boundaries without ever being told them outright. Learning the difference between what Andrew tolerated and what he allowed. Learning that trust, for them, wasn’t something spoken, it was something built in silence, in repetition, in restraint.
Slow. Careful. Earned.
Neil reached out.
Touched Andrew’s hair.
Andrew’s eyes opened instantly.
Neil froze.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Andrew stared at him, fully awake now, focus immediate and absolute.
“What are you doing?”
Neil considered lying. It would have been easier, simpler, safer in a way.
Instead, he said, “Touching you.”
Andrew’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Why?”
“Because you do it to me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Neil swallowed, throat suddenly tight in a way he didn’t fully understand.
“Because I wanted to.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hostile, like something being measured.
Then Andrew looked at Neil’s hand.
Then at Neil himself.
“Again.”
Neil blinked.
“What?”
“Do it again.”
So Neil did.
His fingers moved carefully through Andrew’s hair, slower this time, more deliberate, as if testing something fragile that might break if handled wrong.
Andrew closed his eyes.
Neil exhaled softly, something like relief slipping out before he could stop it, like a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding had finally loosened.
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
Andrew opened one eye.
“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”
“I know.”
“And stop smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Neil didn’t stop.
Andrew closed his eyes again.
After a moment, his hand found Neil’s wrist.
He didn’t pull him away.
He just held on.
And Neil understood, suddenly and completely, that for Andrew this was not just contact.
It was trust.
A confession without words.
And for Neil, holding on in return, it was the same.