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Neil Josten had always been pretty good at pretending.
He could pass for a normal college student. He could act like parties didn’t make his skin crawl, like packed rooms didn’t set every instinct in his body on edge, like he actually knew what to do when someone shoved a drink into his hand and told him to loosen up.
Most of all, he could pretend he wasn’t constantly aware of Andrew Minyard.
Tonight, though, it was getting harder.
Eden’s Twilight was packed.
Music thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, bass so heavy it seemed to rattle the ribs of the building itself. Colored lights sliced through the crowd in restless waves- red, blue, violet- painting faces in shifting fragments that never stayed still long enough to recognize. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, sweat and perfume and spilled alcohol mixing into a thick, dizzying heat. Laughter and shouting bled together into one constant roar that made conversation feel like something distant and optional.
Neil stayed near the bar with his drink, watching his teammates get swallowed whole by the chaos.
They’d won that afternoon.
Matt had insisted they celebrate.
Neil had said yes because saying no would’ve raised questions he didn’t want to answer.
He hadn’t expected Andrew to show up.
Then again, Andrew had a habit of appearing wherever Neil least wanted him to be.
He was across the room now, leaning against the wall like he’d been carved into it and left there on purpose. One shoulder pressed to the paint, posture loose in a way that still somehow looked controlled. A drink sat in his hand, something dark and untouched, condensation sliding down the glass untouched by his fingers.
Their eyes met.
Neil looked away first.
He took another sip.
Bad idea.
He’d already had more than usual, and the alcohol was starting to soften the edges of everything. The noise wasn’t as sharp. The crowd didn’t feel quite as suffocating. Even his thoughts felt a little slower, like they were wading through water instead of running.
For a second, Neil almost understood why people liked this.
“Neil!”
Matt appeared at his side like a force of nature, too loud, too bright, too close.
“You’ve been standing here all night.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re always ‘fine.’” Matt grinned, unfazed, and held out a hand like it was the most obvious solution in the world. “Come dance.”
Neil stared at it like it was a trap.
“No.”
“Come on.”
“No.”
“Five minutes.”
“Matt.”
Matt didn’t even hesitate before grabbing his wrist.
“You’re celebrating whether you like it or not.”
Neil let out a quiet breath through his nose, but he didn’t fight hard enough to stop it. He let himself be pulled away from the bar, away from the safety of the wall, into the pulsing center of the room.
He wasn’t drunk.
Not really.
But he was definitely past the point where he should’ve stopped drinking.
The crowd closed in immediately.
Neil’s shoulders tensed on instinct.
Too many people.
Too much noise.
Too little space to breathe.
Heat pressed in from all sides, bodies brushing his arms and back as they moved. Someone laughed too close to his ear. Someone else bumped his shoulder hard enough to jolt him forward. The floor felt unstable under shifting weight, like it might tilt if he stopped paying attention.
He forced his attention onto the music instead, letting the rhythm try to anchor him. Matt stayed beside him, laughing as Neil awkwardly attempted to mimic the steps, clearly out of practice and out of place.
At first, Neil moved stiffly, like his body didn’t quite belong to him.
Then, slowly, something loosened.
Just a little.
Enough to stop overthinking every movement. Enough to stop scanning for exits every few seconds. Enough to forget, briefly, about Andrew.
For about thirty seconds.
Then Neil looked across the dance floor.
Andrew was watching him.
Neil’s stomach flipped hard enough to make his breath catch.
Andrew’s expression didn’t change. It never did. But his eyes stayed locked on Neil with an intensity that made the rest of the room feel distant, muted, irrelevant. Like the noise, the lights, the bodies, none of it mattered unless it touched Neil.
Like Neil was the only thing Andrew had decided to see.
Andrew had only put up with the party because Nicky wouldn’t shut up about it.
He’d put up with the music because leaving meant listening to Nicky complain for the next week. He’d put up with the crowd because Kevin had promised they’d leave in an hour. He’d put up with all of it.
What he wasn’t putting up with was Neil drinking too much.
Neil had started the night tense and carefully sober, like he was bracing for impact. Like he expected the night itself to turn on him if he let his guard down for even a second. Now his cheeks were flushed, his movements slightly delayed, his balance just a fraction off in a way most people wouldn’t notice unless they were already watching for it.
Andrew had been keeping track anyway.
Not because he cared.
That’s what he told himself.
Then Neil stumbled.
It was small. Barely anything, just a misstep, a half-second delay in catching his weight. But Andrew saw it immediately, the way Neil’s shoulder dipped and corrected too slowly.
He pushed off the wall.
Nicky noticed.
“Where are you going?”
“Getting Neil.”
Nicky blinked, startled. “You want me to—”
“No.”
Andrew was already moving.
He cut through the crowd with practiced efficiency, slipping between bodies like he belonged in the gaps they left behind. A shoulder here, a pivot there, no wasted motion. His eyes never left his target.
He reached the dance floor just as Neil caught himself on Matt’s shoulder, steadying himself with a small exhale.
Andrew grabbed Neil’s wrist.
Neil turned instantly.
“Drew.”
The nickname hit something sharp in Andrew’s chest, something he didn’t acknowledge even as it tightened his jaw.
“How much?”
Neil gave him a lazy, unfocused smile that didn’t quite land right, like it was assembled from memory instead of feeling.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I don’t know.”
Andrew’s gaze flicked to Matt.
Matt understood immediately, his expression sobering as the humor drained out of him.
“He had a few.”
Andrew’s eyes narrowed further. “How many?”
“Three? Maybe four.”
Andrew looked back at Neil.
The smile on Neil’s face faltered, like it had been pulled out from under him.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“Yes.”
Neil let out a slow breath, shoulders sagging slightly as the energy drained out of him in a visible wave. “I just wanted to have fun.”
“You can.”
Andrew’s eyes flicked toward the exit, already mapping the path through the crowd.
“Somewhere quieter.”
Neil hesitated, like the idea had to travel a long distance before it reached him through the haze.
Then he nodded.
Andrew didn’t drag him. Didn’t pull. Just kept hold of his wrist and stayed close enough that Neil wouldn’t get swallowed by the crowd again, his presence a steady line through the chaos.
They moved through the noise together.
Once they reached the hallway, the sound dropped away like a curtain falling. The music became a distant, dull pulse instead of something that vibrated through bone. The air was cooler here, less thick, carrying only faint echoes of bass through the walls.
Neil leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly like he was letting the room leave his lungs.
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
Andrew studied him.
“You need water.”
Neil cracked one eye open. “You always this bossy?”
“Yes.”
A faint, unsteady smile tugged at Neil’s mouth. “Didn’t notice.”
“You weren’t paying attention.”
Neil huffed a quiet laugh.
Andrew handed him a water bottle he’d taken from the bar without explanation.
Neil drank like he’d just realized how dry his throat was, swallowing in long, unsteady pulls.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Neil said quietly, “You were watching me.”
Andrew didn’t answer.
Neil looked at him properly now, more focused than before, though still softened at the edges.
“You were.”
“You’re hard to miss.”
Neil let out a soft laugh that wavered slightly at the edges. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one you’re getting.”
Neil lowered his gaze to the bottle in his hands.
“I thought you hated parties.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Nicky.”
Neil nodded slowly. “Right.”
A pause stretched between them, quieter than the music had been but heavier in its own way.
“And me?”
Andrew looked at him.
“What about you?”
“Did you come because I was here?”
Andrew didn’t answer immediately. The silence wasn’t hesitation so much as calculation, measuring what mattered, what didn’t, and what could be said without turning into something else.
Then:
“No.”
Neil’s expression shifted, subtle, but real. Something like disappointment flickered across his face before he could hide it.
Andrew noticed.
He sighed, almost imperceptibly.
“Not at first.”
Neil looked up again.
“But I stayed.”
Something warm and unfamiliar settled in Neil’s chest, quiet but steady, like a weight that wasn’t trying to drag him down.
He smiled.
“Okay.”
Andrew took the bottle from him when Neil’s grip loosened slightly, watching his fingers carefully as he did.
“You’re done drinking.”
Neil frowned. “Probably.”
“Definitely.”
Neil leaned his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded.
“I don’t wanna go home yet.”
“We’re not going home.”
Neil looked at him. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere you can sit.”
Andrew held out his hand.
Neil stared at it for a long moment, like he was weighing something he didn’t have words for, something quieter than thought, heavier than instinct.
Then he took it.
They ended up outside behind the club, where the air was cooler and cleaner, and the music was reduced to a distant, muffled heartbeat through brick and glass. The night air carried the faint smell of asphalt and distant rain, cutting through the lingering heat of the crowd.
Neil sat on a low concrete wall, shoulders finally dropping as tension bled out of him in slow waves. His head tilted slightly back, as if he could let the sky steady him.
Andrew stood beside him, still and watchful, a quiet anchor in the open space.
The quiet felt almost unreal after the noise inside.
After a while, Neil spoke.
“I wanted to forget.”
Andrew looked at him.
“Forget what?”
“Everything.”
Neil stared down at the ground, fingers tightening slightly around nothing, like he was trying to hold onto something that wasn’t there.
“The past. The future. Just… everything for a while.”
Andrew didn’t tell him that wasn’t how it worked.
He already knew that.
Instead, he said, “You don’t have to explain.”
Neil glanced up at him, searching.
“You’re not gonna ask?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll tell me when you want to.”
Neil’s throat tightened, emotion catching there unexpectedly, sharp and unguarded.
That was just how Andrew was.
No pressure. No performances. No false comfort dressed up as promises.
Just certainty.
Neil looked down at their hands.
At some point, Andrew had taken his hand again without comment, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Neither of them had acknowledged it.
Neil’s fingers tightened around his.
“Thanks.”
Andrew glanced at him. “For what?”
“For coming after me.”
“I came because you were drunk.”
Neil smiled faintly, knowing it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure.”
“I did.”
“I believe you.”
Andrew gave him a flat look that said he didn’t care whether Neil believed him or not, as long as Neil was still here and still steady.
Neil let out a quiet laugh under his breath.
Then his expression softened, honesty slipping out more easily than usual.
“I like being around you.”
Andrew didn’t look away.
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
Neil went quiet again.
The alcohol made him braver, but not reckless enough to ignore the weight of what he was feeling.
He looked at Andrew.
“I think I like you.”
The words landed between them like something fragile and dangerous, something that could break if either of them moved too fast.
Neil immediately looked away.
“Forget I said that.”
“No.”
Neil snapped his head back up.
Andrew stepped closer, just enough to close the space without crowding him, careful in a way that didn’t look careful at all.
“You don’t get to say that and then take it back.”
Neil swallowed hard. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing.”
Andrew’s voice dropped slightly.
“You’re drunk.”
Neil nodded once. “Okay.”
“So we’re not doing anything about it tonight.”
Neil exhaled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders in a slow release. “Okay.”
Andrew squeezed his hand once, firm, grounding, unmistakably real.
“But tomorrow?”
Neil looked at him again.
Andrew’s expression didn’t change.
“Tomorrow, if you still mean it, you can say it again.”
Neil’s mouth curved into something small but real, something that didn’t wobble at the edges.
“I will.”
Andrew nodded once.
“Good.”
They stayed out there until Neil could stand without swaying, until the world inside him stopped spinning quite so much, until the night felt like something he could carry instead of something that might swallow him.
There was no kiss.
Not tonight.
But when they finally left, Andrew didn’t let go of Neil’s hand.
And Neil didn’t let go either.