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Neil found out, a few years too late, that lying could actually be kind of fun.
That was a problem.
It started small.
They were at a restaurant in a city where nobody knew them, waiting for a table. The air smelled like citrus cleaner and fried food, and the hostess smiled with practiced warmth as she looked between them. Somewhere behind her, dishes clinked steadily and a ticket printer chirped like an annoyed insect.
“Anniversary?” she asked.
Neil looked at Andrew. Andrew looked back at him, expression unreadable in the way that usually meant he was already tired, already calculating how much effort this would take.
“No,” Andrew said.
Neil nodded like he was thinking it over more seriously than it deserved. His gaze flicked back to the hostess, then to Andrew again, like he was updating a fact in real time.
“This is my husband.”
Andrew didn’t react. Not a blink, not a shift. Just standing there with his hands in his pockets, relaxed in a way that suggested he was conserving energy.
“We’re not married,” he said flatly.
“Not yet,” Neil added.
The hostess smiled wider, clearly deciding this was harmless. Her pen hovered over the reservation book, then relaxed when she realized there was nothing complicated to write down.
Andrew stared at Neil. Neil stared back, calm and almost innocent, like he hadn’t just rewritten their entire relationship in two sentences.
“Congratulations,” the hostess said.
“Thank you,” Neil replied right away.
Andrew kicked him under the table. Not hard, more like a warning. Neil didn’t even flinch. He just sat there like nothing had happened.
That should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
A week later, a stranger in a coffee shop asked what they did for work. The place was loud with grinding beans and low conversation, sunlight cutting across the counter in pale stripes that made dust show up in the air. The smell of espresso was sharp enough to sting.
Andrew opened his mouth.
“Andrew is a professional ballroom dancer,” Neil said first.
Andrew slowly lowered his coffee. It stopped halfway to the table, like he was reconsidering gravity.
The stranger’s eyebrows went up. “Really?”
“He is very good,” Neil added, like it was just a fact. His tone was steady, almost instructional.
“Neil.”
“He has won several competitions.”
“I have never danced,” Andrew said evenly.
Neil thought about that for a second, head tilting slightly like he was adjusting a mental list.
“Not professionally,” he corrected.
Andrew stared at him for a long beat. The kind of silence that usually meant he was deciding whether something was worth stopping, or whether it could just be endured.
The stranger laughed, assuming it was a joke. Neil looked quietly pleased, like he’d run an experiment and liked the result.
That was when Andrew got it.
Neil was enjoying it.
Not the lies themselves. He didn’t seem attached to the content at all. It was the reaction. The pause when people believed him. The flicker when they didn’t. The way he could build a whole life in three sentences without changing his expression, like identity was something flexible and temporary.
It was, Andrew realized, the closest thing Neil had to a hobby that involved lying and not running away.
So Andrew let him. Mostly.
“You’re a violinist,” Neil told a woman at the next table during another dinner, like he was continuing a conversation that had never happened. The restaurant was quieter this time, low lighting, soft clink of cutlery.
Andrew looked up slowly.
“I’m not.”
“She doesn’t know that,” Neil said, completely calm.
“I think she can see my hands.”
“You’re very talented,” Neil told the woman, ignoring him.
“I’ve never touched a violin,” Andrew said.
Neil shrugged a little. “Natural ability.”
The woman laughed, more amused than suspicious, looking between them like she’d been let in on a private joke. Andrew’s mouth twitched before he could stop it. Neil noticed right away.
That was worse.
After that, Andrew started joining in.
A cashier asked where they were from while scanning items, the beeping steady and indifferent. The store smelled like plastic bags and overripe fruit.
“Russia,” Neil said.
“Canada,” Andrew said at the same time.
They both paused.
Neil added, “We moved.”
Andrew nodded. “Frequently.”
The cashier laughed, already moving on.
Neil continued, dead serious, “Our parents are spies.”
Andrew added, “Our father is dead.”
Neil paused.
“That’s not true,” he said.
“I know,” Andrew replied.
The cashier was staring now, smile stuck in place, like they weren’t sure whether to keep going or call someone.
Andrew took the receipt.
“Have a nice day,” he said politely.
Neil followed him outside. The air was colder, sharper, smelling faintly like exhaust and rain that hadn’t started yet.
“You’re getting better,” Neil said.
“At what?” Andrew asked.
“Lying.”
Andrew glanced at him.
“You’re getting worse.”
Neil smiled a little, like that wasn’t an insult, just an observation he already agreed with.
It turned into a game.
No one ever set rules.
Neil would start. Andrew would correct him, escalate, or add something so ridiculous Neil had to adjust without breaking stride.
“This is my husband,” Neil would say.
“We’re divorced,” Andrew would respond.
“Again?” Neil would ask, like it was a scheduling issue.
“Third time,” Andrew would say.
“We’ve reconciled,” Neil would add.
“For tax purposes,” Andrew would finish.
A pause, like the world was waiting to see if anyone would question it.
“Do you have children?” someone would ask.
“No,” Neil would say.
“Seven,” Andrew would add.
“They’re very small,” Neil continued.
“They’re eighty years old,” Andrew finished.
The stranger would blink, trying to make it make sense.
Neil would nod seriously. “Family curse.”
Andrew would have to look away, because if he didn’t, he’d start laughing, and that felt unfamiliar in a way he didn’t fully trust yet.
The Foxes found out by accident.
They were all at dinner when Kevin, without looking up, asked what Andrew had been doing that afternoon. The room was loud, overlapping conversations, forks clinking.
“Watching Neil tell a woman he’s an undercover pastry chef,” Andrew said.
Kevin frowned. “An undercover what?”
Neil took a slow sip of water, perfectly composed, like he’d been expecting the question.
“Pastry chef,” he said.
“You’re not a pastry chef,” Kevin said, narrowing his eyes.
“No,” Neil agreed.
“You don’t know how to bake.”
“I know,” Neil said.
Kevin looked at Andrew. “Why didn’t you stop him?”
Andrew shrugged.
“He was having fun.”
Kevin looked genuinely alarmed.
“Neil having fun?”
Nicky leaned forward, immediately interested. “What did he tell her?”
Neil thought about it like he was picking from a list.
“That I trained in Paris,” he said.
“You’ve never been to Paris,” Kevin said.
“I have now,” Neil replied.
Matt started laughing, shoulders shaking.
Aaron looked confused. “Wait. You’re doing this on purpose?”
Andrew nodded.
Dan stared at them. “You’re just making up lies together?”
“Yes,” Neil said.
Andrew added, “Badly.”
Neil looked mildly offended.
“You’re the one who said we have seven eighty-year-old children.”
“They believed me,” Andrew said.
“That doesn’t make it good,” Neil replied.
“It made you laugh,” Andrew said.
Neil went quiet.
The whole table went quiet with him.
Nicky pointed at Andrew. “You’re enjoying this.”
“No,” Andrew said immediately.
“You’re smiling,” Nicky said.
“No.”
“You are literally smiling.”
Andrew tried to fix his face like he could erase it on purpose.
“I hate all of you,” he said.
Neil looked at him for a long moment, then smiled on purpose.
“See?” he said.
Andrew kicked him under the table. Neil kicked back right away, like it was part of the conversation.
Kevin stared at them like they were both a problem he didn’t have a solution for.
“You’re both insane,” he said.
“Probably,” Neil agreed.
Andrew took another drink, calm again.
“Definitely,” he corrected.
Neil discovers that, now that lying is no longer necessary for survival, it can actually be fun.
Unfortunately for everyone around him, Neil is very good at it.
Andrew is even better at making it worse.
It starts with harmless lies to strangers. Soon, Neil and Andrew discover that they are alarmingly good at improvising increasingly ridiculous stories together.
The Foxes are horrified.
Neil is having the time of his life