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Neil's twitching leg had jostled Andrew's knee for the third time before the Palmetto goalie placed his hand on his boyfriend's thigh and pointedly pressed down. Twitchy as a rabbit, Neil's eyes flicked to Andrew's in surprise before he stilled his tapping foot under the table and gave a slight wince of his eyes in apology. He'd been like this all morning. Vibrating in place. Like he was full of pregame adrenaline, though they didn't have another game for two weeks.
Temporarily stilled under Andrew's hand, Neil resumed scanning the library book open in front of him. The notebook open at his elbow was filled with more fox paw doodles than actual notes. After a few more minutes, he rolled his shoulder. A pause. He scrunched his nose and one eye, stretching the pale scarring across his burned cheek. He gnawed the end of his pencil, his free hand curled protectively around his middle.
"There's a storm coming." Andrew closed this lid of his laptop.
"Huh?" Neil glanced up, the picture of confusion.
Andrew's expression was as neutral as ever, but the tension behind his eyes was palpable. "How much pain are you in?"
"I-" Andrew's fingers pressed firmly into the meat of Neil's thigh before he could repeat the old lie that still came to him automatically. I'm fine. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a brief catalogue of his body. His skin felt tight and itchy. A dull but persistent throb radiated from his shoulder, like something had been pressing against it all morning— not the intense searing heat of a steam iron, but the memory of it, reaching forward through the years to grasp at him still. His arm tightened around his stomach and the old scars there tingled like a thousand small pin pricks.
"Right, come on," Andrew slid his laptop and Neil's books into his bag. "Before the thunder starts."
"How do you know it's going to thunder?" Neil frowned up at his boyfriend as Andrew stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder and offering Neil his hand. Neil took it, trying not to grimace when he rose from his chair. Now that he'd turned into it, every old injury seemed to be making itself known throughout his body.
Andrew's answer didn't come until they were walking across the lawn to the car park under a veil of grey drizzle. "You're always like this before a storm."
"Like what?" Neil didn't mean to so sound defensive, but his wits were failing him today. If the mafia wanted to take him out without any trouble, apparently all they needed to do was wait for a rainy day. He clambered stiffly into the front passenger seat of the car under Andrew's analytical gaze.
"You're hurting. I'm taking you home." Andrew started the engine and pulled smoothly out of the lot. "You're having a hot shower, some of those pain meds Abby gave you, and then you're going to bed."
"What?" That all sounded kind of fantastic, but Neil was nothing if not predictable in his aversion to self care. "The hell I am. We're meeting Kevin at the court in an hour. We've got to go over those drills—"
"No drills." Andrew's voice was calm, but left no room for argument. "Meds. Shower. Rest."
Less than an hour later, the skies opened to the wrath of unseen gods. Thunder rattled buildings and lightning slashed knife-like across dark clouds.
Neil lay curled on his side, watching the chaos unfold through his dorm room window. He trembled, despite the blankets piled over him. It wasn't from cold. Every boom of thunder reverberated through his skull like a punch. It sounded like the shouts of an angry, dangerous man. The muscles in Neil's legs ached, desperate for flight, but his scars sang out in paralysing agony. He took the pills Andrew handed him, regretting not taking them sooner.
He must've slept, but whether for five minutes or an hour, Neil wasn't sure. His eyes snapped open at another growling crash outside. The glow of a tealight flickered on his beside table. His lamp was off and the sky was still an overcast menacing grey. He wondered if the power had gone out. He lifted his head off his pillow to see a few other candles dotted about the room.
The sweet smell of hot chocolate greeted him as Andrew padded in with two steaming mugs. He placed them on the nightstand without comment, then climbed over Neil to burrow into the blankets.
When lightning next struck, the strong warm arm around Neil's waist stilled his shudder. Andrew lay behind him, the heat of his stomach and chest pressed firmly to Neil's back. His fingers stroked the scars under Neil's t shirt, feeling out the ridges and bumps with an ambling curiosity. Neil thought of the time he'd shoved Andrew's hand unceremoniously under his shirt during Exy practice. It hadn't occurred to him back then how intimate the touch had been. He'd thought the goalie was compliant for the rest of practice because he had been given a secret. A truth. Knowing Andrew like he did now, maybe he'd just been stunned with gay panic.
The next time Neil woke, he didn't see the sky had cleared. His face was buried in the base of Andrew's neck, their bodies a warm tangle of heavy limbs under the covers. A few of his scars still twinged, but the worst seemed to be over. He marvelled at how safe he felt. The storm had passed.