#neil isn’t allowed to drink vodka anymore

[swampthingking]

can’t study for my test because i’m having brain rot about neil accidentally getting super drunk and stumbling up to aaron like “andrew???” and aaron is like “wrong one” and neil is like “andrew.” and aaron is like “???? are you stupid” and neil goes to look for andrew but he stumbles into the table, and aaron has to catch him or he will get trampled for fucks sake, and neil just collapses into him in a drunk cuddly heap. and aaron is like “neil. you need to stand up” and neil is like “i am” and aaron is like “that’s because i’m holding you up” and they get neil to stand but neil kinda just flops into aaron’s arms again. and neil is like “i don’t hate you, i don’t, but it’s okay if you hate me” and aaron is like “ugh, ew are you really an emotional drunk???” and neil, to aaron’s horror, looks at him with tears in his eyes because you know when you’re too drunk and you kind of just get a little scared and you need help???? ya. and aaron is like … ok. and kinda holds neil until andrew comes back from the bar with more drinks. and he sees neil basically asleep on aaron’s shoulder, and aaron looking uncomfortable but accepting, so he kinda raises an eyebrow, an okay? and aaron nods and is just patting neil on his back

and tomorrow they’ll wake up and neil will toddle downstairs with his hand against his temple and aaron will have advil ready for him, and he’ll say “you’re annoying and you don’t know when to shut your mouth or mind your own business, but i don’t hate you” and the thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for staying goes unsaid but yeah

and that’s how aaron and neil became kind of friends

edit: vomited out a one shot for y’all (this will prob become a 5+1)

Aaron swirled his drink a few times, listening to the ice clacking against the glass.

Eden’s was packed tonight, courtesy of it being the end of the school year. College students and the regular patrons flocked to the bar, the dance floor, and all of the tables, leaving Aaron to reserve a high-top table, and his legs to dangle from the stool.

“Drew?”

Aaron ignored him in favor of the twinkling sound the ice makes in his glass. He’d already taken shots, danced, had another drink, danced again, and now Aaron’s body was heavy with alcohol and exhaustion.

“Drew,” Neil said again.

Aaron looked around their table and didn’t see Andrew. He remembered Andrew getting up and walking to the bar with their empty tray. Aaron found him a few seconds later, hands in his pockets at the bar. That and Neil, staring up at him, looking uneasy.

Before Aaron could tell Neil to get out of his face, Neil was speaking.

“Are you’nt having fun?” Neil frowned, blinking sleepy, hooded eyes at him. He leaned closer to study Aaron’s face.

“What are you doing?” Aaron grumbled, pushing Neil’s face away.

Aaron hadn’t even pushed him hard, he more removed Neil from his space rather than pushed him, but Neil wobbled like his world had tilted out of orbit. Aaron realized, quickly, that Neil was going to fall backwards. He grabbed two fistfuls of Neil’s shirt and pulled him forwards. Neil’s head lulled on his shoulders with the force, his chin hitting his chest then righting itself.

Aaron’s stomach lurched, sick with the thought that someone had put something in one of Neil’s drinks, as he would for anyone, but thankfully he’s never been put in that situation. Neil’s eyes were hooded, his face flushed. Aaron snapped once at Neil’s ear, and Neil recoiled immediately.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” Aaron asked. Neil shook his head, frowning.

“Are you dizzy? Follow my finger.” Aaron pushes Neil back so he can see his face, keeping one hand on Neil’s shoulder to hold him up. Neil follows Aaron’s finger as it moves back and forth, albeit a little labored, but not as if he’d been roofied. Aaron declares that Neil’s reaction times and responses are fine, but he still pulls the front of his shirt up and checks his belt, the button of his pants.

“What—?” Neil slapped a hand on his abdomen, stopping his shirt from being lifted any higher. Aaron didn’t need to see anything but his pants, but it was reassuring that Neil still had inhibitions.

His clothes were fine. His belt was still done, zipper up. No one had tried anything. Aaron relaxed.

“Sorry,” Aaron said. “Sorry, I just needed to…”

While racking his mind back to why Neil is this drunk, Aaron remembered Neil taking shots with Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin. Four shots. He’d seen Neil sip on another drink like the idiot had the tolerance for alcohol that the rest of them had.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Aaron said and released Neil. Neil attempted to step back, his hands raised in surrender.

“No?” Neil asked warily. Even drunk as fuck, he still respected boundaries. Andrew’s boundaries specifically, as it still hadn’t registered that he wasn’t talking to the right twin.

“I’m not Andrew,” Aaron said.

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked, turning his head pathetically in search. Aaron only had a good view of Andrew because they were seated at a high-top. Over the throng of taller people coupled with strobing lights, Neil’s view was obstructed.

“At the bar,” Aaron nodded in that direction.

Neil turned towards the bar. Well, he attempted to. He pivoted, lost his balance, and toppled into the table. He tried to right himself and started to fall to the other side. Aaron caught Neil before he could bust his shit and get trampled.

“Jesus Christ, Josten,” Aaron spat, righting Neil with hands on his biceps. Neil slapped a hand on the table and leaned his weight on it. The table quaked under such abuse, but held.

Neil turned slowly, grappling against the table as if he was standing in one of those spinning fair rides. In his excursion to simply spin 180°, his hand slipped off the edge of the table as he faced Aaron once again. He reached for the table, missed, reached for it again, missed, said, “Motherfucker,” under his breath, and finally gripped onto the edge. His eyes locked on Aaron’s again, and Neil’s useless hand landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Andrew,” Neil said. Aaron didn’t know if it was more a request or if it was just not registering.

“Wrong,” Aaron said, tense under Neil’s hand, but he didn’t push him off. He’d rather hold Neil up than peel him off the floor. “Aaron.”

“‘m very drunk,” Neil said, looking up pleadingly at Aaron as if he had a magical cure to shitfacedness, and all Neil had to do for it was look a little scared. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“I’m drunk.”

Aaron snorted. “That’s kind of the point when you’re at a bar.”

“But,” Neil said, taking a labored breath, “I’m…too drunk.”

This was beginning to feel exceedingly similar to speaking to a child. Aaron was annoyed, but not completely heartless, unlike the narrative of Aaron Neil had likely concocted. “It’s okay, Neil,” Aaron said. “You should sit down.”

Neil promptly sat as if there was a chair under him, but there was not. Aaron, still holding Neil vertical, got pulled out of his chair with the momentum. To avoid toppling to the ground—which did not get mopped as often as it should—Aaron planted his feet on the floor and hauled Neil up by his armpits.

“Help,” Neil murmured. His arms dropped to his sides as he yielded his dead weight to Aaron.

“Stand up,” Aaron grunted, readjusting to wrap an arm around Neil’s back. One of Neil’s arms flopped over Aaron’s shoulder.

“I am,” Neil complained.

“No, you are not.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Aaron said through clenched teeth, “I am holding you up. You need to lock your knees.”

“Oh,” Neil said. He looked at his feet as if he needed to check they were on the ground.

To be fair, Neil did lock his knees, but he also leaned all of his upper body on Aaron, arms still hanging limply at his sides. He tucked his head into Aaron’s neck with, what seemed, every intention to make a home there for the night.

“Neil,” Aaron said, frozen against the hair tickling his cheek. “God dammit.”

“And…ron,” Neil spoke against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Aaron said sarcastically. “That’s me.”

“Can I j’stay here?” Neil slurred.

From what Aaron had seen of Neil’s dynamic with his brother, he knew Neil would get off if he said no. He could place Neil into a stool or pull up a chair with a back so he wouldn’t fall out and concuss himself. He could shove Neil off and make him fend for himself. He could pawn him off to Andrew.

At the moment, those other options seemed like far too much work.

That, or maybe it was the med student in him, the intrinsic urge to heal and help and nurture that smarted at the thought of pushing Neil off.

Aaron didn’t push him off when Neil readjusted and tucked an arm into his chest, the other gripping Aaron for stability. He didn’t when Neil asked again, a quiet, “Aaron.”

“Okay,” Aaron conceded. He rubbed a hand up and down Neil’s back placatingly, but also because Neil seemed like he needed it. And he came to Aaron for it. Well, he came to Andrew and got Aaron. But he didn’t push Aaron off, and Aaron hasn’t done the same.

And they just…stood like that. For what seemed like a long time, but it probably was only a few minutes before Neil spoke again.

“Aaron,” Neil said.

Aaron hummed in response.

“I don’ hate you.”

“What?” Aaron asked. “What the fuck are you talking about, Neil?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?” Aaron said again.

“I don’wanna fight.” Neil lets out a colossal breath.

“We haven’t fought in a long time,” Aaron says, his idea of agreement. Acceptance.

Neil was quiet, because it was true. Neil seemed content to lay in Aaron’s arms, and Aaron didn’t have another stool next to him. He sure as shit wasn’t giving his up for Neil, but Neil was genuinely so unsteady on his feet that Aaron couldn’t let him go.

He trembled a bit, and Aaron was almost amused that after everything Neil had been through, being a little too drunk is what finally did it for him.

But Aaron had felt that way before. Inebriated and scared in a crowded room of strangers. Neil, however, has people he knows. How can Aaron be upset at Neil for wanting the comfort that he also craved? How can he be upset that Neil feels safe enough with Andrew to ask for help? That his brother finally feels safe with someone too?

“Aaron,” Neil said.

“What,” Aaron said.

“It’s okay if you hate me.”

“Oh God,” Aaron groaned, “Ew. Are you really an emotional drunk?”

Neil pulled back and, to Aaron’s horror, there were actual tears in his eyes. His lip trembled as he bit it, holding the tears in. Aaron hated how much of himself he was seeing in Neil tonight. The harrowing fact that maybe they are quite similar.

“Oh God,” Aaron said again, mortified. He grabbed the back of Neil’s head and shoved it back into his shoulder, effectively hiding Neil’s teary face.

He cast a desperate look to Andrew, who was finally on his way back to the table. He patted Neil on the shoulder, like one would burp a baby when they have no idea how to do so.

“Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t need prompting to look. His eyes were trained on Neil and Aaron from the moment he turned around. By the nonchalance of his movements and his lack of alarm, Aaron guessed he had been watching their interaction.

Andrew set the tray down on the table and cast a significant look between them, settling on Neil’s intoxicated form keeled over on Aaron’s shoulder.

Andrew raises one eyebrow, a silent question, an okay?

Aaron finds himself nodding, and unsure why. All he knows right now, a few drinks in, is that he doesn’t hate this. And he doesn’t hate that Neil doesn’t hate him.

-

The smell of coffee set Neil’s feet moving like a Pavlovian response. He was half awake already with a pounding headache, like his eyeballs were beating his closed lids to death.

Neil toddles down the stairs with his eyes closed, a hand pressed hard to his temple, stabilizing his brain.

Aaron was standing at the counter already, facing the sputtering coffee pot. His arms were crossed, hair ruffled from sleep. At the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned.

The memories from last night played past Neil’s mind like a sped-up movie. He grimaced in embarrassment, and felt a little sick at how drunk he was. How stupid he was, to drink that much. He should have known his tolerance isn’t matched with the rest of them. He could have gotten hurt, could have said something—

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Neil said, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He turned back to the coffee, though his posture was rigid.

Neil grabbed a glass of water. He noticed Aaron watching from the corner of his eye, but Neil chose to ignore him, figuring that’s best. He sat on the counter with his water, sipping it slowly while he and Aaron waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

The silence was thick, but they were both too stubborn to leave the kitchen. Usually, they preferred to wait and pretend the other wasn’t there.

That’s what Neil thought, at least. After a painful few minutes, Aaron huffed and grabbed the bottle of Advil from the drawer next to the sink. He shook two pills out and sat them next to Neil.

Neil stared at them until Aaron cast a pointed look at the pills, then physically gestured to them with raised brows. Neil took them while Aaron watched.

The coffee pot beeped. Aaron made a split second decision, grabbing two mugs and pouring coffee into them. He slid Neil’s across the counter. It sloshed over the side, but Aaron wasn’t capable of caring at the moment. His mind was busy, and he knew Neil had noticed his lack of eye contact; the analytical fuck.

“Look,” Aaron said. He did not look at Neil to say it. “You’re annoying, and you never know when to shut your mouth or mind your business. Most of the time, I’m convinced you have a death wish, and a lot of the time I find myself resenting you. You complicated our lives, put us all in danger, didn’t give a shit.”

Neil’s chest hurt. He didn’t know if it was anger or guilt. Aaron started talking again before he could figure it out.

“But I don’t hate you. I can’t, really. I can’t even fault you for the shitty things you did, because it all worked out.” Aaron glanced quickly at Neil, looked away. His cheeks were red.

The thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for being good to Andrew went unsaid, but Aaron hoped Neil wasn’t obtuse enough to force him to say it out loud.

Neil must have understood, because he nodded. Aaron figured that was as close to a reconciliation they were going to have, so he leaned against the counter and pretended everything was normal.

For the first time, they drank their coffee in silence without animosity orchestrating it.

Neil’s mug was half empty when Andrew joined them. He paused in the doorway, squinty eyed and mussed, looking between the two. Neil on the counter, Aaron leaning against it. Their silence, but lack of tension.

“This is weird,” Andrew finally said, his voice gravely from sleep.

“Yeah,” Neil and Aaron said simultaneously.

Neil glanced over his mug at Aaron, the corner of his mouth twitching. Aaron regarded it, but looked away, because something like contentment had made its way onto Andrew’s face.

Aaron smiled at that instead.

[adamslynches]

Happy Kevintines! 

Day 2: Friends.

Idk what this is, it’s pretty stupid so I hope y’all enjoy it!!! I just want him to be appreciated dammit.

Kevin Day never really had friends growing up

It’s hardly a secret, anyone who knew where he grew up didn’t blame him for the fact that he hadn’t had the chance to form close relationships with other kids

Of course, he probably had had friend when he was very young, still living with his mom, but those were distant memories now, coming to him in pieces every once in a while. A laugh, an old playground. The smell of his mom’s perfume. Nothing concrete, though.

The foxes were different- they never really wanted him there in the first place so when he finally becomes friends with them it’s fully organic.

Andrew first, of course. They’re not friends, not really, not at first at least. A business transaction, if anything. But after the Raven’s match happens and Neil is still around that transaction is pretty much null and void. Kevin hardly knows where he stands anymore. He wants to be friends with Andrew, he does- and Andrew isn’t being hostile to him, not any more than usual.

It starts out small. Andrew helps him with the referencing on one of his essays, Kevin covers for them when Andrew steals Neil away to wherever they go when they leave. It’s not much, but Kevin hasn’t ever had this before. Andrew stops him from drinking so much at Columbia, Kevin has less awful hangovers. Kevin finds ways to leave them alone in the dorm room more often- he knows that Neil and Andrew like to be alone. He’s not going to begrudge them that.

Neil, naturally, follows. They have a lot in common, it’s only fair that when they’re not arguing they get on pretty well. Unfortunately, they seem to argue most of the time. Neil doesn’t seem to know how else to be friends with anyone- understandable, Kevin supposed. Still, he tries.

Neil’s birthday rolls around, and he looks haunted. Andrew helps, obviously, but Kevin hates the useless feeling that he can’t seem to shift from his chest, so he grabs his court keys.

“Wanna run drills with me?”

Neil looks up at him, glances at his keys. Looks at Andrew, and then nods.

They run themselves ragged on court, but when they stop Neil’s eyes don’t look so dull anymore. Kevin grins, and Neil smiles back as they head to shower.

The next day, Kevin finds a pile of the expensive granola bars he likes in his drawer. Andrew meets his eyes for a second, and nods.

It feels like a victory.

Now that Kevin isn’t so scared anymore, doesn’t drown himself in vodka anymore, doesn’t push people away anymore, the rest of the foxes fall into place easily. Aaron used to just be a drinking buddy, racing Kevin to blackout whenever they got the chance, but Kevin finds out that Aaron is an incredibly good study partner, as is his girlfriend. They meet twice a week in the library when their schedule allows, and Kevin quizzes them while they proofread his essays. It’s nice.

Dan and Matt are easy- they bond over Exy, and Dan. Kevin doesn’t think that he’ll ever be best friends with them, but there’s nothing really wrong with that, is there? He never had the option of choosing his close friends before, and now he’s almost spoilt for choice. He and Dan run through plays together, argue playfully over the best ways to tackle the toughest teams, and they both come to terms with the fact that they both consider Wymack a father figure. Kevin had never had a real sibling before either but as far as sisters went, he supposed that Dan was a pretty good one.

Nicky loves to make friends, Kevin soon finds out. As soon as Kevin makes an effort- asking about Erik more often, complimenting Nicky’s better exy drills- Nicky throws himself into their friendship with the same enthusiasm that he does everything else. Kevin had thought that the monsters would fall apart without the common thread of their drinking nights, but even three months into Kevin’s sobriety Nicky drags him shopping with him often, Aaron studies with him, Neil and Andrew take him on their weekends away sometimes.

Kevin didn’t know why he had ever been worried- they were his friends.

When he comes out to Nicky, they both cry.

The upperclassmen graduate, and Kevin had always thought that he would be relieved- they hadn’t really liked him, or at least he had thought that they hadn’t. Still, they invite him to their graduation party, not a bottle of alcohol in sight. He almost apologises, but Renee quiets him with a gentle pat on the arm. The rest of them nod with her, and Kevin feels like crying all over again.

Kevin is graduating, and he’s terrified.

He shouldn’t be- his career is secure, he already has his pro-team picked out and the Moriyamas are satisfied. Everything had worked out the way he had wanted it to. Better, even.

Still, he hadn’t ever spared a thought to what he would be leaving behind.

His father hugs him when he walks off the stage, and he’s holding his diploma so tight he’s scared that he’ll damage it. Then, Wymack steps away, and Kevin is faced with what remains of the foxes, his foxes. Neil is grinning, and Matt doesn’t hesitate before hugging Kevin too, tight and warm, their scratchy matching gowns clinging to each other. Aaron looks proud, and Andrew looks- well. Andrew doesn’t look bored, and that’s something.

“We did it, man.”

Yeah, they really did.

He’s leaving the next day, he knows it. He needs to be across the country settling into his new apartment, his new team, his new life.

He doesn’t know how to live alone.

Andrew raises an eyebrow at him, and then crosses his arms. “Shouldn’t you be repacking and making another list to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything?”

“You can’t be nice, even on my last day here?”

Neil laughs from beside him. “Not a chance, Day. You’ll go soft otherwise.”

Kevin finds himself laughing.

The airport is packed the next day, but his foxes still go with him to wave them off. Wymack pats his back as he walks away, and as he boards the plane he forces himself not to think about it. Things would be different now, he was sure. Now that the monsters were without him, they’d become even more close knit. They wouldn’t need him anymore.

He had almost driven himself to a panic when his phone buzzes in his pocket, buzzes again.

He pulls it out, and unlocks it, before almost stopping dead in the aisle.

Neil Josten has created a groupchat.

Neil Josten has changed the groupchat name to Fuck you Kevin.

Members: Neil, Andrew, Aaron, Nicky, Kevin.

Kevin swallows hard. It probably won’t be used. Neil doesn’t even carry his phone most of the time.

Then, though, his phone buzzes again.

Andrew: Don’t overthink it, Day. You’re stuck with us.

Kevin huffs a laugh, types a response and sends it. Yeah, he is stuck with them he supposes.

He feels like the luckiest man in the world, with friends like these.

[ravenvsfox]

The much requested Rockband AU Chapter Two! (Coming soon to an AO3 near you)

The bleached hair doesn’t match his skin tone. His shirt is too big for his shoulders, and it slips to one side or the other so that he keeps having to tug the neckline up to his throat, but Andrew’s already seen the white raking down his shoulder, the scars worked into his skin like sequins and thread.

Neil reminds Andrew of the foster kids he used to live with, the hand-me-downs pulled over stunted identities, oversized cuffs dragging their feet down when they tried to run, bruises on wrists under oversized sleeves.

He can’t help the way his eyes keep skirting back to Neil, like he’s the only frequency in all the static of the crowd that’s coming through clearly.

He thought maybe if he was sober that the bubble trapped in his throat would burst, but it’s so much bigger now that he’s choking on it.

Neil is tossed back and forth with the rest of the crowd, but he stands out; there’s something in his eyes that makes them visible from the back of the stage. He glows like neon, white hair and white scars, glinting piercings in his nose and ears, stud flashing in his tongue.

Andrew throws himself at his drum-kit like it’s a punching bag, and the tempest of the crowd roars back at him. Kevin tries to skid sideways into a solo, but Andrew keeps playing, falling into a brand new tempo, a gallop that Kevin can’t keep up with. The sounds grate, sparks fly, and Andrew would be feeling it, if he were high, the discord would make him laugh and laugh.

It all sounds intentional, and Kevin’s sweating when he plays chunky chords and stinging vibrato, ad libbing his way back to the chorus. Andrew lets him do what he wants. It doesn’t feel worth it to sabotage their set. He can feel distraction setting in like winter.

When he’s at his lowest, sober and dried up, he feels sick, all stuffed up with no sense of taste. He can tell from the textures and the sense memory what the flavours are supposed to be, but he can’t feel anything.

The song ends in lyrics that Kevin yells more than sings, and Andrew smashes the cymbal a few times until it matches his heartbeat. The crowd erupts in applause, hollering so loudly that he can’t hear himself anymore. 

He looks back at Neil, like scratching an itch, and finds him grinning at the ceiling, caught up in the adrenaline and a high that Andrew can’t parse, booze or pills or euphoria.

Their eyes brush. Neil slicks his sweaty hair back with both hands and pops his tongue between his teeth, silver winking. Andrew just barely raises an eyebrow. He throws his drumsticks on the ground and they clatter between mic stands and cables as he leans forward to swipe the flask from Nicky's back pocket. He jolts, his guitar swinging away from his body when he rounds on him.

“Thought you were staying sober tonight?” he hisses.

“Changed my mind,” Andrew says, unscrewing the flask. Their fans are laughing, heckling affectionately, shouting their support when Andrew knocks back most of the whiskey.

His stomach is empty and so are his chest and his head, so when the first shot hits his stomach, his whole body burns. He holds the back of his hand to his mouth while he waits for a buzz to take. Nicky hands him his sticks back and wrestles the flask away.

“Someone thought now was a good time to pre-game,” Nicky says into the microphone. “The good news is,” he laughs, “there’s a bar on your left, and we’re all in this together.” He raises the flask and the crowd laughs and clinks glasses.

Andrew hits the snare angrily, and it makes a sound like a startled snake.

“Listen up,” Kevin says, more strict teacher than bassist in a rock band. The houselights are wound down to nothing, and his face is hollowed out by the crossbeams of blue spotlights. “We’re gonna play a song called ten times faster.”

“A song for all you lovers out there,” Nicky jokes.

“Not quite,” Aaron says, lazily retuning his guitar.

“More like, a song for when you’re tripping balls and you hit the fucking ceiling.”

“It’s about escaping,” Andrew corrects. He says it low, away from the microphone, but he could swear that Neil’s head snaps towards him; his gaze climbs up the stage and takes Andrew by the shoulders.

He says, ‘I know what you're after

we’ll do it in the dark, call it natural disaster’

you’re out for blood, I’ll draw it ten times faster

if my teeth are bared you can’t call it laughter

top floor, I’m too high for you to catch, uh

I’m running out so this is never gonna last, your

not catching up, ‘cause now I’m ten times faster

The whiskey is blood-hot on his tongue, but the lyrics burn hotter. He can’t touch them without recoiling. They were rotting inside of him before he wrote them down. The crowd tries to ingest ideas that they don’t understand, and their bodies spasm like they’re rejecting a transfusion.

Letting Aaron bow his head over his guitar and streak through the chords he wrote to accompany one of his breakdowns is one of the ugliest things Andrew has ever allowed to happen.

He thinks about putting the words in Neil’s mouth and it makes his fists clench around his sticks.

He kicks into overdrive until his wrists strain and sweat gets in his eyes, and then he hammers his way through the line up of drums, looking for a crash big enough to punch his eardrums out, to shriek with feedback and blow out the sound system.

The song screams to a close, fans clap and call for more, Kevin drinks vodka from a plastic tumbler, Nicky keeps curtseying to get the audience to laugh. Neil peers up at them with his shirt falling down all over again, grey fabric patched with humidity and spilled liquor.

Andrew thinks, bleak, flushed down to his wrists, I brought this on myself.

_______

Neil finds them when they’re hefting their equipment out from a backstage platform to the parking lot. It’s an assembly line of passing and loading that Andrew stays apart from, sitting sideways in the front seat of the van with his feet kicked up on the door, smoking from the clear, petite bong that Nicky usually keeps in his cupholder.

He meets Neil's eye for a second, then viciously ignores him, slipping the bowl out by its stem to clear the smoke. It’s too much for one hit, and it spills out of his mouth, fogs his vision, sits down on his chest so he can’t really focus on anything but the high.

Neil’s saying something to Nicky, hopping down out of the loading docks to help them.

“You were good,” Neil says, closer now, “without the drugs.” He has this pointed look on his face, those viciously blue eyes are street signs that Andrew can’t read.

He puts the bong down behind him, focusing hard, and when he looks up, whatever usually holds his tongue isn’t there anymore. “Ah, but I don’t want to be good, Neil,” he says, thin laughter like syrup drizzled over everything. “I want to see how badly I have to play to be kicked out of the band. It’s a game I play.”

“I don’t believe you,” Neil says, angry, defensive on Andrew’s behalf. “If you really wanted to, you’d pull one of those knives.” He nods at Andrew’s unassuming black armbands, heavy with concealed blades. “Trash the place.”

“Oh,” Andrew says. He doesn't want to laugh again, but the weed makes him overly conscious of the way his mouth works, and of Neil's mouth, and of what they are and aren’t to each other. “He thinks because he’s been watching for a minute that he knows who I am.”

“No.” Neil’s brow twists. “I’m trying to figure out why someone with your talent isn’t living up to your potential. You could play stadiums with that talent, I mean, your—the stage presence alone—Andrew?”

He hops out of the car and slams the door to overcompensate for the way he stumbles. The high softens his joints and the ground bucks up and tries to pull him close. “Hmm. Rather not.”

“That’s crazy,” Neil says, following him. His shoes are scuffed and his shirt is coming untucked and that tongue piercing, that red split of his mouth—

“Don’t really like that word,” Andrew says, feverish and unstable, his whole body a balancing act gone wrong. Neil’s starting to look like a smoky mirage, a fantasy who doesn’t know how to be one.

“I don’t care what you like,” Neil says, impatient, and Andrew tips his grin up to the dusky sky, on the edge of panic, feeling the drugs make everything huge, feeling himself get smaller.

“That’s what they all say.” He stops short, on the edge of the parking lot, cold air buffeting against the heat of the drugs, both trying to find purchase in his addled brain. Neil comes around to face him, and when Andrew steps forward, he steps back, maintaining the pocket of space between them. Something in Andrew’s chest gets crushed flat like a soda can. “For someone with no identity, you seem overly interested in mine.”

Neil’s face contorts. He’s so easy to read when he’s caught off guard. That, or the drugs make Andrew think he can see things that aren't there. “I’ve told you who I am.”

“No, no, no,” Andrew replies. “You’ve given me a first name, and a debt, and a conflicted childhood, but you don’t sound like you’ve meant a single word of it.”

“I can’t convince you of the truth if you don't want to believe it,” Neil retorts. His piercings are like scattered silverware. His lies curl so prettily in his mouth that Andrew thinks, I could suck you until there’s nothing left but honesty.

“I’m tired of this conversation,” Andrew says definitively. “You underestimate how many times I’ve been lied to.”

“Josten,” Neil says. Andrew cocks his head, sluggish. “Neil Abram Josten. I’m a singer. I don’t like you, or understand you. That’s all you need to know.”

“It’s mutual,” Andrew says, meaning it. He hates the way Neil looks and acts and the way the two never match up for long enough to create a clear picture. “Your obsession with performing is already grating.”

“Your indifference is infuriating,” Neil replies. “We’re even.”

“We’re not,” Andrew says. It’s dangerous, how much he’s starting to feel. All the colour he’s putting in his voice is sticky and saturated on the roof of his mouth. “You were floundering and I stopped you from drowning, remember?”

“Do you want me to say thank you?” Neil snarls, that fascinating, hair-trigger temper. He fists his hand in his own shirt and Andrew tracks the movement, off-centre, hazy, when Neil yanks the collar down to expose the vicious blue brushing from where Andrew hit him with the guitar. The scars slither into the window of exposed skin, and Neil seems to realize all at once what he’s doing. The shirt bounces back, wrinkled.

“If you think I needed to be saved from the back of a bar with my pockets full of cash, then you don’t really know what drowning looks like.”

Andrew grabs him by the scruff of his shirt, that grey slipping neckline that he’s been eyeing all night. He trips them both back a couple of steps, losing his balance, but Neil must think he’s being intimidated, because he grabs Andrew’s wrist hard. 

The tattooed word yes stares back at him from beneath the dramatic slope of Neil’s jaw. “Au contraire,” he says, and he’s smiling, but he can’t pry the seriousness from his tone, or his hands from Neil’s chest. “Everything I do is from underwater.”

“Then what exactly is it that you think you can do for me except slow me down?” Neil asks, forcing himself away from Andrew’s grip and stumbling into the patch of sidewalk right before the curb becomes open road.

“I gave you a spot in our line up, but that won’t keep you alive,” Andrew says. “I’ve heard there are people out for your blood. Or was that another lie?”

Neil ignores his last question, shoulders rising. “Are you threatening me?”

“So touchy,” Andrew teases. “I’m doing the opposite, actually. If you’re with us you’re with us. No one can touch you.”

Neil’s eyes flicker over him, brows pulling further and further together. “You’re offering—what? Protection? Before you even know what I’m dealing with?”

“Your monsters don’t scare me.”

“Yours do,” Neil huffs, looking out at the blinking, spinning, beeping cityscape. “But okay. Deal.” He can tell from Neil’s face that he’s not really taking him seriously.

“Hey! Stop running off!” Nicky calls, out of breath, jogging towards them from halfway across the parking lot. 

Andrew wasn’t even aware of covering that much ground. His fists go loose at his sides. He can’t tell if it’s the pot or Neil’s devastating presence that’s scrambling everything into pieces.

“But that’s his M.O.,” Andrew calls back, and Neil snaps him a burning look, the crack of a match, the miracle of a flame.

“Well cut it out,” Nicky says good-naturedly, rolling to a stop in front of them. “I wanted to hear what you thought of the show while the adrenaline’s still fresh.” He leans down to Neil’s level, hands on his knees like he’s talking to a child, and Andrew shoves him back without thinking.

“You guys are better than me,” Neil says frankly. “I don’t know how I’m going to fit into your sound.”

“Oh fuck off,” Nicky says, at a measured distance now. “You’re a natural, like Andrew. And you’re obsessed, like Kevin, so there’s no way you’re not going to fit in. Now please can we get in the van, I packed a new bowl and I’m jonesing.”

“Where are we going now?” Neil asks carefully. Andrew can see the way he’s chafing in the Annapolis air, like he’s having an allergic reaction.

“Home,” Nicky says. “South Carolina.”

Neil nods jerkily. Andrew squints through the fog of his high, and he can see for the first time that Neil’s pretty drunk, he’s just been holding it in the pocket of his cheek and talking through it.

“How long is that drive?”

“Not long if you’re wasted,” Nicky says, and the energy of his excitement tips against Neil like a flame and sets him going. Andrew watches Neil smile through bitten lips and accept the refilled flask. “If we get you drunk enough can we hear those golden pipes of yours again? No one ever does karaoke with me.”

He’s steering them back through the parking lot, encouraging Neil to drain the swampy mixed liquor he’s put together from the drinks fans bought him. He always has this way of getting you where he wants you without you knowing it was his idea.

Neil sways forward like he’s grooving to music, his cheeks pink from the cold and alcohol. “I’ve never done karaoke before,” he says.

“You’re killing me,” Nicky complains. “What sort of sheltered fucking town did you crawl out of?”

Neil hesitates, and Andrew’s filterless mouth curls. “Baltimore,” he guesses. “One of his big bad secrets.”

“Oh shit!” Nicky exclaims, shoving Neil a little by the shoulder. “Less than an hour from home. You know, I can talk to Kev and we can totally drop in—“

“No,” Neil says, quick and harsh as a pulled tooth. “That’s not my home.”

“You don’t have one of those, right?” Andrew says. Neil’s eyes flicker towards him.

“Right,” he agrees, all the fight sapped out of his voice. Andrew looks out at the sleek shape of his van, the fogged up windows, Aaron and Kevin haloed by the yellow interior lights. He doesn’t know why, but his chest is a kicked in drum.

“We’ll make you one,” Nicky says gently. “Did you know that SC is famous for its peach pie? Doesn’t get homier than that.”

_______

Nicky nurses his bong from the back seat of the van as soon as they get back on the road. The water bubbles, and he deftly lights close to the side of the bowl to keep the burn steady. 

Andrew slouches in the middle seat, watching the low light exaggerate Nicky’s hollow cheeks and tease moving pictures out of Neil’s mouth when he sucks on his tongue piercing.

“It’s still cherry,” Nicky says hoarsely, and passes to Neil, who crooks the base against his knee and leans down to smoke.

His ashy hair brushes his downcast eyes, and Andrew shakes his head so that he doesn’t keep watching him.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” Kevin calls from the passenger seat. When Andrew looks up, he’s twisted around in his seat to look at Neil, pupils too wide open to be natural.

“Forgive me if I don’t take advice from the man who choked me out today,” Neil says, smoke spilling out around his words. Andrew inhales.

“It’s not advice,” Kevin snaps. “It’s an order.”

Neil laughs, mean. “Nice try. I’ll follow your ‘orders’ when you prove you’re a worthy leader. Hasn’t happened yet.” He bows his head to take another hit.

“Andrew,” Kevin says imploringly.

“Uh uh,” Andrew scolds. “He said no.”

“No one takes this band seriously at all, do they?” Kevin says. He looks so perpetually disappointed. His talent is withering, and Andrew will only ever do enough to keep it alive, not to see it bloom.

“Ding ding ding,” Andrew says.

“Hey, I care, Kev,” Nicky says. “Ausreißer is like the second best thing in my life.”

“What—“ Neil starts.

“Don’t ask,” Aaron says, not looking away from the road.

“My fiancé Erik. 6’2” German supermodel. Swimmer’s body, blue eyes. You know my type.” Nicky winks at Neil, and Andrew’s lip curls.

“I didn’t know,” Neil says. His expression whispers that he’s even more uncomfortable with Nicky’s flirtation.

Nicky waves him off. “Fans don’t know much about us. Some don’t even know I’m related to the twins. Makes it easier to be kind of shitty if they don’t even really know our last names.”

“I suppose that’s not an option for you anymore, Josten,” Andrew says, loopy, the orange glow of the pot keeping him half distracted. Neil looks at him with those paint-spill eyes, and Andrew feels stupid for the way his feelings are talking over his thoughts.

“Good thing I have nothing to hide,” he replies.

“Oh, I hope that’s not true,” Nicky says.

“It’s not,” Andrew says. Headlights outside flash and fade over the three of them huddled in the back seats, crashing waves of bright white. 

Andrew wants to take Neil by the scars, like reins, and pull him up short. He wants the whirring behind Neil’s eyes to stop so he can take the tape out and unspool it.

“Can we talk music now?” Kevin says impatiently. “I want to figure out some backing vocals now that we have a lead.”

“Yes,” Neil says immediately. “What’s the plan?”

Andrew tunes them out. The air is still heavy with smoke. He’s not wearing a seatbelt, so the van is tossing him a little, his seat bucking, engine buzzing in his feet. 

He watches Neil drape himself over the back of the empty middle seat to look at Kevin, both of them talking about harmonies, using sound affects and hand gestures for time signatures, cocked towards each other like two loaded weapons caught in a stand off.

Andrew wonders what makes someone so obsessed and so detached at once.

He wonders if the flip and burn of his attraction to Neil made him do something stupid like tie himself to a runaway train.

The van cracks down the highway, and South Carolina charges towards them. He wonders if either of them will flinch before impact, or if he’ll hit home head-on like he always does.

________

They skid into Columbia before the sun’s all the way up, but it’s already steaming hot. Andrew squints at the familiar shape of the studio from the parking lot. It’s an obnoxious sunset orange building with graffiti around the side that says ‘no more monsters’. Underneath, someone’s spray-painted a rabid looking wolf in a circle with a bar through it.

Andrew waits to feel the roar and snap of anger, but his temple pulses with a headache, and he’s unmoved.

“Welcome to Palmetto Records, home of Ausreißer,” Nicky says, beaming. “And Foxes, if you’ve heard of them.”

“Foxes as in the girl group on the radio?” Neil asks incredulously. He looks a little grey and burnt out, hair raked back and shoes kicked off. He didn’t sleep all night, like he was proving a point about privacy, or he was insistent on keeping Andrew aware and preoccupied until sunrise.

“Their guitarist is Matt Boyd,” Kevin corrects.

“Nice dude,” Nicky says.

“But you sound nothing like them,” Neil says. “How can you even be part of the same label?”

“That’s not really how labels work,” Aaron says. He’s looking out through the windshield like he doesn’t want to go inside.

“We’re multi-genre,” Kevin says airily. “But we don’t really interact with them anyway.”

“He doesn’t,” Nicky says, rolling his eyes. “I like them. Dan’s kinda icy, but she’s a catch, Matt’s lucky. Allison’s a bitch. Renee’s definitely the best. Do what you will with that.” He rests his hand on the door handle and taps his fingers, jittery.

“Are they here a lot?” Neil asks. “Will I meet them?”

“You’re stalling,” Andrew interrupts.

Neil doesn’t even look at him, just sighs and reaches down for his bag.

It’s clear that he thinks this is the end of the road. The nebulous space in their lives between streetlights and chains of shared cigarettes could evaporate as soon as he crosses an official threshold.

Andrew can see the crease between his dark brows, his squared shoulders, the fingers pinching his belongings as if he’s getting ready to run with them.

Neil moves to open the door, and without thinking, Andrew says, “Wymack does not turn away talent.”

“He might turn it away if it’s attached to an idiot,” Aaron mutters.

Neil ignores him, and his mouth twitches in Andrew’s direction. “Talent? I thought you were difficult to ‘wow’?”

Andrew looks away. His head hurts.

“Come on, freaks,” Nicky says, pushing at Neil’s shoulder until he pulls the door open, dropping his shoes out on the pavement and stepping into them.

“Paperwork first, studio second,” Kevin says. “Don’t touch the equipment until you’ve read the contract.”

“This is all moot if your manager doesn’t want me,” Neil says, shouldering his bag and squinting against the pale morning sun.

“Whatever,” Nicky says. “We want you. Bad.”

“Don’t speak for me,” Aaron says.

“Debatable,” Kevin says.

Andrew says nothing.

They trudge towards the backdoor, and Andrew pushes past them to punch in the code. They push into the air-conditioned hallway, dark grey walls against pale flooring. 

He watches Neil react to the curve of the hall opening up into an orange and cream waiting room with leather couches, hallways forking in every direction, recording studios peering out from behind glass.

Neil’s eyes are wide, his shirt is still stained, tucked into jeans that are ripped up too high to be intentional, and his hair is fried, red bleeding into yellow. He looks the same way everyone looks when Wymack baits them into Palmetto, damaged and bribed, desperate for an out.

He also looks like he doesn’t trust the decor, like he felt safer in the claws of a crowd of strangers or the teeth of a hangover than he does in this quiet, tidy atrium, with four people between him and the exit.

“What did you drag in this time?”

Wymack stands sideways in the doorway with a hand on the wall, like he was passing by when he spotted them.

“We found a singer,” Nicky announces, grinning.

Wymack grimaces. “No.”

Nicky’s face falls. “Come on, boss.”

“We’re not making any more changes to the line up, Hemmick, no matter how much you want to bang them.”

“But Kevin worked out great! Kind of.”

A shadow passes over his face. “Kevin’s different.”

“This is Wymack,” Andrew tells Neil. “You are nothing to him until you’ve proven yourself to be useful.”

“You’re not nothing,” Wymack says sharply, addressing Neil directly. “I just don’t trust these fuckers as far as I can throw them.”

Neil’s eyes narrow. “Neither do I.” Wymack quirks a smile, doubtless picturing Neil trying to punt someone twice his size any distance at all.

“You should sign him,” Andrew says. Wymack steps further into the room, crossing his arms.

“You’re vouching for him? I don’t know if that should be a warning bell or a glowing review.”

Aaron snorts.

“He can sing,” Kevin chimes in. “He needs work, but I’m willing to put in the time if you are.”

Wymack raises a brow. “You’re all in on this? That’s new.”

“They’re desperate,” Neil says. “But I’m not. So if you’re going to interrogate me for much longer, I’ll go ahead and hitch a ride back to Virginia.”

“Oh he’s one of you, alright,” Wymack says tiredly. “You got a name?”

“Neil,” he says, swallowing. “Josten.”

“Neil Josten,” Wymack repeats. “You know what Ausreißer means?”

He shrugs, listing, “outlier. Runaway. Wild shot.”

“Right. Does that sound like a group that I have any control over?” he asks. His eyes are narrowed but his mouth is turned up, unthreatening.

“I think you think you do. You have their names written on some papers in a drawer somewhere, and you think that means you own them.” Neil’s expression is wild. He’s trying so hard to get out of a trap that he’s hurting himself.

“All I own is the nameplate for that office,” Wymack gestures behind him at a door that’s ajar halfway down the hall, “and the mini fridge in studio two. Sprung for it myself.”

“You’re the boss,” Neil says flatly.

“That’s what they call me,” Wymack agrees. “I open the door for people. They walk in or they don’t. Their call. Do you want in?”

“Depends. Does the door lock behind me?”

Wymack rolls his eyes. “You’re going to be a problem, aren’t you?”

“He already is,” Aaron says.

Wymack looks back and forth between them, vaguely amused. “Are you even legal, kid?”

Andrew watches Neil hesitate. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Well, come on in. Let’s get you someplace to sing.”

_______

Wymack leads them to the main recording studio, and as soon as they’re inside, Aaron drops his heavy backpack, and Nicky collapses into the wheeled leather chair in front of the control board.

“Alright.” Wymack jerks his thumb towards the live room. “Get in there. Sing me something pretty.”

“Can I make a request?” Nicky asks sweetly.

“No,” Neil says easily. He abandons his duffel and crosses the threshold towards the sealed off equipment, propped up microphones, and heaps of wires. “I know what I want to sing.”

He worries his tongue stud briefly, pulling the mic down to his level. He looks so washed out in the harsh overhead light, but it’s not bad on him. He’s too athletic and cocksure to look sick.

“Now?” Neil asks. his fist is clenched at the base of the microphone, and his gravity is clipped to that point.

“Unless you’re waiting for some sort of divine intervention,” Wymack says, “now would be good.”

Neil breathes in. Andrew doesn’t.

He starts singing one of Andrew’s songs, but he’s pitched it higher, trussed it up in that crystal clear tone he’s got, and thrown in candied pieces of ornamentation. 

Just like the first time, his shoulders relax, his neck arches, and the music wanders out of him like it’s looking for victims, like it’s stronger the more people it absorbs.

Andrew’s so gutted, so trapped, that he almost doesn’t realize that it’s the song they were playing when he first spotted Neil, when he was playing a character, drunk and lost, skulking around for things to steal.

They’re both completely sober now, and Neil is incredible when he’s glass-clear. His voice expands and expands, and he’s so close to the microphone that his lips whisper across it.

Andrew’s words aren’t ugly when Neil sings them. He makes his crumpled papers into airplanes. He sets the studio on fire. Andrew looks away, and it’s like pulling a hand off a stovetop and losing half his skin.

Wymack is easing back on the couch, smiling, and Nicky’s spinning laughing circles in his chair. Kevin’s gone perfectly still like he does when he’s reading Andrew’s lyrics for the first time. Aaron’s leaning all the way forward, head propped on his hand, focused.

When he turns back to watch Neil’s cracked face, heart pounding, he wonders how someone with such tough, impenetrable skin can sing like he’s being bled.

[nickireadstfc]

The Foxhole Court, Chapter 12 – Road Trip To Embarrass… Who Again?

In which the squad goes to a talk show, wake-up calls go wrong, Neil goes live on national television, shipping goes well, and I go nuts, just a little bit.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Foxhole Court.

Hey, remember two chapters ago when we were promised some prime Road Trip To Embarrass Kevin time? Well, guess what's fucking happening.

          Wymack warned them last night they’d have an early start today, but there was no way the Foxes could start the season without a small party. (…) The upperclassmen put away most of a bottle of vodka even without Neil and Renee helping them. At the time they all thought it would be worth it. After getting less than an hour of sleep, Neil wasn’t so sure.

Ahahaha, literally me at the time writing this.

6hr bus journey – on which you really need to work – at 9 in the morning? Better stay up till 4 drinking wine!!

Don’t be like me, kids.

Unimportant detail: They stop at a gas station for morning fast food, which I liked because I was literally reading this at a fast food gas station.

Here, Wymack attempts to wake everyone up, and I enjoy the return of my favourite running gag:

           “Hemmick! You were supposed to wake them up ten minutes ago!”

           “I don’t want to die,” Nicky said. (…)

          Wymack went all the way to the last row, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and threw it at Andrew. Judging by the resounding thud, Andrew woke up as violently as always.

Ahhh yes, nothing like a good ol’ bit of physical violence to greet the day <3

Although: That’s kind of smart, actually. Why did no one else ever think to just throw things at Andrew from a safe no-hit distance?

(Because Wymack is the best, that’s why.)

However apparently, Andrew isn’t the only one with weird sleeping habits:

           Wymack planted his shoe against whatever part of Kevin was closest and started pushing him.

           “Up,” he said over and over, getting louder each time until he was almost shouting. “Get your ass up and moving!”

What follows is an amazing description of a Kevin that just won’t wake up. Like, dude has to run laps down the bus and still almost falls asleep mid-run, putting new meaning into the term running gag.

Also, what level of #iconic and #relatable.

           Wymack smacked the back of his head to wake him up.

          “I hate you,” Kevin said.

           “Breaking news: I don’t care.”

BREAKING NEWS: I DON’T CARE. I have that on a shirt!! It’s part of my modern Grantaire cosplay and I love it to bits. Cue me actually squealing when that happened.

Today on A List of Plot Details That Will Come Back To Bite Me In The Ass At Some Point:

           Kevin dug Andrew’s medicine out of his pocket and handed the bottle over. He and Wymack watched as Andrew tipped a pill into his hand and swallowed it dry. (…)

          Odd, Neil thought, that Kevin would have Andrew’s medicine at all. Kevin had it at Sweetie’s, too.

He’s keeping his medicine for him? Why? The obvious answer would be ‘so he can make sure Andrew takes it’, but I feel like there’s more to it. And why Kevin? Surely Coach or Abby would be the more sensible and responsible candidates. Because they spend the most time together? This is all real shady, you guys.

They arrive at Kathy Ferdinand’s show, and this is where thing get interesting. She comes out to greet them – in the parking lot, might I add, which… the fuck? – and something else comes out as well: Actual traces of charm and positivity in Kevin ‘Stoic and Mighty, All Hail Unto Him’ Day.

           This smile was something else, this was Kevin’s public face. It was meant for interviewers and fans who were better off not knowing the arrogant, ruthless side of a world-class champion. Kevin looked every inch a perfect celebrity. Neil found it horribly disorienting.

And Nicki found it horribly hilarious. I can just imagine Kevin smiling warmly, stance relaxed, a charming eyecandy celeb to everyone, except when you get up real close you can see the actual violent murder in his eyes.

Wonderful.

And now it’s time for this chapter’s ~plot twist~ that ~absolutely no one saw coming~:

           “Did you talk to him?” Kathy asked Kevin.

           “I didn’t think we needed to talk about it,” Kevin said.

           “About what?” Neil asked.

           “I want you on my show this morning,” Kathy said.

Yes. Yes yes yes yes. Did someone say Road Trip To Embarrass Kevin? I feel like this turned into much more of a Road Trip To Embarrass Neil and I am loving it.

This is going to be good.

Also, what the hell is it with Kevin and not telling people about important things? “Oh, by the way we’re going halfway across the state to be on one of the highest-rated talk shows in the nation tomorrow, no biggie you guys”, “Oh, by the way, Neil you’re also going to be on said highest-rated talk show even though I know you’re hiding a shitpile of secrets the size of the Kilimanjaro, yeah no, no need to tell you beforehand you’ll be fine, see me give a shit”.

Neil, of course, has the freak-out of his life, and allows himself a tiny slip-up that will no doubt come back to kick his ass later:

           “It’s not your decision,” Neil said in venomous French. He didn’t realize what he’d done wrong until he felt Wymack’s piercing stare. Andrew’s lot knew Neil spoke French. Neil could explain it to the upperclassmen later and they wouldn’t think twice about it. But Wymack, like Andrew, had also heard Neil speak fluent German.

Oui oui, mon ami, tu as… ah, how you say… fucked up. #languageskillsoutforwymack

However, no Neil freak-out too big for Kevin ‘I Don’t Have Time For Your Teen Angst Bullshit’ Day:

            “You will do this today, or you and I are finished. I will wash my hands of you on the court and you can struggle your way through mediocrity alone. You can return your court keys to Coach when we get back to campus. You won’t need them anymore.”

           It was like getting punched in the chest. “That isn’t fair.”

           “Did you, or did you not promise me that you would try?”

Of course, we can’t say no to that. Love those lil daily doses of Kevin/Neil in between <3

(What’s their ship name? Keil? Nevin? I’m not loving either option.)

Why is he so set on having Neil on that show, though? Just to get him used to being in the public eye because he promises him such a bright future in Exy and knows this is an important part of it? Or is there more to it? Am I reading too much into things again? I’m intrigued.

Ah, I’m sorry, did I say little doses of Kevin/Neil? THINK AGAIN.

           Neil closed his eyes. “Why did you tell the ERC I would make Court?”

           “Because when you stop being impossible and do what I tell you, you will.”

           Andrew hadn’t lied. The articles hadn’t lied. Despite Kevin’s angry words and rude impatience, Kevin believed in Neil’s potential. Kevin wanted to train Neil. He wanted to play with Neil, and he wanted to shape Neil into the star he’d once been. Kevin would never forgive Neil for vanishing on him without warning this fall, and Neil hated that. As complicated as Neil’s obsession with Kevin was, one truth was undeniable: He didn’t want Kevin to hate him.

Hello everyone, I am reporting live from my fucking grave.

GAHHHHHHHHHH. Nothing like a bit of enemies-to-friends trope to get me going.

In other news: Feels over, dicks tucked back into pants, it’s show time!

           Kathy beamed as she slowly paced the front of the stage. “How many of you had the chance to go to the game last night? Oh, wow! How many, like me, watched the game from the comfort of their own home?” She raised her hand and laughed at whatever response she got from the crowd.

This woman is increasingly reminding me of Caesar Flickerman from The Hunger Games.

Just imagine this is how I’m picturing her now at all times, minus the blue hair (probably).

           “Kevin, Kevin, Kevin”, Kathy said, shaking her head in tie to his name. “I still can’t believe I talked you into this. I hope you’ll forgive me when I say it’s surreal to have you back here alone! I still think of you as one half of a whole.”

           “At least I have room to stretch out now,” Kevin said, neatly avoiding a real answer. “I might have to do so in a minute. I can’t believe you expect us to be awake and presentable after last night’s games.”

Is that…… Kevin…….. actually giving charismatic answers……. being an actual human being……. what kind of witchcraft.

I am loving this.

The interview goes on, it’s kind of banal chatter, nothing we didn’t know already, although I am enjoying it tremendously. It’s nice to have a break from all the emo-ing around back home at Palmetto, even if it’s all fake show smiles.

Time for the fakest show smile of them all: Neilly baby!

           “Why don’t we all take another look at him?” Kathy said. “Let’s see the man who replaced Riko Moriyama at Kevin’s side. Introducing Neil Josten, the newest Palmetto Fox!”

Yikes. What an introduction.

           “Isn’t this an interesting picture?” Kathy asked the audience. “Kevin is paired again.”

Seriously, can she stop.

I mean, I get that it’s good for show biz, and I don’t blame her as she doesn’t know their backstory, but rubbing this shit into their faces is still Grade A Shitty™.

They chat a bit more, bla bla sportsball, Kathy Flickerman asking questions and Neil lying through his teeth, although I’m surprised homeboy doesn’t get at least one “I’m fine” in somewhere.

And then – the absolute fuckery that this entire chapter had being leading up to happens.

           “Why the major [district] change?”

           “I don’t presume to understand Coach Moriyama’s motivations.”

           “You mean they didn’t tell you?” Kathy’s surprise looked genuine.

           “We are all very busy. It’s difficult to keep in touch.”

           “Well then.” Kathy recovered with a bright smile. “Have I got a treat for you!”

What.

           Music blared from the speakers, a dark melody with heavy drums. The crowd jumped to its feet and started chanting in unison: “King! King! King!”

What.

           He spotted the Foxes easily, as they were the only unmoving bodies in the crowd. They sat blank-faced with shock.

Same. What.

           The man who stepped onto the stage wore the same outfit Kevin did, save his version was black from head to toe. (…) The number one tattooed on his left cheekbone told everyone who’d just walked onto Kathy’s stage.

ARE YOU ACTUALLY SHITTING ME. I did not see that coming. I did NOT see that coming holy fuck.

(We only have two chapters left. Logically, something had to happen. Still. WHAT THE FUCK.)

           It had been nine months since Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day stood in the same room together, nine months, since Riko destroyed Kevin’s hand, and now they were reunited on national television.

Oh boy. I am sure there is absolutely no way in hell this can go horribly, horribly wrong.

EXCUSE ME WHILE I IMMEDIATELY READ THE NEXT CHAPTER BRB

[bramlouisgreenfeld]

every road leads here

this is my gift for @aftgexchange‘s valentines exchange for the lovely @elswicked‘s prompt of andrew and neil meeting as kids. it was supposed to be cheerful, but then……………

(ao3)

Neil does not know a world without Andrew at his back. He’s always been there, a constant, reassuring presence. He’s almost like Neil’s shadow, if a shadow were prone to sarcastic comments and making sure Neil doesn’t pick too many fights he can’t win.

(Every time reminds Neil of the first. Some kid, one of the ones who’d clearly been given everything from cradle onwards, had decided he was entitled to Neil’s favourite glittery crayon. Neil, in turn, decided he was entitled to the other kid’s juice. And to forcibly take the crayon back, no matter how that would escalate events. Just before it got to any kind of tackle, Andrew turned up - and even though he was short Neil had no idea how he’d never noticed him before - and threatened the kid into leaving it be. Neil had tried to thank Andrew, and he’d shrugged and said, “‘S only fair.”)

(Andrew’s always been the same. All he wants is for things to be fair. Maybe a little more fair for his friends than anyone else, but isn’t that true of everyone?)

“Why did you pick us?” Neil laughs around the mouth of a beer bottle, looking into Andrew’s ever-clear hazel eyes.

“This isn’t gym, Josten,” Andrew replies. “And if it were, you wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“I’m the fastest runner you know. Fact.”

“Less so since you graduated high school. You got lazy.”

Neil rolls his eyes, an over-exaggerated gesture to minimise the world rolling with them. “Whatever, Minyard. Stop avoiding the question.”

“Not my fault your questions are vague.”

Neil would groan if he hadn’t had almost sixteen years of dealing with his shitheel of a best friend. (Even if ‘friend’ has never encapsulated all that Andrew is to him. He’d choose ‘soulmate’, because he’s sure there’s no one else who could ever understand the core of what it is to be Neil as well as Andrew does, but since Andrew rejects Neil’s friendship almost daily and scorns the idea of romance, Neil sticks to ‘Andrew’.) “Andrew. At the young age of… whatever. Whenever. Young. We were young. You stuck up for me so I didn’t get in a brawl with a rich kid who’d have fought dirty when all I wanted was my glitter crayon. And since then you’ve been more loyal than, like, an extremely long-lived dog, right? So what did you see in the dumbass who cared more about his crayon than childhood friends? And… whoever else. I know there were more,” Neil says, turning his grin to Kevin for half a second.

Andrew raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, a movement barely visible in the dim light, “Dumbasses who wouldn’t survive a day without me.”

“Ha! Day,” Neil says, nudging Kevin beside him, who’s clearly regretting ever befriending the others. There’s nothing new there.

There’s no point in arguing or wheedling. Andrew’s answer won’t change. It’s the truth - technically. Andrew is technicalities and half-truths layered in frustration, and Neil wouldn’t change him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kevin replies.

“It’s your fucking birthday, grumpy,” Neil says.

“His middle name is grumpy,” Andrew says, and pushes himself up from the creaking sofa to move to the kitchen.

“Bring us more drinks,” Neil calls after him, even though of course Andrew will, because this way he gets Andrew’s middle finger held up as a parting gift.

“Why are you guys the worst?” Kevin mutters.

“I thought you’d be happy. The big twenty-one. You can legally get wasted now,” Neil says.

“Because the law’s stopped me before.”

“Not the point,” Neil says. “If you’re not careful I’m gonna make you dance.”

“No,” Kevin replies, almost as deadpan as Andrew.

“I’ve got Just Dance. The Wii remotes are charged,” Neil says, pressing himself further into Kevin’s side to be an annoyance. It’s his specialty.

“This is my birthday. Why are you trying so hard to ruin everything I have?” Kevin replies, but he turns to meet Neil’s eyes, and he’s smiling a little bit.

“You love it,” Neil replies, grinning unabashedly.

“Not even a little bit,” Kevin’s smile gets louder.

“A little bit,” Neil disagrees.

“No.”

“Yes,” Neil says, and presses a sloppy kiss to Kevin’s cheek (dangerously close to his lips, but there’s the fun), just as Andrew returns with drinks.

“Thank fuck,” Kevin says, just shy of emphatic, and reaches for his drink as though he’s going to bathe in vodka.

“Are you harassing him again? Without me?” Andrew asks, and someone’s taken his chair, so he makes the others move up. He still ends up almost in Neil’s lap, but who’s complaining?

“Always,” Neil says, and puts his arms around his grumpy friends’ shoulders.

Monday morning dawns, cold and harsh, but more often than not Neil wakes up with a warm body next to his, so instead of trying to face the day he rolls over.

Into more empty bed.

That simple surprise is enough to wake Neil properly, an instinct drilled into him years ago he never quite managed to get rid of. “Andrew?” He whispers, as though he could miss five feet of concentrated annoyance.

He’s at work. Maybe. Neil had never gotten the hang of his hours, and if there’s light outside - there is - it’s probably waking hours. Neil tries to close his eyes and drift off again, but the bed’s too cold, so he rolls back, but the heat from his body has already evaporated. There’s no point. He groans, sitting up.

The clock on his phone says it’s not even 7am yet. Which is much too early for Andrew to have left for work. He wouldn’t start before nine, and if Andrew turned up more than a minute early it’d be a miracle. Neil would believe in Heaven before he’d believe Andrew Minyard turned up anywhere early. (Andrew isn’t the type for blatant disrespect, not anymore, but he’s never been a fan of wasting time in places he doesn’t have to be.)

It’s hard to remember all of last night, but Neil is pretty sure Andrew hadn’t left. He hadn’t drunk enough to be unable to drive, but Neil is clingy drunk, and Andrew gave up on resisting years ago. In most ways, anyway.

Point is, Neil likes sharing a bed with Andrew, and Andrew decided to allow it. Most of the time. But always after drinking. (“Someone has to make sure you don’t kill yourself, Josten.”)

The thought that Andrew should be here sticks in Neil’s head like the absence of a hangover.

No texts.

No missed calls.

Neil chews on the side of his thumbnail, a habit Andrew would - and has - kicked him for.

He calls Kevin. “Why the fuck are you awake this early?” Kevin answers, because he always answers Neil, even hungover and half-asleep.

“I thought I’d go for a run,” Neil says, trying for and missing flippant. “Wanna come with?”

Kevin hangs up. Neil dials back. “Fuck off,” Kevin says.

“Did Andrew stay here last night?”

“Probably,” Kevin mumbles. “He always does.”

“I mean, yeah,” Neil says. “But he’s not here.”

Kevin almost laughs. “Are you afraid your one night stand ditched you?”

“He’s not-” Neil starts, but Kevin knows, so he stops. Kevin falls silent, but he’s not asleep. It takes Kevin a while to start up, so Neil just lets him.

The truth of the matter is that Neil has been able to predict Andrew’s actions, if not the reasons behind them, since they were fifteen. Nothing Andrew does is able to surprise Neil anymore. For that, if for nothing else, Andrew should be here, pushing off Neil’s stray limbs and eventually Neil himself when his morning breath is “far too fucking much”.

And Kevin knows that, too. “He’s not here,” Kevin eventually says, though Neil had guessed that much.

“Yeah,” Neil says. His thumb is starting to bleed, so he forces it down from his mouth. “I think I will go for a run.”

“Meet me at the park,” Kevin says, and hangs up.

Kevin looks faintly grey, and the smell of vodka still clings to him like cheap perfume. It’s not a surprise, and Neil knows he can run through a hangover as though there’s nothing different. Neil doesn’t want to run fast anyway. There’s nothing to outrun. But Kevin being here is a testament to their friendship and Neil appreciates that.

“Hey,” Neil says, and aims a punch at Kevin’s bicep (a considerable target), and Kevin doesn’t comment on the lacking energy.

“Sure you can keep up?” Kevin asks, and jogs on the spot. Neil doesn’t comment on the lacking energy.

“I was born ready,” Neil says, and they set off.

They don’t run for long. Kevin’s slept for four hours, maximum, and worry has always sapped Neil’s energy (even when worry felt like all he was). When they loop back to the park - their park - Neil makes an offhand comment about Kevin getting lazy, and Kevin hauls Neil over his shoulders to throw him into a pile of leaves.

It’s almost normal. Andrew wouldn’t come on a run with them.

But they left worry behind a long time ago, and it’s foreign now.

yours if you want it. Neil looks at the blue speech bubble, under a picture of Andrew’s favourite ice cream. An obvious bribe.

Sent four hours ago, and the text only says “Delivered”. Not read. (Andrew either doesn’t know how to turn read receipts off or he doesn’t care.)

It’s been two days, and it’s the longest Neil’s gone without seeing Andrew since the last “holiday” his mother dragged him on at the age of sixteen. The world felt wrong without Andrew with him then, too, but there was the knowledge that no matter the distance, Andrew would be there for him.

He’s not now.

And Neil doesn’t know why.

He holds his phone up, and Renee’s voice is at his ear, soft and smooth and happy to say his name. “Renee Walker, you’re an angel and a delight to talk to,” Neil says, because a few years ago someone said he had to be more affectionate, and Kevin taught him never to half-ass anything.

Renee laughs. “How are you, Neil?”

“I’m fine,” he says, because everyone knows it’s never going to be the truth. He presses the phone harder into the side of his face and pushes away the question, for just a few more seconds. “Tell me about your day. Your week.”

“Okay,” Renee says, gently, and tells him about her latest assignment, her dinner plans with Dan, a painting she saw online, the latest antics of Nicky’s dog. Everyone knows Renee is the one to go to for calm. She’s the definition of the word.

Neil’s breath catches, and he knows it’s audible, but Renee doesn’t break stride. When the words finally leave his mouth it will change everything. When things leave the bubble of Neil and Kevin and Andrew, they’re out. Not quite public, but not private. (Neil doesn’t know exactly when he decided Andrew and Kevin may as well be extensions of his own consciousness, but it was long ago. Too long ago to matter.) “Have you seen Andrew recently?” Neil says quietly, cutting Renee off, but she won’t mind.

She pauses, grasping immediately what Neil hasn’t said. “We had tea on Thursday,” She says, which isn’t the whole truth, but is the answer to Neil’s question just the same.

Neil nods, and realises she won’t have heard any more than the rustle of his hair against the microphone.

Renee lets the silence hang for a few more seconds, and he thinks that, for once, she doesn’t know what to say. That’s almost harder than the rest of it. “Did anything happen?”

She thinks we broke up. Neil almost laughs. He knows everyone thinks there’s something happening in their trio, though opinions differ on what, exactly. “No. It was normal, and then… it wasn’t.”

Andrew not spending some moments on Neil or Kevin every day isn’t normal. They don’t spend all their time together, but it’s a close call.

Their relationships had never been normal, but this break in their normal feels like it could split Neil apart. He hangs onto the determination he buried, a determination that could rip apart the fabric of reality. (He hopes.)

Renee stays silent. She knows Andrew the best, out of people who aren’t them, but she knows there’s no advice she can offer that Neil or Kevin haven’t already thought of. She wants to, Neil can hear that, and he’s thankful for the attempt anyway. “I’ve got a shift later, but I’ll come by yours with coffee after three?” She offers.

“Please,” Neil says on an exhale. If Neil suddenly found himself in a detective film, Andrew would be his first choice for mystery partner, but Renee would be the obvious second choice. Kevin would be the love interest. He’s the pretty one.

“Okay, Neil, I’ll see you in a bit,” Renee says. The soft way she says his name is unique, a kiss on the cheek, a whiff of perfume you can’t quite catch. Renee’s always been too good for anyone he knows.

Andrew borrows her for her charred, burnt, twisted centre; the part of her she can’t change but can build on. That’s the part of her Neil needs now - the part that speaks Andrew’s language as well as Neil does. Or should be able to.

He doesn’t know why Andrew’s silent to him now.

Renee turns up, carrying the scent of cinnamon tea and black coffee. There’s no sugary smell as there would be if Andrew’s order was with them. Neil tries to appreciate the comforting smell of coffee as he leans in to greet Renee.

Renee perches on the counter and makes small talk, and doesn’t look around Neil’s empty (and conspicuously tidy - no clues lying just out of sight) apartment with still-too-sharp eyes. She’s waiting and so is he.

“I thought we could go to his apartment,” Neil says, when she finishes describing one customer who hadn’t understood why she couldn’t replace his coffee even though it was ‘too hot’.

“Okay. You have a key?” She asks, pulling her jacket back on. She never took her shoes off.

“Yeah,” Neil says. Andrew hadn’t given Neil a key to his first apartment, but all that meant is that Neil had to break in when he wanted to see him. He gave Neil a key to his second apartment the day he’d moved in.

“I’ll drive,” Renee says.

Neil’s glad not to be alone in Andrew’s apartment. It’s always been wrong to be alone there. “Nothing’s changed,” He says.

Renee snorts. “You expected there to be a glaring neon sign that says ‘explanation’?”

Neil makes an acquiescent gesture. “That would not be Andrew’s style.”

Everything’s where it should be, which is a relative statement. Andrew organises things to his own configurations. The only helpful thing is that Andrew doesn’t own anything he doesn’t need, and half of it is at Neil’s or Kevin’s, so his apartment is sparsely decorated at best.

But still. Nothing’s out of place. It’s like Andrew should come home any minute, or that he should have any of the past days. Clothes half out of the wardrobe, blinds drawn but curtains open, bowls clean but not in the cupboard, phone on the counter but out of charge-

Phone.

Neil picks up the phone that’s identical to his own. It doesn’t turn on, and that feels like his senior year of high school. But he knows where Andrew’s charger is. Renee follows him into Andrew’s bedroom and they perch on Andrew’s bed.

Neil stares down at the phone as though watching it will make it power up faster. “Do you know what Christmas drinks you’ll have yet?” he asks Renee.

“Yes,” She replies with a groan. “I hate Christmas drinks.” She describes them, and then some stories from Christmas past of unruly customers. Neil’s heard them before, but that just makes them feel better.

Renee stops talking as soon as the phone charges up. She knows as well as Neil that his phone shouldn’t be here - Andrew shouldn’t have been at his place, ergo his phone shouldn’t either. Andrew shouldn’t be without his phone, period.

Neil unlocks the phone and opens Andrew’s messages, but there’s nothing new. Neil frowns to see Andrew’s phone on airplane mode. He didn’t even think Andrew knew what that was.

Perhaps dumbly, he opens Andrew’s message chain with himself, at the top of the list. He’s glad Renee’s not looking over his shoulder anymore - he doesn’t question his own right to read Andrew’s messages, but he doesn’t know how much that extends to Renee.

At the bottom of the screen, there’s an undelivered message. He shoves the phone, screen still on, directly into Renee’s hand, and paces toward the window. He grabs the windowsill as though it could provide any stability.

“He’s-” Renee says, sounding shocked.

“Being Andrew. Doing what he always does.” Neil cuts her off, words clipped.

Renee doesn’t guess. Or maybe she already knows.

Andrew’s protecting them.

“No,” Kevin says, and he lurches like the world is moving under his feet, but Neil’s already next to him for support. He always is.

rikos back. The words seem like they’re imprinted on Neil’s eyes.

Riko shouldn’t be here, not in their town. He shouldn’t know where they are. He shouldn’t care about them anymore (though a voice in Neil’s head says he always knew Riko wouldn’t stop caring). He shouldn’t have found Andrew first, of all of them.

(“Who’s this? Your guard dog?” Riko said, with a cruel laugh. Everything about him seemed cruel, then. The cruelty was new. “I thought Wesninski was enough. But, oh, I forgot; he’s all bark, no bite.”

“I bite enough for three,” Andrew responded. Neil was still young enough to be surprised that Andrew didn’t mind being compared to their guard dog.)

It almost feels cruel to tell Kevin, but Neil’s never been the type to keep things from Kevin. There’s a part of him that’s supposed to keep secrets, but never from Kevin, the closest thing he has to a brother. Nothing would be worse than that. (“We share everything,” Neil said through a drunken haze. Kevin pulled Neil closer. Their shared history, their thoughts, their love fills the small space between them. Everything.)

“It could be a coincidence,” Kevin chokes out, but he doesn’t believe it.

Renee puts her hand on Kevin’s, but he looks at it like it’s foreign. Neil can feel him shake, every inch of his side pressed against Neil’s. “We need to know where he is,” she says.

Kevin sighs, closes his eyes. It’s a hard truth, but no one knows - knew - Riko like Kevin does. “There’s only one place.”

“You don’t have to go,” Neil says, because he knows Kevin does.

Kevin’s green eyes melt. “I always knew I would.”

Neil knew it, too.

But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The only dreams Neil remember are either epic stories or absolutely unremarkable. He’ll dream of his mother doing laundry or escaping a totalitarian government. There is no in between.

But the only recurring dream he has ever had is Andrew and him storming a castle. Though Andrew, in their real lives, is always to Neil’s side and half a step behind him, in Neil’s dreams he leads the way up the hill. Neil watches the back of Andrew’s hair, blonde set on fire by the sun.

Sometimes Andrew turns around with a vicious, spiked grin, and says “It’s time to end the monarchy.” (A line he’s said in Neil’s waking hours, too, that he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.)

In his dreams, they never reach the castle. Sometimes the dream fades to black, a faint feeling of hope and restlessness racing through Neil’s veins when he wakes. Sometimes he has to watch Andrew crumple under an invisible weight, fire turning to liquid red through Neil’s fingers.

Andrew knows about Neil’s dreams. He’d never believed in interpreting them. Neil wishes he’d listened to Andrew more.

And driving without Andrew lasts too long.

They pull up outside Kevin’s childhood home. It feels almost like being back to the start. It’s not the start, because it’s not a crayon, because this isn’t where Kevin was born. It’s not the start for Riko, and it isn’t the start for Neil or Andrew, but when they’d looked at each other and tried to choose a place to go, Kevin had said that he’d always liked Columbia. That had been all it took.

(Kevin said he’d spent two years here, and he couldn’t remember either of them. But this was the last house to see Kayleigh Day alive, and Neil wasn’t surprised Kevin would want to return. Eventually. With all the strength he could find, both internal and external.)

(It’s not a surprise that Riko would want to corrupt this place, either.)

Kevin leads, with smaller steps, to a side door, and Neil bends to let them in. He makes sure he’s a step in front of Kevin before he calls out, “Riko.”

A family he doesn’t recognise smiles at him from on top of the fireplace. Neil doesn’t let himself think about them. He thinks of Renee, her hands on knives, and he thinks of Kevin, who’s not shaking anymore. He thinks of sacrifice, and wonders, briefly, what they wouldn’t give up.

There’s movement upstairs, so Neil follows the sound.

Nothing’s disturbed through the house, and the air is filled with tension.

Riko is black and white against a clean background, his smile as fake and controlled as the rest of him. “Finally. The cavalry’s here.”

Andrew isn’t bound, isn’t tied, and there is no blood that Neil can see. The relief is fleeting, because he would be more surprised if there were. Even so, Andrew wouldn’t be here without them by his own desire. “What do you want?” Neil asks, short and sharp.

“Just a chat with my dearest brother. But I got this one instead,” Riko says.

(A text message, and Andrew picked up the wrong phone. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. Andrew’s eyebrows arched, and Neil tried to read over his shoulder. “Neil,” Andrew said. “You haven’t finished your drink.”)

“Sorry, I don’t see anyone else descended from the devil in this room,” Neil says, looking around dramatically. Renee’s already next to Andrew, not talking, but checking in the ways she can. Riko doesn’t care. They’re inconsequential now.

“I’m here,” Kevin says, and his voice is as strong as it can be. Neil feels proud, but he doesn’t look away from Riko. He wishes he could take Kevin out of this situation entirely.

Riko closes his eyes, smile still on his face. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard that voice! Give me a moment to just… soak in the moment.”

“Not too long, fuckface. We’re all still technically breaking and entering,” Neil says. They’re pretty clearly in a nursery, if the situation hadn’t been creepy enough.

Riko waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

For a final showdown, Neil has to admit this is weak. He never expected anything truly grandiose from Riko; he’s made of microaggressions. He controlled Kevin little by little, and all it took was one denial to win. This isn’t the tables turning, and it can’t be. It never will be. It just might be closure for Riko, though, and that’s enough to keep them all there.

(Their teachers could never tell the four of them apart. They used the same pens, played the same games, wore the same clothes. They tried name tags, but the boys thought it was great fun to swap them around and see if anyone could tell. The only thing that stuck were numbers. It was as much of a surprise as a relief to the adults.)

(At the age of thirteen, Neil sat at lunch with Kevin and Andrew, and suddenly frowned. Kevin was trying to convince Andrew about a new sport he’d started watching, but Neil interrupts them to ask why they’d ever let Riko be number one. He’d gotten weird, recently, and he’d separated himself from the inseparable group.)

(At eighteen, Kevin was shaking and miserable. Neil had never understood why he couldn’t let Riko go, but Kevin managed to say that Riko needs me, Neil, I know you understand. Neil looked at Andrew and he did. Andrew nodded, the end of a conversation they’d had hours ago. “Kevin, where did you want to go to college? We can leave now. There’s nothing more here for us.”)

Riko’s face changes suddenly. “You never said goodbye,” and there’s the emotion he’s lacked for years.

Kevin steps forward, next to Neil. Their hands find one another, and Riko notices, and it’s like his face is torn apart. But Kevin redirects his attention. “You wouldn’t have let us.” Us isn’t, and never has been, Kevin and Riko. Once it was Riko and Kevin and Andrew and Neil, but Riko thought that was Riko and Kevin, and Andrew and Neil, and that division didn’t sit right.

Riko thought that Kevin was meant to belong to him. They never knew when that started or why, but secretly Neil thought it was to do with the way he looked at Andrew. There was no guilt in this belief. But what Riko had never got was that things being different didn’t have to change everything. Neil’s relationship with Andrew was different than it was with Kevin, but that didn’t change the bonds that flowed between the three of them. It didn’t have to change the way the four of them were. (Sometimes Neil thought Andrew looked at him differently, too. Gave too easily. Smiled at him.)

“We were never meant to be apart,” Riko says, and it’s rehearsed, but it’s splintered.

Neil shakes his head, but this is Kevin’s fight. “We couldn’t stay,” Kevin whispers. “It was breaking us. Me. It was breaking me.”

Riko’s eyes change with that, like he’d never considered he could hurt Kevin. It was never his intention, Neil can believe. Neil can’t believe, though, how he could miss the effect his love had on Kevin. Riko takes a step forward, and Kevin and Neil do not step back. But it’s hard.

Andrew watches them with tired, sharp eyes. Neil wants to tell him he can rest. It’s not his battle, not now. He’s done his part.

“I didn’t mean to,” Riko says. He doesn’t reach a hand towards Kevin, like reality is finally reaching in to shatter his illusion.

“I know,” Kevin says. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

“Please,” Riko whispers.

Kevin hesitates, but he shakes his head. “It can’t, Riko.”

Kevin’s hand is a vice around Neil’s. He never wanted to say no to Riko. He knew any word could be the final blow. So much of who Riko was revolved around Kevin, and that was a heavy weight to bear.

But the burden should never have been Kevin’s.

Riko sits. “I can’t fix this.”

The silence echoes.

The bonds of old loyalty fall, and they sound like the wind whispering through empty halls. Kevin’s hand trembles, but Andrew’s gaze is strong and steady on Neil’s. “It’s over,” Neil whispers.

They leave Riko in a house that does not belong to him, but they’re not cruel. Kevin still knows how to get to Riko’s father, a man who’s stern but not uncaring, and who likes to check in with Kevin every so often. He’ll check on Neil and Andrew, too, but only when the opportunity strikes. Riko isn’t going to be alone for long.

“He’ll be okay,” Neil says, fingers not quite numb between Kevin’s.

“And now you’re not going to think about him anymore,” Andrew says, which isn’t quite an order, and isn’t quite the truth either.

Renee buys them dinner, and offers them soft smiles and lips on their cheeks. “I have to get home. But I’ll see you all soon.”

Friendship is knowing when to say goodbye.

Neil drives them all back to his apartment, and they pile out of the car, because sometimes friendship also means knowing you don’t have to say goodbye.

“I haven’t slept much the past few nights,” Kevin says, half of an explanation.

“You know where the bed is,” Neil says. Years ago, the only thing in his apartment he’d deemed worthy of spending extra on was the bed - big enough to comfortably fit three boys and their demons.

Kevin nods, and makes his way to the bedroom. He still stands tall. The end was a long time coming, but that only softens the blow a little.

Neil and Andrew still sit too close on the sofa. Neil breathes in and out, and it feels like home.

“You,” Neil says, switching the channel too many times, “are not allowed to leave me again.”

“I see the time apart has not reduced your ridiculous dramatics.”

“Well, I’m no Kevin,” Neil says.

Andrew doesn’t reply, but that’s not a surprise.

Neil turns the TV off again and turns. “I mean it, though.”

Andrew watches Neil for a couple long seconds, eyes engaged but unsurprised. “I know.”

“Good,” Neil says. Then he closes the distance between him and Andrew, and there’s no surprise there, either. It’s new, but it isn’t news. Every road led here.

But still, he checks. Because it’s Andrew. Because it’s Andrew and Neil, and no matter how okay things are, they may never be fine. “Okay?” he asks softly, breath warm on Andrew’s face.

“Josten,” Andrew chides quietly. “You lost the capacity to surprise me a long time ago.”

[reddit-lpt]

LPT: Afraid of Fear

LPT: Afraid of Fear

What happens right before a craving for alcohol, nicotine, food, or whatever addiction that currently has a hold of you? It’s usually some sort of panic or anxiety attack about a certain situation where we immediately feel the need to run and hide or look for something familiar to help us deal.

It can be caused by thinking of an overblown version of a situation that has never happened, will never happen, and was completely manifested in our own minds. There’s also many times when we don’t know why the anxiety hits, it can come from a trigger word that we haven’t dealt with or are afraid to deal with, that came from some background noise.

Maybe the emotions are reactionary like having a rough day at work, fighting with a partner or a spouse, or maybe even getting a flat tire, but still none of this seems like it could be so bad that it sends a rational adult human being running for that familiar substance, whatever it may be, and start abusing it. I don’t know about you, but I used to ask myself what the hell could be so bad all the time when I drank, and I think I came up with an answer… nothing.

Allow me to explain…

Stay with me on this, it will all come together. Almost every irrational thought derives from feelings of fear, guilt, shame, lack, unworthiness, resentment, hate, and other feelings of stress. But, for the sake of the article, I’m going to lump them into fear because every one of these emotions generally stems from, or leads to fear of some kind.

Most of these fears are programmed by events that happen between the ages of 0-7, when we’re our brains are in their theta or hypnosis state. It may be easier to program fear if you had what you consider a bad childhood, but fear towards certain events can happen by accident, like a misunderstanding where you’re considered scarred for life. An example might be if someone snuck up and scared you all the time when you were a kid, and now you might always be on guard when there is no need to be. Sometimes, little jokes and things like that have more of an effect on our personalities than we want to believe.

And who can blame us? We aren’t kids anymore and we don’t want to believe that we would hold on to something so insignificant from our childhood. It’s true that we outgrow certain fears intellectually as we grow up, but many people do it by putting up walls and barriers to their personalities because they’re afraid that they may not be accepted if they act like themselves. And when you’re acting like someone you don’t particularly want to be, then drowning your fears in a bottle might make perfect sense at times because you may be forgetting who you are and what makes you happy.

It never really matters where the root of the fear comes from, whether it’s from a serious trauma as a child or a series of misunderstood events, the question you have to ask is… why are we still afraid?

Why do we hold on to fear?

Everybody has fears whether it’s public speaking, dealing with authority, buying a car, not getting into a certain college, being 10 minutes late for work in a snow storm, or even running out of booze, but why when there is no real threat?

If there is a physical threat, then fear is 100% normal and understood, but when you’re sitting on your couch, afraid to go outside without having a few drinks first, then you need to question where your fear is coming from. If you’re afraid to deal with your boss, mother-in-law, wife/husband, friends, or people in general, you should probably question where that resistance is coming from.

Fear is something that has to be created, right now, in this moment, otherwise you would not feel the anxiety when you’re not really in danger. But when an anxious craving comes on, and you are literally not in any physical danger, panic still arises and you start to look for an escape route. What does this mean when you’re not in any real danger but your brain and body thinks you are?

This means that the fear and anxiety that cause your cravings or your panic attack are feelings and emotions that you are holding onto, and have been for years. They are stored memories, or stories that you tell yourself everyday to remind yourself of who you are. Statements like “That’s just me”, or “I’ll never be good enough for…”, and don’t forget, “Bad shit always happens to me”, confirm the identity of the story that you tell yourself. The anxiety isn’t caused by what happens to you, it’s caused by the reaction of all the fear, self doubt, shame, etc., that you present to yourself in your speech and attitude.

What does Neil know about anxiety?

I’m glad you asked! I want to make sure that you know 100% where I’m coming from when you’re reading this because I remember getting defensive any time someone would question me and my unique anxiety. I know much better now that my anxiety was neither unique, nor was it incurable, and it definitely didn’t warrant 30 airplane bottles of Smirnoff per day.

Looking back, it probably started when I was a kid when all of a sudden, I couldn’t pee with anyone else in the bathroom at school. I didn’t have a problem until second or third grade, it just came out of nowhere one day, I got stage fright when I was at the urinal and it stuck with me into adulthood. It was the 80’s and I didn’t tell anyone, so it was one of those embarrassing things that I carried around with me that would cause anxiety.

By the time I was in my 20’s, I was all over the place, spending every night on a barstool and developing an unhealthy tremor in my hands. At age 30 the anxiety switch really flipped. My whole body would shake at the thought of leaving the house, and if I did make it out, my hands would shake and I would sweat and be severely jumpy and nervous. Left was right, backwards was forwards, everything was spinning, and I just wanted to run from every human being I saw.

By the time I had relapsed in my late 30’s, the anxiety I was trying to fix with Xanax, Celexa, and vodka, had started causing seizures, leaving me uncertain if the condition would stay. That’s when I knew that I have been at the event horizon of self-inflicted anxiety, but I have also learned to master it, so what you read comes from experience and not just me reading about remedies.

Now back to the fear and fixing it…

We first need to start telling ourselves different stories about who we are. Instead of saying something like “I’m horrible at cooking”, try saying, “I’m getting better at cooking”, and start cooking stuff you can cook while you tell yourself that you’re getting better, and you will instinctively get better at cooking. Tell yourself better stories about yourself by seeing the good in what you’re accomplishing rather than focusing on what you tell yourself you can’t accomplish, and your subconscious will start to believe you.

You don’t have to exactly change the story of your past because you would not be who you are right now if everything in your life didn’t go exactly as it did. But, you can change your perspective on most of the stories so they coordinate more with the actual present and maybe even a better future. Like the story you tell yourself about the girl or guy that got away, and how much you regret how the relationship ended. Instead of dwelling on a dead issue for years, be a sport and truly wish them well if you love them, and know that it was the exact right time for the separation. Holding onto the pain of an old relationship sets resistance for any chance of a new healthy relationship, not to mention causes people to resort to familiar, unhealthy habits like drowning sorrows.

When you get to the fear, the thing that you think is going to make you drink or have an anxiety attack, ask yourself what is it that you’re afraid of? Particularly, what part of the fear is it that scares you? What do you believe the fear is going to do to you? How is it going to hurt you? Why are you afraid of it? If this sensation in the body were not tied to an emotion like fear, what would it feel like? Could I live with it if it were not associated with the emotion of fear? Is it really that bad? Can it be better? Explore the feeling and see if it’s even in the right category. Getting to know these feelings will help you understand them so they don’t show up unnecessarily.

Ask yourself these questions before meditating, and ask yourself if the feeling of fear is really anything at all or is it just something we’ve been fighting for so long that if we let it in to run its course, maybe the fight will be over and it will leave. Nearly every nagging, familiar pain in the body can be associated with a stored emotion that you’ve been unwilling to face, so if you invite these feelings in, without giving them a label like fear, and make peace with them, the tension will reduce in your body and you’ll start to feel free.

These are a couple of ways to help reduce the anxiety that causes cravings that will stick and have other benefits if you stay with them. Good things in start to happen in life when we tell ourselves better stories. I used to tell myself that I was a hopeless alcoholic and then I became one, and now I tell myself that I’m becoming the best person I can everyday by helping people get through their recovery and become the people they want to be too, and that’s what I am.

It’s amazing what we can learn when we forget what we think we know.

https://neilfirszt.blog/2018/12/26/afraid-of-fear/

by neilfirszt via reddit

[ravenvsfox]

i've been obsessively checking your blog for anymore writing prompts you've done. your writing is so real and beautiful and i need it all the time. pls if you can, any (or ALL!) of these would be wonderful and greatly appreciated and loved!!! -- 72: “I have something for you.” 76: “Come here.” 77: “I hate hospitals.”

(you’re a honey and I love you, sorry this took so long to get done! I incorporated 72 and 76 for ya, bc I’m a little hospital-ed out for now :)) Hope it’s okay xo)

The villa Allison books for the summer of Neil’s sophomore year is more window than house. The beach crawls all the way up to the back door and begs its way in on their heels and the folds of their clothing.

Neil kind of hates the smell of the water, but Andrew smokes on the balcony until his stomach settles, and the stacks of products in the bathroom keep the house tangy and sweet.

It’s as comforting as it is disastrous to have everyone under one roof. Aaron revels in being the wrong note in a chord, and he sulks in the shade more often than not. Kevin pisses the upperclassmen off as consistently and methodically as he does everything else. Nicky overcompensates. Allison glares and primps and moves everyone around like furniture in a room she doesn’t care for. Neil is having the best time of his life.

The nights are long, and the foxes end up drunk through the day and into the sun-rich evening. You can’t turn your head without encountering a crushed can of palm bay or a questionable spill. The smell of booze and sun screen and sweat ripens the smoke and perfume.

They’re all gathered in the breezy main room, and the frothy white curtains sweep in with the sea air. Neil can’t stop noticing Andrew’s bare upper arms in his cut-off t-shirt. Nicky keeps laughing like he’s trying to cover a quotient that the rest of his group isn’t reaching. 

“Are you still drinking, buddy?” Matt asks, raising an empty shot glass as a question. Neil shrugs.

“I might have reached my limit for tonight.” He’s been keeping to the fringes of drunk, this week. Losing control still feels a bit like ripping tape off his mouth after he’s been stuck with it his whole life. A little skin comes off every time he gives away a secret, liberating and terrible.

He looks at Andrew, and Andrew shrugs.

“Don’t look at him, Neil, christ,” Matt groans. “It’s your body.”

Dan grins and smacks a kiss on Matt’s temple. “I love it when you talk bodily autonomy.”

Matt yanks her close around the waist and she laughs high and surprised, drink sloshing.

“I’ll bet Andrew knows Neil’s body better than he does anyway,” Allison says, eyes bright over her wine glass.

“Don’t be gross,” Dan says cheerfully.

“What, it’s probably true. Neil doesn’t even look in the mirror,” she says.

Nicky cracks up, and Dan shoves him. Neil looks sideways at Andrew, but he’s as uninterested as ever, one finger slipping lazy circles over the rim of his shot glass. His eyes are on the shoreline outside, and Neil wonders if he’s heard anything they’ve said.

“Enough of that,” Renee says smoothly. “We were playing sociables, remember?”

“We were playing sociables,” Nicky corrects. “You were drinking holy water, or whatever, while we have, you know. The devil’s liquor.” He lifts his bottle of tequila in apparent toast, and Matt lifts his beer gamely.

“Even so,” Renee says, smiling. “There’s half a deck left.”

Allison throws an arm around Renee’s shoulders, slouching naturally into her side. “Wouldn’t you rather see how many low blows it takes for Andrew to do something,” she stage whispers.

“No,” Renee says. Her expression is just a little bit sharp, the glint of a knife in a dark room.

“I’d rather drink,” Aaron interjects, looking bleary and red-eyed already.

“Then drink we shall,” Nicky announces. “Neil I’m pouring you a jäger bomb.”

“Jäger tastes like shit,” Andrew says suddenly, and Neil realizes stupidly that he’s been listening and cataloguing like he always does.

“Why do you care?” Dan asks. “You want his mouth kissable?”

“You want to die?” Andrew asks.

“Hey,” Matt says, defensive but too drunk to do anything about it.

Andrew stands and puts his shot glass down, unsettlingly quiet. Neil watches him walk from the room, barefoot and faintly sweaty from the lack of air conditioning and the bake of summer sun. Something in Neil gives way, one bracket on a shelf snapping so everything goes sliding. He very much wants to follow him.

“Not like he was contributing anyway,” Nicky says brightly, reaching across the sticky table for a card. They settle back into the swing of the game, and they cycle through rhyme time and two waterfalls before Matt flicks Neil on the shoulder and jerks his chin at the hall.

Andrew’s back in the doorway, hair wet from the shower. He watches Neil for a minute, and Neil watches back, more focused on Andrew for everything else being so loud. 

Andrew is quiet and still and half lit by the setting sun. He shifts his weight, almost imperceptible, and the handful of shots Neil let himself have roll over in his stomach.

“Come here.”

Neil stands immediately, quickly enough that Kevin spills his handle of vodka and Dan stops mid-anecdote.

“I’m going to bed,” Neil says, already picking his way over the debris of cards and shoes and open boxes of summery drinks.

“I bet you are,” Matt says, and Nicky makes a cracking whip noise. Neil ignores them both and joins Andrew in his pocket of darkness.

“I don’t know why we came,” Andrew says, turning into the stairway.

“Yeah you do,” Neil says. Andrew says nothing. They both know he does. They came here because Andrew would never let Neil or Kevin or Aaron be somewhere without him. They came because Neil asked.

They climb to their second floor room, and Andrew kisses Neil as soon as the door closes behind them, the tang of scotch on his tongue.

Neil only breaks away when Andrew tugs him back by his hair.

“I’m sober,” Neil says quickly. Andrew rolls his eyes.

“I’m not fucking you.”

Neil makes a disappointed noise in his throat. “Shame.” 

He smiles at the softness of Andrew’s face in the sunset. He looks young and uncomplicated like this. Someone caught in a moment of quiet rather than someone who lives in it.

Somewhere in the middle of Andrew’s indulgence, letting him look and graze his neck with his thumbs, Neil’s memory jolts. “I have something for you.”

Andrew’s eyes open a little more. It’s the most endearing shift from heavy-lidded to visibly focused, and Neil’s chest hurts. “I didn’t ask you for anything.”

“Wait,” Neil says, letting Andrew go so he can turn to their messy bed and side by side duffel bags.

He stoops and digs one hand into the bottom of his bag, patting blindly through twisted fabric until his fingers find something cool.

Andrew is closer when he rights himself, close enough that his crossed arms brush Neil’s front.

Neil holds the key in his fist, and regret clamps locks on his fingers and thickens his tongue.

“I met you two years ago,” Neil says quietly.

“We’re not doing this,” Andrew tells him. And he knew, he knew Andrew would take this as a hallmark anniversary gift and not the piece of Neil that it is.

“I’m not, I’m just.” He looks at his own clenched hand. “I’ve never been somewhere this long before. I celebrate my victories.”

“What victories?” Andrew asks, an insult or an actual question, Neil can’t tell.

“You,” Neil says simply. “This.” He opens his hand and reaches for Andrew’s. Andrew accepts the key without hesitation, and Neil’s skin goes hot with gratification.

“I didn’t think I had anything to give back to you,” Neil says. Andrew looks at him sharply. “But then I remembered this storage unit in Tulsa.”

Andrew’s eyes drop to follow the curves of the key, and Neil almost loses his train of thought.

“A lot of my past is in there. Everything that’s left of my mother. Some money. At least 100 secrets. I’m cashing them in,” he says, a smile starting and sputtering like an engine turning over.

Andrew’s hand twitches around the key. “How did you get this?”

“Stuart left it for me. We had hiding places all over, and he was close to one.” Neil watches Andrew turning and turning the key, expression impenetrable. “I don’t need whatever’s in there, anymore,” he finishes.

Andrew looks up at him, holding eye contact and dropping the key back into Neil’s bag. “I don’t want it.”

Neil’s gut pitches. “Why not?”

Andrew’s gaze wanders away, towards the window. “Your past is irrelevant.”

“I have nothing else to give,” Neil says hoarsely. The salt in the air smells like decay.

“You are wrong,” Andrew says, wandering to the bed and sitting.

“What, then?” He’d hunted for this key for two months. He remembers the storage locker like an unhealed wound his mother had bandaged and left to rot. This is the only key he has that isn’t a gift, but a memory.

“You,” Andrew says, eyes remote, hands open on the bedspread. “This.”

Neil’s breath walks clean out of his lungs. “Andrew,” he says, hushed, dark like unpolished wood.

“Making me work for your secrets is a cop out,” Andrew says, as Neil walks over to him with feet that feel twisted on backwards. “I’m not driving to Oklahoma because you’re emotionally repressed.”

“God,” Neil laughs. He kneels at the foot of the bed and puts himself between Andrew’s thighs when they part for him. He looks up at Andrew’s indifferent face and can’t believe he’s allowed the pleasure of being this close. “Are you sure you won’t fuck me?”

Andrew’s thighs tighten around his ribcage. “Yes.”

Neil puts his head down so his cheek ghosts over Andrew’s chest. “Tomorrow, maybe.” 

“Tomorrow,” Andrew agrees, and he threads one hand through Neil’s hair.