#on good days neil plays with andrew’s fingers instead though

[rekikiri]

andrew wears a bunch of rings, and one of them is a fidget ring (like the ones that slide) and when Neil is bored he just reaches for Andrew’s hand and takes it from him as soon as Andrew says yes

[emry-stars-art]

Omg PLEASE tell us more about the hurt/ comfort after Neil gets back from evermore after being kidnapped

Oh you know the fun parts to brainstorm 👀👀 First I needed to draw some of the comfort so here’s a sketch:

Anyway this is aftg we’re talking about, specifically Riko and Nathan, so once again; it’s rather vague but take care reading on (or skip to the next bolded sentence for the comfort 💕)

I honestly still don’t have all the specifics on what might happen at Evermore! One option is just to make it very similar to Neil’s canon Christmas break, because the angles are similar: in canon, they want Neil quiet and obedient to play exy and not act out against his treatment, and in this au the only difference is instead of exy it’s… violence, essentially. But let’s be honest. This is a royal au, we have to add some things, right

So the main tenant is “they want Abram to do what he’s told without argument”. In my mind that includes being forced to watch every bit of Nathan’s work and then having to do it himself. Of course, Abram is still stubborn and still hates doing it more than he hates anything else, so it takes a long time for him to hurt or torture or kill anyone the first time he’s asked. Usually there is heavy coercion and harm before he touches anyone.

But the point isn’t to get Abram used to doing it, because he’s already as used to it as he will ever be. The Moriyamas’ focus is more on breaking down the stubborn streak and strong moral compass. The best way to do that, they figure, is to take away his personhood altogether. So Abram is never referred to as a person, and instead they more or less treat him like some inanimate weapon or like a dog. A very volatile, vicious dog. Kennels and muzzles and commands and all. Some starvation and sleep deprivation when they decide it’s “necessary”. Even long into his recovery Abram can’t hear a word like heel or sit without his muscles twitching to do so.

So it’s a mix of the dehumanization and punishment. Riko has almost free reign once again, though Tetsuji will step in at times when he deems it’s too much. (Though I don’t think he considered waterboarding/near drowning every time Abram is made to bathe or shower “too much”.) Near the end of Abram’s time, a week or so before he’s either rescued, somehow returned, or escapes, Tetsuji revokes Riko’s privileges altogether when Riko causes some heavy head injuries that concuss Abram and make him lose his sight for a while. It’s not permanent, but it’s long enough term that when he gets back to Palmetto, Abram takes a long time away from most people to recover. He doesn’t trust himself not to act before he can think when he can’t see his surroundings.

Back at Palmetto, it might take most of them a while to realize how bad it was. Day is most familiar with how Evermore works, but he was still high up in the chain of command and respect, so he wasn’t necessarily familiar with the underworkings like that. Abram was raised in the environment, he is horrifically good at more or less acting normal. And when he’s fully awake and conscious, he’s very good at keeping things separate - people can still touch him with enough warning, he still holds conversation when he has to. The worst things come to light slowly - the first time he wakes up in a flashback Abram and Day immediately decide it’s best if he doesn’t stay around Andrew. So Andrew kind of has to watch from the outside and it kills him. He watches when Abram refuses to bathe, but if he doesn’t get clean the wounds will get badly infected, so Day kind of has to make him. But Andrew can’t help - because as Day expects, Abram panics and Day ends up with several bruised ribs and nearly broken fingers. Abram won’t wear high collared or tight shirts any more, and one time in helping the Queen care for the castle’s hounds Abram has a panic attack when he’s accidentally left alone for too long. There are little punctures over his cheeks and nose in a circle across his face. He has a hard time eating around others. Abram never tells them what happened to him, but Andrew and Day slowly figure it out anyway.

As they figure it out, everyone does their best to adapt. While Abram’s still recovering his sight, Day announces himself and most of his movements. He talks all the way through finally washing and detangling Abram’s hair (even after the long time he spends on it, they have to cut out the worst mats) when Abram tells him it helps to hear a friendly voice in a language that isn’t the Moriyamas’. Day talks more often and more softly than he probably ever has in his life, because he’s made himself Abram’s main caretaker. Not to say he doesn’t make honest mistakes, because they all do, but he’s quick to change his behavior.

Then, when Abram’s almost fully recovered his sight, Day lets him stay with Andrew once more. Now it’s not as much Abram watching out for the prince - he will do his job well enough, but sometimes he still has to step back and away because of course he does. And Andrew’s approach is very different than Day’s. It isn’t as much his voice as it is his presence, or when he uses his calm but direct authority to tell Abram to go to sleep, I’m going to be right here. After Abram’s panic attack in the kennels, Andrew discovers that if there’s nothing around to pull Abram into a panic attack he won’t generally fall into one again after leaving the stressor, and Abram finds great comfort in some grounding hold on some part of him. Usually the back of his neck or his hands. He won’t let Andrew hold a knee or leg when they’re sat together, but he will put his weight against Andrew’s shoulder for balance. Little things that Andrew figures out by asking or trial and error. When Abram slips, accidentally refers to himself as “it” or “thing” - words he’d never use normally and sometimes even flinches from - Andrew learns to stay within arms reach, sometimes talking through his and Abram’s schedule. If it’s bad enough Abram might play with Andrew’s fingers and hands while he does, like he’s trying to make sure he can still touch someone without hurting them. This afternoon we discuss plans for the upcoming festival with Day, Captain Wymack, Abigail, and Aaron and Katelyn, and after we’ll eat. Join me in the garden? Always official, non-confrontational events. Slowly Andrew gets Abram readjusted to eating at a table and speaking without seeking permission first.

But again. There’s a lot of possibilities and things are always subject to change or be added, so this is kind of my jumping off point! (And is half of this summarized from things I’ve written? Yes. But I want to have something else polished and posted first so 👀 I hope to circle back to this soon) Thank you for the ask!! 🥰

[otdiaftg]

Neil considers asking Andrew if he had any good memories at all, but then he'd have to ask what someone so joyless actually considered to be "good". Instead he says, "Our game is over now, isn't it?" "It's still my turn," Andrew points out. "But after that?" Neil asks. "I have no secrets left to trade." "Come up with something else." "What would you take?" "What would you give me?" "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," Neil says. Andrew slants a bored look at him, unimpressed with having his own words tossed back in his face. Neil leans a shoulder against the door before Andrew can open it and says, "I think I should get a few bonus turns, though, considering you got all your answers from me for free." "You volunteered those," Andrew says. "Circumstances kind of forced my hand." Andrew gazes back at him in silence. Neil refuses to take the hint or move, content to play the waiting game. It takes a couple minutes, but finally Andrew holds up a finger and says, "One free question." "One?" Neil echoes. "The fewer you give me, the more you'll hate what I ask." "I hate everything about you anyway," Andrew says. "I won't notice." Neil moves away from the door. "I'll let you know when I come up with something." Andrew gets the door and locks it behind them. Neil lifts his little finger from his mug and lets Andrew hook the key ring over it. Neil goes next door, but Andrew continues down the hall to his own room.

Day: Monday, March 11th / 12th* Time: 9:43 AM EST

*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.

[jingerhead]

congrats on 400!! you deserve it ily 🧡

for the prompt list: 4 and 17? this is just me shamelessly asking for an andreil wedding/wedding night drabble

Thank you so much lovely!!! You're too sweet, ily too ~

OH as if I haven't written enough Andreil weddings already hehe, I think this will be either the 5th or 6th thing wedding related I've written for them. Honestly, I'm totally okay with them never getting married like Nora said, but wedding fics are fun. I'll write as many as you'd like!

(This ended up so much softer than I meant it to be)

4 - I've never seen you dance before

17 - You didn't have to marry me, you know

Their wedding was over in under an hour.

Planning the entire thing took much longer than that, but the trip to the courthouse and signing everything didn't take long. And when they were traveling back to their apartment, Neil realized that he didn't feel any different than before the ceremony, but he supposed that was a good thing. In his mind, it didn't matter if he and Andrew got married, but he also knew that no matter how many 'excuses' Andrew gave, he'd genuinely wanted to do it if he brought it up at all.

Things still didn't feel different when they walked back through the door to their home, greeted by King and Sir, who couldn't go along with them. As he took off his shoes, Neil fidgeted with the silicone band around his finger, identical to the one around Andrew's. They'd learned that metal was out of the question the moment Neil's fingers had come into contact with one while shopping together, too many sensations similar and yet different against the scars on his hands. After that disaster of a trip, Andrew had bought them the silicone rings, claiming they went better with his style, anyways.

What mattered to Neil was that they worked, because he didn't want to hide his wedding ring on a chain around his neck, and he wanted something he'd be able to physically touch. He stopped moving the ring around his finger for a moment, looking up at where Andrew stood in the living room, fixing one of the curtains that one of the cats had messed with in their absence. They hadn't dressed up for the day, instead opting to wear something casual and comfortable, but it felt far more real like that. Andrew hadn't let him wear his sweatpants, though - or his jorts, even though it was hot outside.

Neil had no idea what else Andrew had planned for today, and he had no idea what was supposed to be done on a wedding day, but there was one thing that came to mind.

"Will you dance with me?" Neil asked as he crossed the room.

Andrew waited until Neil stopped behind him, still staring at the curtains that had been put back into place. "Why," he said, tone too monotone to be phrased as a question.

"I've never seen you dance before," Neil said, which was true. It was one of the things he couldn't imagine Andrew doing. "People usually dance on their wedding day."

Slowly, Andrew turned until he was facing Neil, staring at him for a moment. Neil watched him as he walked to the small table at the end of their couch, grabbing his phone and eventually playing some song quietly.

"We can't choose together?" Neil asked.

The leather jacket Andrew had been wearing was laid over the arm of the couch. "Your taste in music is shit," he said, walking back towards Neil until there was barely any space between them.

For another moment they stood in silence, listening to the song playing from Andrew's phone instead of moving to dance. Neil could feel a fond smile stretching his lips the longer he stared at...well, at his husband. "You didn't have to marry me, you know," he reminded Andrew, leaving his hands at his side so they could be moved easily.

"I did," Andrew said, grabbing one hand and guiding it to his shoulder. "If I didn't, someone else would be stuck with you. Had to spare them that fate."

Neil held more tightly to Andrew's other hand. "I don't swing."

Andrew tugged him closer, his gaze unwavering. "I know."

In the end, Neil was pretty sure what they were doing was more swaying than dancing, but it was good. Exactly what he wanted it to be.

[the-stressmushroom]

AFTG Headcanon #2

(I’m gonna be doing a few more of these for writing/idea practice)

TW: canon typical violence, blood

Neil, while being very attractive, does not have a perfect face. And I don’t mean the scars. Whenever I see fan art of Neil, he always has this super symmetrical and straight nose, and I just cannot believe that is the case.

Neil’s nose is crooked and has a large bump in the middle.

He first broke his nose when he was 8. He had been running around the kitchen, experiencing a rare moment of genuine childlike joy in the Baltimore house. His father was away for business and had taken Lola, Romero, and Patrick with him, leaving Neil alone with Mary and only Jackson guarding them. Neil didn’t pose much of a threat so Jackson stayed practically glued to Mary’s side. There was soft music playing throughout the house and Neil, Nathaniel then, was happily humming along as he did laps around the kitchen island. However, as one song bled into the next, he heard Mary shout followed by a big crash. As he whipped his head around to find the source of the noise, he lost his balance and fell headfirst into the marble counter top. His nose cracked, and he felt himself begin to cry. Mary had told him to stay out of trouble though, and he didn’t want to make her mad, so he went to the bathroom closest to his bedroom and locked himself inside. He tried desperately to keep the blood off of any light materials and sat prodding at his injured nose for about an hour before he squeezed it tightly, and tugged it straight. It hurt, but not nearly as much as his fathers hands or lolas knives. The bleeding stopped, so Neil did his best to clean up his mess and carry on with the rest of his day. His mom didn’t even question it when he came down for dinner that evening with swollen eyes and a purple nose; she couldn’t really talk with the bruises around her throat left by Plank.

The second time he broke his nose, it wasn’t his fault, and his name was Stefan. They were driving through the Swiss alps when a member of the Moriyama’s syndicate caught up with them. The roads were snowy and the 1972 Volvo they were stuck with did not make the best get away car. Despite Mary’s skill, the car spun out after hitting a patch of black ice on a particularly winding road. Neil couldn’t remember the car colliding with the tree, but he could remember the feeling of his mother’s freezing fingers snapping the cartilage back into place. He could remember the scream he tried and failed to bite back, and the slap he received for making too much noise. The slap jostled his nose and though it had been properly reset, that break never quite healed properly.

There was a third, fourth, and fifth time; all on the run as well, but the first time he broke his nose as a fox was different.

It was the second game of his Sophomore season. The Jackals had put up a hell of a fight, but the foxes had managed to pull out a win. When the final buzzer sounded, Neil pulled off his helmet and shook out his sweaty hair before looking to the score board; the 8-5 he saw there put a smile on his face. If he hadn’t been quite so distracted, he might have noticed the angry looking backliner for the jackals watching him. He might have noticed the ball being tossed in the air, and he might have noticed the racket swing that sent the ball hurdling towards his face. Andrew noticed. He noticed immediately but didn’t quite make it to Neil in time to push him out of the way. The court rang out with a deafening crack as the ball connected directly with the bridge of his nose. Andrew was over him as soon as he hit the ground, muttering a quick yes or no before pulling Neil’s head into his lap. The other foxes had thrown themselves at the Jackal player in question as soon as they saw Neil fall, but Andrew couldn’t be bothered. He gently touched Neil’s nose and dabbed at it slightly, trying to stop the blood from going into his mouth. Neil groaned and sat up, leaning back on his hands. The fight between the jackals and the foxes had ended with the offending jackal player being benched for the next two games thanks to a much deserved red card.

As his teammates began to circle him, checking in, asking him questions, Neil put a hand up to quiet them.

“Guys, I’m fine, I swear,” Neil said before reaching up and resetting his broken nose without so much as a flinch. “See, all good.” The foxes went deadly quiet.

“Neil,” Matt said softly, “that’s not all good. How do you know how to reset a broken nose?”

Neil blinked at Matt owlishly before responding, “cause I’ve done it a dozen times? To my mom and myself. Couldn’t go to hospitals while on the run and the nose is a very delicate part of the body.” This wasn’t the first time the foxes had heard something like this from Neil, but it didn’t make it any less heart breaking. Neil began to shift around in discomfort from all the eyes on him, and Andrew, as always, noticed right away.

“Come on junkie, you and I are doing press duty.” Neil nodded, his face blank, but he found himself able to breath easier thanks to the distraction. Andrew always knew exactly what Neil needed, always.

As the press conference came to an end, a lingering journalist asked for Neil’s opinion of the Jackals player who had, quite literally, taken a shot at him. Neil’s composure slipped slightly and he let out a laugh at the question before answering,

“If only they had aimed that well during the game, they might have won”

Andrew let out an exasperated sigh beside him and grabbed Neil’s wrist before pulling him out of the press room, leaving the wrap up to Wymack.

“207%”

“Okay, but was I wrong?”

“208%, thin ice junkie.” Andrew said, before turning and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Neil’s very crooked and very swollen nose. “It’s time for you to go see Abby.”

Years down the line, Neil is having a particularly bad day and Andrew sits down next to him in their shared bathroom. He had found Neil on the bathroom floor with a hand mirror, a box of black hair dye and a fifth of whiskey, and decided enough was enough.

“Neil, you look nothing like your father.”

“Yes I do Andrew. Every time I look in the mirror, I see him. His eyes, his jaw, his hair-“

“Neil, I have an eidetic memory, I know what he looks like and I know what you look like. You do not look the same. The nose is all wrong.”

This puzzles Neil, he’d never really taken the time to look at his nose. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, your nose is completely different from his. It throws off the resemblance completely. You do not look like him, and you never will.”

Neil signs, letting his head drop between his knees before bringing his fingers up to dance carefully across the bridge of his nose. “It is a little crooked isn’t he?” He says with a slight chuckle.

“Yes,” Andrew responds before taking Neil’s chin in the palms of his hands and bringing his face up so their eyes meet. “It’s perfect.”

Neil smiles at that, a soft smile that is typically only reserved for Andrew.

“Yes or no, Neil?” the words are softly muttered into the mere inches of space separating their lips.

“Yes,” Neil murmurs in response, closing his eyes and leaning forward into Andrew’s space. He’s expecting a kiss on the lips, so is surprised when Andrew delicately kisses his nose instead. He smiles and Andrew’s lip twitches upward in response.

“511% junkie.”

[codename-adler]

foxes + onesies (7/9)

based off of that one post i saw and don’t remember, where people once caught Allison wandering around Fox Tower in a giraffe onesie, and i absolutely melted for her. here is the Foxes’ journey to getting a onesie each!

Andrew

TW: mentions/implications of sexual abuse

Andrew does not get a onesie

instead, he watches Lilo & Stitch, alone, in his bed, on his laptop

the first time he saw the movie, it was in theaters

he was 4 or 5, maybe

it was with one of his first foster families, who cared for three other foster kids, all around Andrew’s age: Claire, Kelly and Ben

sometimes he wonders where they are now, but he doesn’t care: it’s just a fleeting thought

Lilo & Stitch marked him for life

something about Nani and Lilo’s relationship, something about family struck him deep

something about it broke his little heart, and he never recovered

and yeah, the aliens were pretty cool too

but Andrew never said anything about it to anyone

except for the year before he turned seven

he was still with the same foster family that had brought him to the movies

for Christmas, instead of asking for the usual necessities like clothes or the very unnecessary candies… Andrew asked for Lilo & Stitch

and he got it

he got the brand new VHS

he kept it under his pillow for a few months, untouched, unopened

at night, he would run his little fingers along the edges of the box, and play the movie in his head

because yes, in one viewing, Andrew had memorized the entire movie and could now remember it scene by scene, eyes closed

Lilo & Stitch was one of the first things he actively committed to his memory

Andrew only put the VHS on when the other kids were out of the house

which, didn’t happen a lot

he watched it maybe three or four times before moving into another foster family

Andrew didn’t care that he left this one, as long as he could keep Lilo & Stitch

the next few foster homes he moved into were packed with kids

like, 8 kids and counting

all his foster parents were either greedy, exhausted, overworked or deeply uncaring

by the time he was 7, Andrew had rewatched his VHS less than five times

he was always so careful with it, he never let anyone touch it, and he often threw hands with whoever dared lay a hand on it

which is part of why, by the time he was 7, Andrew had been through 4 more foster homes

he remembers the night he lost his VHS, though

and he remembers exactly where he left it

he was in a home with 9 other kids ranging from 7 months to 13 years old

the foster mother was a lazy woman, but very stressed out and impatient

the 7-months-old that had just joined them 2 weeks ago was giving everyone migraines

one night, the woman couldn’t take it anymore; she had to get rid of some kids

but instead of calling child services to take away the baby, she told them to come pick up “three cases”

Andrew knew he was one of them, somehow

he slipped out the backdoor and into the garden

he dug a hole in the far back, with his bare hands

he buried Lilo & Stitch right there and then

he slipped into the house again, unnoticed

he washed his hands of the cold, wet, black dirt without a second thought

child services came that night and left with Andrew and the other two oldest kids

Andrew didn’t care, he just thought that the woman was stupid

Andrew wasn’t fun, wasn’t cute, wasn’t nice

but at least he didn’t talk, didn’t cry, took care of himself

after that home, he was transferred to a new one, where he was alone

a middle-aged couple took him in, Sandra and Harvey Whittaker

it was that home

Andrew was glad his VHS never touched a thing from that dirty house

the rest, as they say, was history

Andrew never saw the movie again

he never once closed his eyes to recall every minute of Lilo and Stitch’s adventures, never uttered a word about it, never even glanced at anything resembling a blue little alien or a red hawaiian pattern

until Palmetto

it was totally by accident

Andrew had gone on his usual convenience store runs to buy ice cream

(he was thinking bubble gum or peanut butter rocky road)

and right there, next to the register, a DVD stand

with all the Fast & Furious, the Marvel movies, Stuart Little…

and Lilo & Stitch

Andrew bought it on a whim

he went back to his dorms with his movie and his pints of ice cream, and locked himself in his room

he put it on his laptop, and watched

it was still the same

it was still good

it was still Lilo, and Stitch, and Nani

(David was, well, quite good-looking now, though)

(but why did he have to be called David? that was Wymack’s name, it was an ugly name, a boner-killing name. why.)

as the credits rolled, Andrew removed the DVD from his laptop, put in back into its box and hid it in his desk

Andrew went on with his life as if nothing had happened

but that wasn’t… nothing

and so now, in present-day Fox Tower, the Foxes had got it into their heads to make one Neil Josten watch the Disney classics

mind you, Neil didn’t care at all

action movies or intense movies could keep his attention long enough, but “baby movies”, as he called them, did nothing for him

but these Disney nights served as bonding time for the Foxes, and Neil could sneak a nap in the back of the room while Andrew played with his hair

however, one night, when Matt had suggested they watch Lilo & Stitch next, Andrew had left the room without a word

which, not unusual per se, but Neil could tell it didn’t mean nothing

he didn’t follow Andrew, nobody did, but Neil waited until half the movie to go looking for him

he found him in his room, in his bed, his laptop illuminating his face

Neil went to stand at the end of the bed

Neil: Yes or no?

Andrew: …Yes.

Neil got into Andrew’s bed and laid down beside Andrew, face smushed into the pillows, a foot of space between their bodies

Neil angled his head backwards to glimpse at the screen

and right there

Lilo & Stitch

Neil looked up at Andrew, then back at the screen, then again at Andrew

he didn’t smile

he didn’t tease

he didn’t move

he didn’t say a word

he just looked at Andrew, and looked, and looked and looked and looked…

Andrew: Staring.

Neil stopped, then, and curled himself on his side, eyes trained on the screen

Andrew removed his earbuds, lowered the volume of his laptop and put on the subtitles for Neil, because he knew that would give him something more to focus on

they watched the whole movie together

Neil stayed awake

Andrew stayed put

Neil stayed

Andrew stayed

it’s a month later, when Neil comes back from class and checks their P.O. box

it’s there

he goes up to the girls’ dorm and asks Renee for her Post-Its

he then goes back to his dorm, where Andrew is sitting on his bed, with his laptop

Neil simply chucks him the package but doesn’t wait for Andrew’s reaction

on the plastic bag, a single orange Post-It with Neil’s terrible handwriting

Ohana

Andrew knows what it is

he’s seen the others

with their ugly-ass wannabe pajamas

he rips the plastic open nonetheless, because it’s a package, it demands to be opened

and yeah, it is what he knew it was

an oversized, velvety blue onesie

it’s Stitch

it grants Neil a 399%

so, maybe Andrew wears it, maybe he doesn’t

because he didn’t want a onesie

and, technically, Andrew did not get a onesie

but Neil did

yet, Andrew keeps it, and the Post-It

because maybe he did want a onesie

because it’s Stitch

because it’s from Neil

because Ohana

[kevindayscrown]

The one where Kevin Day falls in love with an ice hockey player.

Extra Content Part 1

Anything included in this head canon takes place the semester after the Foxes won the championship against the Ravens.

Head over to the directory to find the main parts.

Words in italics are spoken in Mandarin by the characters.

This is sort of extra content, it’s not a main part and no, I promise it won’t be as bad as Nora’s extra content is.

Eric liked to believe he was a pretty chill guy. There were very few things that could really affect him emotionally, he rarely got angry, and he raised his voice even less.

But somehow, Kevin Day had the ability to turn it all upside down.

He could remember the first time they’d met very vividly. Back then, he’d thought that Kevin was nothing more than a stuck-up celebrity, who apparently didn’t have time for those he considered inferior.

However, Eric found that he enjoyed riling Kevin up.

And secretly, he also enjoyed when Kevin himself wouldn’t go down without a fight.

When they started spending more time together, Eric couldn’t help but want to find out more about him. It was clear there was a lot more behind that cold façade.

From the yakuza story, the pretend dating, that kiss in the attic and eventually, the ‘break up’, Eric was not sure what to think anymore.

He knew he felt something for Kevin.

Correction.

He knew he very much wanted to take the ‘pretending’ out of the ‘dating’.

Despite everything, Kevin didn’t seem to have the same idea. Eric knew he’d been through a lot, but there was only so much he could tolerate. Perhaps when the two of them would eventually cool down, they’d be able to at least stay friends.

“Perhaps this was a waste of our time after all.”

That’s what he’d said before rushing out of the restroom, leaving the striker behind. He’d figured that both of them needed space and time to think things through.

Neil Josten hadn’t been very willing to give Eric his space, though.

The short red head followed Eric outside, saying nothing at first. Eventually, Eric stopped and turned to look at him.

“Is there a particular reason you followed me outside?”

Neil shrugged and then pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pockets. He held it out to Eric first, who shook his head, before taking one from inside and lighting it up.

“Let me guess-,” he started and took a drag, letting the smoke out before he spoke again, “- Kevin is being an idiot again.”

Eric ran his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, not sure how to respond to that. Kevin hadn’t been an idiot. He’d just been incredibly blind and stubborn.

“You’ll get used to it. He’s like that. It takes him some time,” Neil said and blew out more smoke.

Eric didn’t at all doubt that. It was clear Kevin’s mind worked in patterns that were hard to break. But was Eric willing to sacrifice his own sanity in trying to help Kevin?

“I figured. I’m not sure if I’m the one suitable to be there for him.”

Neil’s snort caused some smoke to blow out through his nose.

“I’ve never seen Kevin like that. Lying to Andrew and skipping Exy practice to go to the rink at night with you? Even going there willingly in the first place? Trust me, whatever it is you’re doing is working wonders already.”

Eric wasn’t so sure about that, since he had just left Kevin alone in a restroom after he had literally returned Kevin’s words against him, telling him he’d been a waste of time.

“What do I do?” Eric asked, almost desperately. He didn’t want to mess this up. He definitely did not want to become another reason why Kevin was cold and closed off.

“Give it some time. We’ll handle it. I’m sure you’ve seen what the foxes can do if they get too stubborn.”

Oh, Eric had. The Exy team of the Palmetto State Foxes had risen from the bottom of the ranks and won the championship, in an impressive way to say the least.

“Fine.” Eric wasn’t sure if he liked how this gave him hope, but he decided to hold onto it regardless. He was already too deep into this to be able to back out. He didn’t want to give up on Kevin, but he couldn’t be the only one doing most of the work.

“Where are you planning on going? Not the hotel I suppose,” Neil said and then threw the cigarette down, stepping on it.

The last thing Eric wanted was to spend a whole awkward night sharing the same bed with Kevin. In any other case, it might have been something to look forward to, seeing how he had imagined that scenario many times. But not like that. Not with the two of them barely exchanging any words.

“No. I’m leaving. Figured I should give us both some space. A lot has happened these past months. Maybe the winter break is all we need,” he said with a shrug and then shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll head back to my parents’ place. Was already planning on it. I’ll just show up earlier.”

Eric wanted to give Kevin time and space, wanted to believe Neil. He generally wasn’t the pessimistic kind of person so it was easy for him to cling on the hope that Kevin and him could have something more. Something real.

Going home, he thought, would help him forget and clear his head for a couple of weeks.

Except, it didn’t.

His childhood best friend, Riley Pierce, wasn’t exactly keen on letting Eric forget about Kevin. Mostly because Riley had been obsessed with Kevin growing up. They weren’t a sports person, but they were an Exy fanatic.

And there was no chance they would let Eric forget that he’d started dating national champion Kevin Day without telling them anything.

Two days prior to leaving his home town in Atlanta for the start of the new semester, Riley still wouldn’t drop the subject.

“I can’t believe you went on dates with him. What is he like? I mean, I know you hate him, but really, you went on dates with Kevin Day.”

They were gliding across the ice of their neighborhood rink, a regular hang out spot for the two of them. Riley’s smaller frame and hate for physical violence led them down the path of figure skating instead of playing ice hockey with Eric.

“It was fine,” Eric mumbled, though his mind went straight to the nights spend in the attic. “He is-,” he stopped, knowing he couldn’t start talking about Kevin without Riley figuring out the truth. He had tried to avoid it throughout the holidays, but now it was just the two of them and Eric had no idea how to change the subject.

“Wait-,”

Too late.

Riley halted and made Eric do the same, watching him and studying him the way no one else could. Growing up next to each other was the cause for that.

“You actually like him. It wasn’t just fake dating for you, was it?”

Eric sighed and eventually gave in, nodding slowly. “He is... not used to this. We had a fall out and I figured out that giving him some time might help clear things out.”

Riley’s expression softened. They smiled and then crushed Eric in a hug that almost had them both tripping over the ice.

“If anyone can figure it out, it’s you. Even if sometimes you are a bit thick in the head. I’m telling you; ice hockey isn’t good for you.”

That had Eric laughing, lifting his spirits a bit. Riley pulled back and patted his shoulder.

“Look, Kevin Day or not, at the end of the day, you should do what makes you happy. If you want to be with him and think it’s going to work out, I know you can do it. If not then, well, you have my shoulder to cry on. Or you can tell Kevin I’m very much available.”

They grinned and Eric rolled his eyes but smiled fondly.

“Thanks, Riley.”

Eric knew he had his family, his team and his best friend whom he could count on. He couldn’t help, however, to worry about Kevin and how he spent the winter break. Sure, he had his team, he had people surrounding him, but was he still punishing himself?

Riley eventually suggested they go back for dinner at Eric’s place. They gathered their stuff after they got off the rink and then started heading back.

“Mom?” Eric called as they walked inside the house.

“Eric?” His mother asked as she looked at them from the living room, immediately walking over to them to welcome them. “You are back! Good. Someone very special is here to see you.”

The smile on her face had something mischievous about it that instantly got Eric’s attention.

Eric heard Riley squeal even before he spotted Kevin Day, sitting on the couch, watching him with bright emerald eyes.

[lukesunbornn]

SOMEBODY SAID LONG HAIRED KEVIN AND BRAIN WENT BRRR SO HERE WE ARE

this is 1.6k of daysten, no nsfw beyond undetailed kissing, this is my first fic so pls be nice to me ❤️

It all starts when Kevin doesn’t feel like going for a haircut. Exy season is busy with games and interviews and appearances and everything else, and he just doesn’t have time to get to a salon. Plus, Kevin has to admit that he kinda likes how it feels when his bangs brush against his cheekbones.

There are some downsides to growing his hair out, though. For one thing, hair in the eyes in the middle of a game is not helpful for winning. He keeps having to pause to brush hair out of his eyes, and it’s getting in the way of his playing. Renee notices him eyeing her neatly pinned hair after a game one day, and the next morning Kevin finds some clips in his game bag.

The clips have some minor setbacks, though. Renee has a certain aesthetic, which her style mirrors. When Kevin walks into practice with sparkly butterflies in his hair, Nicky wolf-whistles and Seth bursts out laughing. Not the reaction Kevin was hoping for, but exactly what he was expecting. He realizes a second too late that he tenses up at their reaction, because for once he is actually happy with his appearance, but Neil, ever the observer, must notice his discomfort. Kevin walks to put down his bag and doesn’t miss the sound of Neil leisurely standing up, and the sudden thud of Seth and Nicky sitting back on the bench. There are no more comments about the state of Kevin’s hair.

All through practice, Kevin notices Neil’s eyes trailing him. Apparently, not even Neil likes his hair, no matter what he did in the locker room. Kevin doesn’t let it bother him, just keeps going through drills with Dan like he always does.

As his hair gets even longer, Kevin starts needing new ways to tie it back. Renee is still loaning him clips, but one morning she knocks on their door and Kevin answers.

“Oh hey Renee! Lemme go grab Andrew, I think he’s still in the shower.”

“Oh, actually, I wasn’t looking for Andrew! Can I braid your hair?”

Kevin feels a bit uneasy, but he follows Renee down the hallway to her room, knocking over some useless umbrella stand as he leaves. She perches on the end of her bed, and directs the much taller Kevin to sit on the floor between her legs. He’s somewhat uncomfortable at first with having his back to her, hands on his head, but he quickly becomes relaxed as she works her fingers through his hair and chatters about her day.

Renee is halfway through detailing a particularly interesting girl in her chemistry class when Neil bursts in, shirtless.

“HEY HAVE ANY OF YOU SEEN KEVIN HE’S NOT IN THE DORM AND THERE WAS A LOUD NOISE EARLIER AND HE DIDN’T SAY HE WAS LEAVING AND. oh,” Neil finishes, realizing Kevin’s sitting on the floor. Neil’s toned stomach begins to get slightly red. Not that Kevin was looking at it. “Sorry for bursting in and freaking out! Kevin, I didn’t know you braided your hair that’s so cool I like how you’re growing it out not that I care because you can do what you want with your hair but I admire how long it’s getting and. I’m gonna leave now,” The red has been creeping up Neil’s body throughout his speech until it nearly reaches his ears. Kevin has been watching it with interest this whole time, and is slightly disappointed that it’s going away.

Renee laughs, and turns back to braiding Kevin’s hair. “It’s sweet how much he cares about you,” is all she says on the matter before jumping right back into their previous conversation.

At the end of that day’s practice, Kevin’s been working hard, and his hair is thick with sweat. The braids worked perfectly, but he’s not used to having his hair tied up for so long and is starting to get a headache. He takes the bands out and his hair falls down to his chin, slightly wavy, and he hears a clatter behind him. Neil must be exhausted from the day’s exercises if he can’t even hold his racquet.

The next evening is movie night, and Kevin is in his usual spot on the floor, leaning against the couch and watching a truly awful movie Matt had picked out. Kevin is starting to fall asleep when he feels a body sliding onto the couch behind him and, a moment later, gentle fingers brushing through his hair. He tenses a bit, but the circular motions being massaged into his scalp feel so good that he instantly relaxes again. He assumes it’s just Renee playing, though in his half-drunk fog Kevin notices that these fingers are treating his hair a bit more delicately than they were this morning. Renee must be trying not to wake him up. He naps for a few more minutes, but awakes yet again when he feels the braid being tied off. He tilts his head back to thank Renee, and sees someone else.

Neil’s eyes are crinkling at the corners, but are fully lit up, the way they get when he’s learning a particularly challenging exy play. The corners of his mouth are slightly turned up in a lazy smile, with the tip of his tongue sticking out from the corner. His breath smells like candy and is coming out in little puffs, and Kevin only then realizes that Neil’s face is barely an inch above his own. At this distance, Kevin can see little freckles across Neil’s strong cheekbones, and he wonders what it would be like to trace them with his fingertips. He’s about to do so, when he realizes that would probably be really freaking weird, so he says nothing and continues to stare. But then he realizes he’s been sitting like this for five minutes already and maybe he should say something or at least thank Neil for the braids. He opens his mouth but all that comes out is, “Um. I’m going back to the dorm now,” and he does just that.

The rest of the week passes peacefully, with Kevin chatting with Renee as she braids his hair each morning, and Neil going for a run every time he and Kevin might be alone together, foiling every attempt of Kevin’s to request that Neil braid his hair again.

Luckily, it turns out that Kevin doesn’t even need to ask, because halfway through the next week’s movie night, Neil’s fingers start stroking through his hair again. Kevin glances up.

“Okay?” Neil asks.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” and Kevin is rewarded with a small smile before being directed to look straight ahead so the braids don’t come out crooked. 

It slowly becomes a thing, Neil playing with Kevin’s hair. Not only on movie nights either, as Neil has very restless fingers, constantly drumming on every surface imaginable. This has always been annoying to Kevin, until he discovers that removing Neil’s hands from the countertop and placing them on his head results in much less noise and many more hairstyles. Kevin stops going to Renee’s room in the mornings, because Neil lives closer and can braid just as well, if not better. 

Kevin admires the neatness and precision with which Neil braids, how evenly he adds the strands of hair, how the braids stay in despite never pulling. Kevin may not know everything about hair braiding, but he knows that if it were a sport, Neil would be the master. 

A few weeks later, at another of the team’s movie nights, Kevin is feeling peaceful and blissed out while Neil’s nimble fingers create an intricate fishtail braid. The final piece of hair is tied off, and then Kevin feels a kiss being placed on the top of his head. Kevin freezes, and Neil freezes, and the lights are off, and Kevin is weighing the chances of being seen if he looks up and makes Neil do it again on the lips, when suddenly the gentle weight atop his head vanishes and Neil has teleported across the room near Matt. Kevin remembers the blush he saw months ago with Renee, and wonders if it’s gotten to Neil’s ears yet.

Kevin is scared his personal braider is going to stop doing his hair after that, but Neil is back at the end of Kevin’s bed the next morning, elastics in hand. The only difference now is that whenever he ties off a braid, Neil also places a quick kiss to the top of Kevin’s head. Kevin tries to ignore the mushy feeling in his stomach every time.

Months go by, and Kevin doesn’t act on any of the feelings he’s been having, and it’s driving him a little bit crazy. So he can’t really be blamed, per se, when one night after a game, he catches Neil’s hand as he finishes the first of two braids and brings it down to brush his lips across Neil’s knuckles.

Neil lets out a little sound, almost like a whimper, and then instead of kissing Kevin’s head, moves to kiss him on the cheek. Kevin turns his head a bit, and they’re about to kiss for real, when Kevin moves his head back. “Ah, ah, ah! You’ve gotta do the other braid first!”

Neil is not one to half-do things, so of course it takes him fifteen minutes to finish the second braid, and Kevin can barely appreciate the feeling of the other man’s expert hands in his hair because he’s too busy thinking about what comes next. 

When Neil finally finishes, he skips the head kiss, tilting Kevin’s chin up to kiss him flat on the mouth. And wow.

Kevin has to admit, the only thing that feels better than Neil braiding his hair is Neil’s fingers on his head undoing all his hard work.

[jeni182]

Unspoken

Andrew Minyard was not good with words.

Actually, scratch that. Andrew Minyard was very good with words. Cutting remarks and biting insults and sarcastic responses. He was very good at all of those. It was the simpler words he had problems with.

Words like love and relationship and trust.

“Hey,” Neil said, knocking Andrew’s shoulder with his own. They were on the roof, as they usually were this time of night. “What are you thinking?”

I’ll miss you when I graduate. I wish you could come with me. I don’t want to lose this.

Instead, Andrew took a long drag of his cigarette. Instead, Andrew shrugged too tight shoulders. Instead, Andrew wrapped a hand around the back of Neil’s neck and brought him in for a cigarette laced kiss. It was the only thing he knew how to say right now.

When he pulled back, Neil was grinning. “Is that what you were thinking?” Andrew shoved him back with a hand to his face and took another drag of his cigarette.

****

“I don’t know how to say words.”

Bee raised a brow at him. “No? I’d say you have a gift with words, Andrew. I’ve never head someone describe things as succinctly and as to the point as you do.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Andrew shook his head. He didn’t even know how to say this to Bee. He sighed and rubbed his face. Played with the edge of an armband. Jiggled a leg. Bee watched him patiently, waiting for him to get his thoughts in order.

“I’m graduating soon.” Bee nodded. “Neil is not.” She nodded again. “I don’t know how to say words.”

“Ah,” Bee said, finally getting it. “You would like to express some things to Neil, but you don’t know how to put them into words. Is that it?”

Andrew gave a tight nod.

He tried to show the words physically. He could feel them, when they were alone, and it was dark, and they were tangled together in sheets with warm breaths and gentle hands. He tried to say so much in those moments, because he couldn’t say it out loud.

A kiss behind Neil’s ear. I want you. A finger lightly trailing a scar. You’re perfect. A hand on a jaw, foreheads touching, breaths mingling. I love you.

Was it enough?

“I’m worried,” Andrew told Bee. “For when I’m gone, and Neil is here. We’ll have to communicate via phone calls and skype and…” Bee waited patiently again. “I just want to be able to say it out loud when we’re not in the same place. I’m worried it’ll be different.” I’m worried he won’t want me anymore.

“Hmmm,” Bee nodded and made a note of something. “Well, there are a lot of other ways for you to say things to him. I think Neil probably knows that speaking your emotions and feelings out loud is not something you claim to be proficient in. And I think he would understand that, even when you’ve left PSU. But let’s talk about some ways you can express what you’re feeling without having to put it into words out loud.”

****

The next night, Andrew had a brand-new journal. The pages were empty. The paper smelled fresh.

He had no idea what he was doing.

This had been the least cringe worthy of Bee’s ideas. ‘Write it down Andrew. You can show him if you’d like, or you can toss it if you’d rather. There’s no pressure.’

He didn’t see how this was any different from texting. He didn’t want to say any of the things he was thinking in a text either.

So, laying in his bunk on his stomach with his journal open in front of him, Andrew tried very hard to push aside the feeling of being a teenage girl and put a pen to the paper.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

What the fuck am I supposed to write.

When is Neil supposed to be back?

Andrew looked at his watch and sighed.

Neil is supposed to be back in an hour. He’s on the court teaching stupid freshman how to put the ball into the goal because they’re all incompetent. I don’t know why he bothers. But I guess that’s just so Neil. He always says, ‘someone had to show me’ and I guess that’s true and he IS an idiot. But not like these idiots.

Andrew tapped the pen on the paper and sighed.

I wish he would come home.

Andrew read what he’d written and slammed the book shut before he could rip it out and tear it to pieces.

****

One weekend, when they were at Eden’s after a game, Andrew lost Neil.

He left to get more drinks and did not make it back to the table. After ten minutes, Andrew left the table to look for him. Roland hadn’t seen him. He wasn’t on the dance floor. He wasn’t in the bathroom. Andrew was very calmly losing his fucking mind.

Where are you, where are you, where are you.

He found him finally, in the back room. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall. His knees were pulled up and his head was buried in his arms. Andrew dropped to the floor next to him and pulled him into his chest.

“What the fuck happened? Where were you?” He felt Neil shudder, and Andrew rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the tension out.  Neil looked up and the glow of blue eyes in the dimness made Andrew want to close his own.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. There was…a guy. I don’t know who. He grabbed me and called me Wesninski and I don’t know. I just panicked. I ran back here. I didn’t want to lose it out there and have security throw me out.”

Andrew let out a low growl. “Where?”

“No, just… Don’t worry about it. He’s probably already gone. Can we just leave?” Neil nuzzled his face into Andrew’s neck and Andrew took a deep breath. He nodded, and they left.

That night, when they were in the bed in their room in Columbia, after he’d shown Neil how worried he’d been with his hands and his mouth, Andrew pulled out his journal. Neil was snoring softly next to him, and Andrew ran a hand through his hair. He was rewarded with a soft sigh.

He started writing.

I love that noise. It means he feels safe here, with me. It means he trusts me to take care of him. I would kill that guy that grabbed him. I would kill anyone who made him feel like he had to hide. When I couldn’t find him tonight-

Andrew had to stop to close his eyes and gather his thoughts. To think about how to say this, even to this piece of paper.

-the feeling inside my chest was like a vice. It was squeezing and squeezing and all I could think about was Baltimore. Only it’s worse than Baltimore, because now I’ve had it and now I know what there is to lose. Everything.

****

On the day of Andrew’s graduation, Neil pulled him in for a hug. Andrew did not huff, and he did not pretend it was annoying like he might have done once. Instead he let his head fall into Neil’s neck and breathed in his scent of soap and sweat and Neil.

“I’m proud of you,” Neil said quietly to Andrew’s ear. Andrew did not respond. It was too much.

There was a party in the tower, for Andrew and Aaron and Nicky. There was booze and the Vixens were there and the music was terrible. Andrew didn’t mind so much. He stood with a cup of vodka and watched everyone around him have fun. Neil found him leaning against the wall and came close with a small smile on his lips. He moved until he was leaning against Andrew. Until they were chest to chest and thigh to thigh. He took Andrew’s cup from his hand and set it aside on a nearby table.

“Dance with me?”

“Never.”

Neil tilted his head back and laughed, and Andrew used the opportunity to run a hand up his neck, until it was wrapped loosely around it and his fingers were on Neil’s pulse point. Neil looked back at him and Andrew felt his pulse quicken. Or maybe that was Andrew’s own pulse. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

The next morning, when everyone was still in an alcohol induced sleep, Andrew wrote.

I’m leaving in a week. I’m leaving for Denver and Neil will stay here. Aaron will go to Chicago and Nicky will go to Germany. I am equal parts amazed that we’ve all survived this long and discomfited that after keeping and eye on everyone, it won’t be my responsibility anymore. Neil, though. Neil will always be my responsibility. I still don’t know how to say words. I still don’t know how to tell him what I want to tell him. Maybe I don’t really need to, after all. No, I know I don’t need to. I know he knows. Because no one has ever been able to read me like he has. No one has been able to give me a look that says, ‘I know what you’re not saying, and I feel the same way.’

I still wish I could say it.

****

The night before Andrew had to leave for Denver, they were at the Columbia house. They’d already moved out of the dorms. Already packed all of Andrew’s things. Already found Andrew an apartment.

Neil and Andrew sat outside on the back porch, cigarettes lit and coffee on the step next to them. The summer nights were warm now, bugs chirping and the air a heavy weight on their shoulders, blanketing them in nighttime stillness.

Neil was twitchy.

“Are you going to tell me what your problem is?” Andrew asked, because he couldn’t simply say ‘What’s wrong?’

Neil shrugged. “You leave tomorrow is all. It’ll be a while before we can see each other. It’ll be weird, not having you here.”

Andrew took a long drag. Neil went silent. After a moment, Andrew blew the smoke out in a harsh breath and took up the journal he had sitting beside him. He saw Neil glance over, but he didn’t acknowledge him. Instead he wrote.

It’ll be weird for me, too.

He passed it over to Neil, and Neil smiled a little. He plucked the pen out of Andrew’s hand and wrote back.

I’ll miss you.

Instead of passing it back, he scooted closer to Andrew, moving the coffee out of the way. They sat thigh to thigh and Neil moved the journal so that each of them had half of it resting on their laps. Andrew took back the pen. And so, it went.

I’ll miss you, too.

Will we talk every day?

Every single day.

Will you think of me when you’re in goal?

I will never not be thinking about you.

Will you send me nudes?

Every chance I get.

Neil laughed, and Andrew’s lips twitched.

They both went quiet for a moment, and Andrew took another turn.

I love you.

He heard Neil suck in a small breath and before he had time to wish he could take it back, Neil snatched the pen from his hand.

I love you, too.                                                        

[jemej3m]

Yo. Yo. Yoo. A Highschool musical au. Yeah you heard me.

bruh cross clique relationships are my jam

pt. 1? maybe

*

When they’d first met, Neil had been hiding from everyone else on the roof of the ski lodge. Wymack had brought him on holiday and encouraged him to join in with the teen party going on in the karaoke lounge with Dan and Kevin, but he’d taken one look and noped the hell out. 

Curled into a ball, he had never expected his angsty teenage silence to be broken by another short, bad-mannered boy, equally as distasteful of loud gatherings and soda-stupid teenage shenanigans. 

There had been something very familiar about him, like Neil had seen him before.

He also had a pack of cigarettes. 

Neil had yearned for one, like he yearned for his mom, and Andrew had asked for his name in exchange for the lighter. They’d sat in silence, letting the dulled sounds of music and cheers wash over them like a particularly persistent draft.

When Neil flinched away at the first pop of the fireworks, Andrew had frowned. And when Neil had explained they sounded too much like gunshots, Andrew gave him his number, scoffing at Neil’s old flip phone. 

Then he’d proceeded to bitch about his cousin, the one who had dragged him and his twin brother on a ‘bonding’ trip, and was then forcing him to move across the country so they could all live together. it distracted Neil from the gunfire overhead: whether or not that had been Andrew’s intention, Neil thought he’d never know. 

He assumed he’d never see Andrew again. 

But then school started up again.

Guess who was the new kid?

*

Andrew didn’t think that high school movies were actually grounded in reality till he moved to Palmetto State high. But the minute that he walked in through Palmetto State High’s front doors, he was instantly proven wrong. 

Aaron, who had already done his freshman year and half his sophomore year here, seemed unfazed. He was a generally unfazed person, expect when Andrew purposefully ignored him and then smashed his ass at Mariokart. Then he’d lose his temper but ultimately be angrier at himself, because he didn’t want to be anything like his mom had been. 

Andrew never had the chance to meet Tilda. She’d died just before they met: her will was the only reason that Aaron had found out about Andrew in the first place.

Aaron shoved his glasses up his nose and neatly ducked past a set of boisterous jocks who were bouncing a basketball to one another. 

“I already hate it here,” Andrew muttered, following after his brother. 

“It gets worse,” Aaron sighed. “Wait till you see the Exy jocks. The cheerleaders are - ” his face screwed up for a second. “Not all bad.” 

“What are you?” 

“We,” Aaron insisted. “Are nerds. Did you think you’d be able to escape the fact that we’re identical?” 

“I’m not a nerd,” Andrew muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the bracelet he wore. Bee had given it to him as a parting gift: it was the solar system, to scale, with the space between the planets made out of carbon fibre. 

“Are you kidding? The only thing you moved in with was a box of books.” 

“Whatever.” 

They brushed by the office, Aaron ignoring the freshman’s offer to take Andrew on a tour of the school. Her name-tag read Robin and she was clearly unfazed by their complete disregard of her presence. 

“History first,” Aaron huffed, squinting at Andrew’s timetable. “Good, we’re together. History sucks: we have Mr Moriyama, and his shitty nephew Riko is in that class too.”

“What’s so shitty about him?” 

“You’ll see.” 

Fantastic, Andrew thought. The day was shaping up to be an absolute nightmare. 

“Mr Minyard,” drawled a nasally man who lingered by the door. When he saw Andrew, his eye twitched. “And Mr Minyard. So the attendance sheet wasn’t an error.”

Aaron just muttered something under his breath and dragged Andrew by the sleeve. The tables were set up in spaced-apart rows, but the back was already claimed by a group of delinquent-looking attention vacuums. The others were all crowded around one boy, who had his feet kicked up on the table in front of him and an uncanny resemblance to the history teacher. 

He looked between Andrew and Aaron and sneered. Before he could open his mouth to say something, his uncle clapped his hands and called the class to attention. 

Just as Mr Moriyama was about to start the lesson, what could only be described as the human embodiment of disaster. 

When Andrew recognised him, his cheeks went red. 

“Mr Josten,” Mr Moriyama said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How is it that you are always late to my class, when your brother’s already here?” 

The brother in question looked nothing like Neil. He was taller, paler, with black hair and green eyes. He was also glaring at Neil, like that was going to make a difference. 

“My bad,” the red-head shrugged. 

“Detention,” Mr Moriyama said. 

“I have practise,” Neil retorted. And - oh, god, he was a jock. A smart-mouthed sporty boy. Fuck. Andrew thought he’d never see the boy from the rooftop again, but here they were, sitting in the same history class. 

“Should have thought about that before you were late,” the greasy man sneered, sending Neil on his way. Neil slumped his way past the desks till he saw Andrew sitting behind his brother, eyes widened with shock. 

Andrew, involuntarily, found himself giving Neil a small salute. Neil’s lips quirked up as he slid into his chair, letting the first lesson of the day finally begin. 

*

Neil jogged into practise late. This wasn’t surprising to anyone, least of all Wymack, who was leaning against the plexiglass with a knowing frown. 

“Could you stop antagonising Mr Moriyama’s own nephew in his class?” 

“In my defence,” Neil admitted. “Today’s detention was because I was late, not because I accidentally spoke my thought about Riko out loud instead of reciting them in my head.”

“Get on the court, you little shit,” he said, though not without fondness. Neil had been adopted by the Exy coach at the end of his freshman year, when he’d figured out why Neil was breaking into the changerooms to sleep. 

He jogged up to Kevin, who was less than impressed as he stood by the goal. 

“What the hell, Neil?” 

“The only reason I was so late was because Gordon still hasn’t forgiven you for getting him kicked off the team and he likes to hang around my locker to take it out on me!” 

Dan, Wymack’s other adopted child and team captain, was standing nearby and laughing. “Don’t try and flip this on Kevin: you just like picking fights with Seth.” 

Neil grinned at her. “It’s so easy.” 

“Oi!” Wymack called out. “We running drills or not?”

When he saw the blonde head of hair bobbing up and down, Neil’s grin faltered slightly. He was still in shock that Aaron had a twin, that the twin had moved here, and that twin had been the exact person Neil had met on the roof of the ski resort a few weeks ago. 

No wonder he’d found Andrew’s face so familiar. He was truly an idiot for not picking up on it.

Andrew sat down, high in the bleachers. Neil felt a strange prickle at the back of his neck, like he had when they’d talked for hours up on the roof. 

Practise went too fast after that. Neil stayed behind to help his coach pack up, Kevin and Dan bickering about plays as they went off to the showers. 

Coach went off with the equipment, giving Andrew a cursory glance. Perhaps he recognised Aaron’s face: the boy had nearly done tryouts for the team at the start of freshman year but chickened out. 

Neil skipped the steps, leaping up three at a time. Andrew was lounging on the bleachers, head cocked to the side. 

“So,” Neil said. “You never mentioned that you were moving to Palmetto.”

“We were in a random Colorado ski lodge,” Andrew rolled his eyes. “What were the chances?” 

“Clearly high enough.” Neil perched on the seat beside him. “So, Aaron’s brother, huh?” 

“Obviously.” 

Neil grinned. “Give me some slack: it was dark. I suppose you’ll be following him around, at first?” 

Andrew just shrugged. “I don’t have anything better to do.” 

“Do you like Exy?” 

His eye twitched. “I’ve played before. Why?” 

Neil felt his grin widen. “You should try out.” 

Andrew crossed his arms over his chest. “Aaron says I’m doomed to be stuck with the nerds, so long as I look like him. Apparently that’s a big deal here.” 

Neil faltered slightly. “Well, yeah. Everyone kinda sticks to their own. I’ve always wanted to join the Olympiads, but they’d never let me on the team. I’m good at math and physics, but I’m on the Exy team. They don’t associate with jocks.”

“Olympiads,” Andrew mumbled. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Hey!” 

“This entire school is a disaster,” Andrew said, notching a cigarette between his lips and spun the lighter between his fingers. “I don’t give a shit about their stupid cliques.” 

Neil felt something warm in his chest. He’d always felt the same. “Careful. If Riko thinks you’re kicking up dust, he’ll retaliate. He likes to think he owns the place and prefers that everyone just sticks to their own.” 

Andrew trotted down a few steps before looking back over his shoulder at Neil. “Well, he can just get in line.” 

Huh, Neil thought, when he couldn’t get Andrew’s smirk out of his mind for the rest of the day. This is new.

*

gosh, teenagers r so melodramatic 

@filteredred don’t call me out on hypocrisy 

[captain-danwilds]

One Step Forward

Hi @avengerpercy! I realize I didn’t take Brazil’s timezone into account when posting this so I’m sorry this is technically late, but here’s your @aftgexchange gift.  I hope this is good enough for you Cristal.  This is my first time playing in the AFTG sandbox, so I wanted to live up to your expectations.  I ended up using your prompt “Andrew and Aaron talking and solving their problems”  for a little outsider POV Andreil fluff with a large helping of twinyards.   

A few quick notes. Betsy and the joint sessions set the backdrop for this fic even though I am not a therapist and also not trying to make some statement about therapy in general (Personally I’m a big fan, but also recognize that Aaron really doesn’t seem to be in we’re in his POV.) I’m not trying to demonize Aaron or Andrew here.  Aaron just fundamentally misunderstands Andrew.  Also Raven King/Drake Incident references.  

Ever since Aaron had found out Andrew existed, he’d felt unsteady.   It wasn't just the sudden knowledge of how different his life could have been if Tilda hadn't decided to come back to get him or even if she'd just taken the other baby.   It was the fact his brother was a mass of contradictions piled on top of each other and every aspect of their relationship was built on the idea of one step forward and two steps back.

Aaron wasn't an idiot.  When the officer at the stupid game had mentioned Andrew, Aaron didn't expect his long-lost brother to immediately love him.  This wasn't a television show.   He knew by now that blood only went so far, that it hadn't stopped his mother from raising her hand to him or Uncle Luthor from sending Nicky away only for his cousin to come back a shell of himself.  But he couldn't deny he wanted it to work desperately, for there to be another little boy out there whose life might be made better by having a brother in it.  

His first step forward a letter that had to be rewritten at least twice because everything sounded wrong.  His bedroom trash can overflowed with pieces of notebook paper crumpled in frustration or with ink smeared from tears he'd never admit to anyone he'd actually shed.  Aaron must have spent hours writing the letter, typing it up in stolen time at the school library and sneaking to the post office while Mom had been out of it.  

Hours completely wasted when the only reply was two words:  "Fuck Off."

That should have been the sign to leave things well enough alone.  

But instead, he'd taken the return address and written a second letter to "the guardians of Andrew Doe."  

And instead of an answer from his brother, Aaron had gotten a voicemail saying Andrew had gone to Juvie.  

Even the slightest hint of progress was met with resistance.    

Gaining a brother meant losing his mom and never being in control of his decisions anymore.  

Andrew lived by his own rules, an unspoken tally system of betrayals where Aaron would never be the one who measured up.  Andrew wouldn't say it, because Andrew didn't say anything now that he was off the drugs.  Aaron knew his brother only cared about him in context of proving that he'd never broken their deal.  Until he called the whole thing off for Josten.  

Josten, the idiot that would say things like "Andrew doesn't lie"  as if he actually believed him.  As if there truly was some magical code his brother followed that made sense.    

"If you really don't care about Andrew, why does Neil bother you so much?"   Dobson asked during their Wednesday session.

Aaron dug his fingers into the couch.  He hated this.  Hated that the only time he could get answers out of Andrew was when he was sitting in front of a shrink.   A shrink who was undoubtedly on his brother's side. And that in order to get answers he had to rip himself raw first.  

"I understand that therapy isn't for everyone,"  She'd said smiling gently during their first mandatory meeting freshman year.  "More than that, therapy with me might not be your answer,  so don't let today stop you from seeking help in the future if that's what you decide you want.  I can direct you to one of my colleagues who you might feel more comfortable with."  

They'd been meeting for almost a year now and Aaron still wasn't comfortable with her, no matter how many cups of hot chocolate she offered or how many smiles she gave.   They'd come a long way from the complete silence and blank expression of his first individual session or even the harsh words the first time he'd shown up to Andrew's session, but it wasn't comfortable by any means.  

The point was he wasn't about to pour his heart out to her even if Andrew wasn't in the room.  With Andrew there, Aaron had no good way to answer the question without giving too much of himself away again, of being hurt when everything went to hell. Still, Aaron couldn't help but let the multitude of answers flow over him.  

Because Josten waltzes in, every ounce of him screaming lie and danger, and this team bends over backwards for him. Because Aaron's seen enough to know Josten is dangerous.  Because he will kill him if Josten doesn't keep his big mouth from bring the mafia down on them again before Aaron graduates and he can't handle another murder trial.  Because Josten makes it so easy, throwing as many insults back as he gives.   Those are the easy answers, because Aaron's life doesn't revolve around Andrew. He can hate Josten because Josten is a piece of shit who makes every aspect of his life harder.  

But that's also not the whole truth.  Because he saw the way Andrew looked at him in Baltimore, the tender movements in his hands completely at odds with the angry spark in his eyes.  Because Andrew hates people touching him and yet he doesn't hesitate to wrap his hand around the back of Josten's neck.  Because there's something aggravating in the way that Andrew can look at Josten and see something precious when he never looks at Aaron like that.  

Aaron doesn't want to think his life revolves around Andrew, but his hatred of Josten certainly does.  It’s partially jealousy.  Why does this nobody get easy answers from Andrew?  What makes him so special?  

But the larger issue is that Aaron has seen Andrew broken.  As much as Aaron wants to wish Drake away, he can’t.  He’ll never be able to get Andrew’s face out of his head or the manic laugh left by the drugs. There are nights where he wakes up feeling like he still has the blood on his hands, that he’ll never be free of the feeling of Andrew knotting his fingers through his hair in worry when Andrew’s the one covered in bruises.  Seeing his brother like that once was enough to break him.  He doesn’t understand how Andrew can let Josten so close when Josten is a walking danger magnet.  He doesn’t know what he would do when Josten inevitably hurts Andrew, because that’s the type of danger Andrew can’t just stab with a knife.    

Betsy gave a small cough and Aaron knew he'd been quiet too long.  He avoided Betsy's gaze to look at the clock.  They were already a few minutes over their time.   He wouldn’t have answered at all, just turned back to glare at Betsy until she dismisses them both for the day except he saw Andrew.  

Andrew was still angled away from him on the opposite end of the couch.  His mouth was still turned in a slight frown, but Andrew’s gaze had sharpened.  Even months ago, Aaron might have missed it.  It was a sign of amusement, slight exasperation maybe, but also one of want.  Aaron had never seen that expression for any reason other than Josten, and now it’s directed at him.

“Josten isn’t safe.”  

Andrew gave a huff that might even be considered laughter.

“I’m serious. You’re giving him the power to hurt you.  Just because you don’t care about your own wellbeing, doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and let him get away with it.”  

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”  Andrew waved his hand dismissively.  “Which is good because you’re shit at picking the right battles.”  

Aaron groaned.  “And what do you mean by that?”  

“Neil won’t hurt me.”  He said it like it should be obvious, like he can’t believe Aaron missed something so fundamental.  

“But how can you know that?”  

“How do you know Kaitlyn won’t hurt you?”  The words were thrown like a weapon to end this conversation.  

But Aaron isn’t about to rise to the bait.  Andrew seemed to think that every girl was just going to be another Tilda, that Aaron would let them hurt him for the scraps of affection.  He knew Andrew didn’t decide Kaitlyn was safe out of the goodness of his heart, so his answer made no sense.  

“Why shouldn’t I be worried about Neil hurting you?”  Aaron repeated himself more directly, even calling the idiot by his first name as a sign of good will.  

Andrew looked down at his hands, his right-hand tracing seemingly random places around each of the knuckles on his left.  The gesture seemed both familiar and wrong.   Finally Andrew took a deep breath and looked directly at Aaron.  

“He listens when I say no.”

The words are simple, but Aaron can hear the depth of meaning there.  He gave a slight nod.

Andrew must still see that he doesn’t fully understand, because he continued softly, “He promised he’d stay” before nodding at Betsy and leaving the two of them alone in the room.  

Aaron doesn’t hear Betsy’s chipper goodbye or even comprehend most of practice afterwards. His mind is reeling and even though Andrew only gave him ten words, it feels like one hell of a step forward.  

It’s only later at one of the Fox movie nights that Aaron realized why Andrew’s fidgeting looked wrong.  He’d seen that gesture before.  Andrew’s right hand gently tracing the scars on Neil’s as they sit side by side in silence, barely acknowledging each other but still taking pleasure in each other’s presence.   It’s easy to miss the moment when Neil leans easily back into Andrew and Andrew only tugs their scarred hand closer.  

Aaron hated that it’s this little action is what finally makes him understand. Andrew’s words about Kaitlyn no longer felt like a dig.   It was his brother’s roundabout way of trying to phrase his relationship with Neil in a way Aaron would understand. When you love someone, the world seems safer with them in it.  Andrew might not have said the word love, but he didn’t have to. 

[incorrect-the-foxhole-court]

Northern Road Trip

This is my piece for the AFTG Gift exchange! I went for Andriel coz im a complete Andriel junkie, but i couldnt resist a little Renison on the side XD

This is for @andthenthefirenationattacked​ - I hope you like it! I’m sorry it’s not very good but I tried! (And if you wanna talk or fangirl about aftg at any point, i’m definitely around for that!)

Neil couldn’t remember a time he had felt this safe. Which, he had to admit, made no sense considering his current situation. Despite having family in England, an uncle who had once saved his life, the UK had never been a place that had screamed safety. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of an endless stretch of rolling green hills that looked like they had been taken from one of Matt’s fantasy novels, and he felt…safe. It was as much a disquieting feeling as hope had once been.

The sky was a bright, forget-me-not blue that, after only five days in the country, he already knew was a rare blessing. Fluffy white clouds scudded across the sky, and the relief that they weren’t even a little grey had been unexpectedly strong when they had woken up this morning. Two cars idled behind him, the engines rumbling softly, and those inside were already betting on the upcoming games outcome and snacking on junk food that Kevin had already tried to throw out four times over.

Neil sucked in a deep breath, feeling the cold air settle in his lungs like shards of ice. Beautiful, this country, but cold. And wet. This was the first day they had been there that it hadn’t rained.

He could hear his old team behind him, laughing and joking, teasing Andrew for their stopping. It hadn’t been Andrew that had wanted to stop, but the goalie knew Neil too well now – had feigned car sickness to cover Neil’s need to see something. To see something other than exy courts and press rooms from the place his mother had come from. The woman had been cold and cruel and protective and beautiful, and standing there now, in the place she had always talked about, in Rivington, he could understand. The people he had met from around here felt like they had been born from the place itself. He could almost feel his mother in the wind’s cold fingers as it raked through his hair and cut straight through his winter coat to chill the blood in his veins.

“Neil! Come on! Andrew says he’s okay to keep going now,” Matt shouted, a grin on his face that was far too smug and pleased to merely be teasing.

Dan smacked him in the ribs as she disappeared around the other side of their hire car and slid into the driver’s seat. And then smacked the wheel in frustration, got out and went round to the passenger side door, grumbling about stupid English cars. Neil tuned out Matt and Allison’s teasing, both of them needling Dan about still not being used to which side of the car to get in, and turned to the other car. Renee smiled at Andrew before going to join the others.

Neil slid into the backseat next to Andrew, Aaron on the goalie’s other side, Kevin up front and Nicky driving. Within thirty minutes of driving, Andrew was asleep, head tipped back against the back of the seat – Neil wasn’t surprised, Andrew had barely slept since the flight, as though he was more scared than Neil that some relative would show up at their hotel. It wasn’t a secret they were in the UK; the whole world had known this is where they would be. The press had been covering the US exy team’s trip to the UK in excruciating detail for weeks. They had already had their games in Glasgow and London, and tomorrow, the last game of Us vs. UK, would take place in Manchester. London had been an easy win for the US Court, Andrew had barely bothered to try. Glasgow had been significantly more difficult. It had taken bribing Andrew to lock down the goal for them to come close to winning – even then it hadn’t been enough; they’d lost by two points.

Tomorrow’s game would decide who would face the Chinese team. And the old team from Palmetto State had come out to show their support as Kevin, Andrew and Neil, played their last UK game of the season, fighting to advance closer to the title of ‘Exy International Champions’. Kevin had been training and planning nonstop. It had taken Andrew’s knives to convince him to have this day off.

“Erm…Neil…?” Nicky asked, voice tight. Neil dragged his eyes away from staring out the window as the North sped by, and met Nicky’s worried eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Satnav is freaking out.”

“Get Andrew to fix it,” Aaron grunted, “he’s the tech wonder boy.”

“Waking Andrew up in a car has never been a good idea,” Nicky warned, no doubt thinking of that time all those years ago.

Neil could feel Aaron’s smirk as the man reached over and tapped his twin on the shoulder closest to Neil. From habit, Neil’s hand was out waiting as Andrew jolted from sleep, one hand instinctively reaching out. Their fingers twined together and held on tight. No elbow in the stomach, no fists flying, not anymore – they had been sleeping in the same bed now for nearly two years; Andrew was too used to being woken by Neil’s nightmares to react violently. Now it was a grasping hand and white knuckled grip, each proving to the other that they are here – that they are safe. On Andrew’s other side, Aaron huffed in frustration and turned his attention back to the steady stream of messages between him and Katelyn.  

“Satnav isn’t working properly,” Neil explained quietly, and Andrew shook off his grip, leaning forward to take it from Kevin.

“Going old school,” Nicky muttered to himself. “Gonna have to use these damn stupid road signs.”

Neil didn’t bother to watch what Andrew was doing to fix the machine – he had learnt a long time ago that when Andrew couldn’t sleep, he and one of the cats curled up on the sofa with an instruction manual of some sort. Andrew couldn’t sleep most nights. By this point, Andrew’s eidetic memory had given him the ability to fix almost anything technological.

It took them another hour and a half to reach the Lake District. They were aiming for a shop that the Northern players on the UK team hadn’t stopped raving about since the team meets had started. By the time they finally arrived, it was raining again.

They parked in a garden centre opposite a tiny little place called ‘The Grasmere Gingerbread Shop’ and stared out through rain-streaked windows. Nicky’s phone started ringing. He took the sat nav out of its holder, tossed it onto Kevin’s lap before balancing his phone in the slot instead. Allison’s face appeared on the screen, and then the rest of the others.

“So, how do we decide who goes out into the rain to get the damn gingerbread we drove for two hours to come and try?” Allison asked and Renee, in the driver’s seat beside her, tucked a few stray blonde curls behind her ear, dragging a smile from the otherwise annoyed face.

“Flip for it?” Nicky suggested.

Matt lost to Renee. Dan lost to Matt. Allison rolled her eyes and picked at a perfectly manicured nail, but called heads when she went up against Dan, only to lose. Storm clouds gathered on her face as she waited for the other car to decide who would flip against her.

Aaron called heads, Allison, tails. Aaron won.

Neil hadn’t heard swearing like that for a long time. He couldn’t help but smile. He had missed them all. He loved being on Court and he loved his team and exy, and playing with Andrew and Kevin, but he had missed being a fox.

Renee went with Allison, smiling as the blonde tried and failed to hide under the trees from the rain. Neil could hear through the cracked window Andrew was smoking through as Allison cursed everyone and everything for her having forgotten an umbrella. Renee just laughed and tugged her in for a kiss. Neil smiled again; it had taken them a long time to realise just how meant for each other they were – but now? Together? They were a sight for sore eyes.

Andrew blew another cloud of smoke past Neil’s face. He couldn’t help the deep inhale as the smoke curled past his nose. Andrew watched, utterly unimpressed – but Neil could read the affection in the stare. Smoke was no longer the reminder of his mother, of the fire, of how it had smelled when her body had burned. Now it was Andrew, it was nights on the roof, the bite of his key in his palm, the feel of a thundering heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Andrew’s knee nudged his, and Neil smiled again.

Allison and Renee got back in the car behind and they drove to Windemere, where they had booked out all the rooms in a little bed and breakfast. The man at the desk was the most English person Neil had ever met. He was the embodiment of every single English stereotype, and Neil couldn’t get away fast enough.

Their rooms were all on the second floor, Dan and Matt disappeared into one room, Allison and Renee into another, Aaron claimed his own room, as did Kevin and Nicky. Nicky was already face timing with Eric before his bedroom door closed. And despite Allison’s usual warning of ‘keep it down’, there were delighted giggles and moans coming from her and Renee’s room.

Neil shook his head, smiling, and followed after Andrew into their room. Andrew was already lighting up next to the window, so Neil dropped the bag by the bottom of the bed and slumped onto the mattress, stripping off his black armbands and dumping them over the edge. He heard Andrew shut the window and the bed dip as he settled nearby. Neil reached a hand up, and Andrew’s fingertips trailed over his bare arms, dipping over every scar and mark.

Neil closed his eyes, even now, years later, most touches on those scars brought back the car lighter, the knife, his father’s axe…

But then Andrew’s lips began tracing every raised bump, slowly washing away the memories one by one, until there was nothing left but the two of them, Andrew’s hands under Neil’s shirt, Andrew’s lips pressed hard to Neil’s, and Neil’s fingers tight in Andrew’s hair.

He didn’t realise how much he needed it until Andrew tugged his t-shirt over his head and slowly but steadily began taking him apart. Neil couldn’t stop the moan that Andrew dragged from deep in his throat as Andrew pushed him harder and faster until Neil’s breathing became ragged and Andrew leaned up to press their lips together as though he could swallow Neil’s hard groans when he fell over the edge. He lay limp and sweating, breathing hard, with Andrew beside him, the man’s expression open and soft in a way he had only seen four times so far.

Neil reached out, “Yes or no?”

Andrew didn’t reply, just pressed his cheek into Neil’s palm and closed his eyes as Neil’s fingers played with the tiny hairs at the nape of Andrew’s neck. He wanted to say something, anything to remind Andrew just how amazing he was – how he always knew what Neil needed, usually before Neil knew himself, how even though Neil had long since learned to stand alone, it felt safe knowing that Andrew was there for him if he needed to lean on someone. But he didn’t have the words.

And he didn’t find them fast enough before Nicky pounded on the bedroom door.

“Come on, lovebirds, Allison ruined her hair to get this gingerbread, and Aaron and I went out for alcohol, come and have a drink and a snack like the old days. But put clothes on first!”

Andrew growled under his breath, but Neil smiled.

“When will he leave me alone?” Andrew said, shaking out his hand and pushing up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“He’s been in Germany with Eric for ten months. He can’t leave you any more alone.”

Andrew just stood and stared down at him a moment. “Come on junkie. Let’s go.”

Neil stood and went to the bathroom, cleaning himself up, before he joined Andrew at the now open door to the bedroom, stood in front of a very irate Kevin.

“We have a game tomorrow. Tomorrow. And they want us to drink and eat and party. Why did they come at all, they’re not playing,” Kevin said, face set; cold and hard.

“Tomorrow will be fine. We’ll win or we’ll lose, but it’ll be fine. Let’s go, it could be fun,” Neil said, shrugging. He’d never felt as safe as he was in that moment and he’d never seen Andrew as relaxed – that was all he needed. All he wanted.

They should take road trips more often.

“Three hundred and seventy-four percent,” Andrew murmured.

Neil didn’t bother to stop the smirk on his face.

----

That’s it! Again, I hope you liked it and I hope it was a good enough gift for you in the exchange! Have a wonderful day!

[xlady-saya]

I want this touch to be familiar [fic]

Relationships: andrew/neil, side aaron/katelyn

Summary: Deep down, Andrew knew he would always reach this crossroads, a time where the thought became too strong to ignore.

Going all the way with Neil. It's not something he can continue to avoid thinking about. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil's hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he's forced to acknowledge how much he's allowed.

Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.

But that’s not all there is to it, and the desire to make a decision finally makes itself known.

Tags: first time fic, p*rn with feelings, relationship study, fluff and communication, multichapter 

Read on ao3! 

They're having a movie night when the idea sinks its hooks into Andrew's brain. He’s not blaming the Foxes, but their bad choices in films is the catalyst to a milestone Andrew didn’t think he’d have to deal with so soon.

In a swift motion, he brings the hand that's not on Neil's thigh to itch at the back of his own skull, unsettled. He almost thinks he should ban himself from these get togethers, if only to avoid these ideas from taking root. Though, if he's being more honest with himself for once, he'll admit it's not the first time it crossed his mind.

It's possible that's the problem entirely.

No, this idea is more comparable to a mosquito, swarming around in his head and beating against the grooves at random points in the day. It's so powerful, so persistent, it's like this one mosquito is a whole swarm, poking around the ridges in an indecisive process to figure out where it finally wants to dig in.

The movie night is just the point in which it finally latches on and doesn't let go.

It's a predictable action film; Andrew doesn't understand why every director in Hollywood keeps trying to recreate James Bond, but he stopped caring about the movie two minutes in. Neil is boneless and relaxed from the shower they shared after practice, fingers drumming beats against Andrew's wrists while his brow furrows at the film. It has enough explosions and suspense to keep Neil somewhat entertained, though Andrew suspects the focus is mostly due to Neil trying to pick apart the inaccuracies of it all.

Most of the time, Neil ends up staring at Andrew for a majority of the film. Andrew finds it easier to not mind in the darkness, where he can feel the brightness in Neil's eyes instead of actually seeing it.

Essentially, this is the only reason he comes to movie nights.

He's almost at the point where he's ready to ignore the thing completely, along with the Foxes’ scathing commentary, but then the scene comes on.

It's not hard to see coming, but as crude and rough as the Foxes are, their movies don't often include sex scenes. Andrew isn't usually bothered by this type of thing, but it does nothing for him. He's neither repulsed or intrigued; the man isn't his type (or Neil, his brain says, unhelpfully), and the scene isn't aggressive enough to feel like assault.

No anger or heat surges under his skin as the slow orchestra plays, the woman's dress falling to the floor in what he's sure is supposed to be a good shot but has been so overdone it's pointless. Suddenly there's skin, and chests, and the actress' loud gasps turn into louder moans.

It's obnoxious, how fake it sounds, the camera angle cutting to show just enough in between movements.

"Ughhh," Nicky groans, and Allison turns to give him a look. Nicky sags in his chair even further just to spite her, almost falling out of it. "Why do they always do this? I don't need to see two straight white people suck face and bone in every movie! What is this doing for the plot?"

Aaron's head perks up, and he pauses his mid mouthful of those stupid chips Katelyn got him. "What's wrong with straight white people?"

"Everything."

Matt raises his third beer of the night. "Cheers bro, I'll drink to that."

Aaron looks to the wall, as if it will offer him anything better than his current company.

Andrew's eyes fly back to the television, right at the moment the hero slots himself between the actress' legs.

The swarm in his head digs in.

Andrew's hands tighten in the couch cushion, but he keeps the hand on Neil's thigh steady so he won't notice. Neil can be so perceptive when he wants to be, when it comes to Andrew specifically. It's infuriating, sometimes. Andrew never asked to be known so well, yet here they are.

Neil cracks a smile at Nicky and Aaron's fighting, more fond of it now than anything, and Andrew tracks the curve of it with his eyes. On screen, the spy starts thrusting.

"It's romantic!" Allison counters Nicky's claims, and he chucks a pillow at her with a surprising amount of force. Some of the feathers float out.

"They met not even a day ago!"

Aaron's chips are forgotten, which is about as serious as his brother gets nowadays. "I think you've hooked up with dudes you've met within an hour, you asshole."

"This ain't about me."

It's at this point Neil decides to speak, his brow arching in a way Andrew is pretty sure he didn't do prior to starting their this. Andrew's eyes fly up to catch it, and he realizes he'd been admiring the slope of Neil's neck, the discoloration where his hair meets his nape. "Honestly Nicky, what right do you have to talk about plot? Didn't you make us watch that terrible beach movie last week just because you liked the actor?"

Off to the side, where they're trying to become siamese twins, Dan and Matt chime in with some 'ooo's and air horn noises. They’re loud enough to startle Kevin from whatever he’s texting Thea about, and Allison’s cackle follows. Renee’s smile has a slight sharpness to it, the evillest she can look nowadays.

Andrew can't be bothered by the antics; his focus keeps returning to the movie, and the fact is nearly enough to startle him. But he stays still, calm, and doesn't give anything away. It's the best defense he has for the war about to rage inside him. His mind, two seconds from overdrive.

"Et tu Neil?" Nicky sniffs, and then the actress has some kind of orgasm, since she makes a noise akin to a dying bird.

And, because when is it ever about the love interest, the man keeps going, chasing his own release. Andrew's throat feels scratchy.

Andrew spares a look at Neil's face, and finds the striker's attention divided between the screen and Nicky's ramblings. Andrew doesn't care about whatever Neil says in return, he's too set on the slide of Neil's tongue over his bottom lip, the heat of his skin under his palm. Andrew moves his hand more towards Neil's inner thigh, and his breath hitches when Neil's legs widen on instinct for him.

The idiot isn't even aware of it.

Andrew would only need to slide his hand deeper to graze the place where he and Neil could be connected, as close as they can get. He'd be able to work Neil open, savor the twitch of Neil's hips.

Neil is mouthy enough in bed with how they do things now. Would he be louder? Uncontained?

Andrew allows himself to watch the rest of the scene play out on screen, the two rehearsed 'rough' thrusts, the groan of pleasure. But this time, it's hard to be disinterested. It's hard to not let his mind, so gifted with spinning fantasies on account of his cursed memory, put him in the spy's place.

What would Neil feel like, he wonders. Tight and warm probably, strong legs locking around Andrew's hips until his ankles are crossed and knocking against his lower back. Neil can get so greedy sometimes, even with his obnoxiously high consideration for Andrew's boundaries. When he's allowed to take, he's desperate about it.

Would Neil let him go that far? No, would he want to?

Does he want--

Andrew stops the train of thought there, but doesn't cut the journey short. He has no choice but to be stuck here now, and thus, Andrew can no longer swat the idea away like the pest it is.

Going all the way with Neil. It's not something he could avoid thinking about after a certain point. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil's hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he's forced to acknowledge how much he's allowed.

Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.

Bile rises in his throat on instinct, and he squashes it down. Sex with Neil is not something he needs to feel terrible about, and he doesn't. It feels the opposite of terrible, and Andrew hasn't worked through all those troublesome thoughts yet. He can't pin a label to it.

He remembers when jerking off in the shower, mouth pressed to Neil's, had felt like a huge thing to give. Now it wouldn't be enough.

Neil touches him now, Andrew asks him to touch. He's used to Neil's weight on top of him and his hands sliding suggestively over his abs, his biceps. His hands are used to resting comfortably over the curve of Neil's ass, grinding against him.

And it hasn’t stopped there. He's had Neil's mouth on him, his blue eyes on every part of him as the striker sucked him off after a particularly good game.

Andrew had shut down the goal, and the look in Neil's eyes had made him feel far too much. Overwhelming, dizzying.

So they'd taken the next step, not without hiccups, not without caution, but they'd done it.

And that's the thing with Neil; once they cross a certain line, it's a snowball effect. They're incapable of going back.

Neil blew him then for the first time and suddenly Andrew couldn't get the image out of his head, Neil's lips around his cock, trying to adjust to get the best reactions out of Andrew, to make it feel good.

Neil, so stupidly determined about everything he does.

And Andrew, the fool he is, got used to it. He never expected it, because routine was not a yes, and some days he preferred to not be touched at all.

But now, when Neil sinks to his knees or asks to jerk Andrew off, the initial anxiety Andrew might've felt months prior isn't there. It's been burned away into something more concerning, addictive.

Because Neil will stop if he needs him to.

So, Andrew let go, and the floodgates opened.

Shared handjobs turned into frequent blowjobs, which turned into heavy petting without clothes. Andrew feels stripped down, raw, with how much trust he's given this single person.

Every now and again, he searches deep in his soul for some ounce of disgust, regret for any of it, and it makes him angry to find none.

The only thing that does make him angry is how good it feels, a natural reaction Andrew can’t just drop cold turkey. Yet, his body doesn't just enjoy the progressions he and Neil have made together, so does his mind.

Again, he derails the train there, not willing to admit it, and returns to the thought of plowing Neil into their mattress.

It was only a matter of time before he ended up at this crossroads, only so far he and Neil could go before reaching the logical 'next step.'

But, it doesn't have to be a step at all if Neil decides against it. If Neil doesn't want to, they won't. The itch in Andrew's brain is mostly due to the fact they haven't discussed it. He has no idea how Neil feels, if he even thinks about it in the way Andrew does.

There hasn't been time, but Andrew knows if he's reached this point he has to bring it up.

He's not afraid to; he and Neil aren't like that. It's about framing it in a way Neil's exy-only brain won't read into it wrong.

He needs Neil to be able to say no if that's what he needs, he doesn't want to imply he wants this from Neil, that there's a pressure to take it there. Because as stubborn and rebellious as Neil can be, unwilling to be pushed around, Andrew is a weakness.

So, Andrew won't accept anything from him other than the absolute truth. 'Always' doesn't exist with things like this.

The movie turns back into a mindless explosion show while the fantasy in Andrew's brain is paused, mostly because indulging in it feels wrong at this point. If it's something that'll never happen, there's no point letting it play.

What he already does with Neil is enough, more than enough. Andrew never thought he'd ever be like this with anyone, and he's still not used to it. His pleasure during sex came from control in the past, on being able to dictate how it all went, to touch without being touched and have the person like it.

Neil turns everything upside down; where control once stood undefeated, something else sits, unmovable. White-hot, blinding desire.

A danger, unacceptable.

Andrew's eyes rest back on Neil and the heat coiling in his abdomen subsides, softened by the unruliness of Neil's bangs and the glow against his cheek. That's another problem too, about Neil. Desire isn't alone.

But, Andrew sets that issue aside for now.

Feeling Andrew's pensiveness, Neil turns his head, blinking so slow Andrew can see the flutter of his lashes. He nearly pushes his face away.

He's not sure what Neil sees in his analysis; Andrew knows he can't read minds, but it's unsettling and calming all at once to watch him trace the wrinkles in Andrew's face. He asks himself if maybe Neil can feel the itch too.

Neil hooks his fingers over Andrew's lightly, and Andrew realizes all too late how tight his grip on Neil's thigh had gotten.

"Okay?" Neil asks, and fuck him for doing so, for catching Andrew slip. He curses himself for slipping at all, or maybe the better term is falling.

Andrew taps Neil's hand once, twice, three times, and squashes the urge to kiss him.

"Yes," he says, and it's not a lie.

It's not a lie, and he doesn't have the energy to think about why that is. He just knows that soon, it will become a bigger problem. He puts it to rest.

Instead, he watches Neil nod and smile, and when Andrew finally turns back to the television, his brain gets to work on the words he needs to say, and knowing how they’ll probably come up short.

--

Andrew's mind is a vault mechanism. When one part of the lock is cracked, there's usually another waiting behind it.

He hasn't realized it yet though, couldn't possibly, with Neil rutting in his lap.

Andrew grunts as his nails dig into Neil's hips, where the brunet's sweatpants are dipping dangerously lower by the minute, a consequence of the force of their dry humping.

He's not quite sure how they got this carried away in the span of ten minutes, but all Andrew knew then was this wasn't a bad day, this was a day where Neil could pin Andrew to the couch without consequence.

So he let him.

Neil is shirtless, scars on display along with hard nipples and a twitching abdomen, the heat building and building.

Because of Andrew.

The position should feel stupid, immature, maybe even high school, but Andrew's brain is swimming with a pleasure comparable to nicotine.

It's nothing he thought he'd feel before, because the weight of someone on him never used to lead to good things.

"Fuck," Neil breathes, hips stuttering against Andrew's and wiping the dangerous path away before Andrew can even take a step towards it. Neil gives a rough jerk, barely able to fight Andrew's grip, but he prefers when Neil works for it. He doesn't let up, because he knows the striker is nothing but determined.

Neil whines, surging forward to pant into Andrew's mouth. He growls; part of him was enjoying the show and doesn't appreciate the interruption. The other part of him can't get enough of Neil's mouth, the wicked tongue pulling his out and sucking on it like it's another part of Andrew's body.

Neil is always so scatterbrained; he'd do it all if he could.

Andrew's breathing comes out heavy, wet, and they've fallen out of position quite a few times as a result of their desperation. Neil's clothed cock is barely grazing Andrew's now, but he doesn't have the will to stop Neil from moving so fast, so needy. There's a small wet spot forming against Andrew's pant leg, and he watches Neil fight to keep his head from lolling back from the dizziness of it.

It makes something smug burn through Andrew's chest, seeing Neil sigh and whisper incoherent nothings which don't amount to much more than 'yes' and 'more, Andrew, more.'

Andrew leans back into the couch cushions and bucks up, earning him a sound so Neil he can't take it. It's a cross between a gasp and a groan, devolving into another string of curses. At this point, Neil's pants are low enough to reveal the coarse hair of his groin, the criss crossing scars almost as tantalizing as the hardness pressing against Andrew's leg.

Andrew suddenly doesn't have enough hands. He's torn between pressing his palm over the scars, keeping Neil under his grip, or digging into Neil's hair to expose the column of his throat.

This is why this kind of thing can still get a bit overwhelming, but not in a discomforting way like it used to.

It's still fairly new, the dry humping. At first, it had started as slow and experimental grinding in the morning, Neil pressed up against Andrew's front while he rocked forward. The first time, Andrew had to stop, too taken by the newness of it, the unfamiliarity.

He hadn't had time to really pick it apart and think about why he was doing it or if it made him anything like them. If pressing Neil down and chasing his own relief didn't reveal something uglier about him.

By that point, he'd had Neil's hands on him on a regular basis, jerking him off and pulling him into his throat. Those things were becoming less daunting.

He's used to letting Neil get him off now, to getting off in front of him with his own hand. It's just...this is so much more shared, intense. Andrew isn't quite used to it, but the movie night sits heavy in the back of his head still, and he thinks it might make a little more sense now.

The process to get here had been the same, a slow evolution; they'd use grinding as a means to get worked up, to cause friction before moving onto blow jobs or heavy makeouts. It turned into a thing when Andrew didn't have the patience to separate from Neil for even a moment. Humiliating, but in the heat of the moment he hadn't thought twice. He remembered asking for his yes between biting kisses before humping Neil into their bed, and when he came, the rush had been blinding. The heat running through his veins carried all through his spine and down to his toes, intensified even more by Neil's body jerking against his.

Close, intimate.

And so very, very close to the real thing.

Before that thought threatens to ruin everything, Andrew bucks up again and Neil's moan blocks the path again.

Andrew is so hard it's painful.

Before Neil can press down in kind, Andrew tightens his hold until Neil can do little more than squirm, leaving them stuck like that, with Neil's hands making a mess of Andrew's hair and unable to give them the sweet friction. Andrew rubs circles into Neil's hip bones until he hears the sigh he's looking for.

Watching Neil blink, eyes blown wide in a desire fueled haze, makes Andrew lick his lips in anticipation.

Neil blinks down at Andrew, not really seeing, breath stuttering as he fights the grip. "H-hey--"

"Hey," Andrew replies, feigning innocence. It's not effective, when one of his hands snakes around to Neil's back, looking for any trace of discomfort or even a silent 'no.' When he finds nothing but want, he presses his fingers down onto Neil's lower back to force him forward. Neil's back arches like a cat, like Andrew pulls all the strings. "Move up."

Neil exhales shakily as he shifts, legs spreading and putting him back to where they initially started. Andrew takes the time to rid himself of his jacket, way too warm, and unzips his jeans to help the tightness.

Neil's gaze flies to the prominent bulge under Andrew's boxers instantly.

"Right there," Andrew says with his hands back on Neil's ass, squeezing the muscled flesh greedily and trying hard to avoid the thought of spreading him open like this. He aligns Neil so their cocks are settled against each other again. It's a struggle for them to stay still; Neil leans forward so Andrew's neck muffles most of his groan, and sucks on his pale skin. Andrew's voice is nothing short of strained when it comes out. "That's it."

Neil smiles when he pulls back, and Andrew has to look away. Idiot, always so pleased with proof of Andrew's unraveling. "Can I--"

"Yes," Andrew growls, and he meets Neil halfway. One hand flies to the back of Neil's neck, digging into the hair at his nape to pull him close again. His skin is scorching to the touch.

Neil doesn't hesitate. His hips move fast as his hands dig into Andrew's biceps, intent on chasing the orgasm for both of them. Small, jagged whimpers leave his mouth with every thrust, his cock brushing right against Andrew's. Neil is practically bouncing, and it doesn't take long for Andrew to realize he's moving too, just as fast, just as rough. The head of his cock pokes out of the slit in his underwear, smearing precum on Neil's pants.

"Oh fuck, fuck," Neil moans at the same time Andrew starts grunting with each jerk of his body, unconcerned with the volume. If anyone knows what's good for them, they won't be back early. Andrew's vision starts to blur, his movements less coordinated, breathing loud. He's close, so close and the heat pooling in his abdomen makes his head swim.

It should unnerve him, this lack of control, this animalistic urge to keep going, take and take. But Neil looks the farthest from afraid above him; he's matching Andrew in his entirety, grunting loudly and rotating his hips in just the right way for them to feel every inch of each other. His hands are dutifully clutching Andrew's shoulders, unwilling to move. Because Neil knows, he knows this is Andrew's most vulnerable moment, seconds from orgasm. No matter how close to the edge they are, Neil won't risk Andrew's discomfort, he won't let Andrew's pleasure be overridden by shock or the disregard for his boundaries.

Andrew hates him, he hates how Neil is the only one who will ever make him feel this way, because now no one else is good enough.

In more ways than sex.

Andrew snarls from the anger of it all, from how inaccurate it feels to call it that. He brings a hand up to wipe the sweat off Neil's brow, pushing aside his bangs so he can see those eyes for all they are, the ring of blue a bottomless pool Andrew no longer tries to escape.

Neil's mouth falls open from whatever look is on Andrew's face, and he's no longer able to keep his eyes open, throwing his head back as his orgasm rips through him. He trembles in Andrew's arms, and Andrew feels the warmth of Neil's cum against his cock, even through his sweats.

Andrew's arms lock around Neil's waist as he thrusts up harshly, and in the last split second before he comes, he imagines they're not just dry humping like dogs in heat. He allows himself to imagine he's inside Neil, that they're as close as they can possibly be, and it makes Neil feel good instead of pained.

Andrew comes, but it's with an unexpected dose of shame. Despite that, he comes hard. It's full body, enough to make his shoulders shake, his breath hitch. It's that same tingling sensation running over him, stronger at the points where he and Neil touch.

It doesn't make sense to him.

He hadn't meant to let his brain go there, to let the fantasy rear its ugly head again, but it had felt so...

He didn't have the right to think about it without Neil's yes, not in this case. Because it means some fucked up part of him craves it, needs to take it.

He won't, he won't do that. He knows he won't, but then why does it make his stomach swirl?

Andrew sighs before going rigid, and Neil must take it as his cue to separate. That's one thing which hasn't really changed, Andrew's need for space. It's gotten better, he can normally stay pressed against Neil for ten or so minutes, and it's weirdly comfortable. However, eventually his brain will begin to overthink or itch with a need for room, and he'll have to push away.

This immediate stiffness is unusual though, and Neil catches it so fast Andrew should feel vulnerable about it.

Neil goes still as soon as he senses something is off, and removes his weight from Andrew in a blink. He's never seen Neil move so fast away from him, not out of fear, but concern.

Neil is mistaken here though; he's not the one who's done something wrong.

Neil puts as much distance between them on the couch as he can, bringing his knees to his chest and only grimacing at the wet squelch of his pants.

His chest is still heaving, and part of Andrew finds excitement in that. He made Neil feel good, it's proven by his mussed up hair and swollen lips, the high blush. Neil waits, eyes scanning the lines of tension in Andrew's body, the soft parts of his face.

Andrew watches him for a long time as he thinks, trying to find evidence he's right, that he took it too far. Neil can't read his thoughts, but for a moment Andrew worries he can.

Did he feel it, Andrew's body claiming him, using him in a way Neil maybe has never thought of?

Andrew glares, but he knows Neil will be able to tell it's not at him.

Andrew is usually able to begin the long dissection of these issues in his own head, revealing the threads he can offer to Bee to pull at and untangle into something more manageable. But right now, he's at a loss.

They sit like that so long their breathing evens out, and only at that point does Neil reach out. He extends his hand forward, not commanding, but offering. Yes or no. "Andrew?"

Shit.

He hasn't moved in minutes. Time is never something he managed well in his head, always pulling him back to the past in a blink while the future pulled apart like dust, disintegrating before taking a full shape. He inhales shakily; Andrew hates to show so much, but this is Neil. They're alone. He scrubs a hand over his face in frustration, trying to bring it back to its blank state before he reaches out to pull Neil closer.

They're still not touching anywhere else, Andrew can't handle that yet, but it's enough of an acquiescence for Neil to understand the problem isn't him.

He moves to the cushion next to Andrew, his bare feet settling against the carpet as he waits for Andrew to say something.

And well, this is where he brings it up. There's no point in waiting, beating around the bush is useless and pointless and not something they're capable of doing.

Andrew's words come out blunt as ever as he stares into nothingness. "Before I came I thought about fucking you."

The harshness of the words, and how removed they are from any emotion should probably make any normal person flinch. Neil isn't just anyone.

Neil, for all his usual drama, doesn't react to that, and Andrew feels the ghost of relief. Once, Neil told Andrew his lack of reaction to otherwise terrible events made Neil feel better about them. Andrew hadn't really understood, but now he just might be seeing the logic.

Neil's gaze on him during their vulnerable moments typically makes Andrew want to jump out of his skin, far too exposed, but with this it's less difficult to plow forward. Neil stares at Andrew, as blank as he can manage, while still letting the curiosity furrow his brow.

Andrew wants to wipe off the sweat there.

He cracks his knuckles, mulling over the words and trying to find a way to say them where he won't have to admit too much. Unfortunately, it's impossible.

He scowls at the coffee table as he speaks, like the words are vile. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I haven't been able to stop."

Why can't he stop?

Because part of him can't help himself, is that it? He can't control himself, even after years and years of limiting every possible stimuli so he could.

If he sounds angry it's because he is; how dare Neil push him this far, so unintentionally. Yet even then, Andrew knows the blame is all on him. The irritated tremble in his voice should not fucking be there, just like the thoughts shouldn't be. He shouldn't have given ground enough to make such a confession, to make Neil think he's torn up and ugly.

Andrew should be a blank slate, but Neil is chips in the stone, splashes of paint which Andrew cannot scrub off.

He told Neil what he's always told Neil: the honest version of how he feels, even if he wishes he felt nothing.

Long before the movie night, long before he cares to remember, and he    remembers everything, he's thought of slotting their bodies together, of pulling Neil impossibly close so they're intertwined in every way.

At Andrew's aggravated scowl, Neil finally chooses to speak. The confusion is more obvious on his features now, the ring of blue reappearing and threatening to wash Andrew in waves.

"You don't have to stop," Neil says, like it's the simplest damn thing in the world.

What the hell does he know? He's not in Andrew's head, he's not--

"Neil--" Andrew almost growls, a warning Neil should be all too familiar with. Stop while you're ahead.

Neil is a very bad listener, with a short fuse to match.

"I think about it," the striker bites out quickly, almost challenging. Those blue eyes widen with the admission, rocking on the balls of his feet. Andrew's entire body freezes up, hell the world might have stopped for all he cares. Even Neil bites down on his bottom lip, as if to cut the words off, before realizing how stupid that would be. He knows how Andrew feels about regret, and he's not lying in this moment. Andrew would be able to tell. A few seconds of quiet pass, they hear some muffled music through the windows. Neil's voice is a silky whisper to his ears, despite how cracked it sounds. "I think about it too. So...there, stop putting this just on you. I think about it a lot so, you don't have to do...that."

It's so stupid, how Neil can remain so interesting even when Andrew's feeling this on edge. It's a welcome distraction for a second, before the words really sink in.

Neil thinks about it.

Viciously, Andrew steps on the small slug which resembles hope as it crawls through his brain. He ignores the mess in his pants as he turns to face Neil, sitting cross-legged on the couch.

Andrew raises a brow, daring Neil to elaborate on the that he's referring to.

"Hide it so I don't have to know," Neil supplies, waving his hand in the air. "Shoulder it all yourself like you always do. This way I've made it both of our problem."

Neil winces, no doubt scolding himself for the poor choice of words.

Andrew's face is back to a blank slate. "A problem, is it?"

That's certainly how he saw it, but having Neil echo the sentiment makes him feel more, which would be terrible enough, but the feeling isn't even good.

Neil's gaze is a freshly sharpened blade. "No. Not to me," Neil says, firm. "You know we don't have to, but--"

"But you think about it," Andrew echoes, unable to help it. The coils he tries to wrap around the realization are slippery and can't get a grip, so he repeats it. Neil thinks about it, the desire is shared.

What is he supposed to do with that information now? One step forward, two steps...somewhere.

Neil swallows, and the redness on his cheeks is oh so appealing to even Andrew's hazy mind.

Neil thinks about it.

But that doesn't mean they can just...do it. Andrew doesn't know if he can; the disconnect between what his body wants and what his brain can manage is a minefield and he's never wanted to scratch at gray matter so badly.

Briefly, he understands why Aaron values normalcy so much. Normalcy would allow Andrew to just be the horny college student he could've been, instead of having to deal with all these speed bumps and cones in the road to get to the ultimate goal. And even if he were to get there, there's a big chance he'd decide it's better to turn back around to prevent a crash.

But he is not Aaron, and he does not value normalcy.

He values--

"I do," Neil states, so understanding, and maybe a little flustered. Flustered, not scared, not unsure. "I like doing that stuff with you Andrew, but how it is now is good, more than good. Hell, that was so...wow. You know I've never felt this towards someone."

Neil's smile is so far away from what Andrew can handle he has to ruin it.

"Horny?" He says, and hates how even when he's deflecting the thought sends a shiver through him. The thought of Neil only wanting him, only giving himself to him. Andrew squashes the possessiveness, uncomfortable.

Neil gives him a look for that, but isn't deterred. "Technically yes, but you know what I mean."

Unfortunately he does, but that's even more uncomfortable to think about than the physical desire. Neil has never been shy about his feelings for Andrew, not since Andrew actually acknowledged their this and showed how he was going to make zero moves to push Neil away. Even if Neil did hold back his bluntness, he gives Andrew those fucking looks like he's the most amazing thing he's ever laid eyes on, not some delinquent with a crooked nose and a hostile disposition.

And still that can't be it. Neil's desire, like his feelings, are so intense they can't possibly be fake. The eagerness, the desperation with which he receives Andrew's advances...it's not the issue. Neil is trying to tell Andrew he doesn't need to feel pressured, like Andrew doesn't already know that.

He thinks he's getting closer to what his real problem is with it, but it's just out of reach. It's a shared desire, he checks that off. Neil thinks about it, another check. And Andrew...

No matter how he tries to kick it aside he wants it. His body craves it and his mind can't let it go. He wants and it's so nauseating in how it's not, instead it's light and tender and all things he is not supposed to be.

So, where is the issue? It's him, it's--

"Stop avoiding the truth," Neil says, and when Andrew looks back at him those pale blue eyes are intense, almost deadly. They pry Andrew apart, flaying the flesh from bones and seeing the rawness inside, like Neil has managed to pin down the anxious animal inside him with talons sharp as knives.

The words 'shut up' die on his tongue; what truth? What can Neil see that he can't?

Andrew doesn't have fears. He briefly entertains the idea that what bothers him is the fact Neil thinks about it and that means one day he'll really want it and won't be able to hold the urge back. If Andrew can't give it to him, if he decides he can't go through with this, Neil will be like everyone else, just someone who wants more than Andrew can offer. Then he'll leave.

But Andrew doesn't fear. And it would be stupid to fear; anyone who would leave for something like that simply isn't worth the time of day. Yet...yet...

Andrew thinks of life without Neil, and he remembers emptiness crashing down, an empty stadium, and true darkness.

Frustrated beyond all reason, Andrew retreats into the bedroom to change into clean underwear and sweats. There are no footsteps behind him, no annoyed sighs or disappointment in his wake. He hates how Neil knows how long he needs before following, how trusting he is, because he changes right in front of Andrew a few moments later, needing no boundary.

"There's no 'truth' in this to avoid," Andrew answers, delayed, as he tracks the curves of Neil's body, the scars making him feel safe and angry all at once. Angry at those who would hurt his person, safe knowing Neil doesn't shy away from the ugliness.

Neil shrugs as he sits on the bed, beckoning Andrew over. He follows, of course he does, it's automatic.

What he says isn't a lie; he hasn't figured out the truth of this. Neil grins at him, infuriating. "No, I just think you're avoiding thinking about it. Don't get me wrong, I have no idea what you're actually thinking about, I'm not a mind reader. But if something else weren't bothering you I don't think you'd be this antsy."

"I'm not antsy."

"I told you, I'm the better liar so you should stop trying," Neil says with a smile, kicking his legs out in front of him. There's bruises on his knees from their last game. Andrew reaches out to press his palm against them, frowning at the yellowish color; there was no helping the fall, but Andrew had still checked him out afterwards. Neil sighs into the touch, leans into it, and it hits Andrew that this level of vulnerability he's been given is not something he's ever asked for, but he couldn't let go of if he wanted to.

Can’t let himself betray.

"I haven't made up my mind," Andrew says, not like he has to. Neil is normally good at knowing when Andrew isn't ready to give his final answer, but something about this feels different. It makes Andrew say as much as he can. "I don't know yet if I can do it."

What he thought would be devastating to admit aloud feels more like one weight has been shed. Neil doesn't even react, apart from prying Andrew's hand off his knee to trace the veins on his wrist.

"That's okay," Neil whispers, and there's enough encouragement in the tone to make Andrew growl.

"Shut up."

Neil freezes, his fingers hovering over Andrew's knuckles, and has the audacity to squint at Andrew. The man always did have a death wish. "It is."

Andrew turns away, in what to others would read as a clear dismissal, the cold shoulder. Neil has never cared to accept those things.

"Andrew," Neil says, and it's with conviction this time. No gentleness. "I'm not going to...leave if we never do it, I don't care about that, I just care about you. But if it is something you want, it's a yes--"

Fury spikes.

Andrew bites back the auto-response of 'I don't care if you leave' because it's a deflection he won't bring into this. He doesn't have time to keep that wall of his intact during a conversation like this. Neil will fight it and see through it and it'll waste their time.

But honestly, screw Neil for seeing through Andrew so easily. For pulling out fears that shouldn't be there and aren't, they aren't.

When Andrew turns his scowl on Neil, the striker doesn't so much as flinch. Andrew is here, giving away too much, showing too much, and Neil takes all of it.

"That doesn't have to be your final answer," Andrew stresses, voice tight, and this time Neil does have the decency to look surprised. Those pretty eyes soften with it, and Andrew sees the exact moment he puts something together which Andrew hasn't yet touched. "We don't have to. That goes both ways, I won't take that from you unless you're 100% sure so you better be and fuck you if you don't tell me the truth when the time comes. And it's not going to be you letting me, or doing it for my sake, or some other half-assed reason. If you don't want to, we won't. "

If I can't, I won't.

And the only reason he wouldn't be able to is if...

Andrew feels a stone settle in his stomach, and almost grins from how amazingly stupid this all is. Bee would be so proud, him getting to this point, on the cusp of figuring out what the hell is going on in his head.

All of a sudden Andrew is tired, too much energy pulled out of him, a war of emotions, all for him to come to the obvious conclusion.

It always comes back to Neil.

And Neil seems to have figured it out too; he stares at Andrew for a long time, scanning his face, giving him that look, the one which burns Andrew from the inside. Warm.

"The next time one of them says you're soulless, I might have to fight them."

All Andrew's words, and Neil manages to find the sliver of realness buried in it. For a moment, Andrew thinks Neil will let it go, for Andrew's sake. But, he should know better. They're no longer at that point, and Bee would call that progress, but Andrew doesn't know what to do with it yet.

All he knows is that if Neil thinks he can soothe any of Andrew's thoughts, he will, no matter how many times Andrew tells him he doesn't need it.

It's quiet, when Neil finally speaks. "You wouldn't hurt me," he whispers into the small space between them. Andrew hadn't realized they'd gotten so close, but there's his forearm, pressed right against Neil's. No wincing, no queasiness.

Andrew starts to turn away, and Neil risks blocking him with his hand. Andrew's vision is all blue, Neil's bangs such a mess he wants so badly to push them back again. "You wouldn't hurt me Andrew, if that's what you're worried about. You couldn't. I trust you. Of course I want to, but it's not a deal breaker. Stop treating it like one."

Andrew doesn't move, it's amazing he can even look at Neil, but he can't stop. There's so much he could argue in return, lots to prove wrong. Neil doesn't know anything about this, he can't possibly get it, or know what he's really giving Andrew, or what he’ll want in the future.

Their future; another subject to flood Andrew's brain. Too much at once, too much.

And yet, Neil is a deadly weapon, except with Andrew the slicing wounds give way to blooms instead of blood.

Neil strikes. "If you decide it's a yes, and I come back and say no, would it be a deal breaker for you?"

Andrew twitches from the mere thought, which is as good as a full body jerk. Neil could say he never wanted to have sex again and Andrew wouldn't push, he'd stay. "No," he seethes, unable to keep it out of his voice. Neil goes right for the throat every time, making one of Andrew's arguments null.

As for the other...

"I want to," Neil says, and for once, he seems embarrassed. It's a rare thing on Neil, the worried lip, the giddiness. Like he's excited. It's not even about the sex, he's pretty sure Neil did this when Andrew first held his hand too. Andrew's stomach flips itself over in half, the bastard.

"You wouldn't be taking either," Neil says, and Andrew flinches internally. Hurting Neil...he could hurt Neil, he could-- "We'd be...sharing, like we always do. So you can stop beating yourself up over my decision, and think about yours."

In Neil speak: Do whatever you need to do to figure out what you need, I'll be waiting.

Andrew hates the assumptions, mostly because they're right. This is not something he can resolve with one conversation. The thought of somehow ruining this for Neil, for making his first time something horrible, is too much for him to unpack this quickly. Who knows how long it will take him to reach a decision, or what the decision will be.

Yet, Neil's here, telling him he doesn't care how long it takes, or where Andrew lands at the end of it. He'll be here, now and after.

What percent is Neil even at? The millions maybe. Andrew's blood boils before it comes down to a simmer, then fades completely. Andrew never asked to feel, but Neil is wearing him down everyday.

The thought repeats: Andrew doesn't know how to stop.

He clenches his fists, grabbing Neil's shoulder and forcing him down onto his side to lie next to him. Words won't work for him anymore, and he's not capable of touching or even kissing right now. But it's a concession, a thing he is learning to give without despising the weakness of it.

Neil gives a small yelp but goes with Andrew willingly, not resisting. His curls fan out on the comforter, one decorated with cats that Nicky gifted them. Andrew sighs; Neil has yet to make any sense to him, even when the entrance to the messy path ahead of him has cleared.

He'll need as much rest as possible to figure this out. It's too early to go to bed, but after all this Andrew needs sleep, and he hates how Neil being next to him has become the new normal.

"I fucking hate you," he says in the small margin of space between them, and closes his eyes before he can be blinded by Neil's idiotic smile. "Go to sleep junkie."

Andrew's memory feeds him Neil's smile anyways.

Neil sighs across from him, and Andrew immediately feels drowsy, like it's a spell over him. He falls into it, not resisting.

As the world fades in and out, the most important thoughts stay afloat, and he embeds them in his head. They're less like mosquitoes now, more like additional grooves.

Neil wants it, Neil is ready. There's no sense in Andrew dwelling on that issue further for now, so he bypasses the first lock of his mind. Of course, he was never so optimistic to think that was the only thing holding him back, and Neil pulled that out of him too.

The big issue, the one holding Andrew back. The striker's words flood his mind, blurred and echoed. 'You wouldn't hurt me.'

But is that the truth? There's only one way to find out, and Andrew isn't sure if it's something he's willing to risk. Neil never was and never will be someone fragile, but that’s not the point. That’s not what Andrew means.

Just the realization he has the power to hurt Neil with this, the way Andrew was hurt…it makes him shy away from any attempt.

After all, he decided long ago he wouldn't risk losing Neil, not for anything, returning words said on rooftops. And yet…Neil makes him itch to prove those things wrong.

He's not sure yet where to go from here, but he pushes it aside to think about later. He has as much time as he needs. With the first lock conquered, the tension in his shoulders relaxes. Neil thinks about it, wants it. So can Andrew.

Just like that, Andrew finally concedes; he lets the idea of want flood in.

This time, there's no guilt to be found. Neil, with all intentions, made sure of that.

--

[darkblueboxs]

Fang and Stake

For @aftgangstfest​ Day 21: “Bite me.”

For most hunters, it would have been a wet dream: his quarry beaten, bleeding, trapped and prone before him. He might as well have been holding a stake on a silver platter. If it had been any other vampire in the world, Andrew wouldn’t have hesitated to drive the splintering chunk of wood through his chest and be done with it.

Unfortunately, Neil wasn’t any other vampire.

Read here or on AO3 (check AO3 for content warnings)

* 

The vampire was slippery. Andrew didn’t like slippery; more challenge, more effort, more time spent charging through woodlands with rain and sweat soaking through his clothes and the echo of Kevin’s orders biting at his heels. The night was too cold for running, and the ache in his legs told him that he would be ending it bruised and exhausted. If bruising was the worst of his injuries come sunrise, he would consider himself… not lucky, Andrew had never been lucky, but satisfied. He had to find satisfaction somewhere; despite Kevin’s enthusiasm, the promised thrill of the chase had yet to ensnare Andrew. The thud of his heart in his chest was born of exertion and no more. It played a deafening drumbeat in his ears, perhaps compensating for his quarry’s shortcomings in that department.

The hunt required little strategy or forethought; tonight’s mark was bleeding. Profusely. Any idiot could follow a trail of blood, and frankly Andrew’s talents were wasted on this assignment. To think that Kevin had wanted him to take backup. Kevin was intelligent, of course, no man could keep his position without a few brain cells between his ears – but when it came to Andrew, he magically developed both the stubbornness and IQ of a common mule. Kevin was adamant that Andrew learn to work as part of a team. Andrew was equally adamant that he hunt alone.

Specks of red flecked the path ahead of him, a glinting ruby treasure-trail. Kevin’s notes divulged few details where tonight’s quarry was concerned, but Andrew wouldn’t have paid them much mind anyway.  Andrew’s marks were all the same; cruel, cunning, merciless. It took one to catch one, and if Kevin passed this vampire to Andrew instead of one of his more cooperative hunters, it was for a good reason.

After a pathetically short chase, Andrew tracked the figure to a riverbank swollen by rain. He could feel his lips slicing open into an empty smile as he saw the figure staring morosely into the water which cut through his escape route with the efficiency of a ravine. Vampiric rules, as strange as they were convenient.

Andrew flicked the stake over in his hand a few times as he approached. He wasn’t one to draw out a kill, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make a show of it, if only to sap his victim of any remaining morale. The gesture was wasted on this vampire; its shoulders were heaving and shuddering in turn, heavy with defeat. Its hair was plastered to his head, darkened by the rain which ran rivulets down the nape of its neck.

His mark hadn’t been having a good night, even before Andrew caught its trail. The burnt, decaying smell of vampiric blood was thick in the air. Andrew’s mind caught him by the throat and dragged him somewhere deep and dark, where old memories thrashed and screamed. If the vampire had gained its injuries doing what Andrew thought it had been doing, a quick death would be more than it deserved.

The snapping of twigs underfoot gave him away, not that Andrew was making any effort to mask his approach. He had no need for the benefit of surprise.

The vampire looked up, eyes piercing blue. The familiar colour jolted through Andrew like an electric shock. He lowered his stake. “You. You’re Nathaniel?”

“Shit,” Neil said, half-way between a gasp and a laugh. “Andrew.” His legs gave out as though knocked from beneath him, and the vampire fell to his knees.

For most hunters, it would have been a wet dream; his mark beaten, bleeding, trapped and prone before him. He might as well have been holding a stake on a silver platter. If it had been any other vampire in the world, Andrew wouldn’t have hesitated.

Unfortunately, Neil wasn’t any other vampire.

Neil – Andrew had never believed it was his real name, not for a second – was, irritatingly, one of the good ones, a fact which Andrew believed with the kind of certainty that he had long thought himself to have outgrown. Hunters only pursued vampires that were a proven danger to humans, which meant that somewhere down the line, Andrew had been lied to. It only remained to decide which end the lie came from: Neil, or Andrew’s superiors.

Common sense should have put the blame squarely on Neil’s shoulders. He had every reason to lie to Andrew – to preserve his cover, to get close to someone with inside information on the Hunters, to buy himself a little protection or mercy from a friend on the inside should the time come – but Andrew’s instincts screamed over common sense.

He always knew Neil was trouble, of course. He was a vampire – it came with the territory. Neil was the only vampire Andrew had ever met that showed no sign of fear or revulsion upon discovering how Andrew paid his rent. It made Andrew wonder what else Neil had to fear, that the human who slept with a stake under his pillow should have no effect upon him at all. It made Neil a puzzle, but worst of all, it made him interesting. Deliberately or not, Neil certainly knew how to interest Andrew.

The whole situation smelt of a set-up. Someone in a high place must have really, really wanted him dead. Somehow, Andrew wasn’t surprised. After all, he had wanted Neil dead from the first night Neil slipped a name through the open crack of Andrew’s window, a name which lead him to a very, very bad man. At first, Andrew had wondered if Neil was using him as his own personal hitman, picking off vampires that posed a threat to his territory. As time passed and bodies mounted, it became clear that Neil had the same distaste for bloodshed as Andrew. The same immunity, too; when they arrived by chance at the scene of an attack within moments of each other, Neil’s reaction to the family bleeding out on the living room floor was as muted as Andrew’s. Andrew was tempted to blame it on the side-effects of vampirism, were it not for the way Neil’s eyes slid past the pools of blood with complete disinterest.

Neil never seemed to send help Andrew’s way with any hope of recognition or reward; he seemed to think it was the right thing to do. A good Samaritan; Andrew’s least favourite type of person.

“If I were someone else, you would be dead,” Andrew said. He noted the way Neil’s eyes tracked his stake, and he slotted it back into the hook on his belt.

“As would you.” Neil pressed a hand to his side and winced. “At least I don’t have a doppelganger running around. Makes things a lot more confusing.”

“Remember the rules, Neil.” Andrew tapped his fingers against the handle of his stake. “Family stays out of this.”

“Don’t worry, it’s easy enough now I know your smell from his. Yours is far more…” Neil’s gaze grew strangely distant, eyes flickering black, before he realised, wisely, that this wasn’t a good line of thought to follow. “Sorry.” He wobbled before falling onto his side with a quiet thunk. “Ouch.”

Andrew walked forward until he was standing over Neil. His shirt was dark with patches of blood, presumably his own. Andrew didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned. Neither, if he were smart, but smart always seemed to go out of the window at the same moment that Neil entered through it. “Vampires are supposed to heal quicker than this.” He nudged Neil’s abdomen with the toe of his boot, ignoring Neil’s protesting hiss. “Stop being dramatic.”

“I can’t.” Neil’s voice cracked with strain. “They doused their blades in holy water.”

There was a sudden, piercing pain at the back of Andrew’s skull. If he didn’t know better, he would call it fear. “You’re going to die.”

Neil laughed mirthlessly, fangs catching the moonlight. “I’m already dead.”

“Fix it.”

Neil smiled as though amused by the urgency in Andrew’s tone. Andrew hated that smile as much as he hated the man who wore it. “No.”

Andrew dropped to his knees and clinically yanked Neil’s shirt open to examine his wounds. Neil’s body was a mess of scarring, but it was the fresh wounds that drew Andrew’s eye, raw and red in some places, scorched black in others. His hands hovered over the ragged remains of Neil’s torso, twitching with uncertainty. Hunters weren’t taught to heal; they were taught to kill. For the first time in his life, Andrew wished his brother was there in his place. “What kind of blades?”

“I didn’t stop to ask.” Neil coughed, missing the look Andrew levelled at him. “Sharp ones.”

Andrew let out a low, involuntary hiss. He placed a careful hand to the raw red of Neil’s abdomen. Neil jerked, his skin ice-cold under Andrew’s palm.

The solution came to him with an abruptness that was almost painful.

“Feeding will heal you,” Andrew said. It was barely a question, but all the same he knew the answer before the words even passed his lips. He also knew from the cold determination in Neil’s eyes that Neil had reached the same conclusion and dismissed it immediately. Neil knew Andrew, knew the stories behind the stake under his pillow, and would never ask, would never even think to ask, even if it meant dying in his arms. The quiet understanding, the assurance, the silent promise of not like them that underpinned their every interaction was almost enough to rip Andrew to pieces. Because just as Neil knew Andrew, Andrew knew Neil, knew that Neil would never tear Andrew apart for his own satisfaction, would never use him up and throw him away like butcher’s scraps. Not like them. Neil looked at Andrew in a way that none had before, not like something to be consumed, but like something… else. Something important.

Andrew could slit his own throat in front of Neil, and Neil would still bleed to death before taking anything from Andrew that hadn’t been offered.

Andrew shook Neil’s shoulder, and when he saw the distant, glassy look in Neil’s eyes, he tried again. “Neil. Feeding will heal you.”

Neil coughed. His lips were flecked with his own blood. “If you know where I can buy a gallon of purified pig’s blood around here, I’m all ears.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew growled.

Neil’s eyes flicked to Andrew’s as understanding dawned. He tried to push himself away, but there was nowhere to go but deeper into the loose dirt of the riverbank “I don’t feed from people. I won’t be like them.”

“I won’t let you be.” Andrew tightened his grip on Neil’s shoulder. Neil looked like he had more objections to make, but the violent shake of his hands betrayed him, as did the terrible, ashy colour of his skin. “I trust you.”

“No.”

“Bite me,” Andrew said, “Or I’ll cut my wrists open and force the blood down your throat myself.”

“You wouldn’t,” Neil said, and his certainty burns in the back of Andrew’s throat like bile.

“Try me.” Andrew said lowly.

Neil looked at him for a long moment, jaw clenched. Andrew could see the moment he caved in; however flimsy Andrew’s bluff, Neil would never risk calling it. He watched with careful blankness as Andrew tugged at his collar before giving up and tearing it along the seam, the sound surprisingly loud in the night air. Neil’s eyes caught on the bared expanse of Andrew’s neck and stuck there. There was a want in his eyes, but it wasn’t the kind of hunger Andrew was used to seeing from his kind. It was cautious, careful, aware. A single word from Andrew and it would be buried without complaint or reprehension. It was this knowledge that let Andrew shuffle closer, pulling Neil up and against him so that his weight was supported by Andrew’s arms. Neil might have been cold, but he was warmer than the night air, and the sensation seeped through Andrew’s skin slow as syrup.

Neil’s breath stuttered out of him as his head lolled against Andrew. “I’ve never…” Neil said, little more than a whisper. “…I’ve never done this. I don’t know if I can… If I can make it not hurt.”

“I know.”

“Is it still yes?”

“Yes,” Andrew said. Then, impatiently, “Sometime tonight?”

Neil sighed. There was a flash of teeth, and then a heat burned through Andrew’s shoulder unlike anything he had ever felt.

Andrew wasn’t sure what kind of noise escaped him. Neil twitched like he was about to pull back, but the clench of Andrew’s hand in his hair urged him on. Neil’s hand wavered between them as though searching for something to steady himself with, landing at last Andrew. For once, Andrew didn’t mind the contact as Neil dragged one hand from Andrew’s shoulder down to his arm, gripping on like Andrew was a rock in a stormy sea. Andrew’s body was a jumble of warring sensations, but the sudden wet heat as Neil’s tongue slid across the bite wound sent a shiver straight through him.

Neil pushed himself back, quick to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes had turned a deep red, and they didn’t quite refocus again until they had faded back to their normal blue. His skin was closer to his usual tan, and his wounds appeared, mercifully, to have scabbed over. They tingled under Andrew’s hands as though his blood was calling out to him from within Neil’s body.

Neil’s eyes fixed on the mark left on Andrew’s neck. For a moment, Andrew worried that Neil needed more, that he had denied himself what he needed for Andrew’s sake, but the crease between Neil’s eyebrows was concern, not hunger.

Neil reached for the wound, running cool fingers across damp skin. Beneath the sting of the bite was that tingling sensation again, and this time Andrew was certain he could feel his own pulse in Neil’s fingertips. Neil pressed two careful fingers against Andrew’s pulse-point, but before worry could blacken his expression any further Andrew caught Neil’s hand in his. With his other hand, he tugged what remained of his shirt back into place. “What is it you’re so fond of saying? I’m fine?”

“Fuck you,” Neil replied, his words slurring through swollen, pink lips. His pupils were still a size too large, but there was no hint of anything but his usual ice-blue irritation in his expression.

“You can thank me with the name and address of the man who did this.” Andrew punctuated his words by resting his palm on Neil’s healing torso.

“He doesn’t take kindly to house visits.”

“I don’t care what he takes kindly to. Name, Neil.”

“Nathan.” The word shook from Neil’s chest as though it had clawed its way free with no regard for what it tore along the way. “My father, Nathan Wesninski.”

Nathan Wesninski. An influential figure and generous donor to Andrew’s organisation. It would explain how Neil ended up on Andrew’s hitlist.

Little did they know.

“He isn’t the kind of person you can go up against on your own.” Neil tried to wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and missed. Andrew wiped it off with his sleeve, ignoring the way Neil’s lips twitched upwards at the gesture.

“Good thing I’m not on my own, isn’t it?”

Neil’s smile grew. Damn him. “Can I kiss you?”

Andrew flicked his gaze over Neil’s bitten lips, the growing flush of his skin, hair mussy and clotted with dried blood. “No.” Then, before Neil could get the wrong idea, he added, “ask me again when you aren’t delirious.” Andrew wouldn’t be like them; he wouldn’t let Neil let him be.

Neil’s smile, somehow, grew even more.

*

[codename-adler]

Kevin Day and his Oblivious Literature Lover, pt. VII

Happy Birthday, Kevin. I’m so glad you exist. We all are. Here, I give to you friendship, love and care. You’re gonna get through this, I promise. ♥️

>> Table of Contents, TW and other parts are here!

Jean leaves

after their game against the Trojans, Kevin says goodbye to Jeremy Knox, and to Jean

Kevin feels heavy, he feels torn, and sad and scared, because he’s alone once again

and he’s afraid he’ll never see Jean again, that whatever they managed to have hear in Palmetto was their unofficial “break up” and that Jean will never speak to him again

Jean had cried, he’d begged, he didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to be abandoned again, he didn’t want to be away from Kevin again

but Jeremy Knox had somehow worked his magic, and Jean had genuinely (well, as genuine as one can be after the Nest) accepted Jeremy’s offer, and even chose to move immediately to South California with him instead of waiting for the summer

Kevin hoped it wasn’t in an attempt to put as much distance between them and more because Jean was on his way to healing, even if it was away from him

they had hugged one last time, in Abby’s guest room, and poured everything they felt for each other in their embrace

they both knew things would be different from now on

they knew it would be hard, and painful

they knew the healing would be slow, that nasty things would resurface

but in that moment, they didn’t care

“Jean… Jean listen to me,” Kevin whispered in Jean’s ear. “Hell is over. You got through it. You got out. You’ll be safe, now, okay? I know- I know we have to process things… Take your time. Rely on Jeremy. Rely on your team. The Trojans are great. And I’m not just talking about Exy. Okay, Jean? You’ll be safe now. You’ll be far away from all this mess. And if there is anything, anything, Jean, you call me. I’ll be there. I don’t care why or how; I’ll be there for you, Jean.”

they held on tighter to each other, tears silently streaming down their faces

Kevin cradled the back of Jean’s head as Jean clutched Kevin’s shirt in his fist

they had to let go, they had to, and yet…

I care for you. I love you. I do. I’ll always love you.

words left unsaid, barely exchanged in a look, barely understood in their eyes

words that had never held any meaning to them, words they’d never heard, words they’d never said

they weren’t about to start saying them now, but their presence was strong

But this is goodbye, for now.

they let go

Jean leaves

Jean is gone

none of the Foxes know what’s happened, but they do feel the consequences

and it doesn’t help that their next and ultimate game is against the Ravens, at Edgar Allen, their last chance at winning Championships, at beating the odds and their nemesis

Kevin is a huge fucking asshole all week

he can’t seem to help it

he lashes out, he fights, he drinks…

he’s obsessed, he’s panicking, he’s a monster

the high of helping Jean has worn off, the high of their win against the Trojans has worn off

fear is all that’s left

Wymack has to forcefully bring him to Betsy at 6 AM when he finds Kevin at the court, having passed the whole night practicing, even after Neil and Andrew left around 3 AM

Kevin is shaking all over in his chair

Betsy doesn’t offer hot cocoa

Kevin doesn’t want to be here, never did, never will

Betsy has to thread carefully, has to approach him from the right angle

“How is Jean settling in at USC?” she calmly asks

“We’re not talking about Jean,” Kevin spits back immediately

“Okay. What are we talking about?”

“We’re not talking.”

“That’s alright. I’ll talk for a bit, then. As your designated therapist, your health is under my care as much as it is under Abby’s and David’s. What this means is, my word weights as much as theirs when it comes to who plays, and who doesn’t. Exy has been good for you, Kevin. Exy is good for a lot of you, actually. However, what my professional advice would be, in your case, is that you are to be forbidden from playing this last game against Edgar Allen.”

Kevin gasps

Before he can unleash the thousands of obscenities on the tip of his tongue, Betsy raises a calm hand to hold him off

“I won’t do that. I should, but I won’t. Ultimately, not playing would aggravate your mental state more than facing Edgar Allen and pushing yourself past your limits. You need this. You need closure. You need proof. In my opinion, it won’t solve your problems, it won’t solve your traumas, your alcoholism, your PTSD, your anxiety, your anger issues, and I’m being brief. But this is something you want to do, and I understand its importance. So I won’t be interfering.”

Kevin scoffs, uncooperative

“But hear this, Kevin: at the rate you’re going, you are not going to win this game. You’re not. You’re going to break, you’re going to lose, and then you won’t be getting back up. This? Right now? This is your point of no return.”

Kevin gapes at her

he can’t believe the words that just came out of Betsy’s mouth

not because they are cruel, or unprofessional, or harmful

it’s because they are true

Kevin finds that her words resonate in him, like the echoes of a desperate cry for help within himself

Kevin doesn’t cry, because he can’t, he doesn’t remember how to

he does however go into full-blown panic

without a bottle in his clutch 

it’s bad

it’s really bad

he hears half the words Betsy says next

“Kevin, this is a panic attack. You know this, this is familiar. Don’t be afraid of it, you are not going to die. Not on my watch. I’m going to hold you now, okay? Do I have your permission?”

Kevin nods frantically as he chokes on air

Betsy gets up to come sit beside Kevin on the couch and takes him in her arms

she buries his head over her shoulders and crosses her arms behind his back; without rocking as to not increase the nausea, Betsy begins squeezing Kevin every three seconds, raising her shoulders everytime to encourage him to breathe

“One, two, three, in, Kevin. One, two, three, out, Kevin.”

the pressure of her arms and her deep, motherly voice bring Kevin down from his attack after a good twenty minutes

“I’m going to release you now, Kevin, okay? Can I let go of you?”

Kevin slowly nods, his eyes fixated on a point behind Betsy’s back

she doesn’t even have the time to sit back down on her own chair, though, before Kevin pulls a Neil and sprints out of her office

Wymack can’t even catch up to him

he runs, and runs, and runs

his feet should take him to his dorm, to the alcohol cabinet, or even to the court, to his gear

they don’t

he stops running right in front of Jackie Hall

rationally, Kevin knows classes start at 8:30, that Jules has been getting back in class progressively, that she was slowly getting back on her feet

irrationally, Kevin fears she won’t be there, or that she will, but in pieces on the floor, or that she won’t want to see him, or that she’ll know, or that-

his feet take him inside nonetheless

in a haze, he once again faces door 418

he doesn’t realize he’s knocked until his fist meets the air when the door opens

he woke up Jules, and she looks like it; eyes puffed from sleep, bonnet half off, naked feet

“Kev? Wha- You’re here. Why are you here? Are you- Are you okay? Why are you dressed like that?”

Kevin looks down, at his Exy clothes

his Exy clothes

Shit.

“Okay, no, it’s too early for this. Come on, don’t just stand there. Go shower. I’ll be there after, yeah?” she says as she ushers him inside her dorm room

but Kevin can’t seem to move, now that he has stopped

so Jules grabs two of his fingers and pulls him inside

which then pulls Kevin out of his apathy

“I don’t- I can’t- I-,” he tries

“Do I need to call someone? Are you in danger?” Jules panics a little bit

“N-No… I- Clothes… It’s all I have…” Kevin explains with difficulty

“Oh.”

Jules locks the door behind them and goes to her bed, only to pull out a pile of clothes from under the corner pillow

she brings them to Kevin

“You left this last time you were here… I figured if you didn’t ask for it back, it’d be more useful here in case… Well… You know… That,” she explains, a bit embarrassed

Kevin furrows his eyebrows, he looks like he is on the verge of crying

he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t, but if he could…

he gently takes the clothes and locks himself in the joint bathroom, without a word

Jules is left standing there, still shocked, nervous, overwhelmed…

she quickly undresses herself while Kevin is out of the room, puts on some more decent clothes that what he is used to see her in, washes her face in the tiny sink and fixes her hair for the day

she gets cold as she waits for Kevin, and pulls on a red polo sweater, the only one she has left that doesn’t need to be washed

she waits for Kevin on her bed

Kevin comes out of the bathroom at last, black sweatpants, black shirt, white socks on

he’s clutching his Exy uniform in his arms, close to his chest, close to his heart

Jules gets up to go fetch them two granola bars, the only two she has left of her oh so spare groceries

Kevin looks at it as if she’d handed him a live kitten

he gets that pained look again

“Are you sure that’s okay…?” he asks her

“Yeah, I’m sure. You need it, Kevin. Eat,” she answers him

she sits down on the floor and invites him to do the same

they eat in silence, Jules watching his every moves

Kevin barely nibbles at his bar

“Kevin… Tell me,” Jules finally speaks

and he can’t hold it in anymore

he tells her everything

everything.

from Betsy’s emergency session this morning all the way back to his mom’s death

and everything in between

Riko. The Nest. Exy. His hand. The Foxes. Thea. The alcohol. Andrew. Neil. The mafia. Jean, again, honestly this time.

everything.

it lasts for hours

or so they think

turns out the sun has barely been up for an hour when Kevin finally closes his mouth, emptied of all his bad history 

Jules has bitten the skin off of her lips, but has stayed put where she sat next to him nonetheless, through it all

after a while, breaking the heavy silence, Jules asked the only question one could ask after such a story

“What do you need, Kev?”

what did he need, indeed…

“I- Help me…” was the only answer he could think of

it chilled Juliet to her core

she couldn’t

she couldn’t do that

she was a mess

she didn’t have the strength

she was falling apart at the seams

“Kevin, I- Look at me… Look at my life… I am the last person you want help from… I can’t hold you up like that… I can’t be your anchor…”

she was on the verge of crying, too

but she could cry for real

it took her everything not to

Kevin blamed himself relentlessly

“No, no, no, no… I’m not- I just want… Someone,” Kevin tried to explain

Kevin took a deep breath, getting ready to confess

“I can’t do therapy. I can’t do it. Not alone. I just can’t. I hate is so fucking much. I can’t do it alone.”

Jules understood

her eyes widened in surprise

“You want to do… Joined therapy? With me?”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

“I can’t talk to her… I can’t talk to Betsy. I don’t know how to. I don’t even want to. But you… I can talk to you. I want to talk to you. But I can’t do that to you. We need an outlet. Hence, you, Betsy, and me… The dream team,” Kevin chuckled sadly

it made no sense

it was unconventional, unheard of

it was playing with fire, playing with their traumas

“Okay,” she said

“Okay?” he asked in disbelief

“Okay.”

---

and so they walked back to Betsy’s office, together

Betsy is quite surprised, to say the least

not that Kevin came back

but that he came back willingly, with a plan and desire to get better, and accompanied

before agreeing to Kevin’s deal, however, she has conditions of her own

“One: these sessions are to be once a week, and more if I deem it necessary, no arguing. Two: No more alcohol. You go sober or nothing of this will work. Three: As soon as this Exy season is over, you are to be put on antidepressants. Again, meds mean sobriety.”

Kevin nods, somber but willing to try

“Also: we will all sign a contract to prevent any more harm and to clarify the conditions under which these sessions are to take place. It will be a bit different, as you are not family, or a couple, but we can make this work.”

Juliet and Kevin consent

“One last thing: I will need a full session alone with you, Juliet. I have to evaluate you, evaluate if you are not a threat to Kevin’s well-being, and if Kevin is not a threat to yours. We also need to get to know each other, I’m sure you’d like to know who you’ll be dealing with, yeah? I promise I’m not usually so serious. Would that be okay with you, Juliet?” 

Juliet nods on her own, before she is hit with a heavy realization

“Ma’am- Doctor- I- I don’t have the money. I can’t. I should’ve thought about it sooner. I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” Jules apologizes

“Oh, that won’t be a problem, dear. I’m funded by the Palmetto Foxes. And believe me or not, they don’t use my services as much as they should. Right, Kevin? Besides, Kevin needs this. I need Kevin to do this. And I have a strong feeling you need this too. I assure you, money will not be a problem,” Betsy responds

“But… I’m not a- a Fox…”

“Oh, trust me, dear. You’re a Fox alright. Just not on a court.”

[philosophiums]

hmmmmm so..... i wrote an aftg volleyball au....... 

@ravenvsfox this is mostly your fault.... also please know that i actually drew out all of the rotations with the players so that i could keep track of them (for the whole ass two rotations i wrote skdjbkjsbdvsf) and buried myself in actual volleyball rules to make sure i wasn’t fucking anything up. anyway pls enjoy

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The ball comes over the net, cleanly past Andrew’s head. Despite his lack of motivation, his hours and years of training tell him to go for it, to stick his arms out and get low and move in for the receive. But for the first time in his life, he’s on the front line, and putting up impossible serves is no longer his job. He stays still, hands loose at his sides, and just watches the ball.

The world always slows down when he’s on the court, like movements through water. He feels the vibrations through his feet, sees the motions of his teammates as both blurry shapes and sharp images. For idiots like Kevin and Neil, he imagines that everything speeds up. All they care about is spiking the ball, touching it as much as they can, and to do that they need to run. They get hyped, they get high off the weight of the ball smacking into their palm, they flood with adrenaline after the success of a clean kill. Andrew imagines it’s just a chase for them – greyhounds running after a cloth rabbit.

But for Andrew, only his thoughts move that fast.

“Aaron!”

“Got it!”

Aaron hasn’t played libero since early last year, even though the color of his uniform proclaims him as such. Except for the first couple games when Andrew hadn’t quite figured out his medication rotation, Andrew’s been the main libero for the Foxes since their freshman year. But Aaron’s knees give way and his heels take his balance like he’s played the whole set and then some. It’s not a natural talent, but it’s far from indifference. Andrew’s watched him practice, and he’s never fallen behind.

The ball goes up, and Andrew moves from the center front, watching the curve, the spin, working through in his mind how his fingers are going to have to be splayed to catch it. This is different from practice, when Kevin would just toss the ball before going in for the spike, but Andrew’s played libero his whole life; he knows how to catch a ball. His body moves, and his mind keeps spinning three steps ahead.

He knows what positions the other team – the Cavaliers – started in, heavy in the front as they prepare to block, but maintaining two receivers on the back line for any balls that might make it through.

The Foxes are in a good defense rotation, which means that their front line is a little lacking, prepared for blocking and not necessarily ready for any powerful spikes. But Kevin’s already moved up from the back right into a more central location, prepared to use the non-dominant hand he’s been strengthening all summer for a back attack. Kevin runs first tempo, and he likes a toss high enough that he can see over the blockers and get a read on the layout of the other team.

Nicky’s taken a step back from the net, ready for a block receive if it should be needed.

Matt seems ready, too, set up to the far right in a position that would let him pull off quite the wipe if he got through. He’s a strong spiker, but he has a bad habit of jumping too close to the net, and his long arms make straights a challenge. He knows the toss likely isn’t going up for him given his position and its relation to Kevin’s, but he’s ready to jump anyway. Andrew knows from watching Renee that Matt prefers his tosses high and tight, and half of a hand length ahead of what could be considered standard. He also runs first tempo, and the fact that he’s hit in a few points over the course of the game means there’s a blocker on him – that’s one less on Kevin.

And then there’s Neil, who isn’t waiting for Andrew’s toss and has already taken off, racing up to the net from the back end of the ten foot line, angling himself in the wide open right side. He’s trying his hardest to get a blocker to chase him, but he hasn’t hit a spike the whole match, and he’s no longer serving his purpose as a decoy.

He runs at minus tempo.

It’s no wonder Renee can’t properly set to him, and it’s no wonder he can’t trust Renee to give him the toss he needs. Most people would say that Neil should adapt to Renee – hell, Wymack already yelled at him to slow down – but in volleyball it’s the spiker who takes charge of the attack. It’s the spiker fighting in the air for every point. The setter’s job is to make sure the spiker has good footing when they take off.

Renee refused to back down from the challenge in practice, but today she didn’t seem to trust her tosses enough. Her fever and chest cold may have had something to do with it. Her holy high horse lost them the first match, but Andrew made a promise and a trade with Wymack.

The second match is theirs.

Andrew’s never set to Neil, has never set to anyone other than Kevin, but the reckless idiot has already jumped, and he’s wide open.

Maybe.

The ball settles on Andrew’s fingertips, and he cradles it for only a moment before firing it off at Neil. It’s a fast toss – too fast, really, but there’s no other choice. He has to get the ball to a fool who’s already in the air.

With a smack, Neil’s palm connects with the ball, and it collides with the floor in the massive gap in the Cavaliers’ defense.

For the first time all day, the supports for the Cavaliers fall quiet, a string of unsettled murmurs the only thing trickling down to the court. Words of disbelief come in from the Foxes’ own sparse supporters, too, and it feels like every person around Andrew has suddenly leaned in for a closer look. On the side lines, Wymack is on his feet fast enough that Andrew’s eyes move to him for a second, just to make sure he stays where he’s supposed to be. And then his gaze goes back to Neil, whose back is to Andrew, head bent enough that Andrew can see the red roots escaping the dyed brown of his hair.

But the stunned silence only lasts for a few breaths, and then the Foxes start yelling, going crazy over a play they weren’t expecting. Phrases like “what the fuck was that” and “holy shit” punctuate the general chorus of excitement, a one syllable sound that keeps getting louder as time draws on. Andrew doesn’t get swept up in it.

Neil turns around and lifts his eyes from his red palm, finding Andrew through the commotion of Matt and Kevin running at him. His eyes are wide; Andrew thinks if they were any wider he might be able to make out the ocean of blue hiding behind the brown of his contacts. The surprise plays on his face clearer and more honest than Andrew’s ever seen him. He’s shocked, Andrew thinks, over being handed the trust of an unlikely toss. It was reckless, since they’ve never tried it before, and he expects a few stern words from Wymack and Kevin once they’re off the court for longer than a time out, but for now, he’s going to sit in this moment.

Andrew can hide behind the logic of Neil being wide open all he likes – his brain still knows what this uncommon feeling in his chest is.

A perfect hit. A moment of shared trust.

Andrew walks up, and Neil pushes past Matt to meet him halfway. There are several dozen snide things Andrew could say about Neil’s style and obsessive focus, about how he shouldn’t be blaming anyone but himself for the lack of tosses he’s received thus far in the game. But he just cocks his head instead, enraptured by how Neil has managed to stack yet another mystery on top of all of his lies. One more thing for Andrew to unfold.

“How was it?” he asks.

The Foxes fall strangely silent, as if the miracle play never happened. They never expect Andrew to care or offer to change. They don’t know him at all.

Neil curls his fingers into a fist. “Perfect.” This is the first time they’ve said anything to each other since Columbia. The wild grin that takes over Neil’s face is worse than the drugs, and Andrew both wants it to stop and isn’t ready for the withdrawal.

He turns his gaze away, towards the net and what lies beyond. The Cavaliers look confused but unshaken, probably chalking up the spike as nothing more than a desperate stroke of luck – the rash motions of an animal backed into a corner. It’s their turn to receive anyway, so there’s no doubt they believe they can get the point back. They may be right. Maybe it was a fluke. But the ball has never felt better in Andrew’s hands.

The first referee chirps his whistle, and the Foxes make their way back to their positions, rotating once clockwise. Matt’s up to serve, but Andrew’s not going to look. He’s watching the Cavaliers, wondering where Matt’s serve is going to go and who’s going to spike after the setter gets the ball. He knows his block height isn’t going to be good enough, probably not even for a one touch, but Nicky’s in the front now and Neil’s steady as a fucking hurricane in the center of the court.

“Nice serve!” Dan calls, back on the court after Aaron swapped out. They won’t need a libero right now, and Dan’s good defense for a chance ball.

The whistle blows, and Matt’s serve goes over clean.

Andrew’s fighting his drug-fucked brain, but it’s not hard to think when he’s on the court, when the ball’s in play and everything slows down to a speed he can process. Volleyball can be surprising, but it’s systematic – three chances to touch the ball, a receive, a toss, a spike. He’s going to have to work on his vertical if he wants to stay on the court as a setter beyond this game.

Does he want that?

The Cavaliers receive Matt’s powerful jump serve, and he broke their pattern but the ball still goes up. The players connect for a quick.

Neil shoots from the center towards the left corner, plowing towards Nicky as he follows the ball like he’s magnetized. And christ, he’s fast. He’s up in the air before Nicky, fingers splayed and arms stretching.

“One touch!” Neil shouts.

How, Andrew isn’t sure. He hasn’t even moved yet.

“Chance ball!” Kevin goes in for the receive, hitting it up cleanly towards Andrew, who moves into position in just a couple of steps. With all three of the Foxes’ powerhouse spikers on the back line, the blockers for the Cavaliers are more spread out along the net, preparing to read block, perhaps even preparing for a back attack. Nicky’s in a good position for a quick and has one blocker on him, so the chances of it getting past are good, but the Cavaliers keep up defense even on the back line, so the chances of it getting picked up again are also good.

Andrew looks at Kevin and wonders if he could fight his way into a point from the back line with a hand he hasn’t fully mastered yet. 

But it’s Neil who sings to him again, his body cutting air as he runs along the net in search of a place free of blockers. He’s already a blur in Andrew’s peripheral, just a flash of orange and black planting his feet and jumping as high as he can. There’s no one marking him, so there’s no reason to try so hard, but Andrew doubts Neil knows anything except fighting, except being dialed all the way up for as long as he can sustain his stamina.

Maybe the last toss was a fluke.

Andrew wants to know for sure.

The ball settles against his fingertips, and he bends his hands until the ball is cradled completely. The motion doesn’t even last the span of two breaths, but he thinks he can feel each fingertip as they settle against the synthetic leather. Neil’s nearing the peak of his jump, and no one’s ready. Andrew lets the ball fly.

It’s not perfect – he’s new to this, and no amount of thinking can make his hands work perfectly every time. But he knows where Neil is, and he knows how to get the ball there. It’s low and a little short. Neil sees that, too, and in the fraction of a second he has to hit the ball before it goes flying into the stands, Neil adjusts his arm and smacks the ball down.

He lands, and his hands are already in fists, a delighted yell rising from deep in his lungs and ripping out of his throat. He whirls on Andrew and he looks wild, hair sticking to his forehead and temples, teeth bared.

Goosebumps slide along Andrew’s arms and down his spine. His heart jumps like he’s in freefall. A pipe dream. A new drug. That’s all Neil is. But he jogs over to Andrew and refuses to let him come up for air.

“It’s so fast,” he says, a safe distance away, but he’s shining so brightly that Andrew feels like he should take a step back, anyway.

He holds his ground. “Nice cover.” Most spikers would have been able to grab a poor set, so Neil’s hand connecting with the ball isn’t anything to fawn over, but the speed factor makes it more impressive. This is Andrew’s only concession.

“Neil!” Nicky runs up and barrels into him, excitedly wrapping around him as if that was the winning point. They have another ten to go; Nicky needs to calm down.

Andrew turns away, wondering if his shaky body is going to last the whole game. It’s his turn to serve after the next play, but he’s never practiced so they’ll have to give up that point. Then he’ll be on the back line, and his training as a libero is going to hinder him being able to set, because if he gets the receive up they’re fucked.

Why does he care?

“Andrew.”

He turns back, looking at Neil, who managed to shove his way out of Nicky’s enthusiasm. The look in his eyes is as greedy as it is deadly. “Let’s do that again.”