Archive of Our Own

The signing is brief.

Cameras flash and terse handshakes are exchanged. Wymack claps slowly and Betsy's smile is a soft glow. Nicky hollers something that Neil doesn't quite catch. He does, however, notice the sharp elbow Aaron jabs into his cousin's ribs as a silent command to shut up. Even Kevin's got a look on his face that's considerably less sour than usual. It's almost reminiscent of satisfaction.

Neil feels 2 seconds away from being sick.

He grips the fabric of his pants until scarred knuckles go white, applies a bit of pressure against his thighs to keep his anxious feet from tapping. He's got that horrible and familiar itch under his skin. He can feel it in the drop of sweat that trickles along his nape and down his spine. That horrible, claustrophobic feeling of wanting to get out and onto the nearest slab of pavement. The vicious need to feel the bottom of his worn converse slapping against hard ground with each desperate footfall.

Neil wants to run.

Robin shoots him a look.

A clipped “I'm fine,” dies in the back of his throat. He shakes his head, a slight and barely noticeable motion. Thankfully, Robin's eyes slide away, allowing Neil to lose his shit by himself.

Only a few minutes earlier, Andrew signed his contract with the Georgia Lions. For show, anyway. The actual contract was signed weeks ago, in the middle of the season. Fast forward to the present, season ended, and graduation only days away, they've only got the summer left.

2 months.

2 months until Neil's entire world shifts on its axis. 2 months until the room he sleeps in every night loses its most vital occupant. 2 months until that black maserati rolls out of the foxhole court for the last time. 2 months until the only real thing that anchors Neil to reality most days is gone.

In 2 months, Andrew will start his professional exy career. Hours, miles, states away.

Neil's definitely going to be sick.

He's scanning the room for an out or, at the very least, something inoffensive to empty his guts into, when cold fingers brush the nape of his neck. The touch is gentle and bruising at the same time. Andrew's fingers force him back to earth.

“Don't.”

One word. Just as frigid as his fingertips.

“I'm not,” Neil mutters. He doesn’t even remember seeing Andrew leave the small stage and make his way over to him.

Andrew quirks a freshly pierced eyebrow. Fluorescent light catches on the tiny silver ball, adding even more bite to Andrew's already deadly expression.

Neil opens his mouth to say more but Nicky saves him, phone held high to catch all three of them in a selfie.

Neil tilts his lips in a smile that looks more like a grimace at the last second. Andrew doesn't even bother to look at the camera, and his eyes stay zoned in on Neil's face. Nicky snaps the photo regardless.

Nicky studies the result, frowning. “Ugh, this is just sad.” He reopens the camera app and thrusts his phone at Neil. “Now take one of just me and the soon-to-be super rich, professional athlete cousin that I'm just so very proud of?”

Neil takes the phone in sweaty hands. “Sure.”

Nicky flashes his teeth in a wide smile. Andrew is looking at Neil over the top of the phone, so Neil tilts his arms upwards to interrupt his gaze. Aaron steps up next to Neil right as he takes the photo. Neil takes 3 in a row before handing it back to Nicky to look over. The photos must pass his inspection because he smiles and pockets the phone. Neil can tell he wants to get one of Aaron and Andrew together, but thankfully his survival instincts kick in and he doesn’t try it.

“We getting out of here?” Andrew asks. The question is pointed towards Neil, but Nicky answers for him.

“Don’t be rude, Andrew!” Nicky gestures wildly to all the people who showed up in support for Andrew’s signing. Betsy, Wymack, and Allison, along with the rest of the foxes, new and old, are scattered about the room. Even Kevin made time to fly in to see it, along with their graduation in just a few days.

Andrew’s eyes catch Neil’s. If Neil really wanted to leave, Andrew would leave, their family be damned. Guilt, like lead, weighs heavily in Neil’s stomach. But he only nods, a short jerk of his chin. He sticks close to Andrew’s side the rest of the event. Congratulations from their friends fall on mostly deaf ears. All Neil can hear is the scratch of Andrew’s pen on the thick contract paper. Andrew Minyard signed in sloppy curls scrawls relentlessly in his mind.

+

Eden’s is packed. Neil's mind is padded pleasantly with the cotton softness of alcohol. He sways into Andrew's side as they make their way back to their small table with their third round packed onto the tray. Andrew sets it down onto the sticky tabletop so expertly, the glasses don’t even clink.

Kevin's greedy hand immediately reaches for a shot glass. Before he can down it, Neil reaches for his own crystal glass. Nicky smiles, sloppy and mischievous.

“Might need to keep a close eye on your boy tonight, Andrew,” he slurs.

“He's fine,” Andrew mocks.

Neil wants to throw the shot back to drown out Andrew's poor imitation of himself but Andrew catches his wrist. He picks up his own glass and nods towards his brother to do the same.

“To Georgia getting their asses kicked next season,” Kevin says, raising his glass.

Andrew, not giving a shit, takes his turn knocking glasses with everyone around the table.

“To the future!” Nicky shouts.

They drink in unison. The liquid burns a molten trail down Neil's throat.

Andrew has got his fingers tangled in the empty belt loop at the back of Neil's jeans. The tip of his pointer finger slides under the thin fabric of Neil's shirt and teases along the base of his spine. Neil shivers.

The jeans, a gift from Andrew and already far too tight by Neil's standards, are dangerously close to getting even tighter. From the barest of touches. He glares at the empty shot glass in his fist. Club lights bounce off a bead of vodka that taunts him at the bottom. Maybe he should slow down. He tilts his head just enough to admire the way those same club lights bounce off the blade of Andrew's jaw.

He wants to test the edge with his tongue. Would he bleed? Would Andrew be able to see all his desperate, ugly feelings in the crimson?

He grips the edge of the table. He definitely needs to slow down. Andrew's fingers halt in their lazy circles. Brown eyes flick between both of Neil’s blue ones, studying him. Andrew’s brow, the pierced one, quirks at whatever he finds.

“Yes or no?” Neil asks. He hardly recognizes his own voice.

Those eyes narrow at him before Andrew scans the occupants at the table. Kevin and Nicky are already crawling over each other to get back to the dance floor and Aaron's flushed face is lit by the phone screen he's staring at. No one is paying them the slightest attention.

Andrew makes a choice. “Yes. Follow me.”

He pulls his hand out from the back of Neil's shirt only to grab his hand. Neil's glad for the touch because he's afraid he'll die if Andrew removes his hands from him entirely. He holds on for dear life as Andrew cleverly leads them both through the throng of bodies.

The stairs that Andrew ushers them up are sticky beneath Neil’s converse. They walk down a short hall until Andrew pulls him into a dimly lit room. Neil stumbles a bit, but Andrew is there to steady him. It’s almost poetic the way he’s always there.

Until he won’t be.

Neil’s empty hand starts to shake, but he balls it into a fist to hide the quiver. Andrew probably notices but doesn’t comment.

His other hand is still occupied with Andrew’s cool palm. He peers over the top of Andrew’s head to survey the room. It’s not much. Peeling paint and sloppily pasted posters. There is a dingy couch in the corner. Neil props himself lazily against the door they just walked through, closing their minimal height difference and inviting Andrew to cage him in.

With his free hand, Andrew snakes his way up Neil’s chest and shoulders to settle at the back of his neck. His fingers tangle in the sweaty hair at Neil’s nape and tug. Neil bites his lip to keep from moaning.

“You’re fucked up here” Andrew says, prodding at the base of Neil’s skull with his pointer finger.

Neil wants to laugh. He knows Andrew well enough to see his harsh statement for what it is — an invitation to share his thoughts. How could he ever put it to words, though? The fear of being empty again. The anticipation of losing a limb. He had heard somewhere of a sensation felt by amputee patients. Phantom limb. Is that what they called it? Is that what it would feel like for Neil? Would he still feel the cold ghost of Andrew at his side only to reach out and wrap his arms around nothing?

“Business as usual, right?”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

Neil lets himself laugh this time. “See? Everything’s normal.” Neil’s got the overwhelming urge to touch him. He lifts a hand but hesitates. “Still yes?”

“Yes. Shoulders and up.”

Neil will never get sick of Andrew’s broadness under his hands. Andrew kisses him. All teeth and tongue. The liquor on their tongues burns. Neil lets it.

+

“That’s why Exy isn’t ever going to be enough, not for you or Andrew or anyone. It can’t hold you up, and it won’t make you a stronger or better person.”

Neil’s eyes bolt open, though he manages to keep the rest of himself still. Shaky gasps leave his throat, and he forces himself to stare at the ceiling until his breath leaves at steadier intervals. If he closes his eyes again, he knows he’ll see Nicky’s words from years ago etched against his eyelids. Hearing their echoes from his dream is bad enough.

At the time they were spoken, Neil had no idea just how right Nicky had been. Now that he’s let Andrew in, the game he's pitted his entire life on will never be enough. Just the thought threatens to send him into another spiral. Neil tilts his head just enough to see Andrew’s sleeping form huddled against him in Neil’s bunk. Just the sight of Andrew’s sleep softened features brings Neil back to Earth. His lips are parted, one bare arm slung above his head and the other resting over Neil’s abdomen.

Feather light, Neil extricates himself from Andrew and crawls out of the bunk. Through the years, Neil has become an expert at slipping out of the room in the morning without disturbing Andrew’s rest. He slips into a pair of jogging shorts and pulls one of Andrew’s hoodies over his head.

He’s out the door and pounding the soles of his shoes against concrete in mere minutes. Just over a week has passed since the signing and Columbia trip. Normalcy returned in steady increments. He ran extra practices with a few of the freshmen, scrolled through the endless photos from Renee and Allison in their group chat, somehow de-escalated fights between the new Foxes, and listened to Matt on the phone lose his mind over engagement rings.

Distractions are good. Distractions are what he needs most. They keep the neon expiration date in his head from blinding him completely.

“That’s why Exy isn’t ever going to be enough.”

Neil increases his pace subconsciously, chasing that breathless burn that will take him out of his head. He knows. He has known ever since Andrew kissed him breathless into the carpet and gave him both a key and his trust. But now he’s out of time. 2 months. He’s got to find something in 2 months.

He’s not deluded enough to think there is anything that could possibly fit into the Andrew shaped chasm he’s chiseled into himself. But there’s got to be something, something other than the sport he loves that will help him get through the time they’ll be apart.

Just as he’s thinking, his phone vibrates from within his hoodie pocket. He slows his pace up enough to pull it out and check the message.

Robin

trying something new. ill save some for you and drew.

Attached to the text is an image of a spread of what looks to be baking supplies. He recalls Robin mentioning something about making more time for baking again. Something about trying her hand at domesticity while also cooling the patchwork of tempers that make up the Palmetto Foxes.

“Hard to bitch when your mouth is stuffed with lemon tart,” she’d mumbled once, shoving a plate into Neil’s scarred hands.

Neil comes to a complete stop, and stares at the photo, an idea already taking shape in his mind. He shoots Robin a quick response and turns on his heel back to Fox Tower.

+

“You really want to help?” Robin’s soft voice is skeptical.

Neil nods, drying his freshly washed hands on the towel hanging from the stove. “I really want to help,” he parrots back to her, changing the inflection to a statement rather than a question.

“You do realize clean up is also a part of this, right?”

“I thought that’s what Aaron and Nicky are for.”

She scowls at him. “And you actually have to use these,” she adds, holding up measuring spoons of various sizes.

A comment about having eyes perfectly capable of guesstimating is on his tongue, but he refrains from letting it escape. “I’m aware.”

She crosses her arms and studies him for a moment before giving in. “Alright Josten, let’s see if those hands are good for more than holding a racket.”

Neil smiles, eager to find out the same thing himself. “They’re good at holding cigarettes too,” he says.

She throws a simple black apron that matches the one she’s already got looped around her waist at his head. He catches it and pulls it on, hastily tying the strings behind his back. Robin is already pushing a bowl toward him along with an assortment of ingredients. “Go ahead and start whisking the dry ingredients together,” she says.

Robin places the slightly crumpled recipe print-out for blueberry lemon bread in between them so they can both reference it while they work. Neil purses his lips at all the different measurements but sets to work without complaint. Robin displays a spectacularly low amount of faith in him with the way she keeps checking on his progress out of the corner of her eye.

Robin finishes mixing her own concoction in a separate bowl before dumping its goopy contents into Neil’s. He’s quick to start mixing, more than just a little surprised at how much muscle he has to put behind the motion. Maybe Kevin wouldn’t be such a drama queen about the calories in sweets if he was preparing them himself.

Robin taps his arm lightly. “Don’t over mix. The bread will come out tough.”

Neil frowns, wondering how the hell anyone can possibly gauge the perfect mixing time on the sludge-like goop in the bowl. He sets the bowl on the counter while Robin pulls a carton of blueberries out of the fridge. She grabs a measuring cup and slides it over to Neil.

“Go ahead and fold a cup of blueberries in there. I’ll get the pan ready and start on the icing.”

Neil nods, ready to follow instructions. He not so carefully measures out a cup of the berries (who would mind extra, right?) and then stops before dumping them in. Did she say fold? Neil stares at the very much liquified substance in the bowl and just barely stops himself from scratching his head in confusion.

He double checks the recipe card and sure enough, it also tells him to fold. Fold what?

“What do you mean, fold?”

Robin looks up from what she's doing. “What?”

“You said ‘fold.’”

“Like, fold the blueberries into the mix,” she says, making an entirely unhelpful gesture with her hands.

“You do realize that just saying it again doesn’t clear anything up, right?”

“Mix them in gently so they don’t get mushy,” she clarifies.

Neil scowls. “They could have just said that,” he grumbles.

Robin laughs, and Neil “folds” the blueberries into the mix. The oven beeps to let them know it’s done preheating and Robin sets the greased pan in front of him. She peeks over his shoulder to check his work. “Beautiful folding by the way, Neil.”

“Shut up.”

He’s licking batter off his fingers when he hears the soft slap of bare feet pad into the kitchen. It’s Andrew, hair askew and sleep still very much weighing down his eyes. He gets the coffee pot brewing before even bothering to acknowledge the pair in the kitchen.

His eyes rove over Neil, the mess on the counter, and Robin before saying anything.

“What’s this?”

“Folding,” both Neil and Robin say in unison.

Andrew looks wholly unimpressed, but peers into the batter settling at the bottom of Neil’s bowl anyway.

Neil offers him the spatula he used to mix everything together. “Taste?”

“I’ll pass on the salmonella, thanks,” Andrew grumbles before turning back to the coffee pot. He fixes his coffee to his tastes before leaning back on the counter and taking a sip. Neil tracks the way Andrew’s eyes peer over the mug to watch him lick a bit of batter straight from the spatula.

Neil quirks his brows as if to say, staring. Andrew looks away.

“Don’t you dare put that back in the bowl,” Robin says, grabbing the utensil out of Neil’s grasp and placing it in the sink.

“I wasn’t going to,” Neil lies. He dumps the batter into the pan. Neil expects Andrew to get bored quickly and leave the room. He's surprised when he stays until the lemon bread is in the oven and there's nothing left in Andrew’s mug but dregs.

He doesn't say anything. Just watches.

Bread secured in the oven and timer set, Neil starts cleaning up. Andrew pours himself another cup of coffee and stands close enough to touch. He doesn’t lift a finger to help Neil wash or dry the dishes though, to no one’s surprise. Robin handles the drying for him.

“All there’s left to do is wait,” she says.

Neil nods, already itching to get out of the kitchen and find something else to do. Andrew pours the last of the coffee into a separate mug for Neil and then sets off toward the living room. He knows that Neil will follow without even having to ask.

They settle in their usual spots on the bean bag chairs they keep pushed close. Andrew turns on the TV but keeps the volume down. Neil studies him over the rim of his coffee cup. He hates the internal countdown rattling like chains inside his head. Hates the desperation in his eyes to look his fill because mornings like this will be out of reach all too soon.

He anticipates Andrew to brush his gaze off with the usual words or even to reach out and physically tilt his chin away. He doesn’t opt for either. Instead, he meets Neil’s eyes.

“Baking?”

Neil can only shrug.

“You don’t even like sweets,” Andrew continues.

“You do.”

Andrew grunts and turns the volume up.

+

The lemon blueberry bread turns out surprisingly well. When asked, Andrew only mumbles that “It’s alright,” but doesn’t object when Neil offers him the rest of his piece when it gets too sweet for him.

Nicky is absolutely delighted by the idea of Neil in the kitchen. “You’re telling me you had Neil covered in flour and wearing an apron and you didn’t immediately call me in here to get a picture?” He says to Robin in mock horror.

“Slipped my mind,” she says before mouthing a “You’re welcome,” to Neil behind Nicky’s back.

“I wasn’t covered in flour,” Neil protests.

“Well, next time then!” Nicky declares.

And maybe Neil’s not too disinclined to the thought.

+

Days pass like papers torn from hands by the wind. Neil hopelessly clings tighter to the minutes but they slip by just the same. Andrew spends more time on the phone than Neil’s ever seen him. It seems there is always someone— assistant coaches, team managers, trainers— vying for Andrew’s too thin attention.

It’s midday. They’re still in bed. Neil’s got his head propped on Andrew’s chest. Andrew’s cold toes are tucked under Neil’s calves. They’ve got Andrew’s laptop balanced precariously between them, an old USC Trojans game playing on the screen. Neil decides summer days don’t really get better than this.

That’s before Andrew’s phone rings.

Andrew rummages in his pocket to pull it out and check. The number is unfamiliar to Neil, but he recognizes the Georgia area code. Neil feels the rumble of Andrew’s voice against his cheek when he answers the phone.

“Hello?”

Neil mutes the laptop.

There’s a female voice on the other end of the line. Her words are too garbled for Neil to understand, but he listens all the same. She pauses every now and again to take a breath and Andrew manages grunts of acknowledgement to whatever information she is so enthusiastically sharing with him.

After a few minutes, “Thanks. I’ll get the paperwork sent over.”

More cheerful chirping on the line before it cuts out. Andrew stares at the call ended screen for several seconds before saying anything.

“Apartment got approved.”

Neil is underwater. There’s a pounding in his ears. His jaw tightens, and then the rest of him follows suit.

“That’s—” Good. Say, that’s good, Neil. But he can’t. There is water in his lungs and he’s drowning. The surface is just within reach but Neil’s limbs won’t move.

“Good,” he manages, teeth clenched.

He sits up so Andrew won’t feel the tension corded through every muscle in his body. He pulls his knees to his chest and props his cheek there. Making himself smaller helps.

“It’ll work.”

And it occurs to Neil that Andrew’s never lived entirely on his own before. The thought only makes everything worse. Neil’s been there. He knows all too well the white hot edge that is sleeping in a bed alone when there’s usually someone else there.

Neil readjusts his head so he’s looking back at Andrew. His face, as always, is neutral. “Packing is gonna be a bitch,” Neil says.

Andrew scoffs, eyes on the ceiling. “Yeah.” His fingers twitch like they do when he’s craving a cigarette. Neil reaches over him on the bed and pulls a pack from their bedside table. He shakes it in Andrew’s direction.

“Roof?”

“Roof.”

+

When Neil comes back down from the top of Fox Tower, it’s with kiss-swollen lips and fingers smelling of smoke. Andrew didn’t follow him.

He pads back into the living space to find Aaron and Nicky piled on the couch. He hears them before he sees them.

Shouts of “Fuck off, asshole!” and “No fucking shot that missed!” are intermingled with the sounds of pixelated gun shots and monster screams. They’re playing the game Neil has never bothered to learn the title of. He can recognize it by sound alone though with how often Nicky and Aaron play.

He plops down onto his bean bag chair and watches the cartoon violence. The whole screen is essentially one big splash of red as Aaron and Nicky slaughter hordes of grotesque creatures. Aaron’s face is twisted with pride for putting a bullet straight through a virtual monstrosity's head.

“Joining us, Neil?” Nicky chirps.

“Just watching for now,” Neil responds. Which he does. It’s almost comical how Nicky plays this game with his whole body. He tilts himself this way and that as though his dodges on the couch will give him an advantage on screen.

“This is the one, I feel it,” he says to Aaron, taking a break to crack his knuckles.

Their characters approach a massive monster that looks like some kind of sick amalgamation of satan and a giant robot. “You said that the last 3 tries,” Aaron grumbles.

“Yeah, well this time I mean it.”

To their credit, they put up a good fight. Working together, they chip away at the thing’s health bar until they are simultaneously taken out by a swing of its stupidly large scythe.

“Shiiiiiiit,” Nicky groans.

Aaron looks disappointed but not surprised. They try again only to be quickly defeated. Nicky flops deeper into the couch cushions as though the monster’s scythe has left the screen and swung on him in real life.

“This is impossible,” he whines.

“Let me try,” Neil says.

Nicky immediately perks back up. “Really?”

Neil only shrugs. He’s never shown an interest in trying any of the games Nicky and Aaron sink so much of their time into. In retrospect, there wasn’t much at all besides Exy that he paid much mind to before coming to Palmetto. The foxes have introduced him to so many different aspects of life. Of course, Exy is still his main priority as nothing else has stuck like the sport.

He thinks about Andrew still up on the roof, probably a third of the way through a pack of cigarettes. He thinks about the phone call with the Georgia area code. Barely a month left. All the things that can’t fill him. The one person that does. Emptiness.

“Yeah,” Neil says, jarring himself from poisonous trails of thought.

“Third controller is on the table,” Aaron says. He probably only wants Neil to play so he can have the satisfaction of watching him suck.

Neil grabs the aforementioned controller and Nicky walks him through a basic rundown of the controls. “And when that bar fills up,” Nicky says, pointing to the screen, “you can use your special attack.”

Neil nods along, tapping different buttons as Nicky speaks. “Got it?” He asks once he’s finished.

Neil most definitely doesn’t but he says yeah anyway. He’s got enough hand-eye coordination to shoot a ball around the court with precision, so he’s pretty sure he can control some pixels in a video game.

Turns out controlling pixels is a lot harder than it looks.

Neil stares at the dramatic “YOU DIED” screen a bit slack jawed.

“Get used to it,” Aaron says, entirely too satisfied for Neil’s liking.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Nicky tries to encourage.

Neil does not get the hang of it. He dies no less than 10 more times, from swings of the boss’s scythe, poorly timed jumps, and even once he rolls right off the side of the map trying to dodge.

“Having fun, Neil?” Aaron taunts.

“A blast,” Neil says, jaw tight.

His thumbs are starting to cramp from the death grip he’s got on the controller. Neil’s not sure how anyone can find this entertaining in the slightest. If anything, he’s only feeling frustrated and sick of mashing buttons.

He’s about ready to throw the controller across the room in a temper tantrum that would put even Kevin Day to shame when the satan-robot-thing on the screen lets out a garbled screech. There’s an almost comical gush of blood and the thing falls to its battered knees before flopping over dead.

There is a tense silence of disbelief amongst the three men in the living room.

Then an embarrassing amount of hollering.

Aaron’s pumping his fist in the air like he’s just finished a grueling race. Somehow Neil finds himself on his feet, Nicky excitedly grabbing his shoulders and jumping around frantically. Maybe Neil is grinning just a little bit.

“We fucking did it, Josten!” Nicky hoots. You’d think they’d won an olympic medal with the way he’s hopping from foot to foot.

It’s to this scene that Andrew returns from the rooftop to. His eyes immediately zero in on Nicky’s palms that are still pressed into Neil’s shoulders. Nicky jerks his hands back as though Neil has suddenly burst into flame. And maybe Neil should feel some shame at the giddiness that curls deep in his gut at Andrew’s protective glare. He digs around for some but comes up empty.

“Obsessing with one game not enough for you anymore, junkie?” Andrew says.

Neil can only shrug.

“You should let us borrow him more often. He’s dogshit but great for distracting bosses,” Aaron says, gesturing towards the tv with the controller still in his hand.

Nicky laughs at Neil’s offended expression. “He’s not wrong.”

Andrew scoffs but doesn’t say anything else. He squeezes himself between the arm of the couch and Neil. Neil scoots to make just enough room to be comfortable but keep them pressed together from shoulder to ankle.

Neil picks the controller back up.

+

Neil can still hear the echoes of the ball pinging around the court when he collapses. He sprawls across the floor, wiry limbs splayed as though he’s about to make some sick, sweaty snow angel across the linoleum. He’s got his back pressed to the familiar orange fox paw painted perfectly centered on the Foxhole Court floor. His heart pounds against his chest and back, straight into the paw beneath him.

A bead of sweat somehow finds its way past the headband in his hair and trickles down his jawline and onto glossy hardwood. He imagines he can hear it drop. He closes his eyes to ward off the harsh arena lighting and focuses on his breathing. In through his nose out through his mouth. He counts. The tips of his fingers tingle, so he presses them palm first against the floor. Takes note of every point of contact between him and the ground, starting from his feet and working his way up.

A cloud passes overhead, darkening the view behind his eyelids. Distantly, he remembers he’s inside. He cracks open an eye to see Andrew standing over him, golden hair haloed by severe overhead lights. It casts the rest of his face into stark shadow. It suits him, makes his jagged edges all the more severe and beautiful, Neil thinks.

“Satisfied yet?” Andrew asks, looking down on him in distaste that Neil knows is actually fondness.

“Never,” Neil says, still panting slightly.

A few of the newer foxes had joined them for late night practice. Neil dismissed them earlier than usual tonight, craving a court all to himself. Save for the eyes that always watch him from the stands, that is.

It’s jarring to realize that soon even those will be gone too.

It was bad enough last year when Kevin left. Their late night trio whittled down to a duo and now Neil can’t even hold on to that. Stupid, useless hands and time that moves too fast now that Neil is no longer on the run.

He doesn’t realize he’s let his eyes fall shut again until Andrew kicks his leg to get his attention.

“You ready to go?”

Neil pats the ground next to him. “Not yet.”

Andrew huffs but his boots squeak as he takes a seat next to Neil on the floor. Neil turns his head to look at him. Andrew’s got both his legs sprawled in front of him and he leans back on his outstretched arms. He’s dressed in cuffed black jeans and a baggy black t-shirt. Long socks poke out the top of his chunky black boots. They’re the ones with cats on them that Nicky got him for Christmas. He seems to be purposely avoiding Neil’s gaze. Neil doesn’t let that deter him.

“Do you think you’ll…” Neil starts but stops. Miss it? Neil realizes that’s a bit ridiculous. Andrew’s never shown love for this sport that has held Neil up. Only in recent years has he even started to hint that maybe he finds it tolerable.

“Finish your question, Neil,” Andrew says after a long moment.

“It’s stupid,” Neil says, face flushed but refusing to look away.

“When’s that ever stopped you.”

Neil smirks before turning on his side. He props his hand on his elbow, his face closer to Andrew’s now when he speaks again. “Will you miss it?”

Andrew finally turns to look at him. He looks down his nose at Neil. There is so much said in that deceptively vacant stare. “You’re right. That was pretty stupid,” he says instead of answering Neil’s question.

Neil fidgets with his headband. “I told you.”

“I’m not an addict like you,” Andrew sneers.

“I know.”

“A court is a court. They're all the same.”

“I don’t think so,” Neil murmurs. He traces the edge of the fox paw he’s laying across with his pointer finger. It’s frustrating to want to say more but not be able to find the words.

“Go take a shower,” Andrew tells him.

“You coming with me?” Neil asks, hopeful. He wonders if Andrew can see how badly Neil wants him just by holding his gaze.

Andrew grabs a fistful of Neil’s practice jersey in his fist and leans in close enough to touch. His lips hover barely a breath from Neil’s. “I’ll think about it.”

It doesn’t take long for Andrew to make up his mind.

As soon as Neil is stripped and the water is hot, Andrew’s bulkier form is stepping in behind him.

“Yes,” Neil says before Andrew even has a chance to ask. Andrew makes a noise low in his throat and grips Neil’s hip meanly. And Neil is desperate to lean back and sink into Andrew’s chest.

“Can I?” Neil asks, leaning back slightly so Andrew knows what he’s craving.

“Yeah,” Andrew says, pulling him so his back is flush to Andrew’s front. Andrew left his boxers on, and the damp fabric rubs against the swell of Neil’s ass. He can’t focus on the sensation for long though when there is so much hot skin to melt into. Neil sighs, long and content.

Neil’s whimpers bounce off the tile walls when Andrew takes him in his fist. He’s got his head thrown back, resting against the side of Andrew’s neck. Andrew peers over Neil’s shoulder where he rests his chin to watch the tug of his hand over Neil’s cock.

Neither of them last long. And when they’re done, they take turns sharing the hot spray to wash suds from their spent bodies.

+

Days pass. Neil scrambles with arms outstretched to stop the revolving door of time. It keeps spinning regardless. He wakes up sweaty and panting more than he has in years. He trembles so hard he’s afraid he’ll wake up Andrew. Sometimes he does.

Several nights Andrew has braced a strong hand to the nape of his neck, pushed Neil’s head roughly between his own knees. Told him with a voice rubbed hoarse by sleep to “Breathe.”

And Neil does. He breathes through clenched teeth.

He wants to unplug the alarm clock on their bedside table. It mocks him with blocky red numbers. His hands itch to tear down the calendar hanging from the wall by the fridge. Sometimes he dreams that if he does this, he can get it all to stop spinning.

He’s losing his shit and every clock on the planet continues to tick.

+

“And Matt’s been acting so weird lately.”

Neil hums in acknowledgement into the phone he’s got pressed between his head and shoulder.

Dan continues, “He’s so up to something but I can’t tell what.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah, he’s been acting deranged. I was cleaning out his gym bag the other day and I swear he almost pulled his hamstring to get it away from me.”

Neil nods along even though Dan can’t see him through the phone.

“And then a couple of days later when I was reorganizing the closet, he literally slung me over his shoulder like a rag doll and set me down in the living room. Didn’t even let me finish folding the linens!”

Neil can’t hold in his chuckle this time, remembering all the conversations he’s had with Matt about engagement rings. Neil doesn’t have an eye for that sort of thing, but even he was impressed when Matt sent him a picture of the one he’d finally decided on. Matt’s waiting until they take a trip to the mountains in a few days to finally pop the question. Neil has never given much thought to weddings, but he thinks he’ll cherish being a part of Matt and Dan’s.

“Neil?” Dan says after a pause. “You know something, don’t you?”

“Not a clue,” Neil reassures her.

“You’re such a liar, Josten. Can’t believe you’re always on his side!”

“That’s not true,” he protests.

“Oh, it so is. But speaking of deranged boyfriends, how’s yours?”

And though it's silly and juvenile, Neil always blushes furiously whenever someone calls Andrew that. Boyfriend. They’ve never used that term for one another. They don’t really use labels at all. Everything feels too impersonal. Boyfriend, partner, lover, it all feels too surface level for what they have. Andrew is a piece of Neil; an essential part to machinations of Neil’s very being. When Neil tries to conjure what to call Andrew, all he can think is mine. Or better yet, his.

Neil realizes he’s gone quiet for too long. “Good. Yeah, Andrew’s good.”

“Hmm,” Dan hums, “How long until he heads to Atlanta?”

The dreaded question. Neil really doesn’t want to talk or think about it, but he’s lost the art of dodging uncomfortable topics with Dan. “2 weeks,” Neil says, throat suddenly tight.

“He's excited?”

“This is Andrew we’re talking about, in case you forgot.”

Dan’s laugh comes through the phone, low and bright. “You’re right. What about you?”

“Am I excited about Andrew leaving?” Neil deadpans.

“Well not excited of course, but how are you feeling about it?”

Like if I vocalize these thoughts I’m going to actually die, he thinks. “I don’t know. I’m happy for him, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dan repeats, “But…”

Neil picks nervously at the skin around his fingernails. It’s a nasty habit that Andrew always gets onto him for. Sometimes he’ll elbow Neil when he notices him doing it. Other times, he’ll grab Neil’s hand in a vice-like grip and pull it into his lap so he can no longer tear at his skin.

“But I’m gonna miss him like crazy,” Neil just about whispers into the phone.

“Oh Neil,” Dan starts.

“Don’t,” Neil interrupts. “I’ll be fine.” We’ll be fine is what he wants to say. But who can be sure of that?

“Of course you will be,” Dan says. It’s not in a mocking tone, but a gentle one. “It’s gonna be hard on both of you for a while, but you two will figure it out.”

Again, Neil nods weakly at Dan’s platitudes as though she can see him. He can’t help but feel that he’s overreacting. Or that Andrew doesn’t feel even half the panic as Neil does at even the prospect of their distance. And it is ridiculous, isn’t it? This is what Neil wanted from the start. He was desperate to get Andrew wrapped up in this game, to see him step onto a professional court. And now he’s got it and he’s terrified.

“It’s only a year, Neil,” Dan continues. “Think about how fast all the years have gone up to this point. You two will be back under the same roof before you know it.”

And she’s got a point. Neil thinks back to that racket that Andrew first cruelly slammed against his gut to now. He thinks of everything in between. How 3 lifetimes, full of their respective horrors and joys, somehow compressed themselves into the span of only a few years.

He’s got plenty to distract himself with: captaining the foxes and completing his degree requirements alone should be enough. But he can run and bake with Robin. Hell, maybe he’ll even buy a game system. Recalling the frustration he felt with Nicky and Aaron though, he reconsiders the last bit.

“You’re right,” Neil finally acquiesces. He can’t think about how it might not only be a year. That there is no guarantee he and Andrew will find themselves on the same professional team. That Andrew would even want that once the year is up.

“You know I’m here for you. Matt too once he’s finished acting like an ass.”

Neil chuckles at that. It’s soft and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but it's something. He can’t wait to hear about Dan’s face when Matt drops to one knee. It’s so obvious that she’s going to say yes.

“Thanks, Dan.”

“Anytime. Now go have a drink. Sounds like you need one.”

+

Neil wants to get drunk.

He wants every troublesome inhibition, thought, and anxiety within him to drown. Preferably in booze. It’s rare for Neil to feel this way. The past few months wouldn’t agree, but it’s true. He’s usually content to just soften the edges of sobriety while his friends obliterate them. Not tonight. It’s got nothing to do with the phone call from Dan a few days ago. At least, that’s what Neil tells himself.

They’re in Columbia again. A spur of the moment weekend trip. Neil’s got one knee propped on the kitchen counter, boosting himself up just enough to grab the liquor off the top of the fridge. He can tell Kevin was here with them last time because he’s the only asshole big enough in their group that would put it up there in the first place.

“You got it?” A female voice sing songs from the kitchen’s entryway. It’s Katelyn.

Much to Andrew’s very vocal horror, Aaron had invited her along on this trip.

“I have to watch you drool after your fucking boy toy everyday. You can give me a weekend,” Aaron had said when they argued over it.

“She’s not riding in the mas,” was all Andrew said after toying with the knives tucked into his bands.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

And so Katelyn and Aaron drove separately in the new car her parents bought her as a graduation gift. It’s parked outside, all shiny and silver next to the maserati.

“Fucking eyesore,” Andrew had grumbled when they pulled up Friday afternoon.

Back in the present, Neil says, “Yeah, I got it.” He’s double fisting liquor bottles and dropping his knee off the countertop as he does it.

Her high ponytail swings with her steps as she walks further into the kitchen. “We pregaming?” She asks, cataloging the selection of bottles Neil has pulled down.

“Sure,” Neil says casually like he’s not hellbent on getting wasted tonight.

She starts opening and closing cupboards, clearly looking for something. “Ah, here we go,” she says, pulling out a silver mixer. “What kind of mixers do we have?”

“Uhh,” Neil starts, unsure. Admittedly, he usually skips this part. He’s too used to Andrew’s lips taking straight from the bottle.

She laughs lightly at him and starts looking around to answer her own question. Once she finds what she’s looking for she turns to Neil. “Ever had a liquid marijuana shot before, Neil?”

Neil raises a brow. “No.”

“I’ll show you how to make them.”

And she does with startling precision. When Neil asks her about it, she tells him she bartends in the offseason. A local bar not too far from the Palmetto campus. She does all this while finishing off the shots and pouring them into mismatch glasses.

After setting his glass, one Nicky got on a trip to Germany, back on the counter, he declares, “I bet you make good tips.”

Katelyn laughs again, ponytail bobbing. “Oh, you have no idea.” And Neil thinks that maybe Andrew is just a little bit wrong about her.

+

Neil’s not even dressed to go to Eden’s and he’s already feeling loose. Dangerously so. His whole body burns with a liquor fueled flush and his smiles, slow and dopey, come a little too easily. Katelyn must be feeling the same way because she giggles next to him freely.

“You’re a natural, Neil.”

“You’re just drunk,” he retorts, rinsing out the shaker they’ve used to craft multiple drinks in the sink.

“No, I’m being serious! With your pours and that face, you could make some serious money at the bar.”

Neil waves her off.

“Not that Andrew would let you out of his sight long enough for that though,” she adds.

“Don’t want him to,” Neil says. Not that it matters what he wants. They’ll be out of each other’s orbit in only a matter of days. Neil’s too buzzed to go there. His knuckles go white with how hard he’s clenching the edge of the kitchen sink.

Katelyn opens her mouth as if to say something, but is interrupted when Andrew strolls into the room. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets and a sour expression on his face. His lip curls the tiniest bit when he sees Katelyn at the sink with Neil. He looks at the mess of bottles and the two emptied shot glasses on the counter before locking eyes with Neil.

“We’re leaving in 10.”

Neil nods, standing up from the counter. Katelyn looks like she wants to say something, but doesn’t. Thankfully, she just excuses herself from the room with a slightly ducked head. Andrew approaches once she’s gone. He gets close enough for Neil to feel his breath against his face.

“You’re drunk,” he states.

Neil bites his lip, can’t resist bunching his fingers in the sleeve of Andrew’s thin hoodie. He imagines a world where Andrew actually doesn’t let Neil out of his sights. What it would be like if they never had to know any stretch of distance between them.

“A little,” he admits, still a bit lost in his fantasy.

“Go get dressed.”

“Come help me?”

Andrew’s eyes flash white hot. It causes something tight to curl in Neil’s abdomen.

“I already picked something out for you. Laid it out on the bed.”

Neil can’t contain his grin. The scar tissue on his cheeks pulls taut with how wide he smiles. He doesn’t care if Andrew sees.

“What?” Andrew asks.

“Nothing,” he says around his grin, “Just thinking about how I like it when you dress me, Andrew.”

“Tsk.” Andrew tilts his face away, giving Neil the most perfect view of his neck. Neil leans in, not close enough to touch, but close enough for Andrew to feel his next words across that milky expanse of skin.

“But I think I like it even better when you undress me.”

There is murderous intent in Andrew’s eyes and his fingers are suddenly curled around Neil’s throat. Not hard, just enough for Neil to feel it.

“Go. Get. Dressed.”

Neil does what he’s told and laughs while he does it.

+

Neil’s not sure if it's because he was more than a little drunk before they even got to the club or the fact that he’s currently clad in the tightest pair of jeans that he owns (courtesy of Andrew), but Andrew keeps Neil planted at his side all night. Either there is a hand on his hip, fingers tangled in his belt loops, or a palm on the nape of his neck. The contact is constant and dizzying. Andrew even carts their trays of drinks back and forth one handed so he can keep his other interlocked with Neil’s or curled around his waist.

And, oh, Neil is way past drunk at this point. The club lights ricochet around the room and the music vibrates deep in his chest. Neil’s never danced a day in his life, always too aware of the space his own limbs take up to enjoy it. But now he sways, knocking gently into where Andrew stays pressed against him.

He’s got no clue what he’s doing but he likes it all the same. He tries to move his hips like he’s seen Allison and Renee do together when they think no one is paying attention. He knows he must be doing it wrong; he can feel the choppiness of his own movements. It’s nothing like the smooth undulations of Renee when she’s pressed against Allison, but he keeps going. And Andrew keeps his hand low on Neil’s waist. It’s encouragement enough for Neil.

“What are you doing, Junkie?” Andrew yells into his ear to be heard over the music.

“Dancing!” He shouts right back.

“Is that what you call that?” But Andrew doesn’t push him away. Instead, he flips Neil—gets Neil’s back flush to his chest. Neil stops moving and turns to look over his shoulder at Andrew.

“Is this okay?” He asks. His brain is all cloudy from the booze.

“Yes,” Andrew says, fingers slipping under the hem of Neil’s shirt just the slightest bit. He shudders when cold fingers graze across his heated abdomen.

“Fuck,” Neil whispers. He starts to sway again and Andrew holds him, palm flattened just below his belly button.

He thinks he sees Nicky across the bar with his mouth hanging open in shock.

+

“You’re going to hate yourself in the morning.”

Neil laughs but thinks he might already do just that. They’re in the mas on the way back from the club. The clock on the dashboard displays an obscene time—so late that it’s actually early. Andrew’s got one hand on the steering wheel and the other splayed across Neil’s thigh in the passenger seat. Andrew’s face shines sharp and red beneath the traffic light they’re stopped at.

“Probably,” Neil slurs. He wriggles a bit in his seat and Andrew tightens his grip on Neil’s leg. “Let’s not go back to the house yet.”

Andrew taps his fingers against the steering wheel for a moment in thought before switching on his blinker, making a turn the opposite way of the Columbia house. Neil smiles big.

“Whereto?” Andrew asks. He’s got the radio off and the only sound is the purr of the maserati over the quiet streets.

“Anywhere,” Neil replies. “You can take me anywhere.”

Andrew snorts and his foot presses heavier into the pedal.

Neil rolls the window down and trails his fingers through the wind.

They drive like that for an indistinguishable stretch of time. Neil’s got no desire to keep track of its passing. He decides to pretend that it has stopped completely just for them.

Eventually, Andrew pulls over to the side of the road. He grabs a pack of cigarettes from the center console and steps out of the vehicle. The door slams behind him and Neil watches through the windshield as he plants himself on the hood of the car. He lights a cigarette, the tip glowing red with the pulls of his mouth.

On legs made of jello, Neil follows. Lacking any grace, Neil plops next to Andrew on the hood and snatches up the discarded box. He places a cigarette between his lips and gestures for Andrew to give him a light. Andrew leans in close to light it with the already burning tip of his own.

It’s a miracle it doesn’t drop to the ground with how Neil’s lips go slack at Andrew’s proximity. He holds it together long enough to take his first drag. “Thanks,” he says through the exhale, the cigarette pinched shakily between his forefinger and thumb.

He looks around at the wide expanse of nothing around them. Not even a sign in sight. Nothing but pavement, fields, and the moon to be seen for miles. “Where are we?” He finally asks.

Andrew stubs out the butt of his cigarette beneath his heel. “We’re anywhere.”

Neil laughs, leaning heavily into Andrew’s side. “Smartass.”

“It’s what you wanted.”

Neil lets his face pillow into Andrew’s shoulder and looks up at him. “And if I want something else? You’d do that too?”

Andrew looks at him for a long moment. “Depends on what it is.”

“I want to kiss you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Andrew takes the forgotten cigarette out of Neil’s hands and brings it to his lips. He takes the last few drags right before Neil’s eyes before discarding it next to the butt of his own.

Neil can’t help but to lick his lips, suddenly very dry. “Can I?”

“Yes.”

Neil stumbles off of the hood of the maserati to stand in front of Andrew, who opens his thighs to let him in. Neil’s hands fall to the warm metal at either side of Andrew’s hips as he leans in. In his drunken eagerness, he misses, his lips landing more on Andrew’s chin than his mouth. He’s quick to correct himself, mouthing wetly against Andrew’s lips.

Andrew gets his fingers in Neil’s hair and helps guide his movements. It’s so, so good and Neil lets out little happy moans of pleasure into Andrew’s parted lips.

Andrew's tongue is in his mouth and he needs it everywhere else too. He sucks on it, more than a little crazed. Andrew pulls back just enough to speak.

“Relax.”

Neil presses hot, open mouthed kisses against Andrew's neck. “Can't,” he admits. “Want you so fucking bad.”

It's indecent, this need inside of Neil. It clings to him like the grains of sand still in the floorboard of the maserati from their trip to the beach a few months ago.

“You’re drunk.”

“Okay.”

Andrew grips his chin. “You know I won’t. Not when you’re drunk.”

Neil bites his lip, distantly wishes he would, but accepts this boundary from Andrew just as easily as he’s accepted all the others. He nods. “I know. Just kissing is fine. ‘S good,” he adds, pressing once more against Andrew’s lips.

They stay like that for a while, Neil slotted perfectly in between Andrew’s thighs. They kiss and they kiss and they kiss some more until Neil’s lips are red and Andrew’s swollen. Neil forces himself to pull back when the interest twitching in his jeans becomes a little too unbearable.

“Can I ask for something else?”

“Greedy much?”

And it’s so true. Neil’s been a well with no bottom ever since the end of his freshman year. Every bit of life his friends and Andrew have poured into him echo along the stone walls. How can he still want more when they’ve given him so much? He wants to lead the Foxes to even bigger courts. He wants to watch Dan and Matt get married. He wants to see Robin walk across the stage at graduation. He wants to play on the same court as Kevin again. He wants to go to the mall with Allison and Renee.

He wants whatever this is between him and Andrew to last forever.

He shakes with how badly he wants. Andrew mistakes it for a chill even though it’s the end of July. He still tugs the collar of Neil’s shirt up as if that could chase it away.

“Well?” Andrew says when Neil forgets to speak.

“Let’s stay for a few more days.” Neil wets his kiss stained lips with his tongue. “When everyone leaves tomorrow, let’s stay. Just the two of us. Just a little longer.”

“We can do that.”

+

Andrew doesn’t comment on Neil’s crumbling edges. He only slows the spread of the cracks with a hand on the back of Neil’s neck or a shared cigarette. After Aaron, Nicky, and Katelyn leave early the morning after Eden’s, Neil and Andrew hardly leave the house at all. They spend most of their time on the couch watching movies rented straight from the TV. Neil can’t remember a single plot point but he does recall every kiss he presses to Andrew’s jaw.

Other than bad television, they leave once to go to Andrew’s favorite ice cream shop around the corner and another time so Neil can jog some of his uneasiness out around a local park. Neil tries to think about Exy and practice and baking and even video games but it all feels so arbitrary.

Andrew’s reading a book on the couch, some paperback that Kevin picked up for him at the airport. Neil’s seated on the floor between his legs mindlessly clicking through channels. Andrew breaks the silence. “I’m going to pick up dinner.”

Neils sets the remote down and looks at him over his shoulder. “Want me to come with?”

“I won’t be long.”

“Alright,” Neil says, nodding slowly.

Andrew crawls over where Neil is still sitting on the floor to stand. He starts pulling on his arm bands from where he discarded them on the coffee table. “Go take a shower,” he says, not looking at Neil. “And be thorough.”

Neil’s face instantly flushes. “Are we going to…” Neil starts but doesn’t finish.

“Fuck?” Andrew asks, tone flat and a little cruel. “That’s up to you. Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Neil doesn’t even dream of hesitating. “God, yes. And you? Yes or no?”

“Yes. I’ll be back.” And then he’s out the door.

Neil sits on the floor dumbly for a minute before hopping up and heading to the bathroom. And just like Andrew told him to, Neil takes his time. His shoulders go slack under the barrage of hot water and steam. With stray fingers, he prods at himself absentmindedly. He briefly fantasizes of loosening himself up enough that all Andrew has to do is slide home when he gets back. He thinks about waiting for him naked and still damp on the couch, ass in the air to see as soon as he steps through the door. He can almost hear the scoff Andrew would make before grabbing his hips and—

Neil bites his lip before his whimper can slip out and echo off the shower walls to mock him. He lets his fingers drop from behind him. He’s never found much pleasure in his own hands. He knows it’ll be so much better with Andrew if he just waits. So he ignores the half hard length between his legs and his own desperate fantasies and finishes his shower.

He steps out along with a cloud of steam and into a pair of briefs and one of Andrew’s hoodies. That’s all he steps into. Hair still dripping, Neil stands in front of the foggy mirror and inhales deeply against the collar of the hoodie. He bunches the fabric in his fists and brings it closer. His toes curl against the bathroom rug at the scent of him.

And there’s no way this hoodie is going to Georgia with Andrew.

He’ll need it on those days that the tether between him and earth gets a little too much slack in it. He can breathe in the remnants of Andrew and maybe it’ll be enough to bring him closer to the ground.

He does eventually find his way back to the couch with his ass planted into the cushions. He pulls his knees to his chest and stares blankly at the tv, the sleeve of Andrew’s hoodie still crushed to his nose. He’s just at the store. He’s coming back. He’s not gone yet.

The phrases circle his mind like vinyl on a turntable, slightly warped. His absence is temporary. He wants forever too. This won’t break them.

He can feel his breath picking up against his will, his chest rising and falling rapidly under the fabric worn smooth by Andrew. He pulls his knees in even tighter and bites into the fatty part of his thumb.

Stop it. Stop it.

There is static in his head and the tips of his fingers. He tries to inhale but it gets caught in his throat. Is he shaking? Neil thinks he might be shaking.

Andrew is leaving in 2 days. He’ll slide into the maserati in 2 days with his entire life in bags in the trunk. He’ll sleep in a bed without Neil across too many state lines. He’ll wear a different color jersey with a number that’s not his and he’ll step onto a court that Neil has never felt under his sneakers. He’ll brew coffee in a kitchen that Neil’s never been inside with a coffee maker fresh out of the box. He’ll fill his days with exy and paperbacks and boring documentaries and Neil won’t be there to do it with him.

The front door opens. Andrew stops in the doorway, takes in Neil’s bare legs and strained expression. Neil looks at the bags in his hands, one covered in yellow smiley faces and bulging with takeout containers, the other from an electronics store.

Andrew abandons them on the counter. Neil tries to sink further in on himself, not to hide, but to hold himself together. Andrew sits next to him on the couch. He wraps a cold hand around one of Neil’s bare ankles. The frigid touch is incredibly grounding.

“Shit,” Neil curses, voice tight with lack of air. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Just breathe, Neil.”

Neil nods. He tries. It’s choppy and unsatisfying.

“Slower. Through your nose,” Andrew reminds him. His thumb rubs circular motions over Neil’s ankle bone. Neil watches its slow movements, sucking a strangled breath through his nose, holds it for a second and releases. Repeats. He keeps at it until he comes back more into his skin. His inhales and exhales aren’t quite regulated, but they’re better. Andrew keeps holding his ankle.

“Nothing’s working.” It’s hardly a whisper.

Andrew squeezes. “In and out.”

“Not that,” Neil says, looking Andrew in the eye. “You’re leaving and nothing is working.”

Andrew studies him for a long time until realization unfolds in his eyes. Or maybe it’s not realization. Maybe Andrew was onto Neil this whole time, watching him try out any distraction to keep Neil’s antsy mind occupied in his absence.

“Neil.”

“You’re leaving.”

“I’m leaving,” Andrew confirms.

“You’re going to Georgia and I’m staying here.”

“I’m going to Georgia and you’re staying here.”

“You’re gonna be a Lion and I’ll still be a Fox.”

“I’m gonna be a Lion and you’ll still be a Fox.”

Neil props his chin on his knee. He decides to continue their little game. “It’s going to fucking suck.”

Andrew bobs his head in agreement, perhaps for entirely different reasons. “It’s going to fucking suck.”

“You’re going to miss me like crazy.” Neil waits for Andrew to admit it.

“Don’t push it,” he says instead. And somehow, it’s just what Neil needed to hear.

Neil leans forward, lips parted and oh so close to Andrew’s. “Still yes?”

“Yeah,” Andrew says before closing the gap. Andrew is the air in Neil’s lungs and the ground beneath his feet. Andrew’s hand leaves his ankle, slides up and along his thighs, and underneath his hoodie that covers Neil’s body. Neil’s fingers bunch pathetically in the fabric of the same hoodie that Andrew’s got his cold fingers beneath. He opens and closes his fists, licking into Andrew’s mouth.

“Can I touch you?” He finally manages to ask between kisses.

Andrew unfurls Neil’s fists with his free hand and forces them into his hair. Neil gets the blonde locks into his grip the same as the hoodie. He knows Andrew likes the sting with the way his mouth falls open in a silent display of pleasure.

“Where?” He asks, mouthing under Andrew’s jaw.

“Wherever,” Andrew grunts, pulling Neil into his lap. Neil gives Andrew’s hair one more mean tug just to hear him gasp before they find their way to Andrew’s biceps. Somehow Neil always finds himself here when Andrew gives explicit permission to be touched. He squeezes the muscle there, prominent under the tight black shirt Andrew is wearing. Obsessed doesn’t even come close to touching Neil’s feelings about Andrew’s arms.

“Fuck, you’re gonna get so big when you go pro,” Neil says. He’s got his forehead pressed to Andrew’s and his eyes locked on to where he kneads Andrew’s arms like dough. He remembers lemons and blueberries and Andrew licking icing off his cupid’s bow. “You’ll send me pictures, right? From the new gym?”

Andrew scoffs. “Why should I?”

“Cause I might die if you don’t,” he says. He’s only partially joking.

“Unlikely,” Andrew shoots back.

He’s got Neil’s bare thighs hiked around his waist. Neil briefly tears his gaze from Andrew’s arms to see how his thick fingers pillow into the meat on his legs. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth before speaking. “I promise to send pictures in my practice shorts. A fair trade if you ask me.”

“Good thing no one fucking asked you.”

Neil smiles, crashing their lips back together so Andrew can taste it. He asks Andrew to push him out of his head and his doom laced thoughts with every desperate press of lips. Neil rolls his hips and gasps with the way his growing hardness feels against Andrew’s cock, just starting to plump up too, beneath denim.

“Wanna blow you so bad,” Neil pants into the side of Andrew’s head. “Will you let me?”

Andrew doesn’t answer at first, seemingly transfixed on watching Neil grind the front of his briefs against his crotch. He even lifts the hem of Neil’s hoodie so he can see better. It causes a moan to slip from Neil.

“Come on, Andrew. I wanna feel you in my mouth. In the back of my throat.”

Andrew gets a fist around Neil’s throat and just about growls in his face. “Shut. Up.”

“You know how to make me. You always shut me up so good, Drew,” Neil says with a smirk. He’s not sure where his dirty talk comes from. Neil’s sexual experience starts and ends with Andrew, and apparently so does his depravity.

“You have to admit you walked right into that one,” Neil teases when Andrew tightens his grip the tiniest bit.

Andrew ignores him. “You want to blow me?”

Neil nods so vigorously something pops in his neck.

Andrew sinks back further into the couch cushions and pushes Neil off of him and to the floor. “Do it,” Andrew says once Neil’s on his knees in front of him. Neil scoots closer, settling deep between Andrew’s parted thighs. He runs the pad of his fingers over the inseam of Andrew’s jeans, up and up until he reaches the zipper. He scrapes along the metal with his nail just to annoy Andrew.

“Thought you wanted me so bad?” His tone is mocking in a poorly concealed attempt to get Neil to hurry up.

He pops Andrew’s button. Andrew helps Neil shimmy his jeans and underwear down just enough to pull his dick out. Not even fully hard yet, it’s already hot and thick in Neil’s palm. Neil licks his lips, endlessly grateful for every chance he has to see and hold Andrew like this.

“Mmm,” Neil hums, already stroking his hand up and down his length. He’s fascinated with watching the purpled head disappear in his fist.

Andrew’s head lolls against the back of the couch, his eyes still open and boring into the ceiling. “Perv,” he grumbles.

Neil doesn’t even dream of denying it. He chooses to press a chaste kiss to the head of Andrew’s cock instead, just to prove him right. “You like it.” He doesn’t let Andrew refute him because he pulls him into his mouth before he can. Neil’s eyes fall shut, lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks and satisfied groan building deep from within his chest. There’s not much that compares to feeling Andrew fatten up on his tongue.

It doesn’t take long for Andrew’s dick to fill the rest of the way out trapped in Neil’s mouth. The corners of Neil’s lips pull wonderfully taut at the girth of him. Whereas Andrew is precise and fast when he has his mouth around Neil, almost mean with how practiced he is at getting Neil off, Neil is slow and sloppy.

Indulgent.

He bobs up and down, only pulling off to place wet kisses at the head or to lick at the vein roping at the underside of his cock. He peers up at Andrew through his lashes all the while, watching for every twitch of his jaw or curl of his lip. He languishes in every quiet sign of pleasure from Andrew.

He’s got one hand curled in the hair at the base of Neil’s skull and the other splayed along the top of the couch. His biceps flex beautifully when he fists the cushions.

“Good?” He asks slyly from between Andrew’s legs.

“You know it is, you shit.”

Neil preens under Andrew’s admittance, no matter how biting it is. Andrew twitches in his hand and he’s quick to return his attention to him. He puts just the tip in his mouth, pumping the rest of him in his fist.

Andrew’s head drops back again but he manages to hold eye contact with Neil through it. How will he survive without this? Now that he’s had it for so long, how can he possibly live without deep brown eyes and frigid fingers? He squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t let his thoughts linger there. Neil focuses on the bitter taste of Andrew on his tongue instead.

Andrew nudges between Neil’s legs with the toe of his boots, tapping right against the indecent bulge in his underwear. Neil gasps, dropping Andrew out of his mouth. He presses a little harder, the treads on the bottom of the boots the most perfect torture against his clothed cock.

Andrew quirks his pierced brow at Neil’s little whines. He could kiss the feet of the piercer who put that little silver barbel through Andrew’s skin. Neil grinds up against the rubber again, hissing with it. “Could have least taken your boots off,” he groans.

Andrew tilts his head. “Take them off for me.”

So Neil does. He tugs at Andrew’s laces, all the while his cock stands wet and proud from Neil’s spit. Andrew’s boots hit the ground with a dull thud when Neil discards them. Andrew immediately pushes the ball of his socked feet back into Neil’s groin.

“Fuck, Andrew.” He wraps his hand around his ankle. “Something you wanna tell me?”

Andrew scowls. “Don’t be sick.”

“You’re the one getting me off with your foot.” Andrew could probably get Neil off with his pinky toe. Not that he’d voice that thought freely, though.

“Is it working?”

“Shut up,” Neil says, turning Andrew’s favorite phrase back on him. Andrew looks far too satisfied with himself.

“You gonna fuck me right here on the floor or are we gonna take this to the bedroom?” Neil asks, leaning back on his heels. His knees are starting to burn but he’d happily stay here if that’s what Andrew wanted.

Andrew stares down at him, considering. He strokes himself slowly once and then twice while he thinks. “Tell me what you want, Neil.”

Briefly he thinks carpet burn on his ass might be worth it.

“I want,” he starts, “I want to ride you.”

Andrew’s eyes flash molten and dangerous. “In our bed,” Neil adds for clarity’s sake. “I wanna ride you until my legs give out. And then, when I’m about to come, I want you push me over and fuck me into the mattress.”

Andrew cups Neil’s face in his hand and the touch is so gentle Neil’s throat tightens. Neil waits with parted lips for Andrew to lean in and kiss him. He never does, but he gets close. Close enough that his next words ghost over Neil’s face.

“Better get going then.”

Neil hops up so quick he’s a bit lightheaded with it. He wobbles a bit and Andrew steadies him with strong hands right below the swell of his ass. Neil looks down at where he’s still seated with his cock out and has to physically tear himself away. He starts walking backwards, unwilling to turn away for even a second. He pulls Andrew to his feet by his hands as he goes. Andrew gets his pants hiked up high enough on his waist so he doesn’t have to waddle to their room and follows Neil out of the living room.

Neil manages to refrain from kissing Andrew, not wanting to halt their progress, but he does keep their hands intertwined. Only once they’re through the threshold of their room does he drop it. He opts to leave Andrew’s hoodie on, but steps out of his underwear. He kicks them into the corner before flopping onto the bed with an “Oof.”

Andrew sneers at Neil’s discarded underwear. He toes off his socks and pulls his t-shirt over his head before making his way over to the bed. Neil stops him with a palm on his stomach before he can get a knee up on the bed.

“Sorry, no clothes beyond this point.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“Rules are the rules.”

“What’s this, then?” Andrew asks, pulling at the string of the hoodie still covering Neil’s torso.

Neil looks down at his chest as though he’s forgotten he’s wearing Andrew’s hoodie. “This? This is the only exception.”

“You’re impossible,” Andrew complains. There’s a wicked gleam in his eye that says he’s not so aggravated after all.

Neil only shrugs and looks accusingly at the unbuttoned jeans still hanging sinfully low on Andrew’s hips. “Off.”

And then Andrew is naked save for the armbands he put on when he picked up dinner. The dinner that’s getting cold on the kitchen counter. Microwaves were invented for nights like this.

As soon as Andrew’s on the bed, Neil is pressing the bottle of lube that he already fished out of their bedside table into his palm. Neil spreads his thighs so Andrew can get between them easily. He pulls the bottom hem of the hoodie up to expose his leaking cock and abdomen. “Come on,” he says, jerking his hips up into nothing.

Andrew huffs but pops the lid on the lube all the same. Watching it drip thick and clear over Andrew’s finger is enough to get him drooling. His throat bobs with how he swallows the excess.

“Pillow,” Andrew instructs. Neil wastes no time stealing one from the head of the bed and shoving it under his own hips unceremoniously.

Andrew doesn’t make him beg. He knee walks his way over to Neil, pushing one of his knees up to his chest. “Hold this,” he tells him before sinking his first finger into the hilt.

Neil keens, spine arching with the barest of touches against his inner walls. Andrew takes his time, always so careful with prepping Neil, tender with every nudge and press until he deems Neil ready for a second finger. Neil’s mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ shape when Andrew starts to scissor ever so slightly.

“Fuck, Andrew. Your fingers are so good.”

Andrew hushes him with no real intention of quieting him and keeps working Neil's hole open. Andrew knows his body criminally well, finding and brushing against the spot that makes Neil see white with expert care. “Shit! More, Drew. Come on, come on. Give me more.”

He grinds his hips into Andrew’s hand to encourage him. And finally, Andrew pushes a third finger past the tight ring of muscle. Neil slaps his free hand across the comforter, searching for something to cling to. Andrew keeps prepping him. An obscene bead of precum collects at the tip of Neil’s cock and drips onto his belly. If he took himself in hand, he knows he could come like this, fucked out on Andrew’s fingers.

“I’m ready. Holy shit, I’m ready. I promise. Just let me ride your cock.” He’s babbling in one long embarrassing stream but he needs Andrew to know how badly he aches just for him.

“Okay,” Andrew acquiesces, slipping his fingers out of Neil. He groans at the loss, fluttering around nothing. Andrew is quick to rearrange himself sitting up against the headboard. “Come here.”

Neil rolls over and crawls into Andrew’s lap. Andrew’s hands are instantly at his waist and then cupping his ass. He prods at Neil’s lube-slick hole with his thumb and Neil hugs Andrew’s head to his chest. “Oh fuck,” he says before pulling Andrew’s face up to kiss him. It’s tongue first and so wet it’s almost gross. Neil moans.

“Still yes?” He asks, grinding back to feel Andrew’s hard dick against the split of his ass.

Andrew’s got his brows furrowed and his lips parted. Neil pushes his hair out his face for him. Waits for Andrew’s confirmation. It’s only a second before Andrew croaks, “Still yes.”

Neil fumbles to reach behind himself and Andrew’s length. Andrew maneuvers around both of them to slick himself up with more lube. He helps Neil guide his cock to his hole, knocking against the rim. “You ready?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Andrew says, pulling one of Neil’s cheeks to the side to make it easier for him.

Neil starts to sink. The first pop of Andrew’s fat cockhead past his rim has expletives falling out of his mouth unbidden. He clings to Andrew’s bare shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. A quick glance at Andrew’s face shows Neil that he’s got his teeth gritted. The roots of his hair are damp with sweat.

Andrew fills him up so well there’s no other explanation than they were made for each other. There is nothing and no one that will ever fit so perfectly for Neil. With pleasured sighs and shaky legs, Neil fully seats himself on Andrew’s lap.

They sit there in silence for a minute, both adjusting to the euphoria they’re sharing. Neil tries to catch his breath and Andrew traces circles over his hip bones. When he’s ready, Neil gives the tiniest roll of hips. Andrew grunts so Neil does it again, more purposefully this time.

Andrew’s got his face screwed up and Neil smooths out the wrinkles between his brow with his forefinger. “‘S good for you?” Neil asks, continuing to rock his hips.

Andrew nods his head. “Y-yeah.” He licks sweat from his upper lip. “You’re tight.”

Neil’s entire body hums with the knowledge that he’s making Andrew feel good. That he’s the only one who can make the man under him feel this way. “It’s so good for me too, Andrew.” Neil starts to add little lifts and drops to his rolls, picking his hips up and then pushing them back down into Andrew’s lap. The movement has both of their mouths dropping open. Andrew pulls him down for another kiss until their teeth start knocking together with how desperately Neil bounces in his lap.

“It’s so deep in me, Andrew,” Neil whimpers. He pulls Andrew’s hoodie up his chest, high enough to expose his belly and his nipples. Andrew shifts forward to press damp kisses to his chest. Neil whines and removes one of Andrew’s hands from his hip to relocate to his lower abdomen. “I can feel you here,” he says, pressing Andrew’s palm deeper into his plush stomach.

The sounds leaving Neil’s mouth are indecent but they’re nothing compared to the slap of skin between Neil’s ass and the tops of Andrew’s thighs. More filth continues to spill from his lips and his inner thighs burn with exertion.

“You getting close?” Andrew asks between breaths.

Neil nods, continuing to bob. “Yes.”

Andrew grips his thighs. “Your legs getting tired?”

Neil admits that they are with a strangled moan.

“Want me to make it better?”

“Fuck, Andrew, yes. Yes, make it better. Fuck me into the bed.”

Andrew pushes a hand into his chest. His cock slips free of Neil when he flips and guides him back into the mattress. Neil whines loud and long at the emptiness.

“Shh,” Andrew soothes. He yanks his hoodie up Neil’s chest so he can see all of him when he slides back in. “Keep this up,” he demands once he’s fully seated inside Neil again.

Neil clings to the hem, his chest heaving. Andrew sets a vicious pace, pounding in and out of Neil. He arches his back prettily and turns his head to get a face full of Andrew’s hoodie. The smell of him combined with the press of his cock against his prostate has his eyes rolling back in his skull.

“So fucking good,” Neil slurs into the fabric.

Andrew changes his angle and his pace, fucking up into him slower but with enough force to push Neil further up the bed. He braces a hand against the headboard so he doesn’t bang his head. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he babbles almost incoherently.

“You smell so good, oh fuck, Andrew, keep going. Don’t stop.” He thrusts back to meet every piston of Andrew’s hips. The rhythmic pounding against his prostate is maddening and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. “Don’t ever stop!”

His vision is clouded with terrifying four letter words and promises he could never break. He bites his lip to bleeding to keep them from spilling over.

“Shit, Neil,” Andrew pants falling forward and intertwining his fingers with Neil’s over both of their heads. “I need you to come first,” he says.

Neil nods, dumb with the orgasm growing in his gut. “T-touch,” he gasps. “I need to touch my—” He’s cut off with a particularly rough press of Andrew inside him.

Andrew releases one of Neil’s hands and guides it to his own cock, weeping between his legs. The first tug has him seeing stars. “Oh,” he sighs. “I’m gonna come, Andrew. I’m so close.”

Andrew doesn’t let up. “Do it, then.”

He wraps his fist around Neil’s hand and helps him pump his own cock. That along with the gravel in Andrew’s voice is what sends Neil into oblivion. It sets his toes to curling and his spine to arching. Past the roaring in his ears, he hears Andrew’s name tumbling endlessly from his lips and feels his own release splashing high up across his stomach and chest.

Andrew fucks him through it. Somehow he always knows just how long to keep rocking into him before the pleasure gets unbearable and pulls out. Just like now. He pulls out, immediately fisting himself over Neil.

With legs still shaking from his peak, Neil watches the way Andrew pumps himself, fast and mean. “That’s it, Andrew. Come for me. I want it all over me.”

“Fuck,” Andrew grits out right before granting Neil’s wish.

Long hot ropes of it splash over Neil’s stomach. He lets his eyes fall shut, smiling with knowing that Andrew is able to lose himself in this with him. Andrew collapses on top of him, knocking the air out of Neil’s chest and smearing their cum into both of their stomachs. Neil could care less, wrapping his arms around Andrew and lifting his head so Andrew can get his arms under Neil’s head.

They stay like that for a long while, breathing against one another. Andrew’s weight is warm and comforting against Neil’s chest. He wishes he could carry it with him everywhere. Too soon, Andrew is shifting to get up. Mindlessly, Neil clings, not willing to let him go just yet.

“We’re disgusting,” Andrew murmurs.

Neil holds onto him for a few more selfish seconds before letting his arms drop. Andrew inhales sharply when he sees evidence of the mess they made on Neil. Neil only sighs, running his fingers through it.

Andrew curls his lip but saves him any commentary. He pulls on his discarded boxers before padding from the room. Neil stays right where he’s at and waits for the sound of the bathroom sink to start running. Andrew’s always so anal about clean up. Neil almost chuckles out loud at the word choice of his own thoughts.

He slings an arm over his eyes. Lets himself feel the worthlessness of his legs and the phantom of Andrew still inside him. He wonders how long he can get the sensation to stay. There’s tears stinging his eyes but he keeps his forearm pressed too hard into his face for them to go anywhere.

Maybe Andrew’s hoodie sleeve will be wet when he pulls his arm away. He doesn’t want to find out.

Andrew’s taking longer than usual and Neil is glad for it. He doesn’t have the energy to explain this surge of emotion. He only knows that Andrew is going to be gone in 2 days and it’s going to feel worse than if Neil’s entire world was to fall apart.

He also knows that he loves him.

He hasn’t said it out loud. He won’t now or anytime soon, but he knows it all the same. The thought is warm in his chest and Andrew’s sleeve hoodie is definitely getting wet.

Neil collects himself when he finally does hear the sink turn on. Predictably, it runs for a second while Andrew waits for it to heat up. Neil’s fairly certain he looks presentable enough for someone who just had their brains fucked out when Andrew returns. Neil watches him clean the remains of what they did off him with gentle swipes of the washcloth.

When he’s done, he tosses it in the clothes hamper. He tries to pull the hoodie over Neil’s head but he doesn’t let him.

“It’s gotta be washed, Neil.”

Neil still refuses to let him take it. “It’s fine. Nothing got on it.” He can’t bear the thought of the fabric smelling of detergent instead of Andrew.

Andrew gives up with a sigh. “Hungry?”

Neil could definitely eat. He nods and Andrew tosses him a fresh pair of underwear. He snatches them and pulls them up his thighs. His steps are wobbly, but he makes it to the kitchen anyway. They stuff their faces with room temperature lo mein and beef and broccoli. It’s still good for Neil.

Once the takeout containers are in the garbage, Andrew brings the other bag, the one from the electronics store, into the living room. Neil eyes it skeptically when Andrew sits next to him on the couch with it.

“I got us something.”

“Okay,” Neil says apprehensively.

“Something to make it easier.”

Neil parts his lips around a question but Andrew pulls out two boxes. In the quick and sure way that Andrew does most things, he slides both boxes open and holds up two identical smartphones. Neil gapes at his reflection in the glossy black screen.

These are massive upgrades from the phones they currently use. The ones Nicky bemoans are absolutely “prehistoric.” Neil reaches out to take it, the phone lighting up with the default lock screen once it’s in his palm. “Andrew, this is—”

Neil doesn’t get to finish his thought because the phone starts vibrating in his palm. Andrew’s name lights up the screen. Neil swipes on the call to answer like he’s seen all his friends do. The phone buffers for a moment before connecting to video. Neil stares blankly at the screen for a moment. Andrew’s got the phone tilted so that it only catches the jut of his chin and the dark ceiling above them.

“Easy,” Andrew mumbles.

Neil’s throat is tight and his belly warm with that word from earlier.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Easy.”