Archive of Our Own

Neil sits on the sofa in the lounge room of the stadium. He sits halfway down the orange furniture, slouched, with his arms crossed and legs a little spread, head tilted up towards the lights, and eyes shut against the beams as he waits for Wymack and Kevin to show up. Matt is pressed against him with Dan on his other side as he talks to him and the other upperclassmen as they also wait. 

Neil tries to ignore the nagging feeling of how this felt so similar to his first couple of weeks, months, of his first year, banished to sit with others because Neil wasn’t integrated with Andrew’s clique due to high suspicions and lies. Now he is banished because Andrew can’t even look in his direction, or at least not long enough to mean something. It’s been happening for the past nine days, the silence from him, the cold shoulder. A series of nightmares moved Andrew from Neil’s bunk, to his own, to the bean bags in the living room, to not sleeping at all. And the nightmares have led to this distance. Or at least, that’s what Neil had pieced together as any attempt of interaction with Andrew was a failure, it leading to cold, long silences with colder longer stares or a simple ‘fuck off’ to drive Neil away. He remembers four days ago, he made his way up to the roof, a fresh pack of cigarettes in his hand, maybe a small gift, who knows, but it didn’t matter, because when Neil shoved open the roof door, Andrew says without looking, “Come near me and I’ll kill you.” The half of his face Neil could see was pale with eyebags purple and heavy and if Neil wasn’t so angry, he would have been concerned. Instead, he stared at him until Andrew finished smoking and then left when he didn’t even spare him a slice of acknowledgement, a lump in his throat the size of an Exy ball. 

The frustration itched at Neil, driving him near to insanity at the first couple of days of this speculation. Anxiety gnawed at him, telling him he crossed a boundary, a line, with Andrew unknowingly and now Andrew hates him for real. Neil recounts every little detail he can gather in his head, every tongue stroked across teeth, every fingers between hair, every gasp in the others mouth, every hand tugging Neil’s cock to climax, every slip of Andrew’s fingers between him, every-single-permission given, every question, every answer. So the nightmares. The nightmares have to be it. 

They started on Monday of last week. They arrived later than usual from night practice and Neil’s legs were weak and tired, he was unable to face the climb of Andrew’s ladder to get to his bunk (something that has become a routine at this point, sharing Andrew’s bunk) so he lands on his own. Andrew taps Neil’s shoulder with the back of his hand and Neil shifts enough so that when Andrew climbs over him, he slots in between the wall and Neil without issue. Then Andrew wakes up sweaty, out of breath, shoving Neil off the bed, mistaking his face for someone elses of his nightmares. “Andrew, Andrew, it’s me,” Neil was already awake though, expecting this reaction so he landed on his ass and kneeled beside the bed, keeping his distance, “You had a nightmare, look at me,” Andrew’s frantic eyes landed on his and then across the room, but no one else was awake, Nicky snoring, mouth agape and drool pooling by his pillow as Kevin’s long limbs were stretched and half hanging off the bunk, blissfully unaware, “Look at me Andrew, it’s just us,” He realises Neil was speaking in octave just above a whisper, holding a hand out across his sheets in an offer but Andrew couldn’t look at him. He leaves the room and doesn’t look at Neil again. 

Neil is tired, he can feel it now, in the lounge room of the stadium. The thrumming of exhaustion gave him a headache matching the ache in his bones, something deep. He hasn't been sleeping good either, not as good as he can be, tossing and turning, wanting that warmth of a body beside him until he just ends up staring holes in the bottom of Andrew’s bunk, hearing the quiet murmurs of the TV in the next room, where Andrew sits. 

Matt jostles beside him, laughing at something someone said and Neil can feel him turn to him, “Hey, are you okay, man?” The upperclassmen laugh somewhere so Neil knows Matt is the only one paying attention to him. Neil doesn’t open his eyes to look at Matt, feeling the heaviness of them now.

“I’m,” Fine . He stops himself because Matt won’t believe it. But he is. Fine. Fine is a middleground that he is feeling right now, the frustration has somewhat ebbed, the tiredness has replaced all feeling, “Tired, I’m tired.” And then he opens his eyes, squinting at the artificial light beams above him and looks towards Matt. 

Matt’s eyebrows were pulled up in a pinch of concern, eyes flicking over his face as if to read the lie but Neil wasn’t lying and he would find nothing to say otherwise. “Is everything okay with..?” Neil watches Matt look away, to a familiar corner of the room where Neil knows where Aaron, Andrew and Nicky sat. 

Neil didn’t know how to reply to this so he answers honestly and shrugs. Matt’s frown deepens. “You know, if you ever need anyone-”

“I know, Matt, I know,” Neil bumps his head against Matt’s shoulder in a way Neil hopes he takes as affectionate, “I’ll be fine.”

Matt’s demeanor cracks a little as his lips tug in a small smile, “I hate that word.”

“Shame, really, because it appears to be one of my favourites”

“Oh, I am very aware.”

They share their moment with an exchange of smiles and a little laughter before Matt is dragged back into conversation again (a debate between movies that Matt has to settle) and Neil is back staring up at the ceiling, eyes tracing the patterns and counting the squares, row by row. He only stops when feels his gaze on him, that electric heat that sizzles his skin. Neil lazily turns his head to him, chin resting on his shoulder as he meets Andrew’s look of impassiveness. Purple ringed his eyes, puffy with tiredness, but the golden orbs still shone, almost twinkling at Neil. Wishful thinking, maybe, delusional thinking was probably a better way of putting it, hoping Andrew looks at him the same, but Neil doesn't dwell on it because this is the longest Andrew has made eye contact with him for over a week.

Andrew raises an eyebrow as if asking a question and Neil feels the bite of anger at the gall of him questioning Neil’s gaze on him as if he wasn’t the one staring first. Does Neil have the right to be angry? Can he be? Neil is aware, probably more than anyone in this room, of the struggles Andrew faces and Neil is understanding of each and every thing Andrew needs or, in some cases, doesn’t need. But, it’s infuriating, this cold shoulder, this new game that they have. Communication was not their strong suit, not when it comes to them and it's now biting them on their ass as Neil is sitting wondering what is happening. Just tell me it’s the nightmares, he finds himself thinking over the last 9 days, Let me help you.

Alas, it is Andrew and Andrew will never ask for help. 

It’s cold, the gaze that is fixated on Neil, but it brings nothing out of Neil, it has no effect, nothing that isn’t an annoying longing he feels buried beneath the frustration. He wonders what his face looks like to Andrew, he tries to become aware of the muscles of his lips, his cheeks, his eyebrows, but all he can feel is the pull of his eyes, the exhaustion that weighs them. Andrew must feel the same, he can see them properly now, the bags under his eyes, puffy, swollen almost, and Neil tries to find some sympathy. This is his Andrew. The Andrew that kisses him on rooftops, that lays a palm on his thigh when they’re driving, that taps his  pinkie fingers against Neil’s, that learns a new language, that keeps his promises. Still, the sympathy he is trying to grasp doesn’t reach and he realises that Andrew wouldn’t want sympathy at all. 

Though,  it feels cruel and selfish to feel like this when Andrew is clearly going through something too. But actions have consequences. 

Staring at Andrew, he does think about them, and maybe it's a fact he doesn’t like to admit but he misses him. He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to rely on another person; last time he did he buried her bones in a bag in some sand on the coast of California. But Neil knows that this isn’t the same, far from it. Co-dependent, would he describe him and Andrew like that? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t think he cares. There’s no this , Andrew’s voice in his head says. Bullshit , Neil’s replies with. This is why it hurts more, Neil thinks, that this unspoken separation is a thing. Even as the anger bites at him, he would let Andrew kiss him until it disappears. 

He just hopes this isn’t permanent. 

Neil swallows thickly at the thought and Andrew’s eyes follow the movement, watching Neil’s Adam's apple bob then flick his gaze casually back up to his eyes. Maybe if he stares long enough, he can read Andrew’s thoughts.

But it doesn’t matter because Kevin comes in with Wymack in tow and they both look away towards them. Kevin looks at Neil first, then to Andrew and then to Neil again. “Move your arm,” He says as he manually takes ahold of Neil’s arm anyways and moves it. With the new space on the arm of the sofa, Kevin sits. Neil flicks him a questioning gaze, a why, because he knows there's a free space between Andrew and Aaron but Kevin glances at him, face neutral and says nothing. He can see Kevin’s jaw tense and un-tense, what he does when he is silently annoyed. Neil usually sees it on press duty. Is he annoyed at him? Fuck, he must of definitely done something. 

Dread piles in his stomach, a sharp coldness as his gaze anxiously flicks around Kevin’s face but his face softens, and he shakes his head at Neil, tapping his knee with his. At Andrew, then. Kevin is annoyed at Andrew too. 

The cold dread doesn’t move, though. 

Wymack begins to talk and Kevin doesn’t look at Andrew again. 

 ☆

Andrew drives off without them after practice and Kevin sees Nicky from the rear window whip his head around as they pull off. His mouth was moving, probably uttering his confusion. He looked angry, almost, his eyebrows pulled together, frowning, as he looked to his side at, presumably, Aaron then to Andrew at the front. The Maserati turns out of the car park exit before Nicky can look back. “I don’t know how you put up with him when he gets like this,” Kevin says, annoyed, frustrated, walking away from Court, shrugging his bag further up, “He’s immature, he’s petty, driving off without us because we’re pissed at him for being pissy.” Kevin darts his eyes beside him, expecting them to land on an accompanying tuft of auburn hair at his bicep but the space to his left was empty. He looks to his right and he is met with the same empty space. He fully stops and turns around and sees Neil still cemented in the place they stood as they watched the Mas pull away. For the handful of seconds Kevin had his eyes on him, whatever wall Neil had up slipped and his eyes were wide and scared. They darted skittishly across the car park, the entrance, the exit, the road beyond, looking… lost. In Front of Kevin, the image of Neil standing at the curb as he looks a little wild and astray, reminded him of the little boy he met in the little league all those years ago. The thought made him sick, “Hurry up,” He says, harsh, wanting it to snap Neil back but Neil just turns that look to Kevin and Kevin faces it head on. He swallows around the mass in his throat. 

“He left us.” Neil sounded as he looked, lost, quiet, far away. 

Kevin shakes his head and strides the few paces to Neil and grabs his wrist tightly, “Not the first time. Come on,” He tugs him out of where he was standing, unsticking his feet from the pavement. From the corner of his eye, he sees Neil’s face harden as he walks onward. He doesn’t say anything as Kevin leads them away from Perimeter Road and along a different route to get to campus. It takes them away from the road, away from the constant checking for a Mas to pull up any second, Kevin got annoyed everytime he sees Neil’s head flick to the side as they hear an engine rev, so he takes him through the park; it adds an extra 10 minutes to their route but Neil doesn’t complain. 

The path leads them eventually to the side of campus where the canteen sits. Again, Neil doesn’t make any complaints when Kevin steers them into the building and grabs them two containers of chicken and rice. Kevin talks about Jeremy and Jean and California, and Neil listens and adds his two pence every now and then, “He called you a dimwitted cockroach for that play you made,” Kevin says, casually, shrugging. Neil stabs his chicken with a plastic fork, knowing which one. He was cornered, two on one with no one to pass to and all he had to do was rely on his team before the opposing players tackled their stick with his. He shot between one of their legs and, sure enough, Kevin was there in a heartbeat to receive it and shoot. They scored and it was the point that pulled them in a lead. 

“Yeah well, he’s French,” He says around a mouthful of food. 

Kevin’s face twisted in disgust at Neil’s lack of manners, “Is that meant to be an insult?”

Neil smirks around his fork,  “I can make it one.”

Kevin frowns at him, “You really are insufferable.”

“Look who's talking,” Neil chews more and then swallows, “C’mon, your Highness, unfortunately, I have an assignment to finish,”. 

 ☆

The Maserati was not sitting in the parking lot when they returned to The Foxtower and Neil felt no need to bring it up, despite that pit of dread becoming evermore sickening in his stomach. The rational thoughts brought up Dobson, a quiet helping hand for whatever it is Andrew needs, but that familiar and tightening embrace of paranoia ebbs and eats at the back of his brain, ever consuming, all starving. He was at the entrance before he could stew more about it, a couple of students bumping against his shoulder on their way out (a harsh ‘watch where you’re going, arsehole’ thrown at Neil, which was promptly ignored), and then the stairs, the third floor, the hallway, and their door. Faintly, he hears the upperclassman and the freshman through the walls, echoes of voices coming through several doors. He hears Nicky through his, a quieter muttering of Aaron to accompany it. 

“You usually have to turn that thing there,” Kevin points to the knob of the door, “A door handle,” He adds, and Neil takes the moment to turn and look up at him unimpressed, “To open the door.”

“I’d be more careful if I were you,” Neil says, monotone, “My fist is the perfect height for your balls.”

“You wouldn’t,” 

“Is that a challenge, your Highness?”

Kevin shoves Neil aside and opens the unlocked door. Nicky’s head whips around to them first; he sits on one of the bean bags, controller in hand (not in hand for much longer as he tosses it in Aaron’s lap when he stands) and strides over. His face flickers between several emotions before he, strangely, lands on annoyance, pointing accusingly between them, “I texted you!” He says, “No response! What if something had happened?”

“Like what?” Neil drawls, side stepping him, knowing that the device Nicky refers to is in fact dead and has been since yesterday and is currently sitting uselessly under his pillow, “Andrew deciding that leaving us behind isn’t enough and decides that running us over will be the better bet?”

“Uh,” Nicky draws out, “Yes,” Like it was obvious.

Neil flicks him a look, a small scrunch of his nose, “He wouldn’t damage the car so mindlessly.” Nicky returns his look with an emotion Neil struggles to name but it was soft and edging to being pitiful so he looks away. 

“Shame, really,” Aaron pipes up, not removing his eyes off the game as he makes the character pummel a student ( Bully , the game he played was called, fitting [Behind them, Nicky whines softly, “ Aw, Aaron, I was trying to be the good guy, ”]), “Josten as road kill would smell better than he does now.”

Neil snaps his head towards the voice, “And do remind me who asked for you to talk?”

Aaron snorts, “Andrew doesn’t fuck you for a week and you get so highly strung,”

“Aaron,” Nicky says, soft, disappointed.

“Not my fault he’s a fucking idiot and hasn’t figured it out.”

Ah , it clicks for Neil, at that moment: Aaron knows why Andrew has been avoiding him. “Tell me.” He demands, face hard, serious. Aaron looks over his shoulder at him then, and stares at him, like he was trying to figure something, trying to figure Neil out. It’s a look he sees more often from Aaron, trying to pick apart Neil with a look, analysing him, figure him out, his meanings. Neil watches Aaron’s eyebrows pull together in a frown as he lands on an answer. 

“Ask him yourself.”

“I’ve tried.” Come near me and I’ll kill you . 

Aaron looks away and back to the screen, “Then figure it out.”

Eins, zwei, drei - German first, then French, then Spanish, then (unsure) Russian and then English, he counts to ten. He counts to ten in these languages as he tears his gaze away from the lesser twin, and goes to the corner of where his desk resides and pulls his books from his bag. Three Math and a thinner Spanish before he sits and pretends to make a start on his work. Somewhere along his second re-run of English, Kevin sits at his designated desk, laptop booting up. 

“ They know why ,” Neil says in french, not looking at Kevin, pencil tapping against the scribbled notes from his lecture that he should be looking over, “ And they won’t tell me what I’ve done to piss off Andrew .”

“ Maybe it is obvious ,” Kevin replies with a sigh. 

“ Obvious ,” Neil echoes, “ Fucking obvious ,” He says, oblivious. 

“ Andrew could get his head out of his ass and just talk to you, ” Kevin types on Internet Explorer, “ Simple .”

Obvious enough for Nicky and Aaron but not obvious enough for Kevin. Not much of a staple, to say that Kevin didn’t notice something, he was almost as bad as Neil, but something did not sit right. Tell me, just tell me, so I can fix it, I want it to be fixed. Neil realises now more than ever this extends far from just nightmares. 

“ Nothing’s ever simple ,” Neil states after a beat of silence. Kevin shifts to look at him before he pulls up a game. Nicky returns to his seat beside Aaron. Aaron’s hands didn’t leave the controller. 

 ☆

Andrew returned an hour or so later and Neil made it an effort to not look towards the noise of the door opening and closing. 

“Welcome back,” Nicky greets. He is still sat in the same bean bag beside Aaron, playing their game as Neil was now slouched over his desk stewing over an equation that his brain isn’t piecing together. Kevin flicks a look over to Andrew’s entrance before looking back to the Exy game infront of him. 

Andrew, like usual, doesn’t return the greeting and instead of going into the bedroom to smoke as Neil expected, Neil hears his incoming foot steps. He could feel Andrew’s presence coming close and something inside of him yearned for it. Yearned. Neil Josten yearning. And, fuck, he did, looking down at the shit of a mess of his homework infront of him, it was a complicated stirring of feelings in his chest as he hears the familiar steps of Andrew’s boots. It was a swirling mass of anger, frustrating, missing, needing. Then it fizzles, to that feeling he felt earlier at the Court. Tiredness, or something that closely resembles it. Not in the normal sense, when one wants to sleep, to doze, but he feels like he is drifting, light and heavy all at once. 

He tries to keep  his eyes trained on the paper, even when Andrew’s presence passes behind him and then past him. Even when Andrew lands heavily in the chair that’s at the desk beside him. Even when he can feel that flame of a gaze on him.

And then, Neil doesn’t even realise he was looking back at Andrew. He doesn’t remember making the decision to, or remember turning his head but he is. Andrew sits in the chair, slouching a little, legs spread a little, hand fiddling with a pen on the desk, eyes fixed on Neil like nothing else exists. It was a cold gaze, nothing on Andrew’s face for Neil to clue in on what he is thinking. It was like deja vu, for how Neil was hoping for some sudden and magic ability to read minds. He tries and pictures what Andrew is thinking, maybe how he will dispose of his body, the cover up story, the aftermath. Neil knows a couple of people that could help with the former, though he doesn't think he would be able to get a word in before Andrew starts his plan. 

Does Neil think Andrew would actually kill him? No. Not actually. Does Neil think Andrew wants to? Oh, yes. Definitely. 

It was small, the way Andrew’s eyes do something , Neil doesn’t know what because they really look the same, but it’s something, maybe the relaxing of his eyebrows, the squint of the corners, make the gaze on him more familiar. Hunger. Need. And it’s an intensity that breaks the ice of his stare. It’s the same look that gets Andrew on his knees to swallow Neil’s cock whole, the same look that bites Neil’s lip, when their cocks press together and fuck into the same fist, when they’re not avoiding each and doing the exact opposite. Desire. Lust. 

Neil sits back from the desk and leans back, watching Andrew with a hopefully neutral face. He rests the tapping of his pencil and crosses his arms over his chest, Andrew’s eyes flick to the movement for a second before they rest back at Neil’s face. 

“ Tell me ,” Neil whispers, he wants to say it in Russian, their language that they chose together but Neil still stumbles over his numbers, “ Just tell me. ” Kevin had his headphones in and Nicky and Aaron bickered behind them and it earned him enough trust for him to speak like this. In their bubble. Their orbit. 

Andrew doesn’t speak, not for a long, long stretch that Neil thought he wouldn’t talk at all, but he opens his mouth and says, “You smell like shit.” Then he stands and he leaves. And Neil is back to square one. 

Kevin sees Andrew stalk into the bedroom and he pulls an ear bud out, swinging it in a circle, “ Any luck?” 

“He said I stink .”

Kevin turns to face him, frowns, then leans forward, closer to Neil and sniffs, “ Nothing more than your usual stench ,”

Neil pushes Kevin’s face away from him as he stands. Kevin’s long limbs catch him in a hit as he moves away but Neil doesn’t bother to retaliate as he enters the bedroom. Andrew, sure enough, is sat on the desk pressed against the window, cigarette in hand as he looks out onto the Foxtower car park. His attention does turn from that to Neil as he hears him enter. He watches him squat, and pull out fresh clothes, a shirt Neil didn’t buy, joggers Neil didn’t buy, a hoodie Neil didn’t buy, a pair of socks Neil didn’t buy, orange boxers that Neil didn’t buy and then he stands and he faces Andrew, the bundle of clothes in his arm. He stares at him longer than necessary, long enough for Andrew to arch an eyebrow.

“Showering,” Neil states, “Because I’ve heard I smell,” It was less than two hours ago that he showered at the Court, after practice but he supposes that doesn't matter. 

Andrew hums as he brings the cigarette back to his lips, “Of shit, yes,”. 

Is this progress? He daren’t jinx it.

Then he turns to leave. Andrew’s voice makes him pause, “Use my products,” He drawls, bored, “None of your three in one shit.”

Neil’s gaze returns to him and he wonders if it really was because he smelt bad. He showers often, twice a day most days, and he cleans himself regularly, he knows how to, he wears deodorant, sprays, whatever he steals from Kevin and sometimes Nicky, nothing has changed from his routine, he buys the same shower gels, same hair products as he did in his first year. And he knows, he smelt so much worse when they first met. When he was fresh off the running way business, the only shower he has access to was Milports shitty communal shower, where he skipped them more often than not. Baltimore too, stinking of sweat and blood and the basement. Andrew didn’t avoid him then. 

Neil’s jaw tenses and doesn’t even nod at Andrew as he left to go the bathroom. 

He places the pile of clothes on the counter beside the sink as he closes the bathroom door with his foot. He locks it and then turns the shower on. The ventilation picks up on the heat almost immediately and the hum begins, becoming a background noise to Neil stripping off his clothes. He steps in and he barely lets himself soak before he starts to clean. He uses his nails to scrub himself, harsh but effective. He uses Andrew’s shampoo and conditioner (two separate bottles, Neil thinks that’s a waste of time and plastic), one of them is vanilla scented, the other caramel but it’s all Andrew. That tugging in his chest returns but it doesn’t slow him down as he takes his fingers through his hair and lathers the product until his hair stinks of it. Then the body wash, coconut and sandalwood. Neil scrubs himself raw, nails scratching along his throat, his shoulders, his arms. Then his chest, his stomach, his armpits. Then his feet, his legs, his dick, his ass, every crevice. Clean. 

His towel sat on the towel radiator and it was warm when he dried himself off, patting the residue droplets on his body before he dried his hair. Then he dresses himself. 

He unlocks the door, old clothes thrown into the hamper and he doesn't even fully open it until another force does it for him, it adding a hand to his chest and pushing him further back into the bathroom, retracing his steps, stumbling a little and he steers this force so he lands on the toilet lid as opposed to the bathtub. All in one motion, Andrew had the door shut and locked it and crowded Neil. It was pathetic how Neil so easily succumbed to him, meeting Andrew halfway into the clash of tongue and teeth. Andrew had a hand in his wet curls and the other fisted in Neil’s shirt, pulling him closer. Neil’s were on his knees, fingers tightening in the grey fabric as Andrew’s tongue licked across teeth and curled itself in a fight with Neil’s. They pushed against each other, two determined forces, unrelenting and Neil’s frustration was the only thing allowing this battle to persevere. But Andrew pushed and pushed, wanting and wanting, to the point where Neil’s centre of gravity shifted entirely and he had to shoot a hand out to grasp at the sink, body falling off kilter on the lidded toilet as Andrew crowds him more. Neil is half off his seat by this point, his only rescue and stability is the grip he has on the sink. Andrew moves at the movement but Neil doesn’t let him make space and kisses Andrew again. Andrew lets Neil remain in the uncomfortable position and sucks on his tongue. He moans at that, the sensation feeling whorish and greedy and he is willing to let Andrew consume by any means. 

Neil’s cock throbs when Andrew tongue re-explores the paths of his mouth, their tongues like yin and yang, slotted together like they always should be. Andrew continues to kiss him harshly, rough, biting him, and Neil thrives in the pin pricks of pain, grounding him. Even more so when Andrew’s hands find the skin beneath Neil’s shirt, his hands finding familiar trails of scars, one leading to the next. Taking him apart, putting him back together, Neil was lost and losing. 

And then he was cold. 

Andrew, like a shock touched him, was away from him, withdrawing his tongue, teeth and hands and Neil pants, still sitting askew as he looked up to him. He wipes his mouth, wet with saliva, his and Andrew’s collecting as one as he frowned, “What-”

“I’d deal with that if I were you,” Andrew says, flicking a cold look to Neil’s pronounced hard dick in his joggers and then he turns and he leaves. 

Not wanting to shower for the fourth time today, with an angry determination, he gets up and locks the door, again , and grasps the porcelain of the sink. Without looking in the mirror above, he pulls out his dick from the confines of his joggers and licks a strip up his palm and jerks off. 

Masturbating was always a clinical process for him. It was always out of necessity rather than a means to want, to cum, for pleasure. And half of the time, it remains a useless process because half of those times, he can’t get himself to finish. But that was in gas station bathrooms, motels, quiet, rare alone times when his teenage hormones become persistent and unignorable. Now it’s because of Andrew. And he is now in the privacy of a bathroom. 

He’s quiet, he is when he is by himself, so he doesn't worry about the company through the door and in the main space. He ignores the fact that his saliva is useless with the friction and his strokes are dry. He thinks about Andrew and he used his other hand to follow the ghost of Andrew’s hands that were just on him across his chest and he jolts, hips bucking into his closed fist, as his feather touches his nipples. Weird sensation, but now is not the time to think about it further as he jerks off faster and harder, wanting it to be over. “Shit,” he whispers as he feels his balls draw up and that tingle sensation starts in his stomach and drizzles down to his crotch and legs. He removes the hand from his chest and clumsily grabs the toilet roll and pulls off what he needs. Then he cums. 

He pants, he cleans, he flushes, He tucks himself in, he runs a hand over his face and he leaves. And that’s that. 

 ☆

Rigor mortis had set in when he saw his father. 

Neil can see the shadow of him, in the corner, beside the desk Andrew would sit on. He can see his eyes, that piercing blue that he inherited. And they’re staring at him. The silhouette of his body was contorted in a way that is unnatural, and through the shadow, he can see his father’s jaw is unhinged and permanently yawning. He makes no noise but Neil can hear bones creek.

His nightmares become a reality and Neil chokes and gasps. In a blind panic struggle, his blanket ends up tangled around his legs and it makes him fall from his bed rather than leave it. He struggles more on the ground, pulling the duvet but it just tightens the restraints on him and his father is nearing. The eyes and the shadow of his father watches him the entire time, watching with an amusement, jaw lengthening, it clicking and breaking, as Neil uses one arm to crawl on the ground as the other tries to figure out what the fuck he has done in his sleep to get so mangled. His legs kick, but it’s no help. A fish out of water. His panic heightens. 

He thinks he’s crying when his sight from his father gets cut off from view by a body, a hand clapped at the nape of his neck, “Andrew,” Neil gasps, “He’s here, he’s here,” Neil looks from the corner to the body in front of him and the skin is warmer, eyes greener, hair blacker and then he grabs onto Kevin, not Andrew at all, “Kev-” He’s crying, because a sob rattles his chest. Kevin looks to where Neil is watching with a terrified look and squints in the blackness. Then he stands, Neil’s fingers slipping through his shirt and he flicks on the light. The room bursts with white and the dark corners evaporate and his father disappears with it. 

Nicky blinks blearily and makes a noise and Kevin covers Neil with his body once again. “Bathroom,” Kevin says, and picks up Neil to his feet. With a tug, the duvet comes free and Kevin half mindedly throws it somewhere and shoves Neil out. 

The main room TV is on and a blur of Andrew on the bean bag is seen in his peripheral. He remains where he is sat as he watches Kevin and Neil go to the bathroom. 

Neil is still hyperventilating when he stumbles in and Kevin doesn’t say anything as he takes a hold of the back of Neil’s neck again and makes him hunch over the sink. He turns on the cold tap and says, “Hands,” And Neil puts his hands in the cold water. 

Kevin counts for him, in French, in English, and then, when Neil has a somewhat grasp on his breathing, Neil counts too. 

“Talk to me.”

Neil sniffs and cups the water and splashes his face, cleaning it of the mess. 

“Or don’t.”

“I’m not going to,” Neil answers. 

Kevin thinks and then says in French, “ Is it because of him? ”

Andrew, is it because of Andrew? No, it isn’t, not directly. He has nightmares of his father often, of the night in the basement, of the days on the run, of the life before that. It’s rare when they transpire to hallucinations; sleep deprivation, a sickening anxiety and paranoia were not a good mix. This has nothing to do with Andrew and has everything to do with him. He is fucked up, with or without Andrew, and these things will happen, with or without Andrew. That is just a fact. 

But he can’t deny how his emotions as of late have stemmed from the treatment Andrew has given him. But that’s for Neil to deal with. His emotions are his own. He is his own burden. 

“I’m going to Coaches,” Neil replies, ignoring the question because it was a stupid question.

“Now?” Kevin lets Neil walk out the bathroom.

“Yes,” Neil goes to the shoe rack and puts on his running shoes, “Now,” He doesn’t look at Andrew, he can’t stomach it. He doesn’t look at Nicky when he asks if he is alright. And he doesn’t look at Kevin when he starts to argue. 

“It’s 3AM, Neil,” Kevin unhelpfully points out, “You’re not going to run to Coaches.”

It’s a Wednesday, Wymack will be at home, maybe at Abby’s but either way, it’s away from here. Neil pulls on a coat. Kevin swears. And then disappears through the bedroom. 

He can feel the water drying on his face, the snot build up in his sinuses, the ebbing coldness from a panic attack in his chest. His hands are cold. He feels cold. He feels tired. He wants, he just wants…

“I came back,” Andrew’s voice picks up from the middle of the room, voice strained, tired and unused, “Yesterday, at the court,” Andrew drags his gaze to Neil whose gaze snapped to him , coat half zipped, “You were already gone.”

“You already left,” Neil snaps, roughly pulling the zip up to his chin, “The message was clear enough,” He can feel the panic crawl at him again, seeing the distortions of the dark corners of the room form an outline. 

Kevin comes back out, dressed and annoyed, “It’s freezing,” He wraps a scarf around himself.

“I didn’t ask you to come,”

“I don’t care, move.” 

Neil’s emotions are his own. He is his own burden. He doesn't care that Andrew’s hand wasn’t on him. And he does not care that Andrew doesn’t follow them. 

 ☆

Kevin rang Wymack, who was still awake, and warned them of their visit. He didn’t say much because the phone call was quick and Kevin snapped his cell shut and talked about inviting the freshmen to night practices. It kept Neil occupied as they walked from streetlight to streetlight. Kevin talked about an idea for a routine, or a play. Kevin talked about the upcoming Spring Championships, the upcoming banquets. He didn’t let Neil’s silence stop him and he was thankful, for the first time, to have Kevin’s voice ground him.

Wymack had his door unlocked and they walked in.

“Can’t get rid of you, can I?” He says to Neil as he rounded to the kitchen and Neil remains standing, his chin tucked under the collar of coat, “Well, you know where the sofa is, enjoy,” Neil remains standing there, looking at Wymack. Wymack is tired too, he can see it in his posture, slouched, heavy as he leans on the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand.

“I can leave,” Neil says.

Wymack huffs, “No you won’t,” He sips and swallows, “You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re my pain in the ass, now sleep, you’re messing up the kitchen.” 

He goes to the living room and Kevin already has the blankets out, one for him, one for Neil. “Which sofa?” He asks. The three seater or the one man seater. The choice was obvious, Neil was near an entire foot smaller than Kevin but it would be funny to see Kevin and his long limbs curl up on the thing. But tonight lacked humour and Neil takes the blanket and curls up himself on the one seater. Kevin doesn't say anything as he lays down on the other sofa. 

Neil falls asleep to faint typing from Wymack’s office and Kevin’s light snores. 

 ☆

The first time Neil wakes up, he thinks he is still dreaming. 

The sun beams in but it doesn’t hurt his eyes, nor does it catch them as he blinks. He thinks it's a dream because he thinks he can hear Andrew. Cold and distant, responses short and curt and then Kevin’s voice, louder, clearer, “He was crying , Andrew,” The haze of his sleep don’t make the connection to the ‘He’ Kevin was talking about to Neil himself, “He was crying, and you just fucking sat there, useless,” He dozes off again before Andrew can reply.

He wakes again and he sees Andrew seated on the adjacent sofa, staring at him. 

Neil remains still as he looks back at Andrew, hoping it was a visage, an oasis but the more he stared, the more real Andrew became. 

“We’re going for a drive,” Andrew breaks the silence then he picks Neil’s shoes up by his feet and flings them at him. Neil lets them hit him. Then Andrew stands and he leaves. A worryingly familiar pattern. 

Neil uncurls and his limbs are sore. He puts on his shoes and he slept in his coat so that's one less step he has to bother about. 

“Don’t die, we can’t be down a player this year,” Kevin says as a farewell. 

“No promises.”

He makes the descent from Wymack’s apartment and Andrew is in the Maserati. The engine roars in when Neil steps outside. They don’t talk as they pull away from the complex. 

They drive, with no particular destination in mind, and Neil can tell Andrew is fighting something inside his head, knuckles are white and his jaw is working so he sits and remains quiet. They pulled into a car park that wasn’t far from campus, a couple of stores surrounded it but this early, it’s deserted apart from the staff cars. Neil shifts when the engine stops, unclipping his seatbelt to press his cheek against the coolness of the window. He lets Andrew take control of the situation, only talk when Andrew is ready to and Neil is content to remain quiet until then, no matter how long it takes. 

5 minutes and he still has a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel when he says, “Drake wore a very specific cologne,” He starts and Neil listens, “It was dirt cheap, in a brown bottle, it wasn’t labelled, so I have no idea what it is called,” Neil swallows, pulling his cheek away from the window, turning to face Andrew’s profile; Andrew’s eyes didn't leave the windshield, “It smelt like shit, it was strong and it lingered fucking everywhere,” On him, when he was younger, when Drake was finished with him for the day or night or whenever he pleased. It lingered in his room, on his sheets, across the house, in the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room, not a single room was safe from his stench, it was haunting, “And two Mondays ago,” He grits out, “You came back smelling of it.”

Two Mondays. Neil thinks back and his memory was thankfully quick to bring the information of a member of his group project for Spanish inviting him and the others over to his dorm to designate roles in this project. They entered, him and three others, and the guy, Neil does not remember his name, was stoned, high as a fucking kite, and spraying his room with some bottle to get rid of the stench of marijuana, paranoid that they would snitch. It did not cover the smell at all, it just became an awful concoction of smells. Despite that, Neil did not care, he wanted to be there and out as soon as possible. The bottle was strong, almost overwhelming, but he didn’t think anything of it. Nor did he think anything of it when he returned and Andrew avoided him like the plague until he changed. Then he slept by him and had the first nightmare. And the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Neil met up with this group two times a week, a check in, really, in the same guys dorm and each time, he must have come back smelling like Drake. 

“Shit,” He says, stupidly. He presses the heel of his palms against his eyes and leans his elbows on his knees, “Shit,” He says again. 

“I couldn’t,” Andrew starts and then stops, thinking, “My body couldn't distinguish if it was you or him, it would just shut down and my mind soon followed,”

“You spoke to Dobson?”

“Yes,”

He had someone, then, “Aaron knew it too,” Aaron with the same memory of his twin, never forgetting. Being so close to Drake when that racquet smashes against the side of his face, he probably could smell him as he hit the floor. Neil was too distracted to remember anything else apart from Andrew’s laughter and the blood that soaked him. “He told Nicky, he didn’t tell me.” That fucking arsehole. Figure it out . Fuck off, Aaron.

“Yes,”

Obvious, fucking obvious. He sits up, “He didn’t say anything,”

Andrew looks at him then, “Not his business,”

“ You didn’t say anything,” Andrew glared at him, maybe not him, maybe at himself but it was directed at Neil, “I thought that-” Neil shakes his head, “And then you kissed me, I was confused,  and - fucking hell, Drew, why didn’t you just say something?”

“Nothing is that simple,” Neil knows that, Andrew knows that Neil knows that. 

He wants it to be, “Next time,” Neil says, “Next time, I smell like that fucker, or any of those fuckers, you,” He points to Andrew’s chest, finger hovering over his shirt, over his heart, “Will tell me. If I say or do anything, Drew, that is anything like them, you will tell me. We will make it simple,” Neil settles a hard stare on him, “I am not them,”

“I know that.” Andrew hisses out with venom. 

“Then don’t treat me like them.” Neil lets that wash over Andrew. He makes Andrew think about the cold shoulder, the harsh words, the freezing loneliness, the missing sentences. Car pulling away, leaving him on the sidewalk. The emptiness of their lives without them in it.  “In a heartbeat,” Neil continued after a moment, Andrew’s glare still settled between his brows, “I’d do anything for you.” Anything to prevent him from pulling away, from being hurt, from him remembering. 

“Don’t be stupid,”

“In a heartbeat, Drew,” Andrew stares at him, face settling in the usual blank stare and Neil shifts so he is facing Andrew. Neil, subtly, upturned his palm on his thigh in a silent offering and Andrew slowly slid his fingers over Neil’s, pressing the lifelines of his palm and then feeling over to his pulse. He presses two fingers against and feels it go: ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump.

“Last night,” Andrew breaks the silence, fingers remaining in place, “I wasn’t there for you,”

Neil shrugs with one shoulder, leaning his head against the headrest of his seat. He watches their hands and runs his thumb over Andrew’s knuckles. 

“It was bad,” Andrew added, “Your nightmare. You never acted like that before. I should have been there.”

“It was just a nightmare. You’re there when it matters.”

“It all matters, Rabbit,” He applies pressure to where his finger sits before relenting, “Tell me about it.”

Neil sighs through his nose, “I thought I saw my father at the foot of the bunk,” He can feel his pulse pick up against Andrew’s fingers, “He was bent in a odd shape, his jaw was like,” He opens his mouth to imitate, “Hanging, but longer, like it was broken but his eyes were just watching me. Then he moved and the blanket was around my legs and I couldn’t get away and, well,” Neil trails off, “You know.”

Andrew hums, listening and understanding, “You ran away to Coaches.”

“Not run,” Neil corrects, “To get away, I couldn’t go back in the room and I couldn’t stay in the dorm.”

“You ran away from me,”

“No,” Neil says through gritted teeth, “When you go see Dobson after hours, are you running away or just needing to see her?” Andrew’s stare turned cold but he remained silent, “I just needed to be at Coach Wymack’s, just for a bit, not running away and certainly not from you,”

Andrew soaks that in and says, “Okay,”

“Okay.”

Andrew travels his hand further up Neil’s arm and grabs his elbow and tugs him closer over the centre console. When their noses touch, Neil lets out a sigh that was far too dream-like for Andrew’s taste, “I missed you,” Neil whispers, a confession, “I missed talking to you, I missed kissing you, I missed your hands on me,”

“I forgot how much you like the sound of your own voice,” 

Neil tips his head up, nose brushing against Andrew’s, a grin spreading across his lips and Andrew was close enough now to feel the movement, “You can always shut me up,”

And he does. Andrew kisses him, slow and solid and secure. Neil already has small noises bundled in the back of his throat before Andrew’s tongue even touches his and, when it does, Neil shudders a broken moan into Andrew’s mouth. It was simple encouragement and Andrew ate it up, taking his other hand and running it up the side of Neil’s throat and then in his hair. Andrew kisses Neil like he was apologising, sucking his tongue, licking his teeth, twisting and rolling their tongues in a slow hypnotising pattern. Yesterday, Andrew succumbed to an ugly thing called want and today, he is patching up his selfishness, drawing out one moan at a time from a pretty boy who Andrew, to this day, does not understand how he lets him do this. 

Neil pulls back and Andrew lets him go to his neck, twisting his head so Neil settles comfortably on his shoulder, lips kissing a familiar trail before he sucks a spot that has Andrew’s hand curl into a fist in his hair. 

“Missed doing this,” Neil whispers into his skin, kissing the red mark he made, “Missed making you feel good,” He pulls from Andrew’s neck, grinning more when he sees the tips of Andrew’s ears beat red. 

“The only thing you make me feel is murderous,”

Neil huffs a laugh, “Tell that to your dick,”

Andrew gave him a deadpan look and he pushed Neil back in his seat and Neil laughed a little harder. 

 “Dorm will be empty,” Andrew says as he starts up the engine. 

“Eager?”

Andrew gives him a quick side glance as he pulls out the car park, “Tell that to your dick.”

 ☆

Andrew had Neil pinned to the floor of the main room when they reached the threshold of their dorm. It was with no difficulty to have Neil half naked and hard under his hands; Neil tore his clothes off before Andrew could even say a word about their obstruction. Eager, Neil had used to mock Andrew. Desperate, Andrew now taunts a flushed and fucked out Neil below him. “All I’ve done is stroke your dick,” Andrew boredly points out, straddling Neil’s naked thighs, fist squeezing the tip of Neil’s dick in emphasis. His boxers were neatly tucked under his balls and the pretty flush of his dick matched his tanned face identically, “Something tells me you’re eager,” Throwing the word back in his face. But Neil doesn't take the bait, through an airy moan, he grins and nods. 

“Always eager for you, Drew,” Bastard. The familiar shot of arousal prickled through Andrew’s gut and he wondered if a bullet would be the appropriate response to follow it. 

His enclosed fist is tight when he continues to fuck it over Neil, focusing at the leaking tip in fast repetitive strokes before slowing the movements to full strokes, tip to base at a purposeful agonising pace, just so he can see Neil’s face scrunch up and his back arch in a neediness that only his eyes will see. The changing patterns draw Neil to the edge before losing the feeling completely, a horny yo-yo that punches moans and whines alike from his chest. Neil has zero shame but if he did, he would call it pathetic. Maybe Andrew thought it was and, for some reason, that brought an additional heat to his groin that will be promptly ignored for another day. 

His hands grip the fallen blanket that Andrew used for his nights he spent awake on the bean bag. Andrew made an attempt to lay it out before pinning Neil to the floor so the scratchy carpet irritates Neil less. Neil would let the carpet irritate him however much as long as Andrew will still be above him like this, pinning Neil with his weight and his fiery gaze. Neil has and will withstand and endure so much more for Andrew, a scratchy dorm room carpet is at the bottom of list. Though, the small gesture of making this more comfortable for Neil brought a different type of warmth to his body. 

It’s when Andrew’s hand completely leaves him does he shudder and groan (whine, he whined ) at the loss of contact but the scene following was all too enthralling. To watch Andrew above him throw off his shirt and unbuckle his jeans, pulling the belt through the loops in one strong tug was an oddly attractive thing that left Neil’s jaw agape in a horny daze. Andrew stands briefly to kick them off, the coldness that came with a leaving body heat snaps Neil’s jaw shut at the the realisation of its position, before the weight on his thighs return and Andrew is reduced to his boxers too. Neil can see the outline of his cock, full and hard, tucked against his left hip. Something about the proximity and the barrier of the cloth makes Neil’s throat dry. Even more so when he catches the darkened patch of his blue boxers where his tip laid, already wet and sticky and Neil has never felt more starved for a cock in his life. “Eyes are up here,” Andrew says and Neil has a fight with looking at Andrew’s eyes, then his chest and then his dick. God, his chest. His entire torso, in fact. No, Andrew himself. Broad and thick, hard and soft, he itched for a taste of him, a touch of him. He wants Andrew to feel Neil, every nail scrape, every grab, every desperate need this man makes him feel. He wants to show Andrew how he is the only one who wants. 

Neil swallows, settled on a decision, “Can I touch your chest?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow and then looks at Neil’s hand that grasps at the floor beside him, “Is this going to be another fetish I have to worry about?”

Neil animatedly shook his head from side to side. 

“I don’t believe you,” Andrew takes both of Neil’s wrists and purposefully settles them on his lower abdomen, feeling the pudge of his stomach (yet another area Neil wants to sink his teeth into) and slowly drawing them up and up. A guiding hand and everything about it makes his cock throb.

“Good because I think I’m lying,” Neil’s hands, once placed by Andrew on his chest, grope and feel, mapping out the squishy flesh beneath his palm. Andrew likes to bulk and focuses his weight-work-out routine on the upper body and, fuck, it drives Neil insane. Thick muscle and broadness and the softest skin at his very fingertips, Andrew letting him feel and kiss and bite. He does so now, leaning over Neil, arm beside his head so Neil can kiss and lick Andrew’s pectorals as his hands remain in place to feel and hold. Andrew does not understand it, but there are a lot of things he does not understand about the weirdo that is Neil Josten so he lets him carry on. His teeth scrape his sternum, dragging to the flesh of Andrew’s left tit, teeth gentle as they bite. He sucks and then stops and moves, avoiding his nipple and avoiding making a hickey. 

“You can leave a mark,” Andrew says and Neil moans against his chest and gets to work leaving trails of purple. 

With his free hand, Andrew pulls down his boxers, tucking them beneath his balls and then presses his cock against Neil’s. Against his flesh, Neil gasps and looks down to where they’re connected. Andrew’s dick is thicker than Neil’s but more or less the same height and the image of them pressed together has him whimpering. The weight and warmth of it, shit, Neil rolled his hips up, pressing his cock more flush against Andrew’s. It pulled a long breath out of Andrew as he also glanced to where their cocks meet before he wraps a hand around both of them and starts to jerk them off. Neil had moved a hand in Andrew’s hair when he pulled him down to kiss, allowing Andrew to swallow each of his moans, tongues dancing to the noise of Neil and the unison of shlickshlickshlick wetness of their tips. Andrew was leaking onto Neil and Neil was leaking onto his abdomen, their pre becoming a collective each time Andrew strokes up. 

Neil is close by the sensitive jolts that electrify his body, sparks of pleasure bursting under his skin as he nears, his noises becoming consistent and needy, “Drew,” He moans, “Drew,” Sounding more like a warning but he can’t say, nor think, about anything else that does not consist of the man above him. He is stripped of everything that makes him human and only what makes him Andrew’s (but is that not what makes him feel human? Makes him feel real?). The rawness of it makes him pull Andrew closer, like they can be conjoined forever. Mouth to mouth, lip to lip, teeth to teeth, tongue to tongue. So close that he can not distinguish whose are whose, where he can not distinguish what is his and what is Andrew’s. It’s all the same.

Andrew kisses him through it, moving his hand off both their dicks to Neil’s alone and Neil is too lost to notice the adjusted pressure. Andrew kisses him like he misses, like he wants. Andrew indulges and he thinks it’s selfish to have Neil like this, seizing up and cumming across his hand and stomach. But he can’t get enough, Neil is the thing that makes Andrew feel real, feel human and he hopes that maybe one day, he can voice that to him. 

Neil comes down in shuddering breaths, panting as Andrew remains hovered over him. Neil watches as Andrew brings up his dirtied hand and keeps eye contact as he licks it clean of Neil’s cum. Neil grins, teeth biting his lip before he says, “Dirty,” 

Andrew hums absentmindedly, pulling out his, now clean, finger with a pop.

Neil glanced down at Andrew dick and flicked his gaze back, grin turning a little more mischievous, “You wanna cum on my face?”

Andrew stared at him, “Yes or no?”

“I asked you ,”

“And now I’m asking you,” Andrew retorts, “I’ll straddle your chest and cum on your face, yes or no?” 

“Yes,” Neil keeps his hands to his side when Andrew shifts to hovering over his chest, “You can put your weight on me,” Andrew gives him a look and Neil just stares back. Carefully, Andrew lowers himself, not his full weight but a comfortable weight that wasn’t putting strain on his thighs or enough to hurt Neil. 

His cock brushes against Neil’s chin when he takes it in hand and it reminds him of the last time, pre-whatever the last week or so was, when they were alone. Neil asked Andrew to fuck his throat. It was also the first time Neil came untouched. 

Andrew wasted no time in getting himself off, there was no build up or slow pace, he stroked himself hard and fast, looking at the pretty face below him and wanting to ruin it. “There you go, just like that,” Neil says and Andrew’s breath hitched, “You’re doing so good Drew, you look so pretty like that,” 

“Shut up,” Andrew says like a sigh.

Neil hums, “Do you want to paint my face, Drew? Because I want you to, want you to cum on my face,” Neil watches the blown out irises in Andrew’s eyes and then to the fist enclosed around his cock, “That’s what I thought about yesterday, when I got myself off. I can only cum when I think of you, Drew,”

The fucking menace. Andrew makes a small noise at the back of his throat that was meant to be a grunt of confirmation but sounds too much like a moan to be anything close to that. He swallows down any other noises that threaten to leave him, even as Neil continues to talk him through it. “I’m close,” He warns through gritted teeth and Neil perks up, eyes still having a conflict of either watching Andrew’s face or his dick. 

Andrew’s hips stutter against his fist when spurts of cum leave him. He aims so it catches Neil’s mouth and cheeks, just missing his eyes and nose, and Neil moaned louder than him when the warmth of it hit his face. Andrew pants above him moving back down Neil’s body, whilst simultaneously appreciating the sight of Neil covered in cum. When he backed up far enough, Neil sat up to lean on his elbows. He moves his weight to one side and gathers some cum on his finger and sucks it clean. 

“Dirty,” Andrew echoes. Neil grins and shrugs cheekily. 

Andrew tucks himself back in and does the same for Neil, “Stay there,” Before he leaves to gather a towel. He cleans Neil up and Neil lets him, watching him with a dazed smile. “Don’t look at me like that,”

“No idea what you mean,” Andrew flicks him on the forehead, and when he is done getting cleaned, Andrew leans in and kisses the smile off his face. 

“We’ll make it simple,” Andrew says, pressing his forehead against Neil’s. 

“Yes, we will.”