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Neil wishes the first days were the hardest like everyone said they would be.
The first few weeks are okay. He has Robin, and weirdly she reminds him of Andrew, which is comforting, but he thinks it’s the nostalgia getting to him.
Saying that it’s weird without the cousins is an understatement. He had gotten used to not having all of the Foxes with him when the seniors left, and he’d spent his last year with the cousins getting used to the newfound quiet.
But if that was considered quiet, then this was deathly silent.
They were Foxes, so in reality, they could never have a year of quiet . But Neil has a dorm to himself, even if Robin is over most days. He stays up at night until his eyes struggle to stay open, looking through his binder of the Foxes and adding little notes in the margins and along the border. On the here and there morning where his brain refuses to quiet down, he traces his fingers over the pictures that Robin had printed for him. His golden year with the Foxes.
Old habits die hard, or something. Neil endures the urge to run with a strength in his mind he didn’t know he had. When he looks at the black duffel in his closet, he thinks about Kevin and Andrew, about Court.
Robin teaches him to use his phone functionally, occasionally urging him to buy a new one. Neil staunchly refuses; this is a material item that ties him to Andrew. He won’t give it up.
He makes do, though, and learns how to Skype on his computer. Dan often organizes group calls with all of them, and though it’s rare that all of them can join, with the lot of them scattered around, Neil finds he looks forward to them. Their voices are grounding. A reminder of what he has, what he can’t lose.
But it’s hard. And sometimes, he’s weak. So on one particularly forsaken day, he packs his bags, leaves his phone on his dresser, and leaves.
He doesn’t pack his duffel. Just his backpack, with some clothes and a couple of snacks to start with. He leaves the binder. Maybe because he knows he would come back. Maybe because he thinks he won’t.
He’s not sure where he’s going. Palmetto is close to the South Carolina border, which means there has to be a small airport nearby where he won’t get recognized. Most of the scars still on his face will never fully heal, and the rest are scattered and sharp.
Andrew isn’t supposed to be here. At this random airport or in South Carolina at all. Yet, Neil isn’t as surprised as he should be when he spots a familiar hooded figure at the door.
Neil hides a smile as he heads to him. The summer weather is long gone, and now the cool autumn wind is almost biting. Neil shivers in his sweatshirt, but Andrew doesn’t flinch when the breeze hits his face, heavy enough to knock his hood back.
They’ve called. Andrew, unexpectedly, was familiar with Skype even before Nicky had forced him to download it, so Neil has seen him. Has been seeing him, and yet Andrew looks new.
He must have flown in from upstate, but he doesn’t have any bags with him. Neil is pretty sure his team has a game next week because he had planned to go over to Wymack’s to watch it.
“What are you doing here?” Neil asks once he’s reached Andrew.
“I called you unpredictable once,” replies Andrew. “I take it back.”
Neil tilts his head in question. “What?”
“Did I forget to tell you I was coming down?” Andrew ignores him. “My bad. Robin called, she said you weren’t at the dorm like I assumed you would be.”
“How is that predictable?” Neil asks.
Andrew shrugs, then gestures to the whole of him. “I thought you were done with the running? I thought you were a fox.”
Neil swings his backpack off his shoulder, holding it by the top handle then letting it drop at his feet. “I am a fox. I’m the only one left.”
At the root of it all, he’s lonely. He hasn’t played on the same court as his team, his real team, in far too long. Neil doesn’t think they’ll ever do it again.
“What,” Andrew demands. “Did something happen?”
Neil shrugs helplessly.
Andrew sighs, then picks up Neil’s bag. He motions to a car parked a few feet away. Neil tumbles into the passenger seat; he hadn’t realized how tired he was. Andrew apparently had though, because he reaches to the backseat and throws a blanket at his head.
The ride back to PSU is silent, but it’s comfortable. Neil won’t tell Andrew that he’s missed him, but he has, and he hopes Andrew can feel it in the grip of Neil’s hand across the console.
For the first time since Neil watched the cousins drive off, Neil arrives home. He follows Andrew to his dorm and watches as Andrew pulls out a keyring and unlocks the door.
Robin was here, evident by the frantic post-it note stuck on his fridge. Neil makes a mental note to text her later.
“You never answered,” Neil starts. They’ve situated themselves on either side of the couch, knees touching and covered by a blanket. “What are you doing here?”
Andrew shrugs. “Was in the area.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, Neil thinks, but he wants a straight answer. Neil raises an eyebrow and shoots him a look. Andrew snorts, adjusting the blanket.
“Is it a crime to come and see you now?”
Neil shakes his head. “No, I just meant-- You didn’t tell me you were coming down.”
“Surprise.”
Neil lets out a shaky laugh. Andrew fits him with a stare.
“I shouldn’t have run,” Neil says. “I’m just-- I forget what I’m staying for, sometimes.”
Andrew says nothing, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and flips it open. He taps the screen a couple of times then throws it at Neil.
The screen shows him two screenshots, both with a lot of words that Neil doesn’t have the time or patience to read, but the general gist is this: the National team is looking at him.
It’s not news to Neil, but it’s a harsh and comforting reminder. A year, less than, and he’ll be back on the court with Kevin at his side and Andrew at his back; just as he’d imagined it back when family and familiarity were new to him, when the idea of something solid was something he could only dip his foot in.
“You’re fine,” Andrew states, shifting slightly closer to him. “This is not news to you.”
“No,” Neil agrees. He lets his head fall back on the couch and he lets his eyes shut. “It’s not.”
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