I Want To Hold Your Hand

by cathsunshine

Summary:

Andrew Minyard does not enjoy romance.

Andrew Minyard does not stop himself, however, from staring at Neil Josten's hands and wishing to take them into his own. Andrew Minyard doesn't like romance, but he does like the irritating warmth in his chest when Neil ruffles those hands through his hair after winning a game, and the buzz of his skin when Neil's knee knocks into his whenever they sit together for Friday movie night.

Andrew doesn't do romance, so it doesn't mean anything, right?

Notes:

I love the idea of Andrew and Neil slowly exploring the romantic side of their relationship and becoming more comfortable with acts of love and affection, so if fluff and healing is something you enjoy reading, you're in the right place.

This is my first work and I'm very new to AO3, so any feedback would make my day!

Chapter 1: Holding Hands is Stupid

Andrew's problem first presents itself when a certain redheaded runaway slams his hand onto the kitchen island between them. It's palm up, and Andrew stares blankly down at it, wondering what exactly it is the redhead wants him to do with it.

Does he want to drive the Maserati? That’s a privilege Neil earned long ago, early into their game of spoken truths. He’s only actually driven it a handful of times – when Andrew is unable to, like the time he sprained his ankle during one of Kevin’s more idiotic drills and couldn’t press down on the pedals – but Neil has never asked to drive. Unlike the others, he’s only ever accepted such a giant piece of Andrew’s trust when Andrew had given it to him without prompting, never pushing that trust or abusing it.

The name Neil and the word abuse do not belong in the same sentence.

Andrew stares down at the hand, then lifts his gaze up to Neil’s face, because perhaps his intentions are etched into those mesmerising blue eyes. (Andrew would never admit they were mesmerising out loud. It is a confession he has allowed to admit only to himself.) But surprisingly, Neil’s eyes aren’t what capture his interest.

Neil’s lips. The corner of them are hitched upwards into a very subtle smirk, like Neil is fighting tooth and nail to smooth it back out again.

He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying Andrew’s confusion. Which, Andrew knows, is entirely unacceptable. He shoves his hand into his jean pocket and fishes out the keys, tossing them lazily into the open hand without removing his gaze from Neil’s face.

The smirk finally releases itself, creating a soft shadow in his cheek where Andrew knows the dimple lives. He knows this because, recently, he’s started poking it when Neil is asleep. When Neil annoys him. When Neil has committed the dastardly crime of too much staring. It’s his new favourite obsession and so naturally, with every fibre of his being, he hates it.

“The car keys?” Neil says eventually.

They’re still sitting in his palm, Neil’s fingers still outstretched, refusing to clamp around them. Which leads Andrew to believe he’s made a very wrong guess at what Neil wants.

He owns it anyway. Despite their plans to watch a movie together in the living room, he says, “Going somewhere?”

“I didn’t plan on it, no.”

Definitely wrong, then. Taking the keys back isn’t an option for Andrew. He crosses his arms instead and decides to wait Neil out.

It doesn’t last long. Neil’s hand spits the keys out, making them skid along the surface and drop to the floor, then springs back open like a hungry Venus flytrap.

Andrew says, “I don’t like playing games without first knowing the rules.”

“Ask about the rules, then.”

“I’m not taking a turn now.”

“This doesn’t count as a turn. Ask me how to play.”

“What do you want, rabbit?”

Neil leans forward, but any hint of humour or amusement drains from his features. “Hand holding. Is that something you’d consider trying, or is that off-limits?”

Oh.

When Neil had outstretched his hand, he’d wanted… Andrew to place his own hand within it?

Andrew isn’t certain how to react to the warmth swelling inside his chest, so he merely stares at the silky flick of hair cascading over Neil’s forehead, a hot and fiery crimson beneath the warm overhead lights.

“I know it sounds stupid, and I know we’ve never done anything like it before,” Neil adds, “but I’m willing to try new things so long as you’re on board.”

“I’m on board with leading you up to the roof and pushing you over the edge.”

“Is that a yes?”

Andrew watches the way Neil’s fingers hover open on the counter, the way his thumb twitches beneath his gaze. Andrew considers it. Debates whether placing his hand inside Neil's would somehow prove itself a worthwhile task. Satisfy him in the same ways that kissing satisfies him.

But the absurdity of it outweighs his curiosity, and instead he asks, “Where did you get this outlandish idea from?”

A blush stains Neil’s cheeks, spilling beneath the freckles over the strong bridge of his nose. When Neil blushes, it’s subtle, something you have to look for to know it’s there. A hidden treasure only Andrew gets to see.

Neil says, “I was on call with Matt, Dan, and Allison yesterday.”

“I am aware,” Andrew replies.

Thursday group calls with the upperclassmen has become a regular thing for Neil – much to Andrew’s complete and utter disinterest – after Matt heard Neil and Andrew had upgraded their phones. Yesterday afternoon, Neil had propped said phone up on the desk and smiled back at the tiny, animated faces of the ex-foxes on the screen (minus Renee, who apparently had a date with Jean, of all people.)

Andrew had delivered a giant bowl of cereal for Neil to munch on during the call, ignoring Kevin’s rant about the harmful effects of added sugar intake from his open bedroom door. It was a Thursday. Neil has a habit of neglecting food on Thursday thanks to his busy class schedule, so Andrew made a mental note to dig Kevin’s grave later.

Kevin Day and his pointless ramblings aside, Andrew does remember hearing the upperclassmen asking about him before disappearing into the depths of his bedroom to give Neil some space. To now hear that the conversation had evolved into the topic of holding hands, Andrew now understands the crimson glow to Neil’s face as he says, “They asked about us. About how we were doing.”

“I don’t remember it being any of their business.”

“They’re our friends.”

“Friend is not a word I would ever use to describe Dan Wilds and Allison Reynolds. It feels sour in my mouth.”

“But what about Matt?”

“Matt’s more of an oversized puppy than human. You can’t be friends with puppies.”

That makes Neil laugh. The sound of it – the flash of teeth, the flutter of eyelashes – causes that fire within Andrew’s chest to grow ravenous. Andrew snubs it out by forcing his attention away, fixing his eyes onto Neil’s hand. But it doesn’t last long. Andrew’s gaze is like a ship and Neil’s body is the ocean. Andrew could travel elsewhere, anywhere he’s allowed to go, but he’ll always throw his anchor in at Neil’s eyes.

“I’m pretty sure Nicky would make light work of befriending a dog,” Neil says. “And besides, Matt’s a nice person. You like him really.”

“I’d like if you didn’t put words in my mouth,” Andrew says.

Neil wiggles his fingers and asks, for the last time, “Yes or no?”

“No,” Andrew says, and moves towards the fridge freezer to retrieve two tubs of cookie dough ice-cream for them to demolish during the movie.

Holding hands is stupid. The holding of hands is not something Andrew Minyard will be participating in.

Even if his eyes keep drifting away from the boring adventure film on TV, over to Neil’s empty hand lying between them, tinged red from holding his ice-cream tub.

Holding hands means nothing to him.

Notes:

Thank you for reading, your support means a lot!

Chapter 2: Damaged But Not Broken

Summary:

Andrew literally cannot stop thinking about Neil's hands, and Bee calls mid-practice for a chat about rock climbling. Just very normal things, really.

Notes:

I hope everyone's on board with a Minyard healing side-plot, because if that's up your street, I've got you covered.

Warnings: there is a brief description of injury during this chapter, but nothing very gory, and I don't think it warrants changing the content warning of this fic. If you'd like to skip it, avoid the paragraph that starts with "He grabs ___'s wrist" to "his gaze is far away".

Have fun reading!

When Andrew’s problem returns, it hits him hard and unexpected: he literally cannot stop staring at Neil’s hands.

Long, delicate fingers gripped around a pen when Neil writes equations at his desk; carefully adjusting the net of his Exy racquet before an afternoon scrimmage; caressing the scars on his knuckles while Wymack shares notes on their playstyles. It’s not even like Andrew means to do it. Everywhere Neil’s hands are, Andrew’s eyes can’t help but follow.

He's already considered gauging his eyes out. It would be a quick procedure if he did both at the same time, but the risk of infection would be pretty high, and Andrew isn’t keen on stacking up medical bills. Plus if he ruins his eyes, how would he know where to throw his knives?

No, removal of the eyes isn’t the right option. He’s also ruled out gifting Neil a pair of gloves; he wouldn’t want him thinking Andrew is trying to cover up his scars, which means Andrew would be forced to reveal his true intentions. Oh, hi Neil. Would you mind wearing these gloves? I’m finding your hands rather distracting ever since you planted a seed in my mind about us holding hands, and it’s interfering with my everyday life. Thanks ever so much.

He considered bringing it up during his therapy session with Bee on Tuesday morning. Planned to bring it up, even. But talking with her about… whatever he and Neil have, it makes him wish the couch would swallow him whole. Bee’s job would be a lot easier, Andrew thinks, if she swapped out the hot chocolate for something a little stronger.

“Hey, Minyard!”

Nearby, Andrew watches his twin brother startle, body going tense as he almost drops his racquet. The near-comedic reaction makes Andrew wonder if he too was daydreaming his way through the current drill. It’s a Thursday afternoon, which means Kevin gets the second half of practice to boss them around, as per Neil’s instruction. Sometimes it pays to have Neil as the Foxes team captain, and sometimes, it does not.

Over at the court doors, Wymack is leaning his head inside the gap, a cell phone hovering near his ear.

“Haven’t got all day!” He adds. Then he trails off towards the bleachers, leaving the door open for them to follow.

Aaron just shrugs at Andrew, then jogs away from where Kevin has him defending the goal. The door being open means practice has slowed to a stop, and all eyes are on Andrew as he strolls leisurely after his brother, ignoring the whining from half-court about the sudden interruption to Kevin’s drills. Namely from Jack and Sheena, who only say it to get under Neil’s skin. Andrew leaves the door open just to spite them.

“Got a call for you,” Wymack says as he approaches. “You’ve got three minutes maximum, then I expect you back on court. Got it?”

“Who is it?” Aaron says. He throws himself down onto a nearby bleacher to stretch out his legs.

“Just Betsy. Won’t take long.”

Fascinating. With Bee’s number securely saved into both Andrew and Aaron’s phones, why would she feel the need to call them through Wymack during practice? Andrew feels curiosity clawing at him as Wymack hands him the cell.

“Bee,” Andrew says.

“Hello Andrew,” she responds. Her cheerful voice is hollow over the call, like the technology is coating it with metal. “How is your day going?”

“Good. What’s up?”

There’s a notable pause before she speaks next, a pause that’s abnormal for Bee’s usual speech pattern. “During last week’s session, when Aaron was kind enough to join us for a chat, I suggested you and him spend more time together to improve your relationship.”

Andrew stays silent, because she poses it as a statement, not a question.

“Would you mind if I made an activity suggestion you might both enjoy?”

“Silly Bee. Did you forget I have the pleasure of owning my own cell phone?”

“Not at all. Let’s say circumstances forced my hand.” He can hear the smile in her voice. Probably forced, which again, is unusual for her.

Andrew remembers what Bee says to make him open up at their therapy sessions. Mimicking her, he says, “Is that something you’d like to talk about?”

A small gasp. “Very good, Andrew. That’s so nice of you to ask. I’m afraid yesterday afternoon, somebody broke into my car while I was on a dog walk in the mountains. I’d very foolishly left my phone on the passenger seat, and when I got back, it had been stolen.”

Huh. So that solves the mystery of Bee calling Wymack’s work phone.

“Did you find them?” Andrew says.

Bee knows what he means. Knows that he’s offering to hunt down the scum who’s responsible and practice throwing knives at human targets. Perhaps that would be a fun bonding activity for he and his brother to share. Maybe Aaron would like to grab coffee with him after getting rid of the bodies.

“The police are handling it,” she says, dismissing his offer. “And thankfully I’ve only had the phone a few months, so there aren’t many photos on there.”

“The one with Wilfred in the dinosaur costume?”

Aaron had been frowning throughout this entire conversation, and this only made it deepen. Wymack was pretending not to eavesdrop by the court wall, and even he turned around. Andrew makes a deliberate show of spinning away from their prying eyes. So what if he enjoys the photos Bee sends him of her long-haired miniature dachshund?

“Unfortunately that one’s gone, yes, but at least it should be saved in our chat,” Bee says. There’s some rustling, and she gives a quick sigh on the opposite end. “To return to the point of this call, I was visiting the police station in town when I noticed something you might like. You and Aaron, that is. A marvellous opportunity for you to build your brotherly bond.”

“You’re dragging this out, Bee.”

“What is your opinion on rock climbing?”

“Absolutely not.”

Bee laughs then, breathy and not at all surprised. “What about general athletics then? Maybe Aaron would like to go cycling with you.”

“I can literally not think of anything worse.”

“Alrighty then, it was worth a shot. I saw a flier about Palmetto Sports Park offering an exclusive 6 week membership for two and wondered if you’d be interested, but seeing as you’re not, would you mind passing the phone to your brother if he’s with you?” Andrew is about to follow instruction when Bee adds, “It was lovely speaking with you Andrew. See you Tuesday?”

But before Andrew can hum a reply, there’s a thud from inside the court. Loud bumps and bangs aren’t uncommon during practice; in fact, they’re pretty standard. But what sets this thud apart from others is the guttural roar that follows it. Either Kevin or Nicky yelling for coach with an urgency that makes Andrew’s heart miss a beat.

All thoughts in his brain drain away, leaving a washed up string of Neil, Neil, Neil. Through the plexiglass wall, at the centre of the commotion by the far goal, a redhead is crumpled on the floor.

Neil is hurt.

Andrew isn’t sure if he hands Aaron the phone or simply drops it to the floor, because his legs are carrying him through the glass doors and over to Neil before his mind can fully process it. He shoves orange-clothed bodies out of his way and drops to the floor to assess the damage.

Neil is sat with his head between his knees, breathing deep, ragged breaths that shudder through him in vicious waves, his body rigid when Andrew places a firm hand on his shoulder. The touch seems to awaken Neil. Drawing up his head, he regards Andrew with hooded eyes, hugging his right arm tight against his chest.

That’s when Andrew spots the injury.

He grabs Neil’s wrist to inspect his ring finger, which is growing swollen and red at the joint down the middle. It’s a little crooked – probably broken – but it’s not likely he’s going to lose it. Andrew doesn’t miss the way Neil stares at the floor, his gaze far away.

“Neil,” Andrew says. Spits out the name to try and cut through the mountain of pain Neil must be feeling. “Neil, look at me.”

But Neil is disassociating.

He won’t look down at the hand. Won’t look up to Andrew sitting beside him, or Nicky and Kevin watching hesitantly from the sidelines, or Abby as she shuffles in to unzip her first aid kit. Getting injured doesn’t usually faze Neil. From a close call with a bullet on his right shoulder, to the scar on his cheek when his 4 tattoo was burnt off, Neil’s certainly had his fair share of injuries – more than most will have in their whole lifetime. But for him, this one is different.

A shattered finger means learning to hold a racquet all over again. A shattered finger – as Kevin experienced when Riko broke his hand – could mean changing his playing hand entirely.

“It’s fine,” Neil says, but he’s not masking the pain as well as he thinks. His teeth are gritted when he speaks, and his hand is shaking against Andrew’s grip. “It’s nothing to fuss about.”

 “It’s not fine,” Andrew says, “but it’s not serious, either.”

Perched the other side of Neil, Abby confirms, “It looks like a classic dislocation. May I see it up close?”

Andrew drops Neil’s wrist and glances over to the other foxes. Wymack has them doing relay races from half-court to the lower-end goal, but few of them are putting any effort in, too busy chatting and sneaking curious glances at Neil. Over by the glass wall, Wymack is having a conversation with Jack, his eyebrows pinched as he points an accusatory finger at the striker.

Then he overhears something very interesting from Nicky’s conversation with Kevin: “…you should never throw a ball at someone when they’ve dropped their racquet. That’s, like, rule number one of Exy health and safety.”

Andrew’s blood turns cold.

Neil’s hand – the uninjured one – appears in his line of vision, blocking Jack from view. He doesn’t drop it until Andrew focuses his attention back onto him.

“Don’t,” Neil says, his voice firm. “I shouldn’t have tried to catch it.”

“He threw a ball at you with the intention of causing harm.”

“And he’ll get punishment for that – from both me and Wymack.” Neil winces suddenly, presumably from the ice pack Abby presses to his finger. He recovers fast, adding, “Don’t think he’ll get away with this scot-free. I told you, I can handle him, remember?”

Andrew glances back over to Jack, who has now been tasked with completing a series of star jumps, lunges, and burpees while Wymack yells at him to try harder. While Andrew would love nothing more than to shove an exy stick down his throat until it pops out of the other end, Neil is more than capable of handling that himself, and would probably have a lot more fun doing so. Jack is boring to Andrew. Even the wall is more exciting to look at than Jack.

And how could Andrew waste his time plotting against someone so dull and uninteresting, when he could be obsessing over Neil’s hands instead?

---

Its almost midnight when they get back from the hospital. Neil insisted that an x-ray wasn’t necessary, but Abby more or less gave him two choices: get an opinion from a second doctor, or get benched for the rest of the fall season. Which, for Neil, is like threatening to cut off his oxygen supply, so with a stubborn sigh, he took option A.

Andrew parks up at the dormitory and makes a beeline for the roof. It’s been a long day, and he’s been aching for a smoke since they sat down in the ED’s overcrowded waiting room. What he doesn’t expect is to hear a second set of footsteps following him up the stairs, but it’s a welcome surprise. If with Andrew is where Neil needs to be right now, Andrew is more than happy to oblige.

“Can I take a turn?” Neil asks once they’re seated a few feet from the edge, where the warm streetlamps look like fireflies among the stretch of darkness below.

Andrew hums a yes around his cigarette.

“What did Wymack want with you and Aaron earlier?”

“Perhaps you should rephrase your question.” Andrew passes the cigarette to Neil, soft fingers brushing against his. As Neil takes a drag, he explains, “It was Bee who wanted to talk, not Wymack. She called to suggest an activity me and Aaron could sign up for.”

“An activity?”

“She wants us to hang out more. I said no.”

“No to that specific activity, or no to spending time with Aaron?”

Admittedly, Andrew isn't sure. He wouldn’t mind being more present in his brother’s life, but in all honesty, he can't see the necessity of it. Andrew has demonstrated time and time again how he feels about Aaron, proven that he would let the world burn to protect him.

And how does Aaron repay him?

He broke their deal. Mourns Tilda's death. Dates the cheerleader. Time and time again, Aaron has broken his trust, so why does Andrew still feel the need to keep him safe?

It’s like Andrew’s head is transparent, and Neil can see the battle going on inside. With the cigarette still lodged between his fingers, he says gently, “It’ll be good for you to get to know each other better.”

“Good for the team, you mean?” Andrew says, because he can see right through him. Once an Exy junkie, always an Exy junkie.

But that makes Neil frown. “Not just for the team. Since everything that happened with the trial, it would be nice if you were both on the same page. He wants you in his life, and you want him in yours.”

The trial is the last thing he wants to talk about. “He's already in my life.”

“You know what I mean. He wants to connect. You should give it a shot.”

“Second chances are not something you give out for free. Second chances are bought with loyalty and respect, and regrettably for Aaron, he ran dry of those years ago.”

“I never said anything about second chances. And besides, Aaron wants to earn your respect. Why do you think he’s been trying so hard in your sessions with Betsy?”

Andrew is bored of this conversation. His eyes follow Neil's hand as it brings the cigarette up to his chapped lips. There's something scribbled in pen over his wrist, a string of four or five numbers smudged across his skin. Probably the deadline for an assignment. His other hand - dislocated finger now securely taped to his pinky - is resting on his thigh.

That irritating, stubborn desire flares up inside Andrew's chest. The desire to reach out and touch. The desire to take Neil's hand within his own and protect it, give him warmth, stroke the scars along his knuckles. And here's the thing: Andrew just can't shake it away. It's latched in place like a parasite to his mind, overwhelming his thoughts and hiding from his attempts to rationalise or understand it. Maybe gauging his eyes out wouldn't work. Maybe it's his brain that needs replacing.

But then Neil looks up at him with those stunning, disgusting blue eyes, and Andrew suddenly doesn't need to rationalise it. Hand holding is stupid, yes. That is true. But it's also something he wants, and it doesn't feel wrong to want it.

He gently places his hand on the roof between them, palm up, and stares at Neil in questioning. There’s a slight shake to his fingers that he dismissively blames on the cold gravel tiles.

A menacing grin pulls at Neil's lips. He says, “You’ve already got the keys. They’re in your pocket, remember?”

Andrew slowly inhales. One of these days, Neil Josten’s smart mouth is going to kill him.

“Don’t make me hate you,” he says.

“You already hate me.”

“I’ll hate you squared.”

Neil’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did you just talk math to me?”

“Shut up.”

“Can we make that a regular thing? Talking in numbers and equations?”

“I’ll use numbers and equations to plot your downfall.”

Neil gives a hum of approval. “Keep going. I’m enjoying it.”

Andrew pinches the cigarette from his grasp and tosses it over the edge, watching the glowing cherry disappear into the pit of darkness. It’s a shame to waste it – but then again, he had stolen this packet from Jack’s bag in the locker room before he and Neil fled for the hospital, so technically, he hasn’t lost anything.

Neil gives a breathy laugh at the theft, but he doesn’t ask for a new one. Instead, he lifts his hand - the one free from any dislocated fingers - and hovers it over Andrew's, mere inches above.

“We don’t have to,” Neil says.

"Be quiet," Andrew warns. “Don’t tell me things I already know. It’s a waste of both your time and mine.”

Neil examines Andrew’s face. Whatever he finds there, he must be satisfied with it, for he gives the smallest of nods. Slowly, with a feather-light touch, he lowers his hand and curls his fingers around Andrew’s palm.

The strangest thing happens. It’s like Neil is an electricity box, and his grip around Andrew’s hand is enough to complete the circuit, hot-wiring something deep inside Andrew’s chest. His skin feels alive, crawling with energy. And when Neil squeezes his hand – not a lot, just ever so slightly – a burst of air inflates Andrew’s lungs as he is forced to inhale. It’s like nothing matters, and everything matters. It’s like everything in that moment radiates back to their hands pressed together against the chilled, tiled roof.

“You like it?” Neil says, a wave of uncertainty in his voice. Which is good. It means the sensation that's taken Andrew hostage hasn’t exposed itself upon his face.

Andrew doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just gives a single nod. He's too busy memorising all the bumps and curves to Neil's hand. The calluses on his fingers.

Annoyingly, Neil smiles at that. “I like it too.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“I like that you like it.”

“Also didn’t ask.”

Andrew doesn’t know when they started whispering, but it feels right, like the situation is so new and fragile, an excess in volume might shatter it. Andrew wants to savour it. Wants to hold it against his chest and remember the rhythm of its heartbeat.

Neil lifts his other hand and gestures towards the cigarettes. “Help me light another?”

They must stay up there for an hour, passing the cigarette between them. Casual conversations interlace with deep and comfortable silences. When Andrew stares up at the moon, the stars blinking back at him and Neil’s hand warm inside of his own, everything feels right in the world.

Chapter 3: A Game For Two

Summary:

Neil has a bright idea, and Andrew watches cute dog videos in his therapy session.

Notes:

Happy Friday everyone!

I made an edit to the end of last chapter after Neil and Andrew return from the hospital, so if you read it early, be sure to check it out! I just added some depth to Andrew's internal thoughts during the hand holding. I also randomly changed Bee's dog name to Wilfred if you happen to notice...

Warnings: brief mention of Neil’s trauma from the books (Lola/The Butcher), plus I mention vomit a few times if anyone finds that too gross? There are a few instances of bad language too, so you can blame Kevin and Neil for that.

I hope this chapter makes you smile!

Sunday mornings for Andrew have become synonymous with hungover Kevin Day, who makes it his mission to drink as much as physically possible the night before.

“Remind me to never set foot in Eden’s again,” Kevin grumbles as Andrew enters the kitchen.

He slouches against the counter and grips his steaming mug of coffee like his survival from this point onwards depends on it. His black hair is ruffled from his pillow, and he’s still wearing his outfit from last night: black jeans and a loose sweatshirt that can’t decide if it wants to be grey or beige. There’s a large stain down the front of it. Andrew points at it, signalling its existence, but Kevin just shrugs. The movement is slow and fatigued.

“I’ll shower once I’m done,” Kevin says.

Andrew grabs the pot of coffee and brown liquid sloshes at the bottom, barely enough for half a mug. He raises an eyebrow at Kevin.

“Sorry. Didn’t know you were up.”

How convenient, Andrew thinks, but he doesn't say it aloud. Kevin probably has enough noise filling his head as it is, which is punishment enough for denying Andrew an instant morning coffee.

Footsteps echo from the hallway. Neil emerges wearing orange sweatpants and a t-shirt that doesn’t quite cover his abdomen. Andrew thinks its glorious, but he tears his eyes away from the stretch of pale skin to raise the coffee pot in questioning.

“Not thirsty,” Neil says. There’s a warmth to his gaze that lingers briefly before he opens the fridge and pulls out a pot of yoghurt. Probably peach; Neil isn’t a fan of strawberry.

That’s when he notices Kevin.

“You look like shit,” he says.

“Shut up, asshole,” Kevin snaps, then immediately squeezes his eyes shut and pinches his brow. Andrew can only imagine the stabbing headache he must be nursing, and raising his voice can’t have helped.

Neil fishes a spoon out from the cutlery drawer. “Matt says thanks, by the way.”

“Thanks for what?”

“The laugh you gave him. The upperclassmen loved the video Nicky sent them of you dancing the robot to Madonna.”

Kevin’s gives a painful groan and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna kill him. He’s getting fifty laps on Thursday, mark my words.”

“Ooh, scary,” Andrew says.

“That’ll teach him,” Neil smirks.

Kevin drops his mug on the counter and heads towards the bathroom. “Whatever. I’m gonna go wash the vomit from my hair.”

“Your vomit, or Aaron’s?” Neil calls after him, but he doesn’t get a response. He turns to Andrew and flashes him a grin anyways, because clearly, Neil gets a thrill out of being a smart mouth.

Andrew ignores him in favour of watching fresh coffee dribble into the pot.

“You know,” Neil says. “We should play a game.”

“Is it Exy? No thanks. I don’t like that one.”

“It isn’t a sport. It’s more of an extension to our honesty game.”

Andrew grabs a mug from the cupboard above him – the one with the pastel yellow smiley face on the front (that Nicky bought him last Christmas). He flicks his gaze towards Neil to show that he’s listening, then dumps a few sugars into the depths of his mug.

Neil moves next to him with his back against the counter, abandoning his yoghurt and spoon on its surface. “The hand holding thing. It went well. Would you agree?”

Andrew’s eyes immediately jump to Neil’s arms crossed over his chest, hands folded around his toned biceps. The sight of them is enough to trigger a pang of something inside his chest, an echo of the fireworks that had burst inside him when Neil’s hand slotted around his palm. And what a beautiful display it was, too.

Andrew’s silence must say a thousand words, because Neil doesn’t wait for a reply to continue. He gestures between them and says, “I’m pretty new to this, and I’ve never tried romance before.”

“It’s not romance,” Andrew interrupts. “I don’t do romance.”

“What is it, then?”

“I told you. Nothing.”

Neil smiles at that. “Okay – I’m pretty new to nothing, then. But I’d like to try more, if you feel up for it.”

Andrew quirks an eyebrow. “That was a request, not a game. Games are supposed to have rules, and a level of trust that players won’t break or exploit those rules.”

Without making contact, Neil leans in front of him and starts pouring steaming coffee into Andrew’s mug. The rich aroma tickles Andrew’s nostrils and makes his stomach ache with hunger.

With his eyes trained on the coffee, Neil’s voice is soft as he explains. “Each of us come up with three new things we’d like to try with each other. It can be anything. Nothing is off-limits for suggestion, but if either of us say no, we scratch it off our list and think up something new.”

“I’m starting to think,” Andrew says, “that all of this scheming is the true reason behind your grades falling behind.”

Lazily, Neil shrugs one shoulder as he discards the coffee pot. “What can I say? You’re pretty distracting.”

The dimple makes a grand entrance, so instead of replying, Andrew reaches out and prods it. He immediately gets withdrawal symptoms from the loss of contact, so he next moves his fingers into Neil’s soft hair, flicking a wave from out of his eyes. Touching Neil is an addiction Andrew won’t ever give up, so long as he’ll let him. Judging by the way Neil leans into his palm, it won’t likely be any time soon.

“Is it a good idea, or a bad one?” Neil says. His voice is low, the words only allowed to travel across the small space between their bodies.

“I’ll need time to think it over,” Andrew says.

“Whether it’s a good idea, or your three choices?”

“Both.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve already used one up.”

Neil nods in agreement. “Which means it’s your turn. Think of something nice you’d like to try that’s out of our comfort zone, and we can give it a shot if we’re both okay with it. But we don’t have to play if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You already make me uncomfortable 100% of the time.”

“I thought you hated me?”

“Hate and discomfort are distant cousins.”

Having communicated all that he needs, Neil moves out of their bubble, heading for the door. “I’m going for a run. Wanna join?”

Andrew doesn’t answer stupid questions, so he doesn’t need to reply. Not until he notices what Neil has left on the counter. “Your yoghurt,” he says.

Neil’s voice calls from the hallway, “It’s yours. I don’t like the strawberry ones.”

---

“Would you say your relationship with Neil has been a positive influence in your life recently?”

Andrew isn’t looking at Bee when she says it, too busy fishing a hair out from the outskirts of his hot chocolate. It’s short and fair. Probably his own. When he finally blows it into the air like it’s a full and fluffy dandelion, he glances back up at Bee and tilts his head. There’s a photograph with a thin golden frame on the desk behind her that steals his attention.

“Does your dog ever come to work with you?” He asks, nodding towards Wilf’s puppy eyes staring back at him.

“Not usually, no,” Bee says. “I don’t know that it would benefit my patients. It seems his photo is distracting enough as it is.”

“Wrong. It would benefit your patients because he’s distracting.”

Bee rubs her chin at that, frowning. “Care to explain your logic, Andrew?”

“Humans melt at dogs. You distract them with dog photos, they tell you their life story. Simple.”

“Ah, I see where you’re coming from. Shall we test it out now? If I show you some photos of Wilf trying to catch bubbles in his mouth, will you stop avoiding my questions about Neil?”

Andrew gives a low whistle. “You drive a hard bargain, Bee. Make it a video, and we’ll call it a deal.”

Bee retrieves the phone from her desk and taps the screen with her thumbs. It’s an older model than her usual phone – the one that was stolen last week and is yet to be recovered – but still not quite as outdated as Andrews’. He can tell by the giant, paper-thin screen, ludicrous proportions that make no practical sense. The one in Andrew’s pocket is a brick by comparison, but at least he’s never dropped it.

A fond smile blossoms over Bee’s face. “You’ll have to ignore my finger covering part of the lens. I move it eventually.”

Andrew places his hot chocolate on the side table and takes the phone. Already, a thin tail is whipping across the screen as the tan sausage dog sprints away from the camera, slowing once he reaches the end of the lawn. From off-screen, a stream of bubbles come blasting through the air, catching in the sunlight to create rainbows across their soapy surfaces.

Andrew asks, “Is it motorised?”

“The bubble machine?” Bee says. “It is, yes. I had to buy the batteries separately.”

Wilf’s ears perk up when Bee calls out his name, and his stubby legs can hardly keep up as he bounds back over to her, freezing once his button eyes land on the bubbles floating above him.

Andrew isn’t surprised when Bee redirects the conversation back to him. “You and Neil,” she starts. “Are you happy with how things have been between you recently?”

“Yes,” Andrew says.

One of the bubbles lands on Wilf’s chocolate nose, popping on impact.

“And if I asked you what the biggest strengths of your relationship with Neil are, what pops into your head first?”

“Loyalty. He never breaks my trust.”

“Very good. Anything else?”

Wilf leaps into the air, and a bubble pops as it’s snapped up by his mouth of tiny daggers.

“He doesn’t push,” Andrew adds. “He doesn’t make promises only to break them later on down the line. He listens, and he respects boundaries.”

“That’s excellent to hear, Andrew. Those are all signs of a very healthy relationship.”

Tapping his finger against the phone screen, Andrew pauses the video and tosses it onto the couch beside him. He looks Bee in the eye and says, “I also value honesty, hence my decision to put a stop to this conversation.”

Bee’s eyebrows fly up, surprise contorting her features. “Would you explain what you mean, Andrew?”

“You aren’t being transparent about your true intentions. Why ask about Neil when you know he isn’t a problem?”

Smoothing out her features, Bee adjusts the collar of her shirt and gives a deep sigh. “I do hope you don’t think I’ve tricked you, Andrew. I merely wanted us to bring to light what qualities of a successful relationship you appreciate most so that I can better understand how to help you and Aaron.”

Huh. So this has been about Aaron all along? “Neil and Aaron are two vastly different people.”

“And yet I see significant overlap in terms of how you like to be treated by them.”

Waiting to be enlightened by this bizarre theory, Andrew stares at her.

Bee clasps her hands together and takes a deep breath. “For example, where Neil has remained loyal, you find yourself constantly pushed away by Aaron’s split loyalty between you and Katelyn, and previously, you and Tilda. You want to trust him, but you both have very different ideas of what it means to keep a promise. You have trouble listening to each other’s reasoning for past actions – Tilda being a great example of this – and you don’t like when he pushes you for an explanation when you don’t feel the need for one.”

“And here I thought the notepad was just for doodling,” Andrew says.

Although he might brush her off, he really should give Bee more credit. A light has switched on in Andrew’s mind, a light that illuminates the river of misunderstanding stretched between him and his twin brother. They can try to swim to the opposite side, but until they work through the issues tangled among the weeds and living over the rocks, they’ll always be taken by the choppy current.

Maybe Bee can teach them to navigate the waters.

“Oh – one last thing,” she says as Andrew reaches for the door handle.

It’s gone half-past. Andrew has thirty minutes to rush the conclusion to his criminology assignment before class starts – minus the drive back to campus – but regardless, he turns around and raises his eyebrow at her.

“I did actually have a question about Neil. A question relevant to him, that is.” A frown creates a wrinkle in her forehead. “Do you think there’s any chance he would return for a follow-up session with me in the near future?”

That’s strange. The foxes had their mandatory session with Bee only a few weeks ago to clear them for the Autumn season of Exy. Requesting one of them to return for a follow-up appointment is pretty much unheard of, as far as Andrew is aware. Particularly those who are unwilling to open up.

Andrew says, “You would have to ask him yourself.”

“I tried, but unfortunately, I don’t think he’s very fond of me. He tends to ignore my texts.”

“Why would he need a follow up session?”

Bee’s lips press into a thin line. “I can’t say much, but Richard called up to suggest it would be a good idea.”

That’s intriguing. Why Richard Wymack thinks Neil needs extra therapy sessions this semester is beyond Andrew, particularly given that most of Neil’s trauma was kicked up almost two years ago, back in his Freshman year. Why now, if not then?

On a tall table beside the door, Bee keeps a giant bowl that’s always packed with chewy candy. Andrew grabs one and does away with its stripey red wrapper. “I can chat to Neil if you’d like,” he says, “but I can’t promise anything.”

“Thanks, Andrew. It would be nice of you to pass on the message, but no worries if he declines. Therapy only works if the patient wants it to.”

Andrew pops the chew in his mouth and turns to the door.  “Now, now, Bee. You of all people should know that if Neil Josten doesn’t want something, he’ll make it known.”

---

After practice, Andrew doesn’t shower until he gets back to the dorm. He tells himself the higher shower pressure is the reason behind this, but really, it’s so he can steal Neil’s citrus shower gel.

The living room is in darkness aside from the colourful glow of the muted TV. The curtains are yet to be drawn, but the moon is a mere smudge from where Andrew is standing, like someone’s stuck gum in the centre of the sky. Nothing worth staring at. He falls into his bean bag chair and starts vigorously drying his hair with the towel, watching his sweatpants stain a darker shade of black as droplets seep into the fabric.

“Allison says that damages the ends.”

Andrew looks up. Neil is sitting on the sofa, buried in a heap of thick blankets and fluffy pillows. Nicky and Aaron had invaded their dorm earlier to watch a film with Neil, and apparently, this was the wreckage left behind. From his position on the floor, Andrew can only see Neil’s eyes and up, his hair flying all over the place.

He screws up his towel and chucks it at Neil. Neil deflects it easily, and it lands beside a half empty glass of orange juice on the coffee table. Kevin doesn’t drink orange juice (something about the sugar), so it has to be Neil’s.

“I didn’t see you there,” Andrew says.

“I pride myself on my ability to stay hidden.”

“As I’ve heard.”

Neil moves the blanket to reveal more of his face, but Andrew can already see the frown burrowing into his forehead. “Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“What will it take for you to sign up for the sports membership with Aaron?”

Andrew wasn’t expecting that. The beans crunch as he leans his head back into the chair and closes his eyes. “I don’t like sports.”

“But you’re good at it.”

“And you’re good at throwing knives, yet you don’t seem to have taken that up as a hobby.”

“That’s different. That’s life or death. This thing with Aaron is about improving your relationship before graduation next year. Would that be something you’re interested in, or would it not matter to you if he never spoke to you again?”

Andrew opens his eyes. Neil is watching him, hungry for an answer. Andrew chooses to be unhelpful and says, “I don’t know if it’s ever occurred to you, but sport isn’t a remedy for patching people up.”

“The sport isn’t important. If you’d rather go for lunch and stare at the table for twenty minutes, that’s up to you and Aaron, but you’re never going to get along if you don’t try.”

Andrew’s foot is starting to go numb from where it’s squashed against the leg of the coffee table, so he takes Neil’s glass over to the kitchen sink as an excuse to jumpstart his circulation. He isn’t actually sure if Neil was finished with it. He tops it up with juice for good measure and returns it to the coffee table. The pillows from the right side of the couch are now lying across the floor, leaving space for him to sit down beside Neil. So he does.

A documentary about birds is playing on TV, but with the volume down, Andrew can’t tell what species it is. Perhaps a crane or a stork. The lights from the screen cast greens and blues over Neil’s face when Andrew turns towards him.

“I’ll start hanging out with Aaron,” he says, “on one condition.”

Neil’s eyes widen with hope. “Yes?”

“A little birdie told me you’ve been ignoring Bee’s texts.”

He emitted a shallow, irritated sigh. “This is about the extra session, isn’t it?”

“I’m not going to tell you what to do. Consider this a gentle reminder that Bee has offered.”

“But you won’t try with Aaron if I won’t try with Bee?”

“I’ve always been a believer in actions speaking louder than words. Why should I take advice from someone who won’t help themselves?”

“I don’t need help.”

“Bee seems to think otherwise.”

Neil narrows his eyes at the floor. Andrew can practically see the cogs turning in his head, analysing all possible pitfalls.

“Question,” Neil says eventually. “Is actually talking to Bee a requirement, or can I just sit there in silence like I usually do?”

Andrew can’t comprehend why Neil would prefer to flat out ignore Bee – it is Bee after all, one of the few interesting human beings Andrew has had the pleasure of crossing paths with. But he can’t say it’s unexpected from Neil. Running is what Neil is good at. Force a rabbit to sit in one place for half an hour and he’s bound to shut down.

Really, it’s up to Neil whether he chooses to open up to Bee. Andrew isn’t particularly bothered either way – therapy isn’t for everyone, and he sure as hell isn’t going to push Neil to reveal truths about himself to someone he isn’t comfortable sharing them with. So he says, “Ask about her dog. It’ll make the time go quicker.”

But Neil shakes his head. “What if she tries to dissect me?”

“She’s not that kind of doctor.”

“You know that I mean. I don’t like Betsy the way you do. She’s the last person I’d want to pick apart my past like I’m some sort of puzzle.”

Worry has spread itself over Neil’s face like a travelling poison, so Andrew reaches up and places a hand on the back of his neck to dissolve it. There’s a soft warmth to his skin. It reminds Andrew of a hot ceramic mug pressed against his hand.

Andrew says, “If it wasn’t already obvious, I’ll make myself clear: you owe Bee nothing. Don’t speak to her about your past. Talk about now. Or don’t speak at all if that’s your preference – I really don’t care either way.”

Peeking out from Neil’s choppy fringe are pale stretches of forehead. When Andrew prods it, he imagines blasting all the negative thoughts inside into billions of tiny pieces to make more room for the positive. But Andrew doesn’t possess magic, so instead he adds, “Stop thinking. Your mind is too busy.”

It makes Neil smile. “It’s actually empty up there. Didn’t you hear it echo when you tapped it?”

“You and I both know that’s far from the truth.”

Neil’s eyes are glittering. Once, after Neil had drunk one too many shots (which for him was a total of three), he had loosened up enough to admit his dislike for his eyes. He’d said they reminded him of his Fathers: ice cold and churning with brutality.

“I didn’t use to mind wearing contacts,” Neil had said, “because it covered them up.”

It was disco night at Eden’s, and Andrew had to lean close to hear him over the fierce vocals and puncturing bassline. Bleeding from the dance floor, purple lights spattered over Neil’s face, clashing with his hair. It wasn’t often that Neil said yes to alcohol, particularly outside of their dorm. It didn’t slip past Andrew that it was coming up to one year since Neil’s return to Baltimore. One year since Lola had placed unwanted hands on him. One year since his final reunion with The Butcher before Stuart Hatford put two bullets through his heart.

“They’re just like his,” Neil said. With the alcohol in his system, his words were starting to blend into one.

Andrew, on the other hand, had been holding back on his drink that night. It wasn’t something he’d planned, but a decision he’d made once Neil had put in his order at the bar. Somebody needed to be sober enough to watch over him, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Kevin, Nicky or Aaron, who were too busy stumbling around the sweaty dance floor to check in on them.

Andrew grabbed Neil’s chin to steady him. He said firmly, “You are not your Father.”

“But my eyes are his,” Neil repeated.

“Looking like someone is not the same as being them. Your eyes might look like the Butchers, but that doesn’t make them the same.”

“Surely, by definition, it does.”

“Not at all. The Butcher’s eyes are hollow and dead. Yours are the eyes of a survivor.”

That had made Neil soften, a ridiculous grin spanning over his face. “You’re quite poetic, you know?”

“I’m literally stating facts.”

“You make words sound so nice.”

Andrew had taken them back to the house soon after, but he hadn’t kissed Neil. Not when there was alcohol pooling in his stomach and pumping through his bloodstream, driving his every decision and voiding his voice of consent.

Sitting among the cosy cushions of their dormitory living room, with his hand cupped around Neil’s neck and the knowledge that they’re both sober, Andrew decides to show Neil what he truly thinks of his eyes. The approach is slow, giving Neil enough time to interject with a no should he want to. But Neil doesn’t push away; he closes the gap, gently placing his mouth upon Andrew’s.

And Andrew isn’t just kissing Neil Josten. He’s kissing away Neil’s apprehension about therapy with Bee. He’s kissing away his own twisted doubts about Aaron – the betrayal, the broken promises, and the disloyalty pushed aside as he focuses on moving against Neil’s lips.

He kisses Neil Josten, and lets time stand still.

Notes:

I like to think that Neil and Aaron had the most awkward conversation ever while watching the movie, when Nicky hit pause to dash for the bathroom:

Aaron: so, uhh.. did Andrew mention the thing?
Neil: what thing?
Aaron: the dual sports membership. The one Bee recommended.
Neil, connecting the dots: he did, yeah.
Aaron: so like, is he on board?
Neil: nah not really.
Aaron: can you... can you maybe do your thing?
Neil: what thing?
Aaron: you usually just bat your eyelashes and he does whatever you tell him to, right?

Thank you for all your support, it really means the world!