#Andrew and Neil will come bother him on his shifts. and not even in a fun way. they’re asking the most annoying questions ever

[queer-lovebot]

One summer Wymack forces Kevin to get a job just to have the skills of working somewhere. Queue Kevin working at the most hellish retail place ever and having the worst time of his life.

[coffeeco001]

Andrew was minding his own damn business at home when Neil had come running in top speed. He had been wasting his day mindlessly playing videogames with Sir and King while Josten was out doing who knows what. It was somewhat peaceful. He missed it already.

“I’m home!” Neil shouted from the doorway, not bothering to take his shoes off before pacing into the living room, carrying a large box, bags all over his arms.

“Can you help me with these, Andrew?” he asked. His cheeks were bright red from the cold and his jacket wasn’t zipped up properly. Honestly Andrew felt like he was living with a child sometimes. Standing up, he walked over slowly, grabbing the large box from Neil. It felt oddly light, so he tossed it onto the couch and reached for the bags. Neil immediately shifted half of the bags out of reach. 

“Not those ones. Take these.” He said, shoving the other arm of bags into Andrew’s face. It took an enormous amount of self control to not punch Josten right there. Who the hell demands help and then refuses it less than a full minute later? Grabbing the other bags, Andrew placed them on the ground and froze when he heard glass hitting glass. 

“Did I break it?” he asked, opening the bag to check the contents. There were Christmas decorations in the bag. Gaudy green, red, and silver Christmas decorations. Choking back his disgust, he opened another bag and found more. In a third, he found tinsel and some stupid green thing that he knew without asking was a door wreath. He looked up at Neil, his face full of disgust. 

“You’re kidding me. You went shopping for Christmas decorations the day before christmas eve?”

“No. Allison went shopping for Christmas decorations. I just had them dropped into my arms the day before christmas eve.” Neil explained, hurriedly walking away with the mystery bags and clearly going to hide them somewhere. Andrew was going to hunt those down the second Neil left their house.

“If you open the presents I am going to return all of them. Leave them alone, Andrew.” Neil yelled, shutting a door somewhere further away. Andrew made a mental note to reseal all of the presents after he opened them. Neil walked back into the room and stood in front of Andrew, crossing his arms. 

“Help me set up the tree, ‘drew?”

“No.” Andrew spit out, moving to grab the giant box that was clearly hiding a plastic christmas tree. He yanked out the stand and dug out the base of the tree, shoving the two pieces together. He got the middle section of the tree attached before Neil came over. 

“Wait, I think this thing goes under the tree.” he said, holding up a circular piece of red fabric. The monstrosity had gold glitter around the edges and little snowmen embroidered all over it. Andrew choked back his disgust and snatched it out from Neil’s hands, throwing it around the stand of the tree. After he got the tree put together, Neil came back over and helped him halfheartedly ‘fluff’ it. It was as tall as Andrew was and didn’t even vaguely resemble a real tree.

“What is the point of this, junkie?” he asked, taking the drink out of Neil’s hands and taking a sip. Whiskey. The little rabbit was probably going to drink it all by himself and never even say a word. Flipping Neil off, Andrew finished his drink and shoved the glass back at him. Belatedly realizing Neil had been holding two drinks. He took the second drink, probably meant for him in the first place, and drank that one too for good measure. Passing the glass back to Neil more gently this time, it was not missed by the irritating red head. To Neil’s credit, he just grinned and went and refilled both of their glasses.

“Allison said we were both grinchs and had some choice words on our version of Christmas so she is ‘Fixing it herself’ this year.” Neil explained, grabbing the bag that had tinsel. He strung some of it on the tree and reached into the bag, finding Christmas lights. 

“And we care what she thinks…. Since when?” Andrew muttered, grabbing the lights from a struggling Neil and hanging them up properly.

“Since we got this junk for free?” he snarked back, grabbing the ornaments and passing half of them to Andrew.

Andrew decided the backyard would be a perfect place to bury her body, Neil could be buried right next to her so that he could listen to her whining and annoying opinions for the rest of his afterlife. He was building an elaborate plan of it for the next twenty minutes while they decorated the tree and Neil finally sighed in relief

“I think we are done.” He said, standing up and going for a third drink. Andrew glanced around and saw a bag off to the side they had missed. Standing up, he walked over and saw it was the wreath. He grabbed the bag and walked to the front door, yanking it open and pulling the wreath out. He slapped it on the door and then stopped and looked at it for a second. There were little snowflake ornaments on it, in between the tacky poinsettia flowers. The ornaments had small pictures of him and Josten in them. Pictures Andrew had no idea existed. One of the pictures was almost falling off the wreath so Andrew adjusted it and leaned down to see what it was. 

He remembered that day perfectly. It was right after Neil’s first professional Court game. His team had just won and he’d spotted Andrew on the sidelines, ran over to him, and with permission had kissed him in front of everyone in the stadium. He had no idea why Allison would’ve gone through the trouble of finding all these little moments and framing them for him. What a pointless waste of reminiscing. But even still, he found it a little harder to keep a straight face than it normally was. Shutting the door gently, he turned and followed the tacky Christmas music Josten had started playing in their home. Maybe he’d send her a bottle of vintage wine this year.

[bisexualchaosdemon]

His Brother's Real Laugh

(A look at Andrew and Aaron pre 'It runs in the family')

A little over three years after graduating from PSU, Andrew gets a call from Aaron. It isn't one of the scheduled times they usually have calls, but Aaron is calling to see if Andrew can visit soon. Andrew is in the car before he has even hung up, never mind that his twin lives two states away.

Unsure of how to react to Andrew appearing his doorstep mere hours after Aaron asked him to come, Aaron points out that he is meant to be at practice with his fancy Pros Exy team. Andrew flipped him off and didn't bother with a proper greeting either, "What's wrong?"

"What?" Aaron frowned, confused. "Nothing is wrong."

"Something must but up if you couldn't tell me on our normal brotherly bonding call." Andrew insisted.

"It wanted to speak to you in person, but nothing's wrong," Aaron sighed. "Just come in, I'll make coffee."

"If you try to give me decaf again, I'm going to kill myself on your wife's nice white rug." Andrew warned.

Aaron laughed as he led the way to his small kitchen. "I made sure we had regular coffee when you said you were coming and hung up,"

Andrew nods and watches Aaron make their coffee. Katelyn doesn't appear to be home, but it's not unusual for their schedules to shift out of sync with their medical school graduation now less than a year away. And Aaron didn't look upset or hurt at all; just a little nervous.

Andrew allowed his brother a moment to collect himself, just until they sat down with their drinks. "What's going on, Aaron?" He asked again.

"Kate's pregnant," Aaron answered at last.

Oh. Andrew had not been expecting that. He didn't react outwardly, unsure what reaction was appropriate here.

"Is this good news?" He asked.

"I think so?" Aaron shrugged. "I've spent the last week freaking out, in all honesty. We are meant to finally be starting our careers now so the timing isn't ideal, and after everything with Tilda... But, I think it's good, yeah. I think I can do this, if it's Kate I'm doing it with."

"If anyone can pull off becoming a doctor and a mother in the same year, it's Katelyn." Andrew acknowledged. As much as he had hated Katelyn at first, he had come to understand why Aaron loved her over the years. They weren't besties, but Andrew had been Aaron's best man when they got married.

"She is a force of nature," Aaron smiled into his coffee. The twins have never, and would never, admit that they shared a love of fiery redheads.

"And you are more capable than you give yourself credit for," Andrew said. "I know you can do this, irrespective of timing or what happened in the past."

"I–" Aaron blinked at Andrew in surprise. It was a minute before he was able to answer, "Thank you."

Katelyn came home later on while they were chatting, and Andrew extended her that same congratulations. She thanked his brightly as she came to join them, plopping down next to her husband and putting her feet in his lap. Aaron started rubbing them without even pausing their conversation.

"You don't need to thank me for the truth." Andrew gave him a small, rare smile. "Congratulations, Aaron."

Aaron insisted that Andrew at least stay the night once they were done talking. Andrew agreed after texting his own husband to assure the silly rabbit that he was actually alive, if in a different state than when they last spoke. And that he hated him, after Neil had responded with something sappy in Russian.

It was the next morning that Andrew had suggested Aaron and Katelyn move to be in the same city after graduation. He could see the surprise and hesitation on their faces and held up a hand to stop them responding. They had nine months to figure it out, but he wanted to help if he could and he missed living in the same state as his brother. He just wanted them to consider it for now.

They put a pin in the topic there. They talked about other things over the coming weeks instead. Any high or low, Andrew listened to anything Aaron wanted to talk about. He even ordered food to be delivered to Katelyn a couple of times when Aaron was worried she wasn't taking enough breaks from studying but didn't know how to help.

So when Aaron's name popped up on his phone the same afternoon he knew Katelyn's first ultrasound was due to take place, Andrew was on high alert immediately. "Is something wrong?"

"What?" Aaron was just as confused as he had been last time Andrew greeted him in that manner.

"Katelyn had her scan today and you are calling," Andrew explained. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Aaron breathed out the slightest chuckle. "No, not wrong."

"But there is a reason you called," Andrew prompted, not quite a question.

"Yeah, uh," Aaron sounded dazed. "We're having twins."

Things so rarely went well for the Minyard twins, it was a startling relief that Aaron wasn't calling with bad news. He was just calling to freak out about the shock of finding out he was having twins when he only just stopped panicking about having one kid.

"Maybe it runs in the family," Andrew remarked. He thought Aaron having twins was objectively hilarious.

"Maybe the universe is just fucking with us," Aaron suggested with a playful groan.

And Andrew laughed. A real, genuinely happy laugh. Aaron had never heard his brother laugh like that before. "Us? No, this one is all you, brother mine. I've never been so happy to be the gay twin."

And then Aaron was laughing too. "You're the asshole twin, is what you are."

[the-fox-with-no-name]

I couldn't resist, sorry for the poor writing I'm improving as I go.

Head Canon Skit: Andrew’s Silent Intent. Part 1

Wymack: [holding up a blueprint] "Andrew, why am I getting calls from the engineering department about you asking them to build...this?" [points to a design that suspiciously resembles hidden blades from Assassin's Creed] "What exactly is this contraption supposed to be?"

Andrew: [deadpan] "It's exactly what it looks like. But don't worry, it’s none of your concern."

Wymack: [raising an eyebrow] "None of my concern? It’s my team, Andrew. You’re part of my concern, especially when you're commissioning someone to make... this contraption. What are you planning to do with these?"

Andrew: [calmly leaning back] "Mind your pay grade, Coach."

Wymack: [rubbing his temple] "I'm not even going to ask. But if you use that thing on the court...or anywhere near my team—"

Andrew: [cutting him off] "You'll never know about it."

After Wymack leaves, Andrew pulls out his phone, quickly typing out a message.

Andrew’s text to Neil: "Payment sorted?"

Neil’s response comes almost immediately.

Neil: "Got it."

Andrew smirks, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He leans back in his chair, glancing at the calendar on his wall. October 5th. Three weeks until Halloween.

With that, he goes back to his usual business, fully content with whatever chaotic plan he's concocted.

Later that day

Neil walks into the dorm after class, dropping his bag near the couch. He spots Nicky lounging with a controller in hand, completely absorbed in a game of Assassin’s Creed.

Nicky: [without looking up] "Hey Neil! You ever play this? It's so cool. The lore is deep. It’s all about this secret order of assassins, and they use these blades—" [pauses the game to wave his hand, mimicking the iconic wrist blade motion] "—that pop out from under their sleeves. It’s wild!"

Andrew, leaning against the counter, barely glances over. He clearly couldn’t care less.

Andrew: [flatly] "Not interested."

Nicky shrugs, going back to the game, but Neil’s attention shifts to Andrew. He watches as Andrew’s fingers subtly mimic the same wrist movement Nicky just made, almost absentmindedly, as if rehearsing something. Neil quirks an eyebrow, stifling a smile.

Andrew catches his glance but doesn’t acknowledge it. He just tilts his head slightly, as if daring Neil to comment.

Neil keeps his thoughts to himself, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He shakes his head, sitting down at the table to finish his homework, pretending not to notice while Andrew goes back to his own silent plotting.

Andrew's phone buzzed. With a single glance, he stood up and walked over to Neil. He didn’t bother slowing down, his hand outstretched, already expecting what was coming. Neil, without a word, pulled a stack of cash from his sleeve. Andrew snatched it without missing a beat and was out the door in seconds.

Neil returned to his homework, unfazed, as if the whole exchange hadn't just happened.

Nicky scoffed at Andrew leaving like that. Neil just smiled to himself.

Later that night, Andrew returned to the apartment. Everyone else was already in bed, except for Neil, who had fallen asleep at his desk again. Schoolwork was piling up, and Kevin had threatened to bench him if his grades started slipping.

Andrew walked over, noticing Neil still resting his head on the desk.

Neil: Did you see it? [Rubbing his eyes]

Andrew: [flatly with no expression] yes, it will be done next week. Although someone sold me out to coach so, Bill will get it done with no issue. 

Bill was a gearhead in Palmetto's engineering program, and he owed Andrew a favor. Andrew had already made sure to call it in.

One week later 

It’s late at night, and the dorm is eerily quiet as usual. Neil hears the soft sound of footsteps and the creak of a door. He sits up in bed, instantly alert, and sees Andrew slipping out. 

Curiosity especially when it comes to Andrew gets the better of him, and he follows, careful to keep his distance.

From the shadows, Neil watches as Andrew bends down to pick up a box left at the door. The label reads: “To Andrew. Happy cosplaying.” Neil’s eyes narrow in amusement. 

Andrew unsheathes one of his knives and without missing a beat, he slices through the tape and opens the box. He reaches in and pulls out a gleaming, mechanical gauntlet, its design unmistakable. 

As if sensing his presence, Andrew raises two fingers without turning around, motioning Neil to come over. Neil freezes for a second, realizing Andrew had known he was there the whole time. He walks over cautiously, his heart beating a little faster, but Andrew doesn't seem upset.

Andrew: [calmly, without looking up] "You're terrible at sneaking."

Neil stays silent, watching intently as Andrew slips the gauntlet over his forearm, adjusting the fit with practiced precision. He takes the knife he used to open the box and with a soft click, locks it into the gauntlet’s mechanism.

Andrew tests the motion, flexing his wrist. In a swift movement, the blade ejects, extending with a soft hiss. Neil can’t help but be impressed as Andrew stabs the box a few times, his strikes fluid and precise, just like an assassin from the game Nicky had been playing.

Andrew: [still focused on his work] "It’s not for cosplay."

Neil watches the blade retract with a soft click. Andrew finally glances at him, his expression unreadable.

Andrew: [deadpan] "Keep staring, and you’ll find out exactly how sharp this is."

Neil: [smirking slightly] "I’ll pass."

Andrew retracts the blade and stabs the box again, more out of habit than necessity. The blade moves with lethal accuracy with each strike 

Neil: “You’ve been practicing.”

Andrew: [calm, flat tone] “Some things don’t require practice. Just... intent.”

Neil leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Andrew’s movements. He stays quiet, his own thoughts churning, but he’s careful not to break the fragile stillness.

Andrew retracts the blade, letting the silence hang heavy between them for a moment.

Andrew: [finally turning, meeting Neil’s gaze] “What?”

Neil: [shrugs, unbothered] “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Andrew: [raising an eyebrow, with a hint of challenge] “Good luck.”

Andrew says nothing, continuing to toy with the gauntlet, but Neil catches the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. He steps back, giving Andrew his space, but now he knows he is enjoying the hell out of that. 

[vykio]

Jeandrew, cinema

The challenge was to write 500 words (I wrote more...like 530 LOL) in 1 hour! Just to get in some writing exercises so I did not tweak it too much. Still, I'm happy with how it came out, this mundane little thing.

Jane gave me the prompt: some combination of jean andrew or neil in cinema or video rental or arcade or bowling alley

-

“Thoughts on Scott Pilgrim?”

Jean glances over his shoulder and spots Andrew. He’s looking up at the small selection of films playing this month instead of at Jean. Jean frees his hand from behind the soda machine, abandoning the rag he’s using to clean the counter. It’s sticky with sugar and butter from the butter dispenser, accumulated over the week. He’s the only one that bothers cleaning anything up, though his efforts certainly go unnoticed considering how old and dilapidated the town’s cinema is. Still, if he is to suffer long days waiting for someone to find their selection interesting, he should at least do it in a clean space. Every week, Andrew finds him like this; he’s his only regular.

Jean wipes his hands on his uniform pants and almost instantly regrets it. He steps up to the counter and cranes his neck up to see what the other movies are even though they’re the same ones from the beginning of the week: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Sherlock Holmes, Zootopia, Prince of Persia. It certainly is a variety.

“Have you seen it?” Jean asks. Andrew looks at him with an unimpressed expression Jean interprets as that’s a stupid question. Jean knows it doesn’t matter anyway if he’s seen it. Andrew comes in, peruses the menu of usually old movies, picks one and asks Jean his opinion on it. Sometimes they compare notes at the end, and Andrew leaves with his second order of Coke. 

Jean searches his mind to say something non-spoilery but he isn’t sure Andrew cares. Grabbing a large bag of popcorn and snapping it open, he gives his honest review. “We would all be better off if we admitted Scott Pilgrim is just an incel.”

The corner of Andrew’s mouth quirks up, which fills Jean with satisfaction. He hands him his drink and his ticket, and spends the length of the movie texting Neil about Andrew’s selection and salvaging the rag he left behind to clean other spots.

Jean knows the movie is over when he hears someone loudly take the last sips of their soda. He stands from where he’s crouched behind the counter and points the dustpan in his hand in their direction. “Obnoxious.” Andrew shakes his cup side to side, rattling the ice, and Jean comes up to pull it out of his hands. As he refills it, he asks, “How was the movie?”

“Fine.” Andrew pulls his folded ticket from his pocket and flicks it open to examine it. “Lots of action, which I love. The sloth scene did take me out.”

“Sloth,” Jean repeats, confused.

“Sloth,” Andrew confirms. He waits, then Jean rips out the ticket from Andrew’s hand. It does say Scott Pilgrim vs. The World on it. He remembers the display.

“You went to see Zootopia.” Andrew’s face shifts with amusement. Jean hates it when he switches theatres without warning. “Stop doing that. You’ll get me in trouble.”

“I’m sure.” Andrew’s voice does carry the right amount of skepticism; no one else but Andrew—and certainly not his boss—is ever here on Jean’s shifts. “Working next week?”

“Yes,” he says, and Andrew leaves Jean to wait for their next encounter.

[aknosde]

bedside

// Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard // Post-Canon // Established Relationship // Traveling // Fluff // essentially andrew waxing poetic about neil, cars, & sunlight // 1k

ao3

—————

There is something inherently exhausting about banquets.

Andrew, as a man of taste, appreciates good food, nice clothes, and expensive cars. He does not appreciate the flight from Denver to L.A., nor does he appreciate L.A. itself; it’s hot and sticky when he touches down, air rushing into the depressurizing cabin, and he feels sweat materialize where his glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. LAX is, as always, a shithole of people and luggage. Everything that moves here always seems to knock into anything that isn’t—case in point: his suitcase into a tree, and a toddler into his legs. It takes Andrew five minutes to even find a corner to tuck himself into and turn his phone off airplane mode.  

Perhaps it’s not banquets, but travel.

The first thing he does is call Neil. At least he has someone to pick him up from his personal hell.

Neil flew down from Chicago earlier in the week to catch Kevin’s last qualifying match, which against all odds had taken an absurd amount of cajoling by both he and Kevin. What it should’ve been: Neil gives his last press conference of the season and flies out to see Kevin, they then drive down to L.A. together. What it was: Neil assuring Andrew he gould always get to Denver to make the flight together approximately fifty times, packing over facetime because despite being a seasoned professional Neil would still wear jeans and a leather jacket to every official event if he could, and a debate on whether or not they wanted to share Kevin’s car.

“I’m all ready here,” Neil greets. “Pickup 3A, and making a hell of a lot of Ubers mad.”

“As you often do,” Andrew says before hanging up.

He makes his way down to and through baggage claim swiftly, feeling superior to everyone forced to wait for their checked bags on the slowest conveyor belt known to man, and out into the blanketing heat. His reading glasses have been tucked into his shirt pocket and replaced by the ‘cereal killer’ baseball cap Allison got him as a gag gift a few years ago, which makes many appearances when he doesn’t want to show up on the average exy fan’s radar. Neil’s used an old puff-paint pen of Renee’s to draw lion heads on the underside of the bill.

“Hey,” Neil says, grinning, as Andrew steps up to the atrocious red convertible Neil’s lounging in the driver’s seat of, ignoring the myriad of ride-share drivers sending him dirty looks and honking their horns—Andrew realizes that while the verdict of sharing a car with Kevin had been no, they hadn’t made a decision about rentals, and this is apparently what Neil’s come up with (though doubtlessly influenced by… Matt is his best guess, possibly Allison). It looks annoyingly good on him. “Bag?”

Andrew hoists his case up and Neil unbuckles to lean over and toss it in the back row. He’s wearing a pair of aviators—Ray Bans Allison also purchased, not as a gag gift but in pursuit of her and Andrew’s continuous and combined efforts to encourage Neil to dress at least half as good as he looks (they’ve been dissuaded from “as good as he looks” over the years)—and in the week since Andrew’s seen him, he’s managed to turn deep brown, his hair catching auburn in the sun. Before he can open the door Andrew touches Neil’s wrist where it's propped on the passenger seat and kisses him over the parking brake.

“Hey,” he finally says when they separate.

“Hi,” Neil responds, looking up at him. He’s close enough to see Neil’s eyes warm and happy through his sunglasses.

Andrew doesn’t bother with the door this time; he hoists himself straight into the passenger seat. Neil takes the car out of park, but keeps them right where they are.

“How was the flight?”

Neil pushes his shades up on his head as if he needs to see Andrew wholly when he answers. The gold ‘A’ pendant on his necklace flashes in the light as he shifts. Andrew can feel the ring and blank marriage certificate in his bedside table warm and glow from halfway across the country.

“Typically terrible,” he says, but even though he means it he can’t bring himself to be serious.

“Yeah?” Neil asks, that smile on his face, and he kisses Andrew this time.

It’s deeper but they keep it gentle, maybe because Andrew’s exhausted, but maybe because they’re still saying hello. It’s soft and easy, kind of like greeting someone it’s always nice to see. The car jerks forwards slightly, and the driver behind them lays on their horn in two long, annoyed bursts. He can feel Neil smiling against him as they break away.

Andrew watches him put his sunglasses back on and flick his turn signal, rest both hands on the wheel. He’s tempted to make a joke about Neil’s foot slipping off the break—something about how he never took a driver’s test, or how the FBI didn’t check before giving him his license—but then Neil looks at him and he notices how he’s glowing in the sunlight.

“You think a nap can fix it?”

He imagines Neil lying next to him, reading whatever fifth-hand, out of date, textbook on linear algebra or theoretical geometry he found at Goodwill last week; the cool, clean white sheets and pristine shower of a hotel room; waking up to Neil crouched by his side of the bed, telling him Kevin’s all ready found a spot he’s gonna love for dinner, they’ve gotta get moving. Andrew adjusts his cap and flips the bird to whatever asshole is behind them. Neil in his bed can fix a lot of things.

“If you’ve got AC.”

Neil huffs a laugh and turns back to the road, pulls out of his spot as smoothly as Andrew can sweep a ball out of the air. Andrew turns the air on and leans back in his seat, angled towards Neil; he spends the ride to the hotel thinking of that ring.

[paradoxolotl]

Someday Snippet

(Or a wip Wednesday, if you’re feeling inclined)

Oh my gosh guys I haven’t done a wip share in ages! I’ve missed it. Thank you so much @moondal514 for the tag!

I’m so out of touch lately but @halfpintpeach @jingerhead @amiandthechaos @lyndiscealin if you have a wip you know how much I love them

My main projects I’m working on right now I can’t share yet, but have something from this summer that’s sitting half (quarter? Eighth?) finished

~

Gripping the lowest beam of the rotting structure, Neil hauled himself further out of the water, enjoying the way Andrew’s eyes drifted lower with the exposure.

“Careful,” he teased. “If you lean any further you’ll fall in.”

Without a word, Andrew moved away from the edge until he disappeared from view completely. A moment later another rock dropped into the water, inches from Neil. Laughing under his breath, he dug his claws into the beam, holding it tighter. Carefully, Neil lifted more of his body out of the water until the entire pier creaked with his weight, rocking ever so much closer to the ocean.

Immediately Andrew’s face popped back over the edge, glare sharp despite the white knuckles gripping the wood. Grinning up at him, Neil let his tail flop back into the water with a crash, Andrew narrowing his eyes at the sound.

“Hi,” Neil said. “I missed you.”

“You’re a menace to society,” Andrew complained. “I don’t know why I bother coming down here.”

Forever a man of contradiction, Andrew sat down with his feet hanging over the edge, spine curled forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees. If Neil stretched as far as he could he would be able to brush his fingers against the rough material of Andrew’s boots, perhaps give a quick tug to an uneven end of the electric blue laces. Andrew would threaten him with violence they both knew would never be seen and Neil would tug once more before letting him go.

Instead, he pillowed his head on his crossed arms, content to watch the man above him. Andrew let him stare, pretending to ignore Neil as he studied the horizon. Every so often he would shift, loose fingers lifting to his mouth to take a lingering pull from his cigarette. The ocean dragged over the rocky shore, gulls calling from somewhere out of sight. It was enough to let Neil’s eyes fall closed, safe in the hidden moment with Andrew.

Neil let himself drift with the slow tug of the tide. Each breath of smoke and salt soothed the restlessness that had made itself a recent home under his skin. It grew worse with each passing day, his impatience never a virtue or kindness. The time he had spent in deep water had nearly clawed it from his bones, but Neil had never quite outrun his own impulsivity. Even now, night falling around them, his dorsal fin flared with a slight quiver.

“Something got you excited there, barracuda?”

Unable to help himself, he cracked an eye open to meet Andrew’s gaze. “You know how it is,” Neil evaded, shrugging loose shoulders. “Changing tides and a waxing moon.”

The corner of Andrew’s mouth tucked in, his version of a frown.

[aquared46]

Breaking, Entering and Baking

Rating: M

Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard

Warning: Alcohol Use

Neil kept his distance, head tilted as he regarded Andrew. “Coach is gone until later tonight.”

Andrew didn’t move.

“Let’s break in.”

OR

Andrew has a bad week and Neil helps.

The dorm was empty and blessedly quiet, the rest of the Foxes emptied out for afternoon practice. Under normal circumstances, Andrew would’ve gone and simply not performed, but Kevin was getting on his nerves with all his complaining, so he refused to go at all.

Kevin only redoubled his complaints when Neil backed Andrew, excusing him from practice. Dan was away at a conference with Wymack, leaving him in charge.

Andrew didn’t so much as glance in Neil’s direction, tossing him the Maserati keys before climbing back into bed fully clothed.

They left soon afterward, so Andrew closed his eyes and tried to catch up on some much-needed and extremely elusive sleep. He pressed his back against the wall, fingers tucked into one of his armbands, brushing against the handle of a knife. Every time he closed his eyes, he sensed a minute shift of weight on the bed, so he opened them again for assurance that it was only his imagination. Hypervigilance sometimes turned his senses against him. The creak of old pipes under the floor could’ve been footsteps, but he had to watch and make sure. He pressed his nose into his own pillow, inhaling the sharp scent of pine that helped him ground himself, but he couldn’t seem to erase the acidic stench that clung inside his nostrils.

Bad days he was used to. Bad weeks weren’t uncommon, but were certainly more frustrating to deal with. This was the worst one he had in a while.

He spent hours staring across the room, watching as it darkened and the day carried on. Amber streams of light were filtering through the blinds when a key turned in the lock to the front door.

Andrew stiffened. Logically, based on the time, he knew it was likely to be Kevin and Neil coming back from practice. However, he couldn’t relax until he saw Neil’s mop of auburn hair, slight frame and collection of scars.

Kevin was nowhere to be seen.

Neil kept his distance, head tilted as he regarded Andrew. “Coach is gone until later tonight.”

Andrew didn’t move.

“Let’s break in.” He pulled a pair of lockpicks out of his pocket for Andrew’s pursual.

Andrew’s body was made of sludge as he hauled himself up, kicking his legs free of the suffocating blankets. He didn’t bother changing out of his sweaty clothes. He just threw on a hoodie and followed Neil down to the Maserati, climbing into the passenger seat before Neil could ask whether or not he wanted to drive.

Even though he wasn’t at the wheel, the purr of the engine was like a balm for his mind, the subtle vibrating of the seat helping ground him. Neil had his hand on the gearshift. Andrew folded his hand over Neil’s, and the idiot just smiled and flexed his hand under Andrew’s before relaxing. Never mind the fact that Andrew committed homicide in a vehicle already once before; Neil trusted him. It was addicting as it was annoying.

Memories still painted the back of Andrew’s eyelids, so he watched Neil instead. It was easier to stay in the present when he had something to focus on. What could he see? Neil’s unique auburn hair, the ends still damaged from chronic dying. The roots were much healthier and Andrew couldn’t wait to know what Neil’s hair felt like when it completely grew out. What could he feel? The scars on the back of Neil’s hand, as familiar as Andrew’s own. He rubbed his thumb across one of the burns, recommitting it to memory. What could he smell? The crappy body wash Neil always chose, which Andrew pretended to hate, but secretly liked. It wasn’t so much that the scent was good, but that Neil used it so frequently that Andrew associated it with him by default. What could he hear? The purr of the Maserati and the faint sound of music coming from the speakers. Neil’s finger tapped the beat on the steering wheel.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up to Wymack’s. Neil parked the car and took some mysterious shopping bags out of the trunk. He waited patiently for Andrew to painstakingly peel himself out before leading the way. The lockpicks glinted between his fingers as he knelt in front of the door, biting his lip as he went to work.

Andrew was used to picking Wymack’s lock. He knew exactly where to apply pressure and when to twist. However, it was still satisfying to watch Neil pick it within a minute, despite being unfamiliar. Grudgingly, Andrew had to admitted Neil was probably better at it than he was, since it took Andrew almost five minutes on his first attempt. Although, that was years ago.

Neil set the bags in the kitchen while Andrew made a beeline for where he knew Wymack kept the liquor. It didn’t feel right to break in and not steal some. It was practically his MO. Andrew located a bottle of Johnnie Walker and opened it up, not bothering to find a glass. He drank right from the bottle as he wandered back into the kitchen, finding Neil had unpacked his bags. He was scouring Wymack’s cupboards, an array of mixing bowls and pans covering the countertops.

Judging from the ingredients and the pan Neil finally settled on, he was making brownies. Andrew liked to put on baking programs when he was particularly bored, but Neil didn’t seem to have much interest in them. He definitely didn’t pay attention enough to learn anything.

Yet there he was, pulling out Wymack’s mismatched and ancient measuring cups with a focused expression. He had a crumbled piece of paper that he flattened out the best he could on the counter. He squinted at it before going and measuring ingredients.

Andrew watched Neil fail to mix the dry ingredients together, completely missing scraping the bottom of the bowl and managing to get flour and cocoa powder all over his shirt in the process. He nudged Neil aside with his hip and shoved the bottle of whiskey in Neil’s hands instead.

“Have you never baked before?”

Neil shrugged. He took a swig of the bottle, his throat bobbing. He dusted off his shirt onto Wymack’s floor. “Frying bacon and eggs is about the limits of my experiences. And beans on toast, but I don’t think that counts as cooking.”

“And cooking is not the same as baking,” Andrew said.

“It’s making food. I don’t really see the difference at all.”

“Then sit down and quit ruining the brownies.”

“I can at least preheat the oven.” He turned away momentarily to do it.

“I’m surprised you even know what that is.”

Neil ignored Andrew and measured out the wet ingredients, using enough precision that Andrew didn’t bother telling him to leave it alone. He also passed them over to Andrew for mixing, thankfully conscious that he was useless at it.

Andrew was hardly amused to see Neil sneaking a finger-full of batter as Andrew mixed in chocolate chips. “You’re going to get food poisoning.”

“I’ve had worse things and been just fine,” Neil said. “My stomach is used to questionable food.”

“But not Kevin’s smoothies.”

Neil made a face. “Vegetables.”

Andrew spooned the mixture into the pan after smearing it with a copious amount of butter. His hands were covered in chocolate batter and he couldn’t help but lick it off one of his fingers, grudgingly admitting that whatever recipe Neil found was good.

Since Neil’s hands were clean, he put the pan in the oven and checked the time. “And here I thought you were worried about food poisoning,” he said.

“I’m not a coward.” Andrew licked the chocolate off another finger.

Neil hummed, gaze drifting across Andrew’s fingers before landing on his mouth. He wet his lips and Andrew could practically hear the thoughts going through his head. Andrew stepped closer, crowding Neil against the counter. Neil’s breath hitched as Andrew cupped his jaw, pressing his thumb against his lips.

Neil met Andrew’s eyes, then relaxed his jaw. Andrew slid his thumb into Neil’s mouth, breath catching as Neil tentatively ran his tongue over it and sucked. Neil groaned and Andrew’s hold on his jaw tightened as he licked the chocolate batter from Andrew’s thumb, then kept going even once it was all gone.

Andrew shuddered, pulling his thumb out of Neil’s mouth, ignoring the way it immediately curled into a smile. He pressed his lips against Neil’s jaw, kissing away the smears of chocolate left by his hand. Neil, always so responsive, turned to bare his throat.

Once Andrew could no longer stand having sticky hands, he pulled back, Neil’s lips swollen from their kisses, his eyes dazed. He straightened when Andrew pulled back, lifting the bottle of whiskey to take another drink. Andrew scrubbed his hands clean, then pinned Neil back against the counter to lick the taste from his mouth.

An indiscernible amount of time later, Neil cursed and wriggled away to pull the slightly-burnt brownies out from the oven.

“Should’ve set a timer,” Andrew said.

“Don’t think Wymack’s oven has one.” Neil scraped the burnt edges of the brownies. “I think these are salvageable.”

Andrew took some bowls out, while Neil retrieved some ice cream from the freezer. It was Andrew’s favourite brand and some type of butterscotch flavour he had yet to try because he almost always got something with chocolate.

 Neil chewed on one of the burnt edges that Andrew personally believed belonged in the garbage. “I think I prefer these actually.”

“You disgust me.” Andrew said, when in actuality, he wanted to devour him. It wasn’t fair how attractive he looked with flour on his shirt and smear of chocolate still by his ear. His eyes were dancing with amusement, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He was smiling all too knowingly.

Andrew snagged a finger into a beltloop and dragged him closer to kiss him one more time.

They ate their brownies at the counter, ice cream melting because they hadn’t bothered to let them cool. There was a massacre in the pan, burnt edges cut off jaggedly and brownies haphazardly cut and scooped out with a spoon.

Still, it was delicious and Andrew burned his mouth with his eagerness. They passed the bottle between them and drank. He shifted close enough to Neil that their elbows brushed. Something in him lightened. The day was still bad. He was still exhausted and his memories were hiding just around the corner. However, it was better, just a little. Part of him felt relieved for being so known by Neil that he could do this for him. Another part of him hated it.

Andrew was halfway through his second serving when a key slotted into the front door and it opened.

“What the hell are you shitheads doing here?” Wymack eyed the disaster that was the kitchen.

“Hey, Coach,” Neil said. “There’s still some brownies left if you want them.”

Wymack frowned as he spotted the brownies, then glanced between the two of them. It certainly wasn’t the first time Andrew broke in while having a bad day, so he pointed an accusing finger at Neil.

“You’re cleaning this up,” Wymack said to Neil.

“Yes, Coach.”

Wymack muttered under his breath as he went to drop his travel bag off in his bedroom. He came back moments later and got himself a bowl, as well as a glass and an unopened bottle of whiskey.

Andrew tuned them out as Neil asked Wymack about his travels and the conference. Andrew was content to let the calm tone of their voices wash over him, the taste of chocolate on his tongue, the slightly stale smell of Wymack’s kitchen overtaken by fresh baking, the feeling of Neil’s warm body at his side, the sharp scent of alcohol as he drank from the bottle.

Once this was over, it was a gamble whether or not Andrew’s memories would claw their way back to the forefront of his mind. But in that moment, he was grounded and grateful for the respite. He hoped he would be better the following day, but even if he wasn’t, he knew Neil would help him brave it.

[the-stressmushroom]

AFTG Headcanon #2

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

TW: canon typical violence, blood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“207%”

“Okay, but was I wrong?”

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

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

“Neil, you look nothing like your father.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“511% junkie.”

[willowbird]

For the ask game: 17 for au, 3 for trope and 19 for prompt? Have a great day!

Band au, meet cute, "suck on that"

Hope you guys are okay with another Andrew POV! I'm pretty sure this counts as a 'meet cute', as much as anything with these two meeting ever could lol

---

The sound guy had a very nice ass. Andrew wasn't sure what the rest of him looked like, but for the moment that didn't matter. For the moment, Andrew was satisfied with the pleasant view as the man straddled a ladder some fifteen feet up. He was poking around with one of the speakers, though Andrew neither knew nor cared why.

Again: nice ass, and that was enough.

At least, it was certainly better than paying attention to the building manager - who was being a condescending dickhead as he rambled on and on about the rules of the house.

Apparently, this was a "dignified establishment" and any "rowdiness" caused by the band's fans was going to result in them being permanently blacklisted. If Andrew gave an iota of a shit he might have told the man they had no intention of playing this venue ever again anyway, considering how ridiculous the fucker was making this process.

"Furthermore, if any-- oh, there he is! Good, I have far too many things to do to be stepping in as your manager as well." Andrew tore his gaze away from the sound guy's ass and fixed the asshole with an unamused stare. Erik, their band's manager, was currently wrangling the rest of the band through a photoshoot that Andrew had not been invited to.

("Not invited", meaning "expressly told not to come elsewise the contract would be shredded". Some people got so fucking uppity about being punched in the dick and held at knifepoint.)

Whatever. Anyway, because the rest of the band was off getting their pictures taken, Andrew had been volunteered (read: commanded) to head over to the venue early and oversee setup for their concert tonight. Hence why he was forced to put up with this dipfuck - who was now passing him off onto some underling.

The guy that joined them was conventionally attractive with a charming smile that Andrew didn't trust for a second. "You must be Andrew Minyard," he said as the building manager scurried off to sour the souls of small children. He put out his hand, then let it drop when he realized Andrew had no intention of shaking.

"My name is Jake." The smile never faltered and Andrew was very familiar with the way the man's eyes scanned the entirety of his body. It was hungry, predatory, and confident - and Andrew was having none of that shit today. There were two reactions that Andrew regularly got, being an out gay performer in an up-and-coming but still relatively small-time rock band: scorn and sex. Honestly, some weeks the sex was welcome but most of the time Andrew preferred the scorn, it was far less demanding.

Andrew sighed heavily. "I am not going to fuck you, so save yourself some embarrassment and do not even bother."

Jake recoiled instantly, his expression shifting rapidly from surprise to annoyance to anger back to a flawed mask of easy confidence. "Volunteering to bottom then? That's bold, but I like it." He stepped closer and though Andrew did not give ground he did narrow his eyes as he rested the fingertips of one hand at the edge of the opposite armband.

"Touch me and I'll stab you in the dick." Punches were just for warnings and this guy clearly didn't heed those.

"I don't got to touch you for you to suck my dick, though. Maybe if you--" Jake never got to finish his suggestion, because out of fucking nowhere he was nailed in the forehead by the handle of a screwdriver. He stumbled backward, eyes wide and a little bit dazed. "What..? Fuck." He pressed both hands to his forehead, which was already beginning to welt, crouching down with another ramble of curses. "What the fucking... fuck! Shit!"

What happened next was a fast, chaotic jumble that Andrew only later was able to piece together. Jake The Predatory Asshole stood up too quickly, still reeling from the hit, and stumbled into a nearby ladder. This ladder was there supporting the sound guy, who had continued to work on his task throughout this fun little encounter. The ladder, which hadn't been properly locked, snapped partially shut as it was pushed, causing it to overbalance. This, in turn, sent the sound guy crashing to the ground.

Well, not exactly to the ground.

That ass, which looked so round and plush from Andrew's vantage on the ground, was apparently made of solid muscle. One moment Andrew was watching Jake stumble, wondering if this meant he didn't get to stab him now, and the next he was flat on his back with a very compact, stunned sound guy sitting on his stomach.

Now, Andrew was all ready to get his stabbing on. He didn't give a shit if it wasn't this sound guy's fault that he fell from the ladder and Andrew just happened to be there to break his fall. Andrew just got clandestinely denied a chance to stab some overconfident bro that likely kept rufies in a pez dispenser in the pocket of his shitty designer sweatpants. He was primed and ready to stab, then some guy landed on him - that guy was about to be stabbed.

Except just as Andrew was pulling his knife the guy looked down at him and not only was his ass fucking impeccable, but he had the bluest goddamn eyes Andrew had ever seen, and that mouth. It was currently twisted up into amused sort of smirk that tugged up more on one side than the other. His hair was long and queued into a messy braid over one shoulder, a few wisps hanging around his face that with the backdrop of the houselights behind him made him look like a fucking mermaid or something. This fucker was almost offensively attractive.

Then, to make it all even worse, a spluttering sound came from beyond them to where Jake had landed. "What the fu--!"

Exceptionally Hot Sound Guy, materialized a screwdriver and heaved it with a suspicious amount of skill and form. It made contact, judging by the cut-off expletive and fleshy thunk. Also by the smug little smirk that folded itself across the sound guy's lips.

"Suck on that," he said. Then, with a pleased little 'hmph!', he got off of Andrew and held out a hand in offering.

Dazedly, Andrew accepted it. When he looked over at Jake, the fucker was out cold, spread-eagle in the middle of the stage.

"I can drop one of the lights on him," the sound guy offered casually. It should have been a joke; Andrew knew it wasn't.

"Who are you?" Andrew heard himself ask. It came out sharp and accusatory instead of fluttery and infatuated, thank fuck for small miracles.

The guy apparently had to think about that for a moment (which, really? what the fuck?) then he smiled, this one a softer, more personal smile that Andrew did not understand but needed to on a deep, inexplicable level. "Neil," he said. "My name is Neil."

Neil looked over at the downed creeper, then got a positively evil little look on his face that had Andrew's brain finally catching up to exactly how much trouble he was in. He watched as Neil jogged back into the wings and returned with a bottle of water. Bypassing Andrew completely, Neil crossed right to the fallen perv, crouched beside him, and poured the contents of the water bottle right on Jake's crotch.

That second screwdriver must have really hit home because the fucker didn't even stir.

Pleased with his work, Neil tossed the now-empty water bottle off stage right and returned to Andrew. "Good enough for now?" he asked.

Andrew stared at him for a long moment. When he opened his mouth to say something snarky and unbothered, what came out instead was, "I am buying you dinner."

Neil looked surprised, then the expression warmed to something else before he said, the edge of a smile teasing Andrew from the corner of his mouth, "Okay."

Oh yeah, Andrew was so incredibly fucked.

fun little prompt game

[darkblueboxs]

The Words that Cut

AKA "nine times Andrew was called pretty and hated it + one time he didnt"

Read here or on AO3

Summary:            

“I used to think it would have been easier,” Andrew says. The words cost him more than Neil can know, but Bee says it’s important to get better at these things. If he wants to keep Neil, anyway. “If I looked different.”

There's a lot he leaves out of that sentence.

“Just look at him! Isn’t he precious?!” The stranger’s hand comes out of nowhere, pinching Andrew’s cheek and tugging. Be on your best behaviour, his case worker had warned him. And maybe this time it’ll stick. Andrew isn’t sure he wants it to. He keeps his gaze fixed on his scuffed sneakers, shoelaces trailing because he still hasn’t gotten the hang of the knots. Until the hand pinching his face forces him to look up.

“And gosh, look at those eyes!” The latest in Andrew’s never-ending line of foster parents doesn’t look so different from the rest. Her face is too close, and Andrew can smell her breath when she speaks, sharply tinged with tobacco. He wrinkles his nose, and she frowns. “Now, now, none of that. We don’t want to spoil that pretty little face, do we?” And she punctuates the question with another hard pinch to his cheek. Andrew bares his teeth, and she smiles. “Much better. Don’t you look beautiful!”

Then Andrew sinks his teeth into her hand, and she starts to scream instead.

*

…and this is Andrew! He’s going to be staying with us for a while. You’ll make sure your new foster brother feels very welcome, won’t you? Now both of you stand together, I want to take a photograph of my two handsome boys…

*

Andrew’s hook-up tucks himself back into his grey prison-standard joggers, panting heavily.

“Fuck,” he says, which just about sums it up.

Andrew wipes his hand off, keeping his eyes fixed on the grey expanse of wall behind the other boy’s head.

“That was hot,” he continues, as though Andrew cares. He got what he wanted from the encounter: now all he wants to be is alone.

“Go away.”

He flicks a significant look downwards, smirking. “C’mon, you really want me to leave you like this?”

Andrew grabs him by the neck and shoves him back against the wall, forcing his gaze away from his body. “I said go away.”

Instead of showing any sign of fear, his pupils dilate as he leans into the pressure of Andrew’s hand around his neck. “Fuck, you’re hot.” He reaches for Andrew, and Andrew’s mind goes black with rage.

He does not lay a hand on Andrew again.

*

“Look. Over there, by the lockers. No, no, don’t make it obvious!”

“No way! He looks just like Aaron. But also kind of cuter?”

“Are you crazy? They have the same face!”

“Yeah, but he’s got like, a bad-boy mystique. You heard he just got out of prison, right? Think he has a girlfriend yet?”

“Ew, Tracy.”

“Ask him for me. Please? I’ll do your math homework for the rest of the week.”

A girl with curly brown hair and freckles appears at Andrew’s shoulder as he slams his locker shut.

“My friend thinks you’re cute.”

Andrew doesn’t even bother with a perfunctory glance in the girl’s direction. “Your friend can fuck off.”

She looks affronted for all of a second before her lips curl downwards. “Whatever, jackass.”

Andrew isn’t quite out of earshot by the time she returns to her friend.

“Forget about it, Tracy. His brother is hotter anyway.”

Andrew’s hands clench into fists of their own accord. When they try to approach Aaron after practice, Andrew makes it clear what happens to anyone who shows interest in his brother.

*

Andrew hears his cousin’s screams before he even rounds the corner to see him splayed on the cobblestones, his nightclub attire torn and muddied with boot prints. Men circle him like vultures, teeth bared, eyes shining with mad hunger. Andrew has seen that look before too many times. Nicky’s attackers smirk as Andrew approaches, but the slouch of their shoulders says they don’t see him as a threat. It’s the last mistake they’ll ever make.

“Andrew, run,” Nicky says, words thickened by puffy, bleeding lips. His face has been beaten so badly it’s not even clear where the blood is coming from.

One of the men laughs. “Who is this, your boyfriend? Come on, baby, we can make you look just as pretty as your bitch over there.”

Andrew steps forward, knife in hand.

*

“Huh,” says Nicky on Andrew’s first night home with meds swirling through his system. “You actually have a really cute smile, Andrew.”

Grinning, Andrew puts his fist through a wall, and nothing more is said on the matter.

*

“The Foxes’ deadliest investment.” The journalist thrusts a microphone so close to Andrew’s face he practically inhales it. “And certainly one of their cutest! Andrew Minyard, do you have anything to say to your growing legion of fans? I’m sure all the girls want a piece of you, and I can’t say I blame them!”

Andrew bares his teeth. False laughter bubbles up within him, and he clenches his jaw to keep it in his throat. “How do my fans feel about disembowelment?”

The journalist is less eager to take his picture after that.

*

“C’mon, Renee, you can tell us. Are you really just fighting down there? Or are you getting another kind of action, if you catch my drift?”

“Allison…”

“Don’t answer her, Renee, she’s just trying to win her bet.”

“Can’t I just be interested? I mean, can you imagine it? I mean, sure, Minyard’s pretty in his own psychotic way, but the height. It’s gotta be an issue, right? Unless you’re really into small-”

“ALLISON!”

Andrew knocks at the door, saving his ears from any more of their gossiping. “Renee.”

“Coming!” Renee picks up her water bottle, relief washing her features while Dan and Allison choke on their laughter behind her.

*

Hello, handsome, says an impossible voice at his ear. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Oh, Luther, Andrew thinks as the bottle collides with the side of his head. I’m going to kill you.

*

He catches Neil poking at his scars in the bathroom mirror, digging his fingers into the darkened patches hard enough to scratch half-moons into the healing skin. His eyes meet Andrew’s in the reflection. All Andrew has to do is raise an eyebrow, and it’s as though Neil hears the question before he even has to formulate it.

“They’re distinctive,” he says by way of an answer.

“So?”

“Not exactly anonymous,” Neil huffs.

Andrew steps forward until he is lined up along Neil’s back, glaring at his reflection over his shoulder. “You have no need for anonymity.”

“I know,” Neil says, still glaring at his reflection. “And I’m glad I don’t look like my father anymore, but…”

“Vanity doesn’t suit you, Josten.”

Neil sighs. “Easy for you to say.”

Andrew’s hands, which have come to rest on Neil’s waist, stop. He wills them not to clench. “What does that mean?”

The tips of Neil’s ears redden. “You know.”

“I don’t.”

“I mean, it’s not like you have anything to worry about. Not when you’re so-”

“No.” There’s no inflection in his tone, but Neil hears the urgency anyway.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Andrew lets his hands fall back to his sides, flexing the tremors from them.

“I used to think it would have been easier,” Andrew says. The words cost him more than Neil can know, but Bee says it’s important to get better at these things. If he wants to keep Neil, anyway. “If I looked different.”

There’s a lot he leaves out of that sentence. The burning after-effect of hands pinching his cheeks, pretty boy, pretty boy, pretty boy, over and over like a mantra that dug itself into his chest and festered there. The days where even the prickle of someone’s eyes on him made him want to vomit. The nights he considered turning the blades on his face instead of his arms in the hope of making himself too ugly to stomach.

He doesn’t say it, but the subtle shift in Neil’s gaze says that he doesn’t have to.

“Probably not,” Neil says. It isn’t offered as a consolation – Neil knows better where Andrew is concerned – but from understanding. “It’s never because of us. It’s because of them.”

Andrew leans into Neil once more, letting his chin come to rest on his shoulder. Their eyes meet in the reflection. “Probably not,” Andrew echoes, and Neil’s lips twitch. Something that has been tied up in Andrew’s chest for far too long pulls and untangles. “Distinctive isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Neil’s lips twitch again, the movement blossoming into a lobsided half-smile that does terrible things to Andrew’s self-control. “Are you calling me pretty?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“Oh.” Neil leans his head to the side so that it bumps against Andrew’s. “Well. You too.”

And, because it’s here and now and most importantly Neil, this time the words don’t cut. Andrew swallows them with a curt nod and leans into the kiss that follows, and everything that comes after. *

[abraxos-is-toothless]

healing and feeling

My @aftgexchange gift for @bayta-darell !!! I’m so sorry that this is late, I went to post at the beginning of the posting week but I couldn’t find it anywhere. I’ve spent the week doing a rewrite. There was more of it (Kevin and Neil having a discussion) but I just wanted you to get something rather than nothing. I really hope you like it. A general foxes type fic where they do some healing.  Canon warnings apply- mentioned not detailed.

---------

Twenty minutes. Twenty whole minutes it took of the foxes remaining silent for Betsy Dobson to realise she’d have to make the first move if she wanted to make any progress at all here today.

“David first suggested this for you all once before and you refused, which I respected. I will not force anyone to talk until they are ready. But you’re all here today and I feel I should ask the nine of you, why now?”

Aaron watched as everyone not-so-subtly shifted their eyes to look at Josten who opened his mouth as if to speak before closing it again. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them from where he sat on the floor by Andrew’s chair. There was a space next to Boyd on the plush yellow couch but well...

“This is the second time this week Neil has almost stabbed one of us.” Ah, Reynolds. Always making sure she got straight to the point. Matt glared at her, muscled arms crossed over his chest.

“I said it was fine, I startled him-”

“It damn well isn’t fine, Matt! Were you not a boxer with some good reflexes, he could have done some serious damage.”

Aaron watched them argue back and forth until Betsy politely cleared her throat, her calm, soothing smile never once leaving her face.  He admired the woman, he truly did; he couldn’t imagine dealing with people’s shit all day and managing to still look sane and collected. His own mind was enough of an asshole as it was. “I’m glad that we’ve gotten to why you’re all here, but I’d like for us to remain civil in these sessions. Talking about such things can be straining and I want you to remember you’re a team, that you’re friends.” Matt nodded and threw Neil a small smile and Allison simply flicked her hand, bright red nails catching in the sunlight streaming through the window. Aaron caught Neil bringing a hand up to rub at the scarring on his face but then Andrew’s hand came down to hold the back of his neck, thumb rubbing back and forth carefully and the tension Neil was holding in his shoulders eased up. His twin met his stare without faltering and simply raised a pale brow at him, as if daring him to comment. Aaron kept his mouth shut and turned back to Betsy. “Now Neil, would you be able to tell us what might have brought on these outbursts of violence?”

“I’ve always been this way, thanks to my mother.” Aaron saw Andrew’s jaw clench at the mention of Mary Wesninski; he knew well enough how his brother felt about abusive mothers. “But this is different. We lost our most recent game. We’re falling behind a little and if we don’t win the next game, we don’t get to progress any further.” Aaron couldn’t stop his mouth from moving, even if he had tried to.

“You’re telling me that Boyd almost got stabbed because we lost a game? Are you serious right now? It’s not the end of the fucking world!”

“It is for me!” He stopped and said nothing more, turning his face away from them all, ignoring their looks of confusion. He knew Josten loved Exy as much as Kevin, but he didn’t think such a thing was enough to stab someone over. Kevin sighed, eyes closing before he put his head in his hands. Neil’s jaw clenched and he stood abruptly, walking towards the door, Andrew following just a few seconds after. Betsy, bless her heart, she tried to reason with two of the most stubborn beings on the planet.

“Neil, maybe you’re not quite ready to talk, but we’ve only just-”

“I apologise, Dr. Dobson, but I can’t talk with you in the room. Anything regarding that part of my life cannot be discussed outside of the people who already know. I do not wish to implicate you.” The woman wrote a few things down; the scratch of the pen was loud to Aaron’s ears.

“Very well, then. Let David know when you’re all ready to come back, and we’ll schedule something between classes and practice.” Neil and Andrew disappeared out of the door and Aaron and the rest were quick to follow, but not before Renee, ever the peacekeeper, gave the woman a gentle smile and told her they’d see her next week. As if she alone could wrangle them all into another session. He made his way over to the mas with Nicky and Kevin, where Neil and Andrew waited, sharing a cigarette between them, and the upperclassmen left ahead of them in Matt’s truck. No one spoke until they were all in the car and on the move, and of course, it was Kevin.

“This isn’t a good idea.” Nicky leaned across the seats and over Aaron to bat at Kevin with one hand, all the while texting Erik on his phone in the other.

“Shut up. You don’t think that anything is ever a good idea unless it’s one of your ideas.”

“Neil I really don’t-”

“Enough, Kevin. I’m telling them and that’s final. I should have told them all anyway.” Kevin sat back with a huff and Aaron rolled his eyes at the idiot’s dramatics, staring out the window for the rest of the unusually quiet drive back to fox tower, except for the clicking of Nicky’s phone and the quiet giggles he would let out at whatever he and his fiancé were talking about. When they got there, Andrew found the closest parking spot to the building that he could, because his brother preferred not to do any more exercise than being an Exy player forced him to. The others hadn’t waited for them, not that Aaron thought they would have, but he thought at least Allison would have been standing at the doors so Neil couldn’t slip away and get out of telling them anything. 

They hadn’t, however, stopped themselves from taking over Aaron’s old dorm room he shared with the rest of the ‘monsters’ before he moved to Matt’s. Dan and Matt were sitting together on the couch, the former tucked into the latter’s side, Allison was lounging in a beanbag while she inspected her nails and Renee was sitting on the floor in front of the small and worn table, sorting Nicky’s nail polishes into some sort of order. “Now that you’re here,” Allison said without even bothering to glance in their direction, “let’s get to this secret you’ve been keeping from us, shall we?” Aaron watched Andrew move over to the window to sit on the sill, lighting up another cigarette. He knew there was no need to worry about the smoke alarm because Andrew had taken it out from the first day they moved into the room. It was clear he wasn’t bothered by any of this, at least Aaron didn’t think he was, which means either he knew what Neil was going to tell them all, or he had guessed early on and hadn’t pushed for a definite answer just yet. 

Kevin sat down in the other bean bag, although with how tall he was, he seemed to dwarf the bag. The sight was odd, considering that caused him to slouch more than a chair or the couch would have, something he would moan at the rest of them for when they did it. Nicky sat himself next to Renee, gushing over how she’d organised all of his colours, nodding so enthusiastically that his messy brown curls bobbed with the movement. Aaron went to lean against the wall closest to Andrew, who didn’t acknowledge him other than glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. They were better than they were before, Aaron actually managed to have whole conversations with his brother now and he was no longer hostile towards Katelyn, letting her come along sometimes when they went to Sweeties and Eden’s. He knew it would take time to have some sort of a stable relationship with Andrew but they were trying, and that was okay for now. 

Neil stood in front of them all, hands in the PSU foxes hoodie he wore, barely any emotion on his face, as he always was. No wonder he and Andrew worked so well together, Aaron thought, internally rolling his eyes. He got straight to it. “After Nathan was killed, all his debts with the Moriyamas fell onto me. The money my mother took when she decided that we should run belonged to them. In Ichirou’s eyes, they still own Kevin and Jean too.”

“What does this have to do with you turning into a murderous little rage machine?” Matt rolled his eyes at Allison. 

“I made a deal with Ichirou.” Dan dropped her head into her hands while Nicky made a choked off sound. Aaron was tired of Josten making dumb decisions and not telling them. This is what happened when the fucking idiot ended up at Baltimore. “I wanted something and to get him to give in to that, I said he could have the majority of our earnings when we went pro.”

“Wait.” Neil turned his head towards Kevin, who was outwardly confused now. “You said he wanted a take of what we earned, that I knew. But you didn’t say it was in exchange for something, what did he give you?”

“I wanted Riko dealt with and he was.” Aaron’s eyes widened at that, as did the others in the room. Kevin went deathly pale and he stood slowly, looking at Neil as if he didn’t even know him. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he gave up and disappeared to his room without a word. Aaron had a feeling there was a bottle of vodka waiting for him to drown his sorrows in. Allison looked mildly impressed. 

“We all knew the suicide story was suspicious, but I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I wanted him to pay for what he did. I walked out of that room and I laughed. But that’s why the nightmares have kicked in and I’ve picked up old habits, like sleeping with a weapon under my pillow. If Ichirou notices any slack, he will kill me.” Aaron looked to Andrew again, and his brother was staring back at Neil, as if waiting for him to fall apart. Dan stood, determination on her face and a fire in her eyes. 

“Then we help you stay on top of the game. We’ll fit in an extra practice a week and on the free period you share with Matt, he can discuss drills with you.” Aaron saw Matt smile and nod, receiving a dip of Neil’s head in return. “We’ll tell Coach that we’ll have an evening a week at the court, watching old games and seeing what we can take from them. No one gets to ruin this for you, they don’t get to take anything else.”

Nicky whooped and got up to hug Neil quickly, after he got the consent for one. Aaron wasn’t too happy about all this extra work for a sport he wasn’t even that bothered by, but he supposed he owed Neil this. After all, he was the one, no matter how stupidly he went about it, that finally managed their rag tag group work as a team and to become friends. He brought them together, and so Aaron would do this

So that they could stay together. 

~~~~~

They did get better over the weeks, and they won their next game, letting them progress further into this season. 

The session with Betsy continued, though progress on that front was slow going to begin with. Neil’s confession had broken the ice, and each of them would discuss assignments they were struggling with or the odd everyday problems life gave you. Betsy never pushed them, allowing them to get used to talking first before she tried diving for issues hidden deeper down. 

After a few weeks, Allison discussed her parents when she had gotten a phone call from her mother out of the blue. Apparently, they had started to notice how the foxes were on the up and up, and how much more media attention they were getting. Allison’s mother wanted to use her daughter for her own gain, to get their businesses promoted through the foxes and for Allison to start building their incomes through Exy. Aaron didn’t understand a lot of it, other than that his teammate’s parents were some of the most self centred assholes on the planet. After all this time, they hadn’t gotten in contact with Allison to see how she was or to ask about working on their own family issues, but just to see how they could make life better for them. The blonde had said in the one session that she finally told them where they could stick it, and if they wanted to cut her off from the money they could. If they didn’t want to love her as parents should, then she wanted nothing to do with them. 

When Allison ended her rant with the words ‘fuck them’, the foxes repeated them- even Andrew, to everyone’s surprise -loud and clear. Betsy tried to be reprimanding, but Aaron could see she was proud and trying valiantly to not smile with them. 

~~~~~

Some months or so after that, Aaron was attending one of his sessions where it was just him and Andrew. It was coming up to a year now since they’d first started these double sessions with Betsy, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he liked coming to them. Yes, sometimes it was bad and they’d end then arguing heatedly, or sometimes, it would leave them exhausted but content that they were managing to get on to the same page with each other. And other times, well, those times managed to bring their walls crashing down. 

Today was one of those times. 

“Aaron, you don't look as if you’re well. Is everything alright? If you’re unable to sit through this one, you may go back and rest if you like.” He knew he must look like shit, after the night he’d had with his mind torturing him, but he felt as if this is why he’d been so plagued by nightmares the last few nights. Like Andrew had to know about them. 

“Nightmares.” His throat felt raw and scratchy, but he supposed that was normal when you wake yourself up by screaming yourself hoarse. 

“Are you able to tell us what they were or about?” He nodded, turning on the couch so he was angled to the left, making it easier for him to look directly at Andrew. His brother seemed unfazed as he usually did, but Aaron thought there was something different about him today, though he didn’t quite know exactly what was different. Maybe he felt like today was going to be better for them, too. 

“I thought I was already awake, because I was walking around the house in Columbia. It was too quiet, and the house was dark, and it was almost as if I could feel the shadows closing in around my shoulders.” He breathing became ragged and clenched a fist where his hand rested on his thigh. “I thought I heard glass smash and the sound of a thud, like something had hit the hardwood floor. It was muffled, coming from upstairs so I followed the sounds.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard; it was like he was back in the nightmare and he couldn’t get out. 

“Aaron? Aaron, you can stop if you want to.” He shook his head, feeling part of his hair fall onto his forehead. 

“The noise was louder up there, coming from your room.” He opened his eyes again, catching his brother’s gaze, hazel eyes that matched his own. And they knew, they knew where Aaron’s nightmare was leading them, yet he didn’t flinch away. “I opened the door and it was back to that day, and Drake…” Andrew did not outwardly show any reaction to the name of his abuser, though Aaron saw his fingers stray to the edge of his armband. As if it soothed him to know he had a way to keep himself safe. “When I tried to get in there, it was like there was an invisible barrier in front of me. No matter how hard I kept hitting it, it never went away. I kept screaming at you, to look at me, so you’d know I was right there but there was nothing.” His cheeks felt wet and brought a hand up to find that those were tears running down his cheeks. 

Andrew’s eyes had widened, and the hand that was holding his armband started to drift towards Aaron, but stopped just shy of making contact. He took a few deep breaths before he felt like he could go on. “I closed my eyes after a while but I didn’t stop trying to get to you. Then all of a sudden I could hear laughing, and when I opened my eyes, I was back in that shitty apartment, before you came and Tilda had locked me in the closet. She had her Junkie friends over doing all sorts of shit, music on as high as possible.” He felt like he could breathe, as though someone kept on piling invisible weights on his chest, one after the other. “I had one toy, a couple of granola bars and a bottle of Gatorade, of all things. No matter how loud I shouted for her, she never came to let me out. I woke up screaming after that, scared Katelyn half to death.”  He’d kept his gaze on the floor when talking about his mother, knowing she was a touchy subject between them. 

There was a quick tap to his knee and, a bit reluctantly, he lifted his head to look at Andrew again. His brother was breathing a little heavier, and Aaron could see the way his chest moved. There was more emotion on his face than he’d ever seen. When he was on the meds it was different, it was just a constant sort of forced excitement. This was real and this was Andrew. His twin. “I’m going to hug you, yes or no?” Aaron almost choked on air at the words. Words he’d never expected to leave Andrew’s mouth. He saw Betsy falter just a little out of the corner of his eye, her own stalling from where she was writing things down. 

“Yes.” Then slowly, carefully, Andrew shifted forward so he could pull Aaron into him. His arms went around Aaron’s back, and he hesitated just a little before doing the same. Their cheeks rested against each other and when Andrew spoke next, Aaron could feel the words against his ear. 

“We’re okay, you hear me? Both of us. We’re a little bit broken, but we’re doing okay.” Aaron nodded, taking a stuttered breath. And if the two of them, the same yet not the same, held onto each other for just a little longer then that was just fine. 

They were just okay.

---------

Again, I’m sorry about the lateness! Hope you liked it:)) I’m also sorry it’s not as long as it was, but trying to remember everything to rewrite was so difficult.

[knox-knocks]

a hunger inside

an among us au >:) tw: death and violence (no foxes die, only ocs)

read it on ao3

Andrew finds him in the hallway, attempting an escape through the vent in the floor. Andrew’s eyes flick to the corner of the room where the camera is, but it is dark and lifeless, no blinking red light to indicate that someone is watching. Of course, that is why Andrew chose to linger in this part of the ship, after all. No one is ever watching these cameras, so he is free to smoke his cigarettes in peace.

“The vents, huh?” he says and leans against the cool metal wall of the ship and lights the cigarette. He’s almost out. As soon as his job here is done, he’ll have to stop by the closest pit stop for another pack.

Orange jumps at the sound of Andrew’s voice, twisting around in the tiny space the vents allow. It’s not much bigger than him, and he has to wiggle through in order to get out. Andrew watches him, cigarette forgotten between his fingertips, and takes note of the dark red staining his orange space suit, seeping into the fabric.

Andrew tips his head and behind Orange he can see two feet sticking out from the darkness, dripping the same red liquid that’s currently splashed all over him. Andrew is no idiot, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that the liquid is blood and the legs belong to a dead man.

“Faster way to get around,” Orange – Josten, he remembers – says after a tense pause. Andrew can’t see his expression past the dark screen of his visor, instead his own unimpressed face is reflected back at him, distorted in the curve of the helmet.

Andrew has never seen the man underneath the orange suit. He’s been aboard the Space Enterprise for a couple months now and hasn’t so much as taken off his helmet. Which wasn’t a cause for alarm – not at first – because technically it was a rule that you had to be wearing your space suit at all times in case of emergencies, though no one actually did. Except for Josten.

What struck Andrew as strange was that Josten didn’t take it off even to eat. In fact, Andrew has never seen him eat with the others in the cafeteria, not once, in the months since he’s joined the crew.

“I suppose you’re the one the others are worrying about, then,” Andrew says and takes a drag off his cig before it dies. “The imposter.”

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” Josten says, neatly dodging the question. His voice is staticky over the mic, more artificial than human.

Andrew looks past at the victim half-eaten by the darkness. Josten subtly shifts his weight, an unsubtle attempt to hide the body, but the damage is done and Andrew has already seen it.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Andrew says. He stares at where he thinks Josten’s eyes should be, and meets his own even expression instead.

Josten doesn’t move so Andrew sighs and pushes up from where he’s leaning against the wall. Josten’s back straightens, and he makes an abortive move, as if reaching for a weapon. Said weapon must still be stuck in whatever poor sap whose blood saturated the floor, because Josten’s hands remain empty, and Andrew unstabbed.

“Go get cleaned up,” Andrew says and stubs out his cigarette against his fatigues. The ashes smear against the black fabric, near invisible. “I’ll cover for you.”

“Why?” Josten says in that robotic voice of his.

“Because now you owe me one,” says Andrew.

“I thought we were even.” Josten mimes a movement reminiscent of raising a cigarette to his mouth, a clumsy mimicry in his bulky suit. “‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “But now I’m covering for you as well. So you owe me.”

It is eerie, the way Andrew can’t see his face to read his reactions, and wonders if this is how his crewmates feel about him. Andrew, always so tightlipped and apathetic, even when the crew started getting picked off one by one. He didn’t join up too much longer after the others, but he’d picked up on their unease almost immediately. Andrew doesn’t care though; he isn’t here to make friends. He is here to do his job.

Josten is the first to break. He turns, stiff, and walks down the hall to the sleeping chambers. Andrew watches him go and waits a few more minutes to give him a bit more time. He’s not really sure why. He could have left when he saw Josten climbing into the vent and pretend he never saw the body, or he could have simply reported exactly what he witnessed.

But it often gets boring on the Enterprise, and perhaps Andrew is intrigued, maybe he wants to see where this goes. Plus, it might come in handy to have the resident murderer indebted to him.

Andrew reports the body over the comm link and makes his way to the cafeteria.

_ _

It was Green who was killed, though Andrew never bothered to learn the man’s real name. The remaining crewmates are dragged from their tasks to deliberate over the murder, while Andrew watches over the chaos and waits for Josten to join them. In the end he points his finger at Red, who has no alibi except for her claim to be down in Navigation at the time of the murder. But the others do not listen and in their panic, they are quick to vote her out.

Her screams of terror and pleading are cut short by the hiss of the chamber door sealing shut. It is Yellow who slams the ejection button, and Andrew watches as Red is spat into the black vacuum of space. Yellow flinches when the air is forced out of her lungs and her blood boils in her veins, but Andrew does not.

Ten crewmates turn to eight in a day, and the others are soothed enough to go back to their assignments. At least until Andrew finds Josten stuffing Yellow’s crumpled form into one of the cupboards in Storage a few days later.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Andrew says smoothly, and Josten flips around, quite literally caught in the act. He’s still holding the knife, but he lowers it when he sees Andrew.

“I owe you two?” he says.

“One,” Andrew replies. Josten tips his head, a strangely animal action with the giant space helmet on. “I want your name.”

Josten hesitates.

“Your full name.”

“Neil,” he says slowly, as if trying it out. “Neil Josten.”

“Neil,” Andrew repeats, and he quite likes the taste of it on his tongue. It tastes a little of danger, like the iron-tang of blood. “Now show me your face, and we will be even.”

Neil is slow in taking off his helmet, and Andrew watches in rapt attention as the vents blow out a stream of oxygen and steam as the seals release and Neil twists the helmet off.

Andrew wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Neil looks normal. At least, he has a nose and a mouth, and reddish-brown hair falling into his eyes. It’s as his gaze is tracking the movement of his auburn curls that Andrew spots the reason Neil was so hesitant to take off his helmet.

His eyes are a bright, crimson red, glittering and dark under the fringe of his hair. Undeniably alien.

Andrew takes a step forward and grabs Neil by the chin. He brings his face down closer to his own and moves it side to side, studying him. Aside from the eyes, his face is also marked by deep gouges and circular scars on either side of his face. He is very attractive, and Andrew feels a slow, tight pull in his navel. He would quite like to take this man apart, bit by bit. Neil is silent as he lets Andrew look his fill.

“There’s a vent in the corner of the room, to the left,” Andrew says, releasing Neil’s face. “I’d be quick if I were you.”

Neil narrows those red eyes of his before reattaching his helmet and following Andrew’s directions. He has the vent open and one leg in when he turns back and says, “Why do you never talk to any of the others?”

Andrew gives him a thin, close-mouthed smile and says nothing.

He doesn’t report the body. He lets Purple find it, and he and Neil meet the others in the cafeteria together. His suit his clean, no traces of the blood that had been previously splattered down his front. His helmet is on, but he’s not the only one hiding their face so no one mentions it.

“Minyard,” the man in the white suit says. Andrew is pretty sure his name is Folkson or Falkner or something. His face his pale, eyes stretched wide, and his lips tremble as he talks. He’s the oldest out of all of them, and has taken the helm. “Where were you?”

“With Josten,” Andrew says. “We were clearing out the oxygen tanks in O2.”

“That’s not usually a two-person job,” Lime says suspiciously.

Andrew levels a look at her. “It is if you do it properly.”

“We need to figure this out,” Cyan snaps, and Andrew wracks his brain for their name. He comes up blank. “We’ve been getting picked off for weeks and we still have no fucking clue as to why.”

“They might not be human,” Pink says in his quiet voice, thin as a thread. He clutches his gloves in his hands, turning them over and over. “What if this is a game to them?”

Andrew hedges a look toward Neil but he is still, silent.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cyan says, and rolls their eyes. “We need to stay focused before we lose the mission.”

“You give a lot of orders and not a lot of answers,” Folkson or Falkner gripes.

“I could say the same for you,” Cyan replies coolly.

Andrew lets them bicker. He said his piece, and both he and Neil are cleared. After all, Pink saw them on the cameras, and they were no one near the body when Purple found it. In fact, no one was around, and soon the suspicion turns to Purple. Their pleas fall on deaf ears as they are locked in the ejection chamber and Cyan presses the button.

The others whisper around them, desperate prayers to a God that has no place in the depths of space. Let us be right, they murmur. Please, this time, let us be right.

_ _

The first time Andrew kisses Neil, they are in the showers and he has just scrubbed the last of Falkner’s blood off of him. Red turns to pink as it runs off of him, over the white tiles, and down the drain. Andrew knows someone will stumble across the body and report it soon, but he doesn’t care.

Neil’s voice is different when he’s not wearing the helmet, and so is his gasp when Andrew pushes him against the still-dripping wall and presses their mouths together in a bruising kiss. He has a grip on his t-shirt, one in his hair, and he angles their mouths together in a way that has Neil scrabbling against the wall for support.

“Andrew,” he says, and the sound is long, drawn out. Neil tips his head back against the wall and Andrew mouths at his neck, his skin warm from the blood pumping life through his body.

Neil is a killer, the imposter among them, but his skin still bruises and his body still reacts to Andrew’s touch. He kisses him, again and again and again, each one harsher than the last.

Andrew only pulls away when Neil’s tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip. He takes a step back. He needs to be more careful. He shouldn’t be letting Neil get close like this, it’s too dangerous. Too easy to slip up.

Neil’s eyes are blown, his cheeks flushed. “I think we should blame Lime,” he says, breathless.

Andrew presses another kiss to his mouth and resists the urge to sink his teeth into Neil’s lip. Dangerous.

Once under control, Andrew says, “There will be four of us left, after this.”

Neil nods, suddenly solemn. He almost looks regretful. He opens his mouth, closes it.

“Let’s go,” he says without meeting Andrew’s eyes, and Andrew has the feeling that he was going to say something else. Before he can ask, though, Neil is already pulling on his gear.

In the end, they can’t decide who to eject, and Lime is safe. For now.

_ _

“I didn’t do that one,” Neil says quietly, peering down at Lime’s twisted body at the bottom of the stairs. Her neck is broken, blonde hair falling over a face slackened by death, though still etched with fear. Andrew imagines her eyes widening, mouth opening in a scream as hands wrap around her throat, shoving her down the stairs. The image is not difficult to conjure.

“Must have tripped,” Andrew replies. He looks at Neil in the corner of his eyes, and a thrill goes through him when he sees the now-familiar bloodred of his gaze.

“I suppose we report this to the others,” Neil says the same moment Cyan enters the room with Pink in tow.

“Get away from him,” Cyan snarls, and it takes a moment for Andrew to realize that they’re talking to him. “He is the imposter. You – Orange.”

Desperation makes people clumsy, sloppy, and Andrew sees that they are very afraid. Neil looks alarmed – and extremely guilty standing over the body. Never mind Andrew was also caught red-handed, Cyan and Pink surround Neil and Neil only.

So they don’t suspect Andrew at all.

“You killed Gen,” Cyan says, voice shrill. They leap at Neil, and with Pink’s help they corner him against the wall as Andrew watches on. “And I’m willing to bet you were plotting to kill Black too. Lure him down and execute him here.”

“What of it?” Neil says through clenched teeth. Cyan has his arms pinned to his sides, and there is nowhere for him to go. They force him back, crowding him into the ejection chamber. Neil jerks in their grip, but Cyan holds tight. Pink grapples with the panel on the wall to open the door, but his shaking hands slide helplessly over the smooth panel. He finally finds a grip and gets the door open.

“Look at his eyes,” Pink cries. “I told you. I told you he wasn’t human.”

“Shut up,” Cyan grits and shoves Neil into the chamber. Neil struggles, bucking in a last-ditch effort to get out of Cyan’s grip, but it’s useless. They found their imposter, and now they’re going to kill him. His wide red eyes meet Andrew’s calm ones, and he rams his body into Cyan’s, desperate.

Cyan grunts at the impact and looks over their shoulder at Andrew. “Black,” They hiss. “Minyard, help – ”

Andrew smiles, revealing the rows of razor-sharp teeth he has so carefully hid from everyone until now. Pink sees it first and screams, but it’s cut off when Andrew lunges and sinks his fangs in his slender neck. Blood gushes into his mouth, and it tastes so sweet. Pinks chokes, hands fluttering ineffectually at his sides as Andrew tears out his throat.

Cyan watches with horror, but before they can do anything, Neil is already there, his arms wrapped around their neck. He forces their head back at such a steep angle that Cyan cries out in pain, and shakes them like a ragdoll. It is easy now that they have the element of surprise, and Neil snaps Cyan’s neck with ease. They slump to the ground and Neil stares at their body, chest heaving from the fight.

“You,” he says, still out of breath, eyes traveling up to Andrew’s. “You’re the other one.”

Andrew licks his lips, blood dripping from his face, his sharpened teeth, and Neil tracks the movement. “Yes,” he says simply.

Neil grins. “Good. I would have hated killing you.”

“You never would have gotten close.” Andrew steps over Pink’s still-twitching body and hooks his fingers in the thick collar of Neil’s space suit. “Yes or no?”

Neil’s eyes are dilated, black enveloping red. “You already know my answer,” he says, voice heavy.

Andrew’s grip on him tightens. “Say it anyway.”

“Yes,” Neil says and Andrew yanks him in for a fierce kiss. Neil makes a sound low in his throat, guttural, and Andrew swallows it. He’s sure he nicks Neil with his teeth now that he’s not so concerned about keeping them hidden, but Neil doesn’t seem to mind. He is happy licking the blood from Andrew’s lips.

Neil’s eyes flash red and Andrew’s teeth bare in a sharp smile. Game over.

[pipedream-parrish]

Happy 34th birthday, Twinyards

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i

It is Aaron’s 14th birthday and he has just found out that he has a brother - a twin brother, an identical twin brother, who looks exactly like him and might just understand him, too. His mom didn’t do anything for his birthday - she hasn’t since he was little, or maybe those long-forgotten memories were really just dreams that have managed to worm their way so deep into his psyche that he’s accepted them as truth. The kids at school sang to him, which was fine, but Aaron can’t help but think maybe now it will be different. Maybe once he meets this brother of his, then they can celebrate their birthdays together. Maybe they can give each other presents, and eat cake, and blow out the candles using the combined forces of their breath. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

(Andrew spends this birthday choking down cake that Cas got him, trying to hide the fresh marks on his arm, and thinking about the best way to keep his mysterious brother as far away from him as possible)

((one month later, Aaron receives a letter in the mail. He couldn’t tell you everything it said - he just knows that all of these maybes have just been thrown into the middle of a busy highway to be crushed under uncaring tires.))

ii

Its Aaron’s 15th birthday and his mother has celebrated by beating the shit out of him and then throwing a random assortment of pills from the bottom of her purse in his direction as an apology, and Aaron cannot help but think that maybe it won’t have to be like this anymore. He thinks about what Andrew said (Andrew, who really does look just like him, and who seemed so angry about Tilda, and seemed to believe that Aaron didn’t deserve, that he deserved good things--) had said to him, thinks about how maybe when Andrew moves his mom will stop it, maybe it’ll be alright, maybe nothing will hurt anymore and everything will be okay and he’ll have a brother. It’ll be the two of them against the world, and Aaron may not know this other boy all that well, but he promised to protect him, so that must mean something, right? Even if before that he said he didn’t want anything to do with Aaron, he changed his mind, and thats what matters, right? Right? And so when Aaron blows out the birthday candles that he bought for himself at eh convenience store the night before, he wishes for his brother to come home soon, and for them to be a family like they were supposed to be. Like he deserves.

((Six months later, Tilda is dead and Aaron has stopped believing in family.))

iii

It is Andrews’s 16th birthday and he has not spoken more than two words to his brother for most of the year, but Nicky tries to force them to do something, to celebrate, to be normal teenagers for once. Andrew leaves halfway through the elaborate dinner that Nicky has prepared, and pretends not to see the sad look he aims at his retreating back. Pretends that he doesn’t care what Nicky thinks of him, what Aarons thinks of him. Pretends that he stopped caring about Cass, that actually he didn’t care about that, either. Pretends and pretends and pretends, and convinces everyone but himself. 

((He’s not so great at lying to himself yet. He’ll get better with age.)) 

Late that night, after he’s heard everyone else going to bed, he sneaks downstairs and steals a slice of the double-chocolate cake that Nicky got them. There are already a couple of slices out from where Nicky and Aaron had some, so hopefully, this moment of weakness will go unnoticed. 

(Aaron spends his 16th birthday sad and mourning, refusing to look his brother in the eye. When he blows out the birthday candles with no help from a magical brother, he wishes that he never met Andrew in the first place. Not that he believes in magic or wishes or anything good at all, anymore. He barely has a bite of his cake before leaving the table. He, too, pretends not to see Nicky’s teary eyes as he leaves him standing alone in the kitchen, the remnants of a wasted attempt at love scattered all around him)

((he, too, is not so great at lying to himself yet. He, too, will get better with age))

(Nevertheless, when he hears Andrew come downstairs in the dead of night, he creeps into the hallway to watch his petty theft)

((He never mentions it.))

iv

It is Andrew’s 17th birthday and he is so high off the ground that he never even realizes the date.

Or maybe he does and just forgets.

The meds are still new, and he’s not used to them yet. Not used to the loudness, and brightness, and plastered on a smile. His cheeks hurt all the time now - he is constantly working muscles that have not had much use, the last couple of years 

(the last couple of lifetimes)

Needless to say, it is Andrew’s 17th birthday and he does not even realize it, and instead, he spends it in his room, his precious room that has a lock that works, coming apart at all his frying edges. Boys like him were never meant to grow old. Boys like him were never meant to last. And so he lays there and shakes uncontrollably, and laughs, too, tells himself this is fine, he’s fine it’s all fine and knows better than to believes it. Perhaps it is a mercy, that he eventually gets used to the meds. 

Perhaps it is not.

(Aaron doesn’t celebrate his birthday, either. Instead, he picks up extra shifts at Edens and goes to bed early. 

He cannot wait to leave this fucking house)

v

It is Aaron’s 18th birthday, meaning that he is a legal adult. He finds this funny. He has always been an adult; he was an adult when he was four and creeping across the house on silent feet to steal crackers from the pantry because mom forgot to feed him; he was an adult when he was 10 and forging his mothers signature on school papers, and making excuses for why she couldn’t come into parent-teacher conference night; he was an adult when he was sitting across from his reflection in a juvenile detention facility, and promised protection. One more birthday doesn’t mean shit.

(Andrew agrees. He, too, has been an adult for as long as he can remember.)

((Still, when Nicky slips cards under each of their doors wishing them a happy birthday and telling them he’s proud of them, and that he hopes that adulthood treats them right, well. If Aaron squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can to prevent the tears from escaping, and if Andrew tares it up into a million pieces because it almost makes him feel something, then no one needs to know))

vi

It is November 4th, and the newly-coined monsters are in Columbia, just like they are most weekends. They make the same stops as always, go to the same club, the same restaurant. 

Never once is the word birthday mentioned.

vii

It is Andrew’s 20th birthday and he is about to make one of the worst mistakes of his life. For now, he sits against the windowsill, watching his smoke dissipate into the afternoon air, absently listening to the sounds of Nicky and Aaron’s video game wash over him. He’s grinning, as is usually is these days, and if he was capable of having a long-lasting coherent thought, he would want to carve that grin off his face.

Alas, he is not capable of long-lasting coherent thought. Oh well. Perhaps it’s for the best.

Renee got him a gift. Silly Renee. Always so nice, so kind, even to monsters like him. Hasn’t she learned better than that by now? It seems not.

When Nicky receives a phone call that leaves him in a panic, it is almost enough to garner Andrew’s attention. 

Almost.

When he leaves the room in a rush only to come beach with Neil, the enigma, the hallucination, the rabbit, in tow behind him, Andrew actually does start to pay attention. Only a little though. 

When Neil pulls him aside, and asks for the unimaginable, and then manages to make it seem like a good idea, well. Andrew’s interest has been peaked, and he agrees. Why not? It might be fun. Might be, might be, might be.

(It’s not. It’s not fun at all, and if nothing else then Andrew is finally allowed to leave that smile behind for good. Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Andrew, happy birthday to me!)

((Aaron spends his birthday playing video games and wondering why the new kid holds such sway over his brother. When he looks back on that day, he will not remember any of that. He will only remember that that was the day everything went wrong, and he was unable to fix it.))

viii

It is Andrew’s 21st birthday, and it might just be a good one. No alarm wakes him up in the morning, even though he’s sure he set it last night, meaning he gets to sleep in. When he wakes up it’s to Neil bustling about the dorm room, clearly searching for something.

“Practice?” Andrew asks and is told in no uncertain terms that they will be blowing it off for the day. Yes, today is shaping up to be a good one.

Instead, they go out driving, blazing down empty roads as fast as the mas will take them, eating up millage and gas money and caring at all. Neil rolls down the window and lets out victorious whoops into the still afternoon, the wind flushing his cheeks and tousling his hair. Andrew almost thinks something disgustingly sappy about that but is able to rain in his own brain just in time. 

They got greasy diner food for lunch, and Andrew orders a massive ice cream Sunday that Neil doesn’t comment on. They go back to Fox Tower and lounge around their dorm, kissing and smoking and playing video games. They have pancakes for dinner, and Kevin doesn’t bother them once about going to tonight’s practice. Andrew goes to bed full and sated, and almost, almost, happy. It’s a good birthday.

((the next day at therapy, Aaron complains that he didn’t get to skip practice yesterday. Andrew shrugs and says that he should take notes for next year. It’s almost an invitation. Almost, but not quite.))

ix

It is Aarons’s 22nd birthday, and he takes a leaf out of Andrew’s book and skips practice. He and Katelyn drive into town, and walk up and down the streets, popping into stores at random and picking out delightfully ugly things for the other to buy. In one shop, Katelyn shows Aaron a shirt made from a disgusting green fabric with the gaudiest floral pattern he’s ever seen. In another, Aaron finds shimmering, sparkle filled pink and purple shoes with a six-inch heel. They both nearly get sick from laughing. That night, they go out to the fanciest restaurant they can afford and get wine drunk. Aaron tells Katelyn that he loves her, which is something that he’s told her a million times before, but that doesn’t stop it from mattering. This will always matter. She will always matter. He looks at her, just looks at her, and thinks about how lucky he is to have this. And he thinks about Andrew, just for a second, curses him for keeping her from Aaron. But then, for an even shorter second, the thought occurs to him. I hope he’s as happy right now with Neil as I am with her. 

((Andrew may not show it the same way, but he is. He is.))

x

It is their 25 birthday now (which it longer than either of them thought they would live), and after years of therapy and working through their issues, Aaron has decided once again that he wants a brother. And so he books a flight to Boston, and buys a ticket to Andrews game, and watches his brother play exy on their birthday. Their birthday. Sometimes he still forgets that they are a “they” now. He'll still say my birthday, my mom, my cousin, my family. But it's not just his, and so he meets Andrew at the player’s exit after the game and forces him to go to dinner with him. And they spend their birthday together, just the two of them, for the first time since they were born. And its-

Well, it’s not bad. It's kind of nice, actually. Stilted, at first, and undoubtedly awkward, but. 

But they’re still brothers, even after everything. They share family and history and most of their DNA, so it seems right that they also share a dinner. And they talk, about Andrew’s pro team and Aarons residency, and about halfway through Aaron realizes that even though he was the one who forced this, Andrew isn’t trying to stop it. He came with him to dinner, and he’s talked more in the last hour then Aaron thinks he ever has before, and Aaron realizes that he wants this too. Andrew wants a brother too. They part ways outside - Andrew doesn’t offer to drive him back to his hotel or to let him stay at his apartment, but that’s ok.

Because Andrew wants this too. 

Andrew wants this too.

epilogue 

It is the Minyard twins’ 34th birthday, and as has become a tradition they are each awoken by a phone call from Nicky. Aaron only grumbles for a moment before Katelyn is handing his phone to him and he’s picking up. Andrew takes longer, turning over and burying his face in Neil’s neck for a second or a minute or a year, before finally grabbing his phone. To be fair, it’s about 2 hours earlier for him than for his brother. When he was younger he would hang up, and Nicky would call back, and he’d hang up again, until around the third call when he would finally give in and answer and phone. He doesn’t hang up anymore. He supposes that he’s grown. It’s a facetime call, so he’s greeted with Nicky’s over-enthusiastic smile and Aarons bedhead that looks so much like his own. He props himself up on some pillows so that he’s nearly in a sitting position, and gives a halfhearted wave. Beside him, Neil stays lying down, curling himself into Andrew’s side. Andrew absently starts carding his fingers through his hair. Nicky starts to talk, telling them about the business, and the adoption process, and the cute thing that his and Erik’s dog did. King jumps up onto Andrew’s chest, and then there’s a lot of cooing over how cute she is. She starts to lick at Andrew’s temple, which makes everyone laugh and Andrew rolls his eyes. It’s ok. He doesn’t really mind. Aaron talks about the hospital, and then his toddler (who is really more of a kid now, she’s getting so big holy shit) bursts into the room, climbing up onto the bed. She says hi to her Uncle Andy (Neil taught her to say that when she was a baby, and it tuck. Again, Andrew doesn’t really mind) and Uncle Neil, and her cousins Nicky and Erik. they talk more, Andrew waking up and partaking in the conversion, occasionally mouthing things to Neil in Russian to make him laugh. He loves it when Neil laughs (he’s not so concerned with not thinking sappy things anymore).

It’s a good start to a good day. They order take out and eat it on the floor, just like they do every year. Neil gets him a cake, and he sings happy birthday, just like they do every year. 

A plane ride away, Aaron and Katelyn hire a babysitter and go out to dinner, just like they do every year. Katelyn gets him a loudly collared tie, just like she does every year.

It’s a good day for both boys (who are now much closer to men), but more than that, it is a good day for both brothers. For that is undoubtedly what they are now. Brothers. 

That night, they both get a text from Betsy. It says Happy birthday, my lovely boys. I hope this year treats you well. 

And then it does.

It does.

thanks for reading! if you reblog i’ll love you forever :)

[thejostenator]

The Foxhole Cinema: Chapter Six

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Neil was kept busy for the rest of the day. When his shift started, he was working both at once, and when Allison wasn’t back by his lunch break he began to wonder if she was actually planning on coming back at all.

Neil hadn’t known her that long, but she seemed like the sort of person willing to dump their work on someone else and leave to relax. The only problem with that idea was that Dan and Matt would have had to been in on the plan as well, and they just didn’t seem like the sort to do that.

They’d waved at him again on their way out of SuperDude, despite the fact he didn’t wave back or even acknowledge them at all.

Nicky sidled up to him as they left. “So, what do you think of Matt? He attractive?”

Neil dumped the contents of the dustpan on Nicky’s head and then continued with his job.

Nicky didn’t get the hint.

“Come on,” Nicky pressed, “don’t tell me you don’t find one of them attractive. Or if you’re bi, maybe both!”

“I don’t swing,” Neil repeated whilst picking up a crumpled movie ticket from the floor.

“Well, if you do, you know where to find me.”

“No,” Neil said firmly.

Nicky edged closer, way too far into Neil’s personal space. Neil had been attacked enough times to be wary, and he took a step away from Nicky.

“You know you can trust me, Neil,” Nicky said, “I won’t tell anyone you’re gay.”

“Good, because that would be a lie,” Neil said. “I am not interested in you. Either get that into your head or get a knife in there instead.”

Nicky paused and looked as if he were about to say something else- which would be very unwise- when Andrew cut him off, speaking in German that Neil pretended not to understand. He was fluent in the language, but he wasn’t about to reveal that to them. The less anyone knew about him, the better. Any one of them could figure out who he was and report straight to Kevin.

What concerned Neil more than the German was the fact he hadn’t heard Andrew coming. He’d been trained to hear even the slightest of noises, but Andrew had been completely silent.

“He said no,” Andrew said coldly. “Back off, unless you want to make that two knives in your head.”

“Geez,” Nicky said, raising his hands in the air. “He’s yours, I get it.”

“He’s not mine,” Andrew answered. “He’s not anyone’s. He’s his own person and he’s made it clear he isn’t into you.”

Although Neil agreed with what Andrew was saying, he didn’t like being talked about as if he wasn’t there, so he cleared his throat loudly.

“Well,” he said in English, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m sure whatever it is, it’s not something I want to hear. Can I continue working now?”

Andrew looked him up and down, and satisfied with whatever he saw, retreated back to the Break Room.

Nicky flashed Neil a sheepish smile before scurrying back to his ticket booth.

Neil cleaned in silence for another few minutes, before Wymack thundered through the main doors. When he saw Neil cleaning, he frowned and turned to face him. Neil tried to hide his flinch, but Wymack wasn’t oblivious. The older man sighed and took a step back.

“Josten,” he said calmly, “why the flying fuck are you doing Allison’s job as well as your own on your first day here?”

“She had to go track down Seth,” Neil answered. “I’m covering for her.”

“I know why she’s not here, but that doesn’t explain why you’re covering for her instead of someone who’s not already working,” Wymack said.

He spun to face the Break Room door and thundered over to it, not bothering to knock before swinging it open.

“Andrew Joseph Minyard, get your miserable ass out here!” Wymack called.

After a few seconds, Wymack slammed his fist against the door impatiently, and Andrew sauntered out. He looked entirely unfussed about the situation, which Neil couldn’t understand. Wymack’s tone of voice made it sound like he was about to accuse Andrew of murder, and Andrew’s response was pure indifference.

“Yes, Coach?”

“Christ’s sake,” Wymack groaned, “I’m not your coach, I’m your boss.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow in a gesture that should not have conveyed as much scepticism as it did. “Same difference, Coach. I hope you haven’t gotten me up just to tell me you’re my boss. I already knew that.”

Wymack groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I dragged you out here to pull your damn weight. You’re covering for Allison.”

Andrew looked between Wymack and Neil. “I thought our dear Neilio was doing that.”

“You knew?” Wymack growled. “You knew he was working two simultaneous jobs on his first day here and didn’t think it wise to mention that?”

Neil didn’t see why this was such a big deal- he’d done much more than this at once in the past. If he could drive his Mother’s getaway car whilst patching up her wounds and shooting at their pursuers, he could do this just fine. Compared to everything he’d had to do on the run, this was a piece of cake.

“It’s okay,” Neil said, “I can do it.”

“I don’t care if you can do it, you shouldn’t have to,” Wymack grumbled. “Andrew’s doing it, no further objections. And if I find out anyone else knew this was going on, I swear to God I’m signing you all up for a marathon!”

Nicky squeaked from the ticket booth, and Aaron’s groan carried from the Break Room, accompanied by Kevin’s tight laughter.

“Good luck with that one, Wymack,” Kevin called, “I’m not sure I’m in the best state to run a marathon.”

Wymack sighed again. He looked as if he was going to say something else when Renee burst in from her post. She was clutching her phone so tightly her fingers were white around the plastic case.

“Allison’s found Seth!”

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

‘Who told you that?’ ANDREIL THANK YOU

This was so soft and i loved it so much!!!!

“Who told you that?” Neil asked. 

“A little Boyd might have told me,” Andrew said, folding his arms across his chest. Neil cursed quietly. Leave it to Matt to tattle on him. “Yes or no?” 

“It’s always yes,” Neil replied immediately. A sour expression flicked across Andrew’s features before disappearing back behind his apathetic facade. 

“Shirt off. Lay on your stomach,” Andrew ordered. Neil commenting on it won him a growl. A little bubble of laughter escaped him. Snatching up a pillow to cradle his chin in, Neil let himself relax into Andrew’s bed. Laying amongst Andrew’s sheets always made Neil feel like someone had scooped out everything in his head and replaced the contents with cotton. 

Around him, the bed shifted with the weight of Andrew. Neil tensed when he felt the mattress dip as Andrew’s knees bracketed his hips. 

“Still yes?” Andrew asked. 

“Yes,” Neil replied, turning his head to the side so that he could look at Andrew. In the glow of the setting sun, he looked startlingly young, almost boyish. His hair, freshly washed and dried, had curled up into a thousand cowlicks. When the light hit it just right, it shone like a halo. A smile twitched at the corners of Neil’s lips. 

Flowers bloomed in his lungs making it impossible to breathe but it didn’t matter. Andrew had been taking Neil’s breath away since the day they’d met, albeit by wildly different means. A four letter word bloomed alongside them. It wasn’t the first time Neil thought it but it was the closest he’d come to saying it out loud. He watched as Andrew seated himself atop the backs of Neil’s thighs. 

“Staring,” Andrew grumbled. 

“And?” Neil countered. Grabbing a second pillow conveniently close to him, Andrew smacked it over Neil’s face. A squawk of indignation escaped Neil then. Just as he tore it off, he heard the snap of a cap. It wasn’t the lube. It couldn’t be. Tearing the pillow off his face, Neil looked back in time to see Andrew squirting lotion into his hand. He warmed it between his hands before pressing his hands onto Neil’s lower back. 

Slowly but surely he worked the cream into Neil’s back, working out the knots in his back. A quiet groan slipped past Neil’s lips. 

“God,,,, fuck,,, Drew,” he moaned, letting his whole body go slack beneath the ministrations of his hands. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having back problems?” Andrew asked. His voice was as devoid of all emotion the way it always was when he was trying to hide how much something hurt. 

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Neil confessed. 

“You’re always a bother,” Andrew said. Neil sighed knowing that it meant his previous answer was inadequate. Andrew was giving him a chance to try again. 

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Neil mumbled. Silence settled over them minus the occasional moan from Neil. 

“I don’t,” Andrew finally agreed. “But I want to.” The four letter word bloomed in Neil’s chest once again. The heel of Andrew’s palm glided up his back and it broke the last of Neil’s will. 

“I love you,” Neil whispered, burying his face in the pillow, almost hoping Andrew wouldn’t hear. Immediately, Andrew stopped moving. There was a moment of complete stillness that seemed to stretch on for hours. 

The bed creaked as Andrew shifted his weight. Lips ghosted over the back of Neil’s neck. All the air rushed out of Neil’s lungs. He hadn’t even known he’d been holding his breath. Neil felt Andrew’s lips making their way down his back, pressing gently against each of his vertebrae. When they made it to the hem of his shorts they stopped. 

“This isn’t nothing,” Andrew whispered. His voice sounded strained. Neil’s heart stopped. Sitting up he turned fully to face Andrew. 

“Yes-”

“Yes,” Andrew said, closing the space between the two of them in the blink of an eye. Both of them were cursed with sharp wits and even sharper tongues. It made soft moments like this so hard but, if their lives were easy, they wouldn’t have been Foxes. Neil didn’t need easy. He needed Andrew and, if this kiss proved anything, it was that Andrew was his to have and to hold, for better, for worse, to love and to cherish and not even death would do them part.