#andrew who kisses Neil like the world streets and ended with Neil's mouth

[sillyunicorn]

'andrew minyard has no traits' is such a wild take I don't even know where to begin

[jemej3m]

HAVE U EVER THOUGHT OF A BAND!AU?? i love band au's and ur work!!! (not to mention but i think u would write an excellent drummer!andrew)

are you kidding me??? have i ever thought of a band au? bruh i breathe band au’s

also, i wanted this to be soft, so have some childhood friends starting a band out of their mum’s garage :DD

*

“Can I now?”

Neil ducked his head, trying not to show Andrew his grin. “No, ‘Drew.”

Andrew cocked his head. “How about now?”

Neil turned around and arched a singular eyebrow at the man. “You cannot shove your drum stick through Kevin’s brain, Andrew. Not now: not ever.”

“I hate you,” he muttered. Neil just grinned. 

“You say the sweetest things to me, ‘Drew.” With that, he turned and continued to tune his acoustic. Behind him, Andrew was going bright red. 

What started as a friendly, neighbourhood band had turned into something else entirely: Neil and Andrew were cramped backstage, tuning and warming up. Kevin was probably talking to his mom on the phone, whilst Nicky was most certainly trying to escape their security detail and go flirt with fans in the event centre’s foyer. He could charm a crowd. 

They’d started the band up when they were just kids: Neil remembered Kevin grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him across the street, where he’d noticed the three Dobson boys setting up instruments in their garage: Nicky on bass, Aaron on keyboard and Andrew on his drumkit. 

Neil, having been only 11 whilst the others were 12 or 13, wasn’t as outspoken or enthusiastic about joining them as Kevin was. 

“Come on, Neil,” Kevin insisted, dragging him by the elbow. “I’ll sing and you play the guitar. Okay?”

“It might be fun, Neil,” his sister, Dan, insisted, giving him a gentle push out the door. “It’s just messing around in a garage band. Nothing serious.”

If little Neil knew where he’d be, nine years later, he probably would’ve spontaneously combusted out of paranoia and fear. 

Adult Neil still got anxious - he always wanted to perform his best - but it’d taken years of gigs and scouts and labels to work them up to where they were now. It was a gradual process, which definitely helped the whole stage-fright thing. 

“What are you thinking about?” Andrew inquired, sitting down behind Neil and hooking his chin over Neil’s shoulder. He smiled, leaning back against his best friend. 

“Just stuff,” he responded. “How we got here. Where we’ll go.”

“Next stop on the tour is D.C.”

“Funny.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, deadpan. “That’s what I’m known for.”

Neil just laughed, getting to his feet. “We’d better get ready before Kevin comes back.”

“Your brother is the worst,” Andrew grunted, following suit. 

“At least we’re not related,” Neil grinned, jostling Andrew’s shoulder. “You can’t talk: you’re Aaron’s twin.”

Andrew just pointed a stick at Neil in warning. 

*

The lights were flashing. Audience screaming. Neil opened his eyes out of his reverie and looked to his counterparts: Nicky was rushing up and down the front lines, giving out as many hugs as he could. Kevin was waving and blowing kisses. And Andrew - 

He stood behind his drumkit, shirtless and dripping with sweat. He still bore his armbands, brimming with blades and secrets, and in his hands he loosely held his favourite pair of drumsticks, a pair Betsy had bought him, one’s he’d been careful to not break. 

Neil’s mouth was dry as he walked over to where Andrew stood. A spotlight blazed from above, shrouding Andrew’s head and illuminating his hair like a golden halo. He looked angelic. He was angelic. 

“You were amazing,” Neil said, voice lost under the cacophony of the crowd. His hand was reached out, gently brushing the bare skin of Andrew’s bicep. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore: the post-show euphoria was driving him. 

Andrew didn’t need to hear him. He could read lips. Read intentions. 

They were ushered off the stage soon after, Neil’s ears still ringing, his fingertips still burning. Andrew tugged on a fresh shirt, a towel around his neck. He had the most laborious job out of all of them, save maybe Kevin. Neil looked away from the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck. 

“Good show,” Kevin panted, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. Neil nodded, the exhaustion of playing for four hours settling in. His shoulders ached, fingertips raw with playing both his guitar and the keyboard (Neil filled Aaron’s vacancy when he’d fucked off to college) whilst his throat ached from countless harmonies and backups he sung for Kevin. 

Genuine praise from Kevin was rare and prized for their band, and was usually reserved to the few moments after a performance finished. Then he’d go back to his regularly scheduled criticisms and evaluations. 

“Wasn’t it?” Nicky grinned. “We are such hot shit sometimes! Anyway,” he slung his guitar off to the side, careless. Neil winced a little. “I’ve got a cutie waiting in my car, apparently.” He winked. “His name’s Erik and he’s built like a wall. I’ll see y’all tomorrow!” 

“Jesus Christ,” Kevin said, not unkindly. They were all used to Nicky’s antics by now. He looked back to Neil. “You gonna stay with Andrew or me?”

Neil narrowed his eyes. Was he going to stay with his brother or his best friend? The choice wasn’t exactly hard to make. 

Kevin put up his hands. “What? I thought you two’d had a lover’s spat or something, before the show.”

“Kevin,” Andrew warned, voice low. 

“You guys weren’t as synthesised as you usually are,” Kevin continued. “Did Neil say something, again? Neil, what did you do?”

“Kevin,” Andrew snapped. 

The man took his final warning with a grain of salt and rolled his eyes, peeling off to cool down and head back to the hotel. He left Neil standing in the middle of the corridor, baffled. What the fuck was he talking about? A lover’s spat?

“Don’t think too hard, junkie,” Andrew muttered, fingers hooked into the collar of Neil’s shirt. “He’s just sprouting his usual bullshit.” But Andrew couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

“Right,” Neil agreed, smiling weakly. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Shut up,” Andrew tugged him down the corridor with a finger hooked through Neil’s belt loop. 

Neil went willingly. He always went willingly with Andrew. There was no one else in the world that he trusted more.

*

“What do you mean, you’re not a thing?”

Neil paused with his fingertips up to the door, ready to push it open. It seemed as though he had stumbled upon a conversation - perhaps not for Neil’s ears. 

“He’s not interested,” Andrew said, sounding exhausted. “And I’m not about to pressure him into something he doesn’t want.”

Huh. Maybe they were talking about a new guy. Andrew didn’t date that often - or very successfully - and he was usually not willing to talk to Neil about it whenever it did happen. Neil wasn’t quite sure why but respected his boundaries nevertheless. He just didn’t know that Andrew went to Kevin about it. 

Neil wondered who it was, this time. Roland? He’d been the most long-term thing Andrew had ever attempted. No, Andrew said he wasn’t interested in Roland. Unless he was lying. 

Andrew doesn’t lie to me, Neil reminded himself. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kevin insisted. “He’s been in love with you ever since he first saw you. Don’t give me that look, Andrew. Put away your knives.”

“Do you think so?” Andrew asked, voice low. Gravelly. Tainted by disbelief.

Something in Neil’s chest tightened. He sounded…hopeful. Neil was arbitrarily jealous. Who was this guy? 

Wait, why was Neil jealous?

He pushed against the door, ignoring the way that the two of them shifted so that it didn’t look like they were engaged in conversation. 

“We’re loading up the bus,” he supplied. “Time to get moving.”

And if Neil noticed the way that Andrew walked around him, careful not to brush their knuckles, well. 

He didn’t say anything. 

*

By the end of the third week, Neil couldn’t handle it anymore. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, or why Andrew was so adamant in avoiding him, but he hated it. He hadn’t felt this isolated since his early years when his father would shut him in a wardrobe and his mother would scold him for eliciting his father’s ire, before both of his parents died and Wymack adopted him into his strange little family, brought him into the tiny cul de sac  where Betsy Dobson and Abby Winfield lived with their own collections of abandoned kids. 

“Andrew,” he mumbled as he watched Andrew tuck himself into his own bed. They were sleeping in the same hotel room but they were millions of miles away from each other. Neil felt stiff and confused. 

Resigned, he shut the light off. 

*

“Fix it,” Kevin demanded. 

“Fix what?”

“Just tell him already. It’s getting nauseating.” 

Neil narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kevin threw Neil’s lyric notepad back at him. “‘Living limbless, lost, lonely, ever since you went and left me’? What do you mean, what am I talking about? I thought you two were already together - now he’s saying you were never interested? What the fuck, Neil. You’ve been practically married for years.” 

Neil blinked. “Me and -”

“Andrew, yes, who else?” Kevin continued, irritable as he scrawled down new ideas. “You’re so fucking dense sometimes - ow!” 

Neil stuck out his tongue, satisfied with the large black line his thrown pen had left behind. He fished out another pen from his bag and kept writing, letting Kevin’s banter distract him from how painful his chest felt. 

*

The tour was ending. They were looping back to South Carolina. Andrew hardly looked at him anymore, let alone spoke to him. Kevin looked at Neil with pity. Nicky tried to cheer everyone up with icecream. 

Neil couldn’t understand why they were falling apart. What had he done? What had he said? 

The screams irked him. They sounded less ecstatic and more afraid. Neil was falling apart onstage, overthinking. They’d just played for Charleston, one of their last stops on the tour. 

The curtains came down. Neil couldn’t move. The others were already off the stage. Neil couldn’t breathe. 

“Neil,” Andrew said. He couldn’t look Andrew in the eye. How was he to explain that Andrew’s estrangement had left him in such a miserable state that he could hardly perform without breaking down? 

“Neil, look at me.” 

Neil closed his eyes. “Whatever I did - I’m sorr -” 

“Abram,” Andrew whispered, before pressing a bruising kiss to Neil’s lips. His eyes flew open, though he didn’t move. It didn’t matter: Not a moment later, Andrew ricocheted back, hand over his own mouth. In his other hand, his favourite drumsticks snapped, falling to the floor in uneven halves. 

By the time Neil had opened his mouth, Andrew was gone. 

Neil spent the drive to the pub they’d chosen to ride out their performance high in silence. Andrew was stoic and unmoving, silent despite Nicky’s attempts at conversation. When they arrived, Neil felt like he wanted to throw up. 

It was bustling at the late hour, but dark enough to slip in unnoticed. Neil followed Andrew up to the bar: at one point, someone shoved into Andrew and Neil felt him press Neil against the marble top, warm from shoulder to shin. Neil wanted to lean back into him. He wanted Andrew to look at him, to talk to him. He wanted Andrew back. He wanted Andrew. 

Quickly, he turned around, ignoring the bar tender when he asked if he was sure he wanted a virgin martini. Andrew was right there, pupils blown, cheeks red. Angry. 

He was furious. 

“Andrew,” Neil insisted. “Why -” 

He grabbed the tray of drinks and disappeared before Neil could form a sentence. 

And - well. Neil wasn’t known for subordination. 

He waited patiently for the others to get drunk and disappear into the crowd, like they always did. Sometimes Nicky dragged Neil with him, if the night was right. Andrew usually just sat, patiently waiting for his family to return to him. His whiskey sips were cautious and slow. 

Tonight was different. As soon as they were alone, Andrew stood, knocked back the entire glass and strode towards the exit. Neil let his breath hitch and followed, almost jogging in order to keep up with Andrew’s stride. 

“Andrew, this is insane,” he said as they walked down the street, leaving the bar behind. “I’m losing my mind here. Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you even look at me? What did I do?” 

“Exist,” Andrew snarled, hands curled into fists and shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket. 

Neil ran ahead of him, almost tripping over the uneven sidewalk. They’d walked far enough that they seemed to have removed themselves from any remnants of the club, and instead were stood in front of a circular, patheon-esque church and its haphazard graveyard. 

Andrew stopped walking and stared. In the moonlight his skin was pale enough to be translucent. 

“Tell me,” Neil whispered. “Truth for truth. We promised, Andrew. To never lie, to never leave. Why did you kiss me?”

“You promised,” Andrew corrected him. “I swore I would have your back. Does that have to constitute being attached at the hip?” 

Neil crossed his arms, petulant. 

Andrew’s sigh was aggravated. “It was never meant to be a problem.”

“What was?”

“You.”

“Andrew -” 

Fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, then slipped across the warm skin at the nape of his neck, then tangled themselves into Neil’s hair. Andrew pulled their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes closed too tight. Neil wanted to iron out the crease between his brows. 

“‘Drew?”

“Shut up,” the man croaked. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil said, weakly. “I wanted to kiss you.” 

Andrew’s nails dug into Neil’s scalp. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes,” his fingers carefully found their way onto Andrew’s jaw, forcing the man to look up at him. “I did.” 

Andrew just swallowed, red-cheeked. 

Neil pulled Andrew closer, head dropping to Andrew’s shoulder. His heart throbbed like a drumbeat, heavy and insistent and never, ever out of time. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Andrew lied. 

“I think I like you, ‘Drew,” Neil whispered into the skin of Andrew’s neck. “I think I really do.” 

“I hate you,” Andrew managed, sliding his hands around Neil’s waist and holding him close under the Charleston moonlight. “I hate you.” 

“I know,” Neil managed, closing his eyes. It made a lot more sense, now. 

Between their erratic breathing and racing pulses, a drumbeat formed. 

[ravenvsfox]

Can you do Jeaneil or Mattneil bc my heart does not have enough rare pair content to go on? Please?

you poor deprived kiddo let me give u some mattneil to keep u warm

SEND ME A SHIP AND I’LL TELL YOU…

who is more likely to hurt the other?

ok here’s the scoop: matt doesn’t know how to hurt someone :/ he was born that way :/ it’s medically proven :// 

Neil on the other hand......... like he doesn’t take care of himself and he doesn’t understand social cues and like. it hurts matt’s heart. he just wants neil whole and happy and neil makes rash decisions and lies/doesn’t let matt in at first and that cuts pretty deep

who is emotionally stronger?

mmmmm hard to say bc they’re both p resilient from the shit they’ve been through but matt’s shit just happens to be more manageable?? like if you put matt in neil’s headspace idk if he could do it. but like in the series, matt is an emotional pillar of strength, neil’s safe harbour etc, he’s fought rlly hard to get the peace of mind that he has 

who is physically stronger?

dude matt could benchpress two neil’s stacked on top of each other....... he can and will carry neil home on his back..... he’s like 7 feet tall

who is more likely to break a bone? 

neeeeeil as always my accident prone kiddaroo. Matt has a bit of trouble organizing his long fuckin limbs sometimes but his centre of balance is good. plus he doesn’t have those pesky yakuza members on his ass

who knows best what to say to upset the other? 

r u srs matt would never in his life purposefully upset neil where would he even start he’d be like ‘uh. neil.. you. uhh-- what is that? ur natural hair colour?? like something that beautiful could occur in nature am i... am i right’

meanwhile neil is an emotionally unstable drama queen who canonically distances himself and flings insults to keep people safe so like. yeah he might dick things up bc he’s in the habit of alienation & doing things alone

who is most likely to apologize first after an argument? 

matt would bc he doesn’t like conflict and he’s very very gentle with neil. he understands neil’s past (and quite frankly doesn’t give a shit about where neil’s from or the laws he’s broken) and he understands that things go south for a reason. neil has bad days that are. rlly bad. and matt’s not perfect but like. he’ll make space for neil to come home to. he’ll make sure the first thing neil hears is sorry and i love you and we’re better than this 

who treats who’s wounds more often? 

please.. who do u think....... 

remember when matt went completely blood-drained pale & furious when neil got hurt? remember when he punched kevin in his face for letting anyone touch neil?? if u don’t think he’d try to hold neil together at the seams idk what to tell you

who is in constant need of comfort? 

neil has nightmares and a multitude of triggers and matt spends a lot of time trying to stand between neil and the rest of the world, just in case. neil tries pretty hard to ignore the bad memories under his skin, but they poke out like splinters and matt happens to be really good with tweezers

who gets more jealous? 

like I think it might actually be neil?? in a weird, nebulous, unidentifiable by even himself kind of way. Matt means so much to him, like. he’s the first person who looked at him and didn’t even try to look away, just accepted him into his family w/o blinking. neil still doesn’t understand romance, and he doesn’t ever think that matt would like ‘cheat’ on him or w/e. but he knows the wriggly feeling when matt can’t be around for whatever reason. he’s jealous of people who have matt’s time and attention tbh bc it feels so amazing when HE has itbut also if a person tries to touch neil matt will be very >:(

who’s most likely to walk out on the other? 

no

who will propose? 

ohohohooo it’s SO matt

he’s always wanted to lock that down tbh he’s the kind of guy that sees you, loves you, plans a life w you in his head every time you laugh

5 years down the line he proposes and neil is like ‘i guess ya w/e anyway when r u gonna transfer to my team i wanna play exy w you’ and matt cries

who has the most difficult parents?

😒 

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public? 

matt what a sweetie I bet he tries to hold hands w neil when they’re jogging like... hun that ain’t gonna work but I appreciate the gesture

neil is so blown away by casual intimacy he ends up staring at their linked fingers the whole time they’re walking anywhere and almost running into shit

who comes up for the other all the time? 

matt talks about neil 24/7 soooo

who hogs the blankets? 

here’s the thing,, neil doesn’t even have the opportunity to hog the blankets before matt’s in there tucking him in and holding him close and giving him foot massages and shit

like if neil has an excess of anything it’s bc matt gave it to him

who gets more sad? 

this question is so weird for tfc bc like they all are yo this is a book about mistreated young adults so

like yeah neil struggles more with being okay with his reflection and the way his skin is all fraying and ripped like old fabric at the tender age of 19 and the twisty feeling of having been viscerally relieved by his father’s death and the years of trauma under his belt from a litany of abusers 

but matt has a drug problem that sent his life all over the place like shotgun fire and a parent that didn’t know how to be a parent, and friends that died young and got hurt and taken away and that can be really fucking sad too

who is better at cheering the other up? 

matt can flash a smile and put in a movie and calmly list every single thing that looks bright about neil’s future and it’s amazing how much that helps?? neil cheers matt up by being utterly oblivious about how to cheer him up though. awkward shoulder pats and inappropriately timed kisses and matt’s like :))) thanks u loser

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

it’s not so much that neil makes silly jokes, but he does say wildly inappropriate things/roasts anyone w a pulse and matt’s reactions are either A) thrilled, laughing, go get ‘em babe B) ‘holy... shit.... can he say that?? can u say that babe?’ C) (gentle slap) ‘can u.. calm down damn’

who is more streetwise?

uhhh neil from the. you know. street. but matt can definitely handle himself, and he spent some time in underground party scenes and trying to like live when his dad was preoccupied so he knows his way around bits and pieces of the real world (andrew would disagree)

who is more wise?

i get the feeling that neil is lowkey smarter than most ppl know?? (distractingly 80% of the shit that comes out of his mouth is exy jargon or insults) he’s capable enough to keep his head down, do some calculations, and survive

matt is smart, and he thrives socially, but he can be a little tiny bit naive sometimes

who’s the shyest? 

like I guess neil bc his true colours are buried under 8 feet of fabrication, and matt’s an upfront lovely guy

who boasts about the other more? 

look. matt loves neil so much. he tells the story of his rising from the ashes of his former life and becoming an exy star like it’s the plot of his favourite movie. he tells everyone about neil being scouted. he tells everyone when he says yes to his proposal. like he’s in line at sobey’s telling the cashier about neil’s talent and his pretty eyes

who sits on who’s lap?

again like.... logistically it’s gotta be neil, and also emotionally it’s gotta be neil

he deserves some lap sitting tbh

[ravenvsfox]

6: “Marry me” (part 2 from the 5/6 request, also andreil!)

It takes 4 months and 2 weeks to organize Matt’s proposal to Dan. 

Neil knows because he’s been pretending to understand most of what Matt says to him for 4 months and 2 weeks.

It’s not that he’s not happy for them, it’s just that being told to celebrate love feels like being told to celebrate the way the world turns, or the gravity that continues to pin us like the bar on a rollercoaster seat. Neil celebrates love by staying alive to see it. He celebrates it by keeping it.

He looks at prospective rings and says they’re fine over and over again. He dutifully tells Dan nothing even when she asks outright. He answers the phone when Matt calls him in a panic at midnight and says “what if she says no” so many times that Neil hands the phone to Nicky.

It does make him think though, about Andrew. Without meaning to.

He doesn’t think of it as marriage in his head (to Neil, marriage has always been something that swallows you like quick sand). Tying himself to Andrew though — having something legally binding like Neil Josten on his documents, like their names on the lease, like his contract with his team — that means something to Neil.

Being with Andrew is the thrill of being in the game, but having it on paper would be like points blinking onto a scoreboard. He knows he’s scoring now, but he wants the crowd to know too. He wants this win to stick.

He doesn’t mention it because it doesn’t matter, ultimately. Neil doesn’t need other people to tell him that they love each other.

Andrew scoops Sir off Neil’s lap and smuggles him to his side of the couch. He pours one bowl of sugar crisp and one bowl of granola in the morning. He catches Neil’s sleeve before he goes for a run and uses every ounce of 5 AM energy he has to hold Neil’s eyes. Neil knows how he feels.

But he really does support Matt and Dan, separate from the way he’s scared of hospital rooms he won’t be allowed into or the box on a form that labels them ‘roommates’ like that’s anywhere close to enough.

The engagement lines up with a weekend that all the original foxes are scheduled to meet up on, scraped together by Matt’s meticulous hands and Nicky’s constant phone calls.

Andrew isn’t interested in going, but Neil asks, so. They’re the first ones there.

Matt has booked this back room, and he has elaborate plans to get Dan’s stage sisters to meet with them, and Wymack’s been invited to sit at her right hand. Matt’s arranged for every piece of Dan’s family to be together in one room before he asks her.

When Neil walks in, Matt’s already pacing.

“What’s up with you?”

Matt’s head snaps up immediately and he sags at the sight of him. “Neil. I’m panicking.”

“And?”

Matt groans. “Help me! The table settings were supposed to be orange and white, I asked ahead.  I paid ahead. Romance is so fucking expensive.”

Neil shrugs, and Andrew walks in behind him. Matt gives him a cautious nod.

“Is she getting engaged to you or the place settings?” Andrew asks flatly, sitting down to rip the closest napkin into pieces. Matt’s face falls.

“You told him?”

Neil looks at Andrew, then back at Matt. “Obviously. Was I not supposed to?���

“No!” Matt hisses. He strides towards Neil so he has to look straight down to make eye contact. “He— do you think he gets social cues? He’ll tell Aaron or something, to spite me, and Katelyn will tell Allison, and…” He trails off, searching Neil’s blank look. “God, who am I talking to. Neither of you understand social cues.”

“I just don’t know what the big deal is,” Neil says, “she’s going to say yes.”

“Yeah, but still,” Matt says, and then he seems to realize what he’s said, and his expression changes. He touches fingers to his own smile. “She is going to say yes, isn’t she.”

“If she says no do you stop calling our landline in the middle of the night?” Andrew asks, chewing loudly on ice from his water glass.

Matt glares. “You’re really testing my patience, monster.”

Neil flashes him a look. “I thought you agreed not to call him that.”

Matt waves his hand like he’s patting the flame of Neil’s annoyance out. “It’s an endearing nickname.”

“You’re full of shit,” Neil says, but his mouth twitches.

Allison arrives next, cracking both of the double doors open with Renee on her arm, sunglasses perched on her nose, a cool little smile on her face. She launches directly into an onslaught of questions like she always does, keeping her lead in the still-active betting pool without breaking a sweat.

It’s a trickle of less cool entrances after that: Aaron and Katelyn, who take the seats farthest away from Andrew (but Aaron lets go of her hand to make hushed conversation with his brother), Nicky and Erik, golden-tanned, chattering instantly about their cross USA vacation. Kevin, who arrives with his current team’s jersey on, looking unreasonably severe. He sits next to Andrew and eyes his plate, quietly judgemental. Neil half expects him to start running drills.

Dan walks in late with Wymack in tow — who looks as sheepish as she does pleased.

“You didn’t tell me coach was coming!” Dan says, letting go of Wymack’s hand so she can kiss Matt hello. “I found him loitering in the parking lot.”

Matt shoots him an alarmed look and Wymack shrugs helplessly. “I had to mentally prepare for a room full of you lunatics.”

“It was a surprise,” Matt blurts. “The only surprise.” He laughs awkwardly and Dan feels his forehead.

“Babe, planning events is not good for you.”

Dinner is therapeutic; the conversation plummets almost instantly back to the way it was in the depths of their first year together. Ride or die, no topic off limits, exy underpinning it all. He watches the way everyone is freer with their laughter and more indulgent with their food. They’re not on the court, but the connections feel the same, old, solid, blindly trusting.

“Marry me.”

Neil looks up. Everyone’s stopped with their forks full and wavering, eyes flitting between faces in confusion. Andrew calmly swirls the sauce on his plate with his fork, watching Neil.

“What?” Neil says, throat dry.

“No way,” Matt says from the head of the table. Someone shushes him.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asks.

“Yes,” Neil says, knee-jerk. Then something upends in his chest like everything’s being shaken out of a drawer. “Wait. Seriously?”

Andrew inclines his head.

“You can’t,” Matt says pathetically, and he gets more aggressively shushed. Neil thinks Dan’s doing the shushing.

“Yeah,” Neil breathes again. “Okay. I will.” He looks up and Erik’s hands are clapped over Nicky’s mouth, with Nicky’s on top of them. Aaron looks like he’s taken a wrong exit and he’s trying to find a street sign.

Neil can see the side profiles of the restaurant staff and Dan’s stage sisters huddled in the hallway, waiting to be called in to surprise her. He remembers faintly that there was supposed to be confetti. Andrew reaches up and tugs on his hair.

“Good.”

He wants to feel bad for upstaging Matt’s plans, he does, but he’s so exhilarated that all his blood feels like it’s in his head. Marry me. Like Andrew had been thinking about it. Like he couldn’t help asking.

Everyone goes quiet, and then Katelyn says ‘congratulations’ with a question mark at the end of it. Andrew ignores her, and Neil looks up with his lips pursed. He doesn’t want to be congratulated. He wants to go to the town hall the second the cheque is paid.

Everyone clatters to say something that will stick, Erik has to fight to keep Nicky’s voice contained, and Matt makes a long, wounded sound before he gets down on one knee. “Second place is gonna have to do.”

Dan sort of screams, there’s an absurd pop when she stoppers her own mouth with her hand.

“No way,” someone whispers. “What is happening.”

“I guess I’ve gotta get used to being second. You know. Living with number 1 for the rest of my life,” Matt says, and flashes Dan a sweetly nervous smile. If Neil’s head weren’t on backwards he might be touched by it all. Andrew’s on-the-fly proposal going off like a bomb before fireworks, and Matt just treating it like new material.

Everyone else at the table looks like they’re being elaborately pranked: Katelyn and Erik keep looking at each other like this is an inside joke that they’re missing. Wymack has his head in his hands, but Neil thinks that might have more to do with Dan’s shit-eating grin while she’s being proposed to.

“Getting second place is still losing,” Andrew says airily. Allison glares at him but Neil privately agrees. If you get second place in exy, you’re the worst team. Matt ignores them all, cupping Dan’s hands and making sly jokes. Neil watches him gush, watches Dan’s cheeks glow and her smile hitch further up her face.

She gasps when her stage sisters sway into the room, each holding part of the ‘will you marry me’ on signs. The restaurant staff come in with trays of champagne and Dan muffles the actual question in Matt’s mouth with an enthusiastic kiss.

She pulls back and squishes his cheeks in one hand. “Obviously.” She looks over Matt’s shoulder at Neil, one brow cocked “And that’s how you accept a proposal, Josten.”

Half the table laughs, and the weird tension breaks open like the the guts of a pomegranate. Neil shrugs. He can’t stop looking at Andrew out of the corner of his eye, still and golden in the late afternoon sun. He doesn’t really think there’s a right way to propose or be proposed to. There’s a question and then there’s a yes, and no one’s better at that than Andrew and Neil.

It’s a whirlwind of orange confetti and lilies and hugs after that. Neil gives up any pretence of being interested in it after his first half hour of standing around with champagne, being crush-hugged by Matt and Dan at the same time. He looks at Andrew so frequently that Dan bodily hip checks him into his chair. It’s worth it for the way his eyes snap immediately to Neil’s, a whistling blade finding its target.

“Let’s get out of here,” Neil says lowly, and Andrew tilts his head.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Scintillating conversation with your husband to be,’ Neil says. Andrew considers this with unusually warm eyes.

“I suppose you’re not going to let it go if I don’t?”

“When do I ever let things go?”

Andrew caves after a second, standing and sweeping coolly from the room. Neil tries to tone down the way his whole body is burning, and follows him out into the body of the restaurant.

They step outside into drizzling flash rain, the sun peeking coyly behind the clutch of clouds.

Andrew lights a cigarette under the overhang from the roof, blond eyelashes doubly lit by sunshine and fire, and the contrast of the sweet warm rain haloing everything. Neil kisses him before he can take a second drag. Andrew responds without hesitation, and Neil lets himself be plied with the warm pull of it, like a ship being lulled to its home harbour.

“You asked me to marry you.”

“Astute,” Andrew says, and lifts the hand that isn’t on Neil’s neck to his own mouth, inhaling smoke. He blows it out low, over Neil’s face, with the ribbon of it curling and beckoning between them.

“And it wasn’t just a piss-off-Matt tactic?”

“I didn’t say that.” His clever hands disappear the lighter to somewhere Neil can’t see. He lets go of Neil and steps back into the dip of the wall.

“But you want it,” Neil says, “You’ve thought about it, and you want it. Me.”

Andrew looks away with his cigarette poised at his mouth, but not close enough to smoke. “Not if you keep asking stupid questions.”

Neil smiles to himself. Then he smiles at Andrew. Then he smiles at the sky. “We have to get married at the foxhole court,” he says, just to see what Andrew will do, if it’ll coax that lightness into his eyes again.

“You’ll be going to the reception in a body bag,” Andrew replies neatly, taking another lungful of smoke and letting it creep from the pocket of his mouth without blowing it anywhere. Neil has to kiss him again.

“Too bad. We had a good stretch there for a bit,” he says against Andrew’s mouth.

Andrew doesn’t correct him, and that’s when Neil knows with certainty that it’s real.

“It is a practicality,” Andrew says, after a minute.

“It’s forever,” Neil tells him, stealing his cigarette just so Andrew will look at him. He does.

“Nothing is forever.”

“Maybe not,” Neil agrees. “But I’ve learned that the more connections you make, the harder it is to cut them all off. That’s how you survive.”

“Your insistence on infusing every situation with your tragic backstory is exhausting.”

Neil smiles privately. “I’ve heard it’s pretty interesting.”

“You were lied to.”

Neil leans his side up against the wall so he can watch Andrew close up. “Andrew.” There’s a brush of eye contact between them, like the jolt of a live wire, and Neil hums. “I told you it was always going to be a yes.”

Andrew looks out into the veil of rain and steals his cigarette back without looking. “I couldn’t just count on that.”

“Well. Count on it now.”

Andrew looks back at Neil with eyes that are 50 feet deep, a face like a piece of art that unsettles you so much that you fall in love with it. “Okay.”