#don't @ me i can see the tee tiny creases

[oneforthemunny]

Omg that cowboy!eddie angst!! Now we need a makeup blurb (only if you feel inclined)

I've let you suffer long enough (24 hours) I will be merciful just this once (I can not stand that they're sad either so this is mainly for me lmao) this is the og blurb that is angsty

The knock on your door came two days later. Long enough that your tears had dried, but eyes still puffy. You didn't expect to see him there; band tee tucked into his wranglers loosely, under his buckle. He wore his nice boots, you noted. The ones he wore when he took you out, not his work ones.

Eddie was leaning against the door, his own dark bags under his eyes that even in his shaded profile from his hat, you could see clearly. He hadn't slept much either.

"Can we talk?" Eddie rasped, eyes rounding softly when they met yours. "Please?"

You relented letting him in to your tiny town house. It felt weird staying here for the last few nights. You'd nearly moved to the ranch after the first month of dating. Eddie had begged you to not renew your lease next month, come stay with him instead, you were there so much anyways.

You sat across from him, your dining room table that he'd helped you fix when the leg got loose. Eddie's knee bounced, nervous and overwhelmed. You looked at him, arms crossed over your chest. You were angry, of course you were. Hurt and angry and overwhelmed still.

"I'm sorry." Eddie said, fingers tracing the pattern of the wood, but his eyes stayed on you. "I-I'm sorry."

"Yeah?" You raised a brow, swallowing back the familiar burn of tears. "For what part?"

Eddie flinched at your tone. He knew he deserved it but it still hurt. "All of it, baby." Eddie sighed lowly, defeated and a little sad. It made your heart lurch. "I just... I didn't think that you'd be jeal- mad about Lola."

"Why wouldn't I be?" You snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. "Seriously, Ed, she was all over you!"

Eddie took a deep breath, regulating and calming. "Because," He sighed, knee bouncing a little harder. "I don't like Lola like that. I don't give a shit about her or-or really anyone else for that matter, honey. They're not you, and I only care about you."

Your lip wobbled, tears pricking the back of your eyes. You thought you'd ran out of tears, surely, after crying yourself to sleep the night you left and most of the day yesterday. "She was all over you, Ed." You pouted, voice wobbling around the words. "She was in my seat when I got back, and she was all over you, and you were letting her."

"I know." Eddie sighed slowly. "And I'm sorry, baby, I really am. I just... My mind wasn't on her like that, and-and I shouldn't have gotten mad that you were upset, because honestly? If that was some guy talkin' to you like that and sittin' in my seat... I'd be pretty pissed off too."

Your lips curled lightly, trying to hide your warm, smug grin. Eddie caught it anyways, moving to make his way around the table, crouching next to your chair. "'m sorry, honey." He muttered, hands rubbing up and down the soft fabric of your pajama pants. "I'm real sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Your lip wobbled. "For being so... jealous." You muttered, blushing at the admission. You felt silly, really. A little juvenile for getting so worked up.

Eddie shook his head, a small smile that had his dimples creasing gently. "Don't be sorry." He muttered, cupping your cheek. "Didn't do nothing wrong, baby."

"But I did." You whimpered, lip wobbling. "I shouldn't have been so mean, and-and I'm not like that usually. I don't want you to think I'm like a controlling bitch, I just-"

"Hey, easy, darlin'." Eddie cooed, thumb gliding over your cheek bone. "I know, alright? Let's just put it to rest. I don't wanna fight anymore."

"Me either." You sighed, heavy but relaxed, like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. "I missed you."

"I missed you." Eddie muttered, pulling you closer to him. "Sleep like shit when you're not with me, you know that?" He hummed.

You nodded, your lips barely brushing his before his mouth enveloped yours fully, kissing you hard and slow. Hands roaming each others, feet shuffling and scuffing the floor all the way back to your bedroom. Eddie collapsed on top of you gently, the bed groaning with the squeak of the springs, his hands under your shirt, his boots back under your bed.

[nikomedes]

i wanted to wait till i got my skins to post but. i have acquired a Deck. i have named her the Creature (my gaming desktop is the Beast) and i love her very much so far

specs on the deck, screen protector, skins, etc under the cut, and a little on my experience so far

so i placed my reservation day one for the most basic model of the steam deck, the 64gb w/o the ~special glass~, and was projected to receive in q2. i got my order confirmation email on 5/20, purchased that day, and received fedex tracking info the next day. i received my deck on 5/27. in anticipation of its arrival i ordered a set of 4 tempered glass screen protectors from amazon for $8 (lit just search "steam deck tempered glass" and you'll find what i got), and a 512gb uhs-i micro sd card to expand that pitiful 64gb. after playing with the deck for about a week i put in an order for skins: i got the dbrand steam deck skin in Kind of Purple on the front and black Swarm on the back/touchpads.

(a note on the skins: i find the cuts were of EXCELLENT quality and getting a good result, with minimal wrinkles/warping, is a matter of going very slow, using a lot of heat, and trying to pull the skin off and on during application as little as possible. i really like the feel of both the matte Purple front and the textured hexagonal pattern on the back. idk how much i'm going to like it on the touchpads, but i can always peel the Swarm squares off and put on the Purple that came with the front piece. i think they're a good value for the money, but i wouldn't buy their ultra special tempered glass at $25 for a 2 pack. at the end of the day it's just sticky tempered glass rectangles...)

the steam deck itself-- i REALLY like it. i'm an ideal user for this device, tho: i have a large steam library, i built my own pc so i appreciate the hardware and design work on this, and have become a primarily switch gamer this last year bc my gaming time has gradually shifted more towards an hour or two before bed or work than the 4-8 hour gaming marathons of college. the steam deck fills that niche well. i've picked up and played 3 different games so far (aperture desk job to learn the controls, tacoma, then night in the woods as pictured above) and had a great experience in all of them. even if a game is listed as iffy on the deck, it's worth giving it a shot-- often the biggest issue you'll run into is text size. the deck lets me particularly play smaller indie games i really want to play, but haven't felt up to booting my whole ass pc and sitting down at a desk for since i bought them. i bought tacoma the year it came out and JUST NOW got to it, and loved it! im very excited for how many more small projects the deck will let me finally spend time with because of its portability.

urgh okay switching to bullets to try to better organize my thoughts:

i got the good fan! i haven't found it to be loud at all, but i HAVE found the deck gets hot fast even running non-AAA titles. i actually went and toggled off their new fan settings that minimized when it ran in favor of the old BIOS-based ones. i would rather hear the soft sound of my fan all the time and know the unit's temp is well-regulated, rather than possibly degrade my hardware faster for Silence. glad i have the option to opt in or out of integral device updates, too!

i tried using the deck in desktop mode to install some of my itch.io library with mixed results. the linux desktop is intuitive, if small, and as a firefox user on all devices it was very easy to log in to firefox pre-installed on the device and get all my bookmarks/logins. i was able to download and extract game files from itch. i was even able to run a couple games! unfortunately the input scheme translation issue between the deck and a game running in desktop mode is rough, and the onscreen keyboard can't bridge the gap. i'm going to keep futzing with this, though! i want to play those games and it's definitely (theoretically) possible

the steam deck os is DEFINITELY in beta, and is missing some features big picture mode has. the onscreen keyboard is... bad. but software is a comparatively easy fix, and it's by no means unusable

the ergonomics work well for me! granted, i have big hands, but the button/trigger placements feel very natural, and switching to using the touchpad vs the right analog stick is nothing. for how many buttons they stuck on this thing, i'm impressed they all feel pretty good! it's definitely heavier than the switch and i haven't felt comfortable commuting with it yet. but in my experience so far, preventing wrist strain is as easy as curling up in bed or in a chair and naturally resting some point of the deck on a pillow/arm/side table, which was my same strat with the switch.

i haven't used any bluetooth peripherals yet, so nothing to say there. but it still has a headphone jack. THANK YOU. my god, i missed being able to use some of my best headphones. not to mention p much any gamer headset with headphones and mic routed through one jack.

the case is nice? no room for other items (sd card case, stylus, cable, etc) but it's very solidly built. but again, haven't travelled with the deck yet

right now there's an issue with where shader caches and other supporting data files for games get stored. i've loaded about 300gb of games on my sd so far with no problem, but my deck's default 64gb storage is almost full just from files supporting those games being saved there instead of on the card. as more people get decks, i expect a patch to make sure all files get saved one place or another will come down, though rumor has it there's a linux thing you can run to fix this... but ive been too chickenshit to try running too much on the desktop side that could alter the device's os

whew thats a lot!!! to distill, ive been enjoying this device for what it is: a new piece of tech with some flaws to be addressed, that gives me another way to interact with games i already own, and feels much more transparent in its development (and reparable! i didnt even get into the replacement parts!) than the switch. i really like it, and if you're expecting one or thinking about reserving, i hope this gave you some more info about the experience!

[youbloodymadgenius]

Nunky! (Modern!Ivar x reader - Modern!Ivar x OCs niece and nephew)

A/N: This is my entry to @flowers-in-your-hayr 650 Followers Celebration 🎉 Congrats again, love 🌸 And thanks for this amazing moodboard 😍

I'm awfully late, sorry about that. The truth is, do you know what it is to struggle? Let me tell you: there were three other drafts before this final version. More than 4000 words... All trashed...

Anyway, I'm quite happy with this one, that's all that matters.

@geekandbooknerd, thanks for beta reading this for me 🌺

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: Ever wonder what kind of uncle Ivar would be? Let me show you 😉

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff 🙈

Words: 1978

"We're going to play Pete the Cat or Sneaky Snacky Squirrel Game, you in?" He shouts at you from the deck.

Lazily lying on a sunbed in the shade of an oak, you don't bother opening your eyes. As much as you love board games, there's no way you're leaving this perfect spot. Not yet, and certainly not for the next two hours.

"No, I'm good." You shake your head for emphasis, even if you're not sure he can see you.

"Okay lovebug, see you later," he says tenderly before changing his tone, "All right kiddos, get ready to lose!"

You let out a chuckle as Viola and Soren, feeling offended, express loudly their discontent. And you can't help but laugh. You know he's going to let them win anyway. He may be a sore loser who hates to lose and would do anything to win, whether in business or in a game, but things are different when it comes to his niece and nephew. That's just how much he loves them.

Your multi-faceted lover…

To the world, he is Ivar Ragnarsson, the crippled son – and true heir – of the mighty Ragnar Lothbrok, and, till last year – till you – Scandinavia's richest and most eligible bachelor, and all this in spite of his legs.

To his employees and business partners, he's an arrogant, cranky, demanding, cold-hearted, smart as hell, and very successful business tycoon. Oh, if they could see him right now, they wouldn't believe their eyes. No dress shirt, no suit pants, no blazer. With a backwards baseball cap, a basic black tee-shirt and stonewashed jeans, he looks more like a boy than a crafty businessman.

To you, he's the man you've been in love with for eight months; a complex human being, for sure, full of contradictions: so self-confident and yet in some ways so self-conscious; outwardly tough but at times so incredibly vulnerable. You won't lie, he can be infuriating; he's stubborn, strong-headed and short tempered. But he's awfully clever, deadpan and… well... devastatingly handsome, with his impossibly beautiful features and his otherworldly icy blue eyes. He's a fantastic lover too, unexpectedly caring and attentive, loyal and faithful.

To Viola and Soren, his favorite brother's children, he's Uncle Ivar – or Nunky, as Viola calls him – the best uncle ever, funny and mischievous, loving and supportive. He's always ready to go out of his way to teach them all the cool stuff kids are supposed to know; silly jokes, riddles and magic tricks. He's their favorite babysitter, the one who is completely devoted to them, the one who feeds them ice cream and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, before reminding them conspiratorially, with a finger on his lips: "You know the deal, sweet peas! Not a word to your mom."

You remember as if it were yesterday your first meeting with them.

Soren, chocolate all over his face, greets you with a big smile, immediately asking you if you want to play hide-and-seek with them. On the other hand, Viola looks at you from head to toe, scrutinizing you intensely. With her lips pursed and her brows creased, she doesn't seem very pleased, to say the least. The seconds tick by and finally, placing her tiny hands on her hips, the little girl takes a deep breath. "I don't want to play with her. I don't like her." The hostility in her tone can't be missed.

Speechless, you look at Viola with wide open eyes. You usually have a way with kids and are honestly a little stunned by such an unfriendly welcome.

"Viola, please…" Ivar grumbles, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't have time to say another word. "No, Nunky! You told me she was your lover!" Ah, now you're beginning to see her problem, and it brings a small smile on your lips.

Viola points an accusing finger towards you. "Are you Nunky's lover?"

You nod playfully but Viola doesn't seem the least bit amused. "That's why I don't like you. And just so you know, you may be Nunky's lover now, but I'm going to marry him. I just have to wait a little," she frowns, thoroughly concentrated, "I need to be a little older, maybe like… that," she stretches out the fingers of both hands in front of her, "but Nunky is going to marry me. Me, not you. So, you might as well leave right now."

You struggle to hold back your laughter, aware that this is a very serious matter for her.

"Come here, baby girl." Rubbing a hand over his face, Ivar pats his knees and then helps his niece as she climbs onto his lap. "We've talked about this, little bird, remember? We're not getting married, not in ten years, not ever." He speaks so softly, and there's so much love in his eyes, you feel like you're melting.

"But, I lo–" Viola interjects with a pout, but Ivar stops her, shaking his head. "There's no buts, baby love. Uncles do not marry nieces. That's the way it is and that's how it must be. And yes," he looks at you fondly, "Y/N is my lover. But it doesn't change anything. I'm not going anywhere, Viola. I'll always be in your life. I love you." He gently ruffles Soren's hair. "I love you both. You have no idea how much I love you."

You must have dozed off and are awakened by Viola high-pitched squeals of joy. "Oh yeah, let's go into the backyard." Hmph! Looks like you're going to have company. Bye bye peacefulness.

Well, so be it.

Yawning, you stretch like a cat before sitting up. Ivar and the kids are on the deck and you wave at them. Soren casts you a broad smile and takes two steps towards the backyard but Viola stops him.

"Wait, Soren! Nunky," you don't need to see her to know that she's blinking her big, beautiful blue eyes at Ivar, "please, we are tired. Right Soren?"

Viola's brother nods tentatively as Ivar bursts out laughing. "Is that so, munchkin?" Putting on a thinking face, he stares blanky up in the air for a second or two, tapping a forefinger on his chin. "Let me guess, you want a ride, baby girl? Soren, buddy boy, would you mind fetching the princess's carriage for me, please?"

At this point, you know exactly what is going to happen, yet it never ceases to amaze you. And as sure as the sun rises from the east, the next moment Soren is pushing a wheelchair in front of him, coming to a halt next to his uncle. Ivar immediately sits down, slipping his crutch into the intended holder attached to the backrest.

Reaching out, he now gently grabs Viola's wrist. "Your carriage awaits, princess." The little girl climbs very carefully onto his lap before wrapping her chubby arms around his neck.

Ivar pulls her closer, "Hold tight, princess!" and as soon as he's sure she's securely seated, he grabs his push rims and pops a wheelie, Viola bursting with laughter. He then looks at Soren, cracking him a smile. "I'll give you a ride too, bumblebee, stay put."

Soren, older than Viola and always overprotective when it comes to his beloved uncle, frowns, concern all over his boyish face. "You sure I'm not too heavy now? I'm over fifty-five pounds, you know?"

Ivar laughs, an easy smile on his plump lips. "Don't worry, I'll be just fine." A smile tugging up the corner of his mouth and Viola giggling on his lap, he rolls towards the wide wooden ramp leading to the backyard.

Ivar hates using his wheelchair. He despises it. He's very secretive about it. The truth is, it took him two months to tell you that he sometimes needed one and another two months to actually use it in front of you.

He hates it so much that he would rather crawl than use it. Actually, that's what he does every night, after taking off his leg braces.

Yet, he keeps his old wheelchair here, at his brother's house. For recreational purposes only; or in other words for Viola's and Soren's enjoyment. And he gives them rides, up and down the ramp, sometimes for hours, popping wheelies here and there. Because Viola and Soren love that and it makes them laugh. Because he would do everything and anything to make them happy.

That's just how much he loves them.

Ivar pulls a sunbed next to you and flops down on it, stifling a hiss of pain. "Where are the kids?" Raising yourself up on one elbow, you kiss him, your free hand gently stroking the tight muscles of his right thigh.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he kisses you back. "Gathering the things they want to take to the beach."

You want to give him a disapproving look, but you won't. You know better. You know him.

He shouldn't go to the beach. Not today. He woke up in pain this morning. Walking in the sand is a struggle even on good days. He'll pay for it later. You know he knows it. And you know he'll do it no matter what, and whatever it takes.

Because that, he can do.

Sometimes, you catch a hint of sadness in his eyes. When Soren and Viola are running and he can't run after them, because running is simply not an option for him. When they are jumping on the trampoline and he can't join them, because it would end with broken bones. When they are playing football, or riding a bike, or skating. When they are tree climbing, or playing gunny sack race, or rock climbing, or playing hopscotch, or skipping rope, or dancing, or…

But walking in the sand, even if not easy, that, he can do.

He's going to struggle all the way – wincing, hissing, silently swearing, even dragging his right leg with his hand if necessary – until they reach their favorite spot, a small cove shielded from the wind, with marvelous pebbles and smooth sand. And he will sit for hours, his legs aching, making sandcastles even though, even as a child, he didn't like that. Because it doesn't matter. Because Soren and Viola matter. And the sparkle in their eyes will bring a smile to his face. Their laughter will make it all worthwhile.

Yeah, this is what he's going to do, for Soren's and Viola's happiness. And you know there's nothing you can say or do that is going to change his mind.

That's just how much he loves them.

⚔️"What are you thinking about, love?" Ivar's soft voice pulls you out of your thoughts as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

"I was thinking what a fantastic uncle you are." You reply genuinely, your thumb grazing his cheek. "And what a fantastic father you will be one day. The father of our kids."

Ivar blinks several times. You know that no matter how many times you tell him, he still finds it hard to believe that you want to make a life with him; marry him; carry his children.

"This…" His voice trembles and he lowers his gaze, "this is really what you want?"

"Of course, it is, my love." You reassure him for the thousandth time, peppering his jaw with light kisses. "Negotiations with Viola will doubtless be tough, though…" You chuckle, your fingers threading through his hair as he nods. "But let me tell you a secret," you can feel his hot breath on your ear, "you've already won, love." He offers you a breathtaking, mind-blowing smile and then his mouth finds yours and he kisses you and it feels like you're alone in the world, nothing matters but your shared love, nothing exists but him, nothing counts anymore, nothing, nothing, nothing...

"NUNKYYYYY!!!!"

Well… You may have spoken too soon…

🛡⚔️🛡

@flowers-in-your-hayr @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @pieces-by-me @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood

[philipshay]

but I don't ever think I can ever learn how to love just right

requested by anonymous

andreil au in which neil gets tired of the ‘we’re nothing’ game and decides to stop playing

It isn’t much of a surprise when one of the foxes gets hurt on the court. While running drills, they’re often teamed up against each other, working of defensive and offensive maneuvers. And while they don’t mean to hurt each other, Exy is a violent sport, and accidents happen. Most of the time they’re accidents, at least.

Today’s incident is a legitimate accident; in a scuffle for the ball, the handle of Dan’s racket catches Neil’s helmet, tugging it off and sending him crashing to the floor. She fawns over him with apologies, helping him back to his feet, ignoring his attempts to wave her off.

He’s only been on his feet for two seconds when Andrew pushes through, tipping his chin up with a finger, likely to get the bleeding to stop.

“I’m sorry, Neil, I swear-“ Dan exclaims, peering around Andrew, who, though tiny, still manages to take up a huge amount of space in front of Neil.

“It’s okay. Really,” He says.

“Your nose is broken,” Andrew says.

“Hell, Dan. Remind me not to piss you off,” Nicky says, a teasing smile on his lips. Matt shoots him a look, to which Dan crinkles her nose, grip tightening on her racket.

“You know-“

“He’s screwing with you, Dan,” Matt says.

“I know you aren’t possibly done. Not when that clock shows twenty more minutes!” Wymack calls from his place in the stands. Dan turns to look at him, waving her racket.

“Dan tried to kill Neil!” Nicky yells.

“Nicky,” Dan snaps. He smiles innocently, and pulls his helmet back on. The others follow, save for Neil and Andrew.

Andrew’s fingers wrap around Neil’s arm, and he pulls him toward the door; Wymack must be able to see the blood from here, or just doesn’t want to get in Andrew’s way, because he lets them leave the court without a word.

Andrew lets go of Neil when they get into the locker room. When Andrew gives him a light shove toward the bench, Neil drops down onto it, pinching his nose to stop it from bleeding.

A moment later, Andrew returns from Abby’s office with some gauze and a bottle of aspirin; Neil is almost surprised that Andrew managed to find it, seeing as Abby keeps all the pain meds hidden and locked away. But, then again, it is Andrew, so he shouldn’t be surprised in the least.

Andrew sits down on the bench beside him, and Neil turns so he’s straddling it, facing Andrew.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Neil says. Andrew rips off some gauze, and presses it to Neil’s nose. Neil flinches, sucking in a breath. Andrew’s brows arch in amusement, and Neil makes a face.

“Fine. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Andrew’s hand comes up, a thumb brushing along the bottom of Neil’s left eye.

“You’re probably gonna have a black eye,” He says, fingers skating across Neil’s skin, checking for further injury.

“I’ve had worse,” Neil says. Andrew’s hand goes still, and a slight crease appears between his brows.

He doesn’t say anything, hand dropping to his lap, and Neil knows he’s gone too far. He opens the pill bottle, and shakes a few into his palm, handing them to Neil, who swallows them dry.

One of Andrew’s touchy spots is Evermore and the night Neil spent with his father’s people. He’s only ever talked to Neil about it once, but Neil could see how much it affected Andrew; how Andrew was desperate to get him back, to know that he was okay.

Andrew isn’t one for jokes as it is, and jokes about Neil’s worst memories are liked even less.

Andrew stands up, leaving the gauze in front of Neil, and disappears, likely returning Abby’s meds so she doesn’t notice they’ve been tampered with. Instead of waiting for him to get back, Neil follows, and watches from the doorway as Andrew stretches up on his tippy toes to try and put the bottle back on top of the cabinet.

Neil’s lips curl up in a tiny smirk, and he comes to stand beside Andrew, taking the bottle away and setting it where it goes, having a few inches of advantage on Andrew.

“I bet Abby has a step stool somewhere,” Neil says, one of his rare attempts at a joke.

It’s misplaced, though, seeing as he’s with Andrew. Andrew narrows his eyes slightly.

“I hate you,” he says halfheartedly, the words empty, as they have become as they’ve become completely untrue.

“No, actually, you don’t,” Neil says, a hint of irritation in his voice, heading back for the locker room to grab his gauze and dab at his nose.

It isn’t that Neil doesn’t know that Andrew cares about him. He knows that he does.

Sometimes he wishes that once, just once, Andrew would acknowledge it. Sometimes, he wishes Andrew could look him in the eye and tell him he’s something more than nothing.

But again, this is Andrew, and he loves him for who he is, not who he wants him to be. Even if who he is drives him mad sometimes.

Andrew follows him back, and stands against the lockers, arms crossed.

“If it is true, you have a really horrible way of showing it. You’re going to confuse people,” Neil says bitterly.

“I don’t care how anyone interprets it.”

“You care what I think.”

“No,” Andrew says, “I don’t.”

“You’re infuriating,” Neil says.

“Look at you using big words.”

Neil gives him a withering look, starting to pull his gear off. His body aches, and he knows he’s going to be sore, but he’s grateful that the only lasting wound from today’s practice will be his nose.

The two get out of their practice gear silently. Once Neil’s is tucked into his locker and he’s back in sweats and a tee shirt, he tosses the bloody gauze and tilts his head back once more, making sure the last of the blood is gone.

When he drops his head again, he finds Andrew standing in front of him. One of Andrew’s hands drops to Neil’s waist, slipping beneath his tee shirt and settling right above his hip bone, pushing Neil back into the lockers.

He’s nearly kissing him when Neil’s brain turns back on, and he remembers that he’s irritated with Andrew right now.

He turns his head, hands coming up to push him away, and Andrew steps back at the obvious no.

That’s one thing that Neil really likes about Andrew; these days, he’s completely into consent. He doesn’t push when he can see Neil doesn’t want it.

Andrew shifts back slightly, the confusion evident in his eyes; only really evident because Neil knows what every emotion looks like in Andrew’s eyes.

“Someone’s in a mood.” He says, almost amused. Neil steps to the side, pulling away from Andrew, arms coming up and crossing against his chest, acting as a barrier between them.

“You tell someone they’re nothing enough times, they’re gonna start to believe it. It’s how people work.”

“You taking Psychology this semester?” Andrew asks, still treating this as a game, the way he treats most things. Neil shakes his head, moving past him, gathering his things in his bag. He’s about to sling it over his shoulder when Andrew’s hand closes around the sleeve of his shirt. Neil turns to look at him, backpack falling to the ground. Andrew’s eyes settle on Neil’s, lips set in a thin line.

“Since when does it matter?” Andrew asks.

“Everything matters when it comes to you. You know that. Even though it isn’t the same for you.” Neil retorts.

“Do I know that?”

Neil shrugs, jaw clenched.

“You’re not stupid.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything for so long Neil knows he isn’t going to. Not in the mood to deal with his indifference today, he grabs his backpack from the ground, and pulls it over his shoulders. He shuts his locker, knowing that the rest of the Foxes will be back in a few minutes, and quickly starts for the door. He doesn’t hesitate as he leaves the locker room, and Andrew doesn’t stop him.

-

He’s roughly shaken awake from a nap an hour later, almost surprised to find himself sprawled across his bed in he and Andrew’s room. He doesn’t remember the walk back, only the relief he felt when he climbed on top of his mattress. He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, looking up to find Andrew standing beside his bed, arms at his sides, hands curled into fists. His gaze settles on his bare wrists, which are always covered by black bands save for when he goes to bed.

Neil doesn’t know why they’re off right now. He’s not sure if he cares right now, either.

“You were wrong earlier.” Andrew says. Neil swings his legs over the edge, and watches as Andrew sits down on the edge of his own bed, their knees nearly touching.

“About?”

Andrew’s gaze flicks to the black bands sitting on the bedside table, then to Neil’s eyes, and back to the bands, where they stay.

“If you’re just gonna sit here and bullshit, I’m going to go out and get something to eat.” Neil says.

“It isn’t nothing.” Andrew says after a moment, gaze still on the black bands.

Neil waits for him to continue, and after a beat, Andrew does.

“This. We aren’t nothing.” He says. The words come out slowly, and almost painfully, like they’re sticking to Andrew’s teeth and he has to force them out.

Neil’s brows pull together, and Andrew finally looks at him.

“It’s everything.” He says.

For a moment, neither of them moves. Then Neil is pushing off of his bed, and Andrew is grabbing him by the fabric of his shirt and tugging him against him, and their lips are smashing together, and Neil knows he was telling the truth, Neil knows Andrew believes it.

Everything. They are everything.