#savior complex andrew minyard

[rumoredtoexist]

hey guys >:)

the fics published

[dayurno]

@andrewsrabies and i had a very productive conversation on the kandreil server about catholic au kandreil so here it is the result of my moral obligation to write it as an ex catholic school student

no tws this is just gay as hell. i also might crosspost it on ao3 at some point. so who knows. please be aware this is definitely a little bit blasphemic

the father.

“You will never have him.”

Neil smirks. “Are you talking from your own experience?”

The roof is too windy, too dark —  Neil, with his back to Andrew and draped over the ledge, knows just one push would be enough. He doubts he’d ever resist the fall: Palmetto Academy is too lofty of a building to match its even loftier saints. 

Yet Andrew does not dare to approach the ledge, and Neil does not turn around to see him. There is no reason to, when both know what they are here for — “He is better than you,” Andrew tonelessly points out, the edge of irritation making something red and ripe unfurl inside Neil, “in every conceivable way.”

“One thing we have in common,” Neil observes, crushing his cigarette against the ledge. “You do not strike me as worthy of Kevin Day, either.” He pauses, then lets his smirk widen. “Not that it stops you, of course. He is the best thing you want. The only, too.”

A heartbeat. Two. Neil would never survive the fall —  as he would never survive Kevin. Some choices are easy to make with your head on the line. 

“Are you a believer?” Andrew asks, at last, his voice ghosting over Neil’s back. It drips and overflows, patiently waiting to sink Neil beneath the waves, every turn of his tongue vicious. 

How can a tongue so cruel be used to kiss someone so good, Neil wonders. Surely Kevin had a taste for poison. 

“Oh, am I?” Neil muses, turning ever so slightly. He does not find Andrew —  doubted that he would. Andrew is as much of a nothing as Neil is. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“You will not have him.”

“Why?” he hums. “You won’t let me?”

“I find it useless to repeat myself.”

Neil taps against his wrist watch. “You should know better than to think that that has ever stopped Kevin before.”

“Define that,” Andrew lazily prompts. A challenge.

“Me, being worthless. Another thing the two of us have in common.”

“We,” he viciously hums, “are nothing alike.”

“No,” Neil agrees. A lie, not his first and definitely not his last. “You hate me and I hate you. Let’s see who hates best.”

Andrew’s gaze burns against Neil’s nape. “I do not hate you more than I want Kevin.”

“How sweet of you.”

For one, Neil wants Andrew to be proved wrong: in some twisted way of his, he wants Andrew to hate him as much —  or perhaps even more —  than he wants Kevin, if only to solidify Neil as a permanent presence in their not-relationship. Hatred, he thinks, is just another form of obsession; almost as intense as desire, but not as contagious. 

One thing was true, though: Neil would not leave Palmetto without having felt Kevin Day’s mouth pressing against his, sweet and young and oh so ill-advised. If that meant having to push through the taste of Andrew’s sour tongue, so be it. The sweetness of Kevin was worth it. 

Neil taps against his wrist watch again, not bothering to look back at Andrew as he says, “Tick tock, your detention is about to start. I believe you have some daily worshipping to do.”

“Daily worshipping,” Andrew scoffs, but, Neil notices, does not disagree. “Is that what you call it when you imagine it in your head?”

“Oh?” Neil drags out. “How Christian of you to think I have to imagine.”

He cannot see Andrew through the ever-thickening fog of tension surrounding them, but Neil knows the twitch of his eyebrow well enough to build a picture in his head. “You will not have him,” he repeats. His voice is far away now — so ready to leave, Neil muses. For all of Andrew’s so called toughness, Kevin’s mouth must keep him on a tight leash. “Even you, stupid as you are, would know not to touch what is mine.”

Neil turns to look at him, catching only a glimpse of Andrew’s pale hair under the dim lighting of the staircase that leads to the rooftop. He hovers by the doorway — waiting for Neil’s next move. Calculating, even; math Neil barely knows the numbers to. “I will make you no promises we both know I will not keep,” is what Neil hums back, dragging out his words like cheap perfume across a hotel room. “I can touch anything, and Kevin doesn’t seem too opposed to it. Kind God of yours, right? Always thinking of those who have less.”

Andrew does not reply. He slams the door behind him, and Neil is once again alone on the roof. 

He lights another cigarette.

Smiles.

Lets it burn.

Rinse and repeat.

the son. 

“And then you— Andrew, you’re not listening to me,” Kevin sighs, his upper lip curling into a soft frown under the egg-yellow lights of the detention office.  

I believe you have some daily worshipping to do. Andrew Minyard hates everything about Neil Josten, from the sharp tip of his tongue to the dim freckles on his cheeks, but for once he is right —  when was the last time Andrew had fulfilled his worshipping duties? Was it last night’s mass, or this morning’s confession? 

Either way: it has been too long. A good Christian is always ready to do better, and Andrew has never been one to slack off on divine duty. 

“No,” Andrew agrees, because he does not lie to Kevin. Leaning against the edge of the teacher’s table and looking all high and mighty with his primly tucked dress shirt, Kevin looks as if he knows he’s worth gold, or at least as if he needs a reminder. “I am not.”

Kevin’s dark eyebrows furrow. “What has gotten you so distracted that you can’t even listen to me?”

Foolish, foolish man that Kevin is, to think that Andrew has ever thought of anything but him. “You,” he replies, blunt and toneless. “Pretty mouth of yours. I couldn’t hear a thing.”

 “Andrew,” Kevin warns, dropping the hands he had just been using to gesticulate. 

“Yes?”

“What are you trying to do?”

Andrew feels the corners of his mouth twitching. “Why, complimenting what is mine. I do it all the time.”

Kevin’s mouth closes, cheeks blushing a ripe red. He is too far away for Andrew’s liking, but preamble is Andrew’s only game, and the view is rather pleasant from his spot at the second row of seats. “You,” he slowly says, raking a hand through his hair, “are too much.”

Andrew motions dismissively, leaning back on his chair to take in all of Kevin’s image. “Kevin and his unwavering self-restraint. So good, hm? I like you best when you give up control.”

“You do not like me.”

“Oh,” Andrew muses, smile sharpening, “I like you.”

It makes Kevin roll his eyes, the reply, but it’s quite fond. “I told you that if you want a kiss, you just have to ask for it.”

He hums in acknowledgement, but changes the subject, “Does your God forgive you for what we do?”

“She knows I’m good,” Kevin replies, all warm smiles and deep dimples. “She’ll forgive me.”

Too good, Andrew thinks —  too good to have anything to do with someone like him. And yet. “Come here, then,” Andrew beckons, motioning him forward. “Give Her something to forgive you for.”

Kevin’s answer is a huffed out laugh, but he complies: Andrew watches in barely-concealed anticipation as he slides through the first row easily, stopping near Andrew’s seat and gracefully leaning against his desk, keeping some respectful distance between them. “I thought I said come here,” Andrew remarks, resting both of his hands on Kevin’s knees. 

Mine, he thinks. And fuck Neil Josten for expecting anything else.

“Lead the way,” is what Kevin says, offering his hands for Andrew to do with them what he wills. 

He does. He tugs on Kevin’s hands to bring him into his lap, to which Kevin easily complies, crossing his hands behind Andrew’s nape and offering him a curious look. “You’re angry about something,” Kevin quietly points out, tipping his head to the side.

Andrew’s hands fly to rest over his thighs. “Ran into your friend at the roof just now.”

Kevin mulls that over on his head for a little before guessing, “Neil?”

“Mhm,” Andrew replies, “the very one.”

It doesn’t fluster Kevin —  Andrew hadn’t it expected it to —, but it does prompt a pensive look in his eyes. “I suppose it makes sense that you don’t get along. You’re too alike.”  

Andrew brushes his lips against Kevin’s, reaching a hand to lightly tug against his tie. “The only thing we have in common,” he says, “is that we both want you.”

Kevin doesn’t look surprised by the new piece of information, but leans in to thoughtfully nibble on Andrew’s lower lip. “Yes,” Kevin agrees, as if he knows the extent of both their devotions —  as if he’s not surprised at all by the enormity of their desire. “You do.”

“And you like it,” Andrew points out.

He is silent for a small while, a warm weight on Andrew’s lap. “He asked me for one kiss,” is what Kevin chooses to eventually say, “and one kiss only. Before he gets expelled.”

“And you love a lost cause.” Andrew tucks a strand of hair behind Kevin’s ear. “Will he get his kiss?”

“I won’t let him get expelled,” Kevin answers, nuzzling against Andrew’s palm as painstakingly eager as always. “I’ll strike a deal if needed. He has potential.”

“To what?” he wondered aloud. “He is nothing.”

Kevin frowns. “No one is nothing. Everyone is worth something.”

“Savior complex,” Andrew teases, fitting his palm against Kevin’s jaw and bringing him down. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“One kiss can’t hurt,” he says. Not an answer as much as it is a thought. 

Andrew hums, fitting their noses together. “But do you want him?” he asks, brushing his mouth against Kevin’s. “Or do you just like that he wants you?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“No.”

“Hm,” Kevin says, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

Then leans in. 

Andrew forgets what he was talking about. 

the holy ghost. 

“Have you thought about my offer yet?” Neil asks, perched on top of a bench as he stares over at Kevin, the early morning light brushing through his auburn hair. Palmetto’s garden is paler than it has ever been at Autumn’s peak, but Kevin loves the season —  finding Neil on his morning was just a bonus. 

Kevin stretches his arms out lazily, feeling Neil’s eyes follow his every movement, before replying, “What can I give you to make you stay?” 

Neil smiles, tight-lipped. “I don’t stay, Kevin.”

“Well,” Kevin draws out, supporting himself against the bench Neil is perched on to stretch his right leg. “Then I suppose you don’t want that kiss like you say you do.”

“Oh,” Neil’s smile melts into a lazy smirk, the dark bags under his eyes competing against the brightly lit end of his cigarette. “Oh, you don’t know how bad I want it.”

“Prove it,” is Kevin’s easy reply, his rosary dripping down his chest as he moves to stretch his other leg, Neil’s eyes boring holes through the exposed skin. “Put some effort into staying. Don’t let yourself get expelled.”

Neil mulls it over in his head for a moment, but Kevin is in no rush —  this early in the morning they are the only people awake on campus, which means there is no danger of interruption that is not divine. 

Good Lord, Kevin quietly thinks to himself, all of my life I have been good. Let me have this. 

At last, Neil prompts, “You sure think highly of yourself to believe that one kiss is enough to make a man stay. Aren’t your people supposed to be humble?”

“I’m God-fearing,” Kevin corrects, “not stupid. I see how you look at me.”

“We all have our gods,” Neil hums, turning around to straddle the back of the bench and stare straight into Kevin’s front. “I’m just wondering what I have to do to keep the Goddess on my side.”

“Which Goddess?”

Neil smiles. “You.”

“Stay,” Kevin replies, “and I will be close enough for you to get tired of me.”

“Oh, I don’t reckon I will.”

“Can’t know if you never try.” Kevin bends to stretch his left leg one more time before pulling himself up, now face to face with Neil. “And you still haven’t disagreed with me, so I’m guessing a kiss is enough to make you stay, after all.”

“Hm,” Neil hums, thoughtful, without ever taking his eyes off of Kevin’s face. “It might just be circumstance. You should burn those shorts of yours before the fire of Hell does.”

Kevin tips his head to the side in challenge. “But Andrew likes them so much.”

“I’m sure that he does.” He breathes into the smoke of his cigarette one last time before killing the flame against the bench. At last, Neil concedes, “Keep my interest, Kevin Day, and I’ll stay.”

“You’re interested aplenty already,” Kevin observes as Neil’s eyes dart downwards. “So much so I might have to schedule a session at the confessionary for you.”

Neil swipes his tongue over his teeth like a snake licking venom out of its own fangs. “Why wait? I’ll confess to you now all of my thoughts.”

“I recognize I’m a creature of the divine, Neil, but I’m not fit to be a priest.”

“Of course not,” Neil solemnly agrees. “What would be of that Andrew of yours, if you were?”

Kevin presses his lips together, the memory of Andrew’s bed still fresh against his skin. “He’d be just like you,” is what Kevin limits himself to replying. “Just waiting to get expelled.”

Neil’s mouth spreads in a smile that’s a bit more genuine, not snarky or coy as it usually is, and Kevin offers him a curious glance. “Ah, so the rumors are true: you did straighten him up. Was one kiss enough, I wonder, or was Andrew more expensive to keep?”

“He knew what he would lose if he got expelled,” Kevin replies, “and he made his choice.”

“So you say,” Neil hums. He pushes himself closer to Kevin almost lazily, using his hands to keep himself up at the same time as Kevin leans an elbow against the back of the bench to stare up at Neil, meeting him halfway. “The Catholic church owes you so many converts. You are a Saint among men.”

“It is the men that I often convert,” he chooses to say. “They are easier to lure in.”

Neil chuckles under his breath. “I think Andrew and I are just weaker than the majority,” he observes, then pulls away to light another cigarette. “Go have your run. Burn those shorts when you’re done with it.”

Kevin rolls his eyes, but does what he’s told.

Not the shorts, though —  those stayed in his closet.

[spending-life-pretending]

I have decided that “savior complex” by Phoebe bridgers works as an Andrew Minyard song. This might just be because I’m rereading aftg at the same time as I listen to only Phoebe Bridgers on repeat, but it is what it is