#this took me too long im sorry hfjfjsj it's been days but i finally churned out 2k for u anon

[palmettoes]

Prompt from your prompt list: 49, andreil. Bonus points for angst.

(this is not really as angsty as i intended bc it’s big soft hours and i need them to love each other but ! thank u pls enjoy some protective and emotional andrew for ur soul)

send me prompts! (p.s. these will stay open indefinitely so feel free to keep em coming. doesn’t have to be from the list if u want smth else!!)

49. “Take off your shirt.”

Seeing Neil for the first time after being apart alwaysfeels a little like heartburn. Andrew very much thinks he should be used tothis after a year of living in pockets of time between Colorado and SouthCarolina, but Neil steps through the door to his apartment and Andrew’s chestaches with want.

Neil has no reservations about making himself at home inAndrew’s space, filling the silence with a presence so loud it makes Andrewyearn. They have spent long enough watching each other’s backs that Andrewdoesn’t try to hide the way he tracks Neil’s every move. Neil is a good actor,or a good liar, or some combination of the two that makes no difference toAndrew, so he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking.

Neil kicks his shoes, drops his bag, and flops onto thecouch, spreadeagled and with his leg overlapping Andrew’s at the ankle, thesame way he always does. But Andrew is looking and it’s been five years.He knows what to look for.

Neil’s movements are familiar in their casual indifference,but Andrew can see the way he tilts slightly to the left, how he calculatesevery breath around the position of his chest. Andrew is looking, as he alwaysis, but for the first time in years, Neil is hiding.

“I didn’t expect you to still be up,” Neil says into thecrook of the arm draped over his face, exhaustion evident in every line of hisposture. Andrew drops his hand to rest on Neil’s thigh and presses his thumbinto the dimple at the side of his kneecap. Yeah right, it says andNeil’s smile peeks out from behind his forearm. Andrew always stays up to greetNeil’s arrival. It’s what they do.

“The Lions weren’t impressed when I took off at the firstsign of a break. Something about it not being team spirit.” Neil lets his armslip away, tilting his head to watch Andrew watch him.

“But what do you care?” Andrew says when it becomes apparentNeil has lost his train of thought.

“But what do I care,” Neil agrees. “They’re lucky to have meat all.”

Andrew snorts. “Don’t let Kevin hear you getting allbigheaded.”

“Kevin wouldn’t want me selling myself short,” Neil says,affecting surprise, “Haven’t you heard? I’m going to be Court.”

Andrew digs his thumb into Neil’s knee again but it isn’t areprimand, not really. He has long since stopped denying Neil a future and,more recently, stopped denying his place in it. It’s a work in progress butthey both know he would follow Neil anywhere, to the ends of the Earth or tothe Olympic Court.

Neil struggles against a yawn for several seconds beforelosing and letting his eyes drift closed in the wake of it. Andrew’s thumbreleases its pressure and takes to rubbing light circles into Neil’s skininstead, delighting in the way Neil’s muscles relax beneath his touch.

“There’s a perfectly good bed just two rooms away,” Andrewoffers and Neil hums in agreement but makes no move to get up. If anything, heslackens further into the dip of the couch cushion. Andrew bites down on theinside of his cheek and looks away, willing his frenetic heartbeat into astandstill. He knows better than to let himself be caught up in Neil’s web oflies, even if it’s been a long time since Neil spun one just for him. He triesnot to think about the implications of that.

“Take off your shirt,” he says conversationally, givingNeil’s leg one final squeeze before forcibly moving his hand away. It’s like amousetrap, how quickly Neil goes stiff again at the first pressure against hisfaçade. He sits up straight and watches Andrew, who watches him, and they playtug of war in the push and pull of their gazes.

“What?” Neil asks, but it comes out full of everything else.He sounds too open, too secretive; too brash, too easy. He must know Andrewdoesn’t believe it for a second.

“I’m not blind, Josten, even without my glasses. Take. Off.Your shirt.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” Neil says, and Andrew can’t tellif it’s habit or a poorly-timed attempt at a joke. He stares at Neil forseveral loaded seconds.

“It wasn’t really a request,” he says, which they both knowis bullshit. If Neil said no, he would find another way to get the answers hewants that doesn’t involve asking more than Neil can give. But Neil isn’tsaying no, he just isn’t acting on the yes resting under his tongue.

Neil fists his hands in the hem of his shirt, pointedlyevades Andrew’s glare, and tugs it up and over his head. Andrew’s chest bottomsout. The cartography of Neil’s torso is familiar, the way dark skin gives outto a mesh of mottled scars and puckered wounds. Andrew could map every inch ofit with his eyes closed.

The despondent blue of fresh bruising isn’t whollyunfamiliar, but nor is it a welcome addition. Andrew wants to touch it, but hishands stay steady in his lap. He doesn’t trust himself not to press down, down,down, not to bend and break and burn the only thing he can reach. Neil islooking at him again but Andrew can’t afford to look away from the discolouredpatches under his ribcage, just in case. Just in case Neil crumbles before hisvery eyes.

“Who,” Andrew says, a choked question abandoned midwaythrough delivery.

Neil shrugs and looks away, then looks back all too quicklylike he can’t decide which is safer.

“It was just a bit of fun,” Neil says, though hisnonchalance falls several steps short on believable.

“Fun,” Andrew echoes, and the word tastes ashen in hismouth.

“Hazing, I guess.”

“The Lions did this to you?”

“It was just a bit of fun,” Neil repeats and in that moment,Andrew hates the word. He is a spring coiled tight around the one thing heholds close and Neil is making a show of releasing the catch.

“What did they do?” He can’t tell if knowing will make theviolence easier or harder to contain under his skin, but he knows he will snapif he doesn’t find out.

“Nothing, really. They had me tied up, but it wasn’t theirfault. They didn’t know I would panic.”

Andrew can taste his heartbeat, a pulsing anger in the backof his throat. He swallows against it but his chest constricts and he wondersif his hands have ever known anything but the shape of violence, but the weightof a knife.

“You are transferring teams,” he says because it’s the onlything he can think with any sense of finality.

“Andrew, I have a contract.”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay. Well, you know who does care? The Moriyamas.”Andrew’s glare snaps back to Neil’s at that, and Neil returns it with equalweight. “I think the bruises I’d get from them might be a little worse thanthis if they found out I turned down a contract because of a silly bit of fun.”

“It isn’t silly when your safety is concerned.”

Neil laughs hollowly. “And you’d be the expert on keeping mesafe, I suppose.”

“Well it’s not like you do a very good job of it,” Andrewsnaps.

“I managed just fine for eighteen years. Your concern ismisplaced. I didn’t need you then and I don’t need you now.”

Andrew caves and falls apart. He slams his walls in placereflexively, holding himself together between brickwork and mortar. He wasfoolish to think he could have this, to think he could have anything at all.But he knows the pattern of his breakdowns better than he knows how to openhimself up and let Neil climb inside. Fighting is familiar. Breaking is anunfortunate side effect.

“Whatever,” he says, the word freezing over before it has somuch as left his lips, and he leaves the room before Neil can retaliate.

Staring at the double bed in his bedroom isn’t much better.It is full of Neil, from the creases in the linen to the stray hoodie abandonedover the left pillow. It feels hot to the touch and cold in all the cracks,like winter is creeping between their bed sheets, and Andrew has never done toowell with snow. He cannot take it. He grabs his pillow and the spare blanketrumpled at the end of the bed and storms out with ice filling his veins.

Neil is still sitting on the couch, watching the doorway,and his presence is so obnoxious it bursts at the seams. Andrew gives himseveral seconds to catch on and, when no recognition is forthcoming, stepsforward to dump the bedding onto his abandoned spot on the couch.

“Move,” he says without looking at Neil. It’s hard when heis the loudest thing in the room, taking up so much space Andrew has to breathehim in just to release the tension in the air.

“What are you doing?”

Andrew scoffs and makes a point of glaring into the back ofthe couch despite the weight of Neil’s gaze, despite the way his eyes betrayhim with subconscious darts to his left.

“It’s one in the morning, Neil. Most people like to use thistime to sleep.”

“I’m not taking your bed, Andrew. I’ll sleep on thesofa.” Neil’s voice is laced with exhaustion, like he has sewn all his energyinto keeping his gaze sharp and left nothing to knit himself together. Andrewdoesn’t have to look at him to feel his stitches come loose; they snap liketwigs under Andrew’s fingers.

“Funny, I don’t remember giving you an option,” he says,patience slipping from the weak end of his grasp. He kicks lightly at Neil’sfoot—not close enough to touch, but the gesture sets alarm bells ringing. IfNeil knows anything at all about reading Andrew in fragile moments, he willtake it as the warning it is.

Infuriatingly, he does. He leaves just as Andrew wanted, andAndrew hates him for it. Neil has a habit of reading between the lines evenwhen there aren’t lines to read between, and he gives Andrew what he wantswithout hesitation. It sets Andrew’s blood boiling and his teeth grinding. It’sbeen five years and some days Andrew still doesn’t know how to take what he’sgiven without bracing himself for the fallout.

Of course, Neil has always been good at flipping the cardswhen Andrew finds the pattern of aching all too familiar.

What Andrew doesn’t expect is to wake up to gentle breath athis brow, ghosting over frown lines and dipping towards his hairline. The roomis still dark enough that he can’t have been out for more than a couple ofhours. Neil is curled on the floor, head resting against the arm of the couch ascant few inches from Andrew’s, and knees tucked to his chest. Andrew noticesthe dip in his cheek when he bites the inside as they make eye contact.

“Sorry,” he whispers and Andrew feels it in the warmthfanning his face. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Andrew takes in the stiffness of his posture, the tightlines either side of his mouth, the harsh cut of his gaze.

“Have you slept?” he asks, more for show than anything, ashe already knows the answer.

“Couldn’t. I don’t like fighting.”

Andrew can’t help but roll his eyes at that because, really.Neil smiles and amends, “I don’t like it when it’s us.”

Andrew rolls onto his back and eyes the ceilingthoughtfully. There is a crack running from the edge of the cornice to a metreand a half short of the light fixing, and he is surprised to find nothing butwarmth pulsing back at him when he traces it.

“We aren’t fighting,” he says and it is as much news to himas it is to Neil.

“Okay,” Neil agrees easily, “but I don’t like this either.”

And that seems fair enough. Andrew lets it settle betweenthem, because he doesn’t know how to fix it just yet. It is strange to besomeone who fixes, who mends and builds and holds on tight, when he was raisedto break. To break his enemies, and his friends, and himself most of all. Hewonders if healing always feels like a bruise on every fingertip.

“Your team, your call,” he says eventually. He still isn’tlooking at Neil but he hears the answering sigh, feels it tickle just under hisear.

“Thank you. For worrying, and for letting it go,” Neil says.He softens around the edges and folds in the middle, going malleable beneathAndrew’s words. “I promise I’m handling it.”

Andrew turns back to Neil and reaches out a careful hand, apeace offering to seal the collision of their apologies. Neil keens into thetouch almost immediately and Andrew digs his fingers into soft curls, cuppingthe side of Neil’s face and smoothing his thumb over the mottled skin at Neil’scheekbone.

“I trust you,” he says, and somehow it is enough.

They end up in bed together like second nature and Andrewthinks this is how he knows best to fix things. His fingers curl into the gapsbetween Neil’s and they are warm, warm, warm in all the cracks. Andrewcan feel himself begin to thaw.

“I do,” Neil says drowsily, his breath ruffling the hairfrom Andrew’s forehead.

“What?”

“I do. I do need you.”

It’s like a sucker punch throwing Andrew off course justwhen he got his hands back on the wheel. All the breath leaves his body thenbowls back into him in one swift hit. He chokes on it.

“You don’t. Don’t lie to me.”

Neil is silent for a long moment and Andrew half expects himto slip unconscious before his brain comes up with a response. Half expects,half hopes. He doesn’t know which is dumber.

“Okay, I don’t. But I want you,” Neil says and Andrewbreathes. The air is a different kind of tight, his breath a different kind ofrushed, and his body stuck in a different kind of freefall. This one feels likeflying. Andrew doesn’t know how to translate the weight in his chest intowords, so he shifts forward instead. He kisses Neil in tandem with the pulse oftheir hearts and it means

and I you.