“I won’t be like them. I won’t let you let me be.” Neil opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. “The next time one of them says you’re soulless I might have to fight them.” “Ninety-two percent,” Andrew said, “going on ninety-three.”
I wrote this at 1am last night (while I was sleep deprived and couldn’t sleep) and then saved this in my drafts, so let that be both an explanation and an apology for this Mess™
It’s the sound of voices that draws Andrew into wakefulness. They creep into his mind like vines and coax him away from the bliss of sleep. The temptation to shake them is a hard fought but losing battle. His head still feels hazy and fogged over, but it’s easy enough to place the owners of the hushed tones.
“You wake them up.”
“No way. You wake them up.”
There’s a pause.
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
“You’re on.”
Andrew opens his eyes just in time to see Matt hit his rock over Nicky’s scissors. Matt shoves his fist in the air in a silent victory cheer while Nicky lets out a quiet curse. He turns back towards the seat with dejected shoulders, his face a mix of fear and dread, but when he makes eye contact with Andrew, it quickly morphs into relief.
“Oh, thank god. I really didn’t want to losing a limb.”
“We’re at a rest stop,” Matt says when he also notices Andrew is awake. “Coach says we’re still a few hours out from PSU though.”
“It’ll be morning by the time we make it back,” Nicky chimes in.
Andrew doesn’t say anything, but neither Nicky or Matt look interested in garnering a response. Their apparent job done, both backliners turn on their heels and head back up towards the front of the bus.
“Was’goingon?” Neil mumbles from Andrew’s right.
Neil has his legs pulled up onto the seat, his body curled up but slumped against Andrew. His head is tucked up against Andrew’s shoulder, and his fingers are still loosely intertwined with Andrew’s own. Andrew turns his head to look down at the striker.
“Comfortable?”
“Actually, yeah.”
Neil shifts, his body folding up even more towards Andrew and his cheek scraping along Andrew’s shoulder. He lets out a breath and closes his eyes again. The air around them is quiet with all the Foxes off the bus, and Andrew watches the way the streetlamps bleeding in through the windows fall across the crisscross scars of Neil’s cheek, the way the light weaves with the smattering of freckles there.
Neil’s eyes peel back open after a minute, and they narrow curiously as he watches Andrew. Andrew quirks an eyebrow in a silent question of his own.
“I just figured you’d have shoved me to the floor by now,” Neil says.
“I take pride in being unpredictable.”
Neil hums in response and another moment passes in silence.
“Wait. Are we stopped?”
“Rest stop,” Andrew explains.
“Oh,” Neil says, sitting up fully and rubbing at his eyes. “I should probably get some coffee then. Did you want one?” He doesn’t even give Andrew a chance to answer, already nodding. “I’ll get you one.”
Neil uses the seat in front of them to pull himself up, taking a moment to stretch out his cramped limbs. He scrubs a hand down his face and drags his feet up the aisle. Andrew follows him off the bus, digging his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as they head down the stairs. Neil veers off to the rest stop building for coffee, and Andrew lights his cigarette, eyes sweeping across the few Foxes stretching their legs in the parking lot. He spots Nicky speaking to some freshman he can’t be bothered to learn the name of and heads over to the two.
Once Andrew is standing in front of them, he holds his hand out towards his cousin. Nicky glances down at Andrew’s empty palm before dancing back to his face.
“What?” Nicky asks, feigning an innocence no one believes.
Andrew doesn’t say anything, just keeps his arm outstretched and quirks an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Nicky.”
“It’s a cute picture, okay!”
Andrew is considering prying away the phone clutched to Nicky’s chest when Neil returns. The striker presses a cup of coffee into Andrew’s outstretched hand, but Andrew merely takes a sip before switching it to his other and re-extending his hand. This time, Nicky’s eyes dart between the hand and Andrew’s unimpressed expression before he turns on Neil with a pleading look.
“Neil. My favorite person. Please tell your boyfriend not to murder me.”
“Well,” Neil says, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Do you deserve it?”
Andrew dug a finger in Neil’s cheek and forcibly turned his head away. “Don’t look at me like that. I am not your answer, and you sure as fuck aren’t mine.”
Neil: interesting, i thought nothing got under your skin Neil: and i am nothing, and you’ve always said… you want nothing Neil: if it means losing you, then no Andrew:
Neil: Andrew, could you at least try?
Andrew: Why should I?
Neil: Revenge?
Andrew:
Neil: Self improvement?
Andrew:
Neil: fulfillment?
Andrew:
Neil: because it’s fun?
Andrew:
Neil: for me?
Andrew: goddammit
This is for @theinstigators, written for @aftgexchange. It’s a teenie bit short, but I hope you enjoy these headcanons anyways! ❤
In the beginning, Andrew was always the first to wake up. He was not comfortable sharing a bed with someone else. He never had any good experiences with it. Neil, on the other hand, was somewhat okay with it. He used to share a bed with his mother, and was familiar with the solace it brought.
After a couple months of sleeping with someone, Andrew does not always wake up violent. In some moments he is able to enjoy the sluggishness and warmth of coming back to consciousness. It is in these moments that Andrew can’t help but appreciate Neil.
His face is golden in the sunlight, and Andrew starts counting faint freckles without meaning to. His memory does not give Neil justice. His hair glows fiery red and his scars are prominent and honest.
So yes, Neil has freckles. He used to cover them with concealer in the time spent with his mother. But after she was buried he stops wearing it to save on cash. Besides, his father and his men have not seen them up close.
As the years pass, Andrew sleeps later than Neil. And because they’ve been sleeping together for some time, adjusting to two cats isn’t that hard.
Neil gets up every day around dawn to run around the neighborhood. It’s a time for introspection and letting go of negativity.
Once he comes back, he says Andrew’s name. It isn’t noise that wakes him easily. It’s the sensation of touch. But sound does eventually wake him, with less chance of it being aggressive.
Usually after a minute or so, Andrew is awake. Not very responsive, but awake. Neil gives him around five minutes to reboot. He is secretly grateful that Andrew is nowhere near as bad as Kevin.
Sometimes Neil ends up making sugary coffee for Andrew. He himself eats a fruit of some sort.
Other times Neil crawls back into bed despite lots of protests. Andrew refuses to go near Neil after a run. But the cats don’t mind, and so Neil spends a majority of the morning petting Sir and King.
Eventually Andrew forces Neil to shower and sometimes he joins him. Neither are complaining by then.
Sometimes showers lead to sex. But other times it’s just as good to feel safe in a vulnerable state. And Neil is okay with whatever Andrew offers him.
You know how Neil has a neck fetish? Well. Andrew has a hand fetish. But you’d have to kill him before getting him to admit it.
And so some nights Andrew ends up studying Neil’s fingers. Tracing every callous, every line, every scar. Sometimes they end up falling asleep in the process. Andrew would wake up in the morning clutching at that hand. And Neil would be curled in, head an inch from the curve of Andrew’s neck.
Andrew would find that it didn’t bother him. Being physical becomes more common before bed. As a result, all the nightly touches migrate to the daytime.
In the past, some actions were intimate. Private. But after constant repetition and getting used to things, these actions were more casual.
So they would find themselves holding hands, or brushing hair out of faces, or giving tiny pecks. Of course this wasn’t a sudden thing. It was gradual, a trust growing for many years. As it should be.
On occasion Neil has lazy days. Days where he aches from from yesterday’s practice. So he’ll dose on and off until noon. Sometimes Andrew stays. Other times Neil is only accompanied by Sir or King.
It’s a luxury he truely loves to indulge in once in a blue moon. Years of being on the run leaves no time to relax. But now Neil has all the time in the world.
When Andrew does stay, they slide close to each other. Close enough to be considered cuddling, but far enough to deny it later on. Soft conversations are passed between them, floating through the air before fading away with consciousness.
These conversations don’t really have much meaning to them. But for people like them, that was something special by itself.
Of course there are bad nights. Nights where Andrew can’t sleep. Nights where Neil sees knives and icey blue eyes. But they’re always there for each other.
Neil will murmur quiet reassurances. Restate promises they’ve made over time. Eventually run fingers through Andrew’s hair.
Andrew will repeat present memories. Describe scenes from the previous day. Rest his palm against Neil’s nape and call him Abram.
Andrew only ever uses Abram to calm Neil down. Never for anything else. It would lose significance if he did.
Eventually they’d be okay.
As time passes and old wounds stitch up and heal, there are plenty more good days. Days where Neil can’t stop smiling and days where Andrew has too many reasons why he should live. Days where Neil can admit he’s not fine but he’s content and days where Andrew can feel.
These good days– these goods days are made from both themselves and each other. And that makes the good days that much better.
Nothing but My Aching Soul 