On the first day of summer break, Andrew returns to the dorm and says, I want to break up.

Well, his exact words aren’t I want to break up, because they never really use terms that other couples use, like we’re a couple, or we’re dating.

What Andrew says is, I want to put an end to this.

It’s the end of Neil’s first year, a few months after Baltimore, after spring break, after the championship. When Andrew had gone out earlier that day, right before the sun had risen, Neil had gone out for his run. He had returned to the suite, which had been as empty as when he had left, so after taking a shower and eating some apples, he had pulled out the Russian textbook they bought together and studied it.

He is quiet for a while, thinking, staring at Andrew’s unmoving face. In the scalding afternoon light, the planes of Andrew’s face are stark; strong lines that look like they’re drawn in fine ink. His cheeks are a bristling pink against his usually pale skin. It’s because of the heat, Neil knows. Freckles are sprinkled across the bridge of his nose like cinnamon.

If that’s what you want, Neil says, then I’ll go with it. But just know that I don’t want this to end.

Andrew doesn’t say, everything ends, like he once did. Instead, he continues to be silent.

Unlike Neil, who hurls words out of his mouth like grenades when fueled by anger and spite, Andrew chooses his words carefully, precisely, a sniper with his eye on the spotter scope.

Then, Andrew finally says, we won’t end this.

*

They drive up north, two duffel bags in the trunk and a mountain of snacks in the backseat. Kevin is spending the break with Thea in Maine, then with his father in South Carolina. Neil hopes Abby’s presence can smooth some of the edges and snip through some of the awkwardness, even just a little.

In each state they cross, they take the time to look around. Neil snaps photos with the camera Andrew got for him just before the trip, and Andrew follows him wherever he decides to explore. The camera, hanging around his neck, bumps against his chest like the beat of a clumsy heart. They try the signature dishes of every place, hold hands on their walks by various waterfronts, sleep facing each other on a queen size bed every night.

On a lakeshore in Michigan, Andrew kicks a pebble into the water and says, have you ever been interested in anyone else.

His questions always lack the inflection of a question.  But he talks to Neil, tells him things without extracting a price like they did before. Neil likes to think that it’s because Andrew knows he would tell him anything and everything, give him the moon and the galaxy and all the beautiful things in life. It’s weird. Grandiose promises of astronomical proportions are things of romance novels and movies. They don’t belong in a setting as broken and grim as theirs. But happiness does that to a person, Neil supposes. Maybe Andrew was right when he said, you sound more like them every day.

He would give Andrew every drop of his blood, torch the whole world and trample on the ashes for Andrew.

No, Neil answers, I’ve never been interested in anyone else.

He assesses them, decides whether they’re a threat or not, whether they can be used for his own gain or not, and then he moves on.

You have kissed other people before, Andrew says.

I have, Neil says. I wanted to know what the big deal was.

Your verdict?

I don’t swing, remember? Kissing them didn’t do anything for me.

What about me, Andrew’s eyes say.

It is just kissing, his mouth says. It is not supposed to do anything.

Maybe, Neil says, but kissing you is different. I like kissing you.

Andrew doesn’t say, I’ll get bored of you eventually, like he once did. What he says is, you will get bored of it eventually.

I won’t, Neil says.

Andrew looks away, as stubborn as Neil is. In the resplendent glow of the setting sun, his eyes are the color of amber, gemstones uncovered from the deepest part of the earth. There is tension in his shoulders, his black t-shirt wrinkled like dried leaves. His hands curl into fists, trembling. The pebbles around his feet creak, grinding together when Andrew twists and digs his heels into the soil.

When Neil holds out a hand in offering, Andrew irons out the tiny frown from his expression, unfurls his fingers like casting larks into the sky as he reaches for Neil’s hand. Neil strokes his thumb over the ridge and valleys of Andrew’s prominent knuckles. All the way back to the car, Andrew’s hold remains tight and unyielding, fingers threaded through Neil’s, clinging like forlorn hope.

*

In their house in Columbia, Andrew peels off his armbands and says, this won’t last.

He’s half-eclipsed in the shadows, the light from the hallway falling onto the blue bedsheets. They had been at Eden’s Twilight for the first time since the semester started. The invitation had been extended to the upperclassmen. The night had been fun, brimming with laughter and loud music.

Neil is quiet for a long time, thinking, tracing his eyes over Andrew’s silhouette. His feet are bare, the cuff of his sweatpants pooling onto the floor. Strangely, it gives him an appearance of vulnerability. He sits on the bed, still as a statue. Neil closes the door, and darkness grips the room. His feet carry him closer to Andrew. A wan beam of moonlight streams in from the window like gelatin, forming a silver halo around Andrew’s head. He is looking at Neil without really looking at him.  

Neil asks, why do you say that?

We are together now because the proximity makes it convenient, Andrew says.

Sometimes, Neil forgets that he is in a different year than everyone else. The girls will leave first, followed by Kevin and Matt. Then, it’ll be the cousins. Andrew will live in a different city, a different state, playing for a different team, a different coach. He will have a different apartment, a different view from the windows and rooftop. Neil will remain here, his soul split into tiny pieces and carried to various corners of the country, of the world.

Neil remains quiet.

Our separation is inevitable, Andrew says.

Blinded by the radiant grins of his teammates and smothered by their warm acceptance, he has failed to consider how this might not be as fulfilling to Andrew as it is to him. He imagines a year where Andrew won’t be within arm’s reach; a vapid protoplasm of a year. He imagines it stretching beyond that time frame, a hollowness eating him from the inside out like a disease.

Neil is still silent.

You cannot tie yourself down to the first person you have felt a connection with, Andrew says.

His waking hours, filled with scribbling down Math formulas, spent being encased in plexiglass walls with sweat dripping down his brow and soaking through his jersey, occupied by even more precision drills, redolent of cigarette smoke and curtained by the spill of a black sky above him – all these and everything in between, he would give to Andrew. But he won’t be the gaoler, the iron chain around Andrew’s ankle. He will be fine, in time, even if it feels like it’s killing him now.

I guess we really should end this, he finally says.

Andrew’s eyes flicker, the first stir of a reaction since Neil came in.

So you finally understand, he says.

Yeah, Neil says. I hadn’t realized that you were so unhappy. I’m sorry it took so long.

Andrew’s mouth is a sewn line, flat and immobile. But there is a weakness around his lips when he says, I am not unhappy.

But you aren’t happy either, Neil says. If breaking up will give you a chance at being happy, then let’s do it.

In the dark, Andrew’s eyes are the color of the earth, solid and deep like he always is. But even the earth trembles and cracks sometimes.

I am not unhappy, he says again.

I want you to be happy, Neil says, and I can accept that you won’t find it by staying with me.

Andrew lowers his gaze to his knees, fingers scrunched like he wants to hold onto something.

Don’t, Andrew says.

It’s okay, Neil says, I’ll be fine.

Don’t lie, Andrew says.

They are both quiet for a while, Andrew staring at his lap, Neil staring at the top of Andrew’s head.

I don’t want to end this, Andrew finally says, voice floating like feathers from his mouth.

Neil gets down to his knees, peering up at Andrew’s face.

Then, he says, we won’t end this.

I want, Andrew says, then stops. His lips quiver, unstitched.

I want, he says, to be with you.

Then, Neil says, let’s be together.

Jerking his head in a nod, Andrew relaxes his fingers. He slides down onto the floor in front of Neil.

Andrew asks, yes or no?

Neil says, yes.

Carefully, Andrew curls his arms around Neil’s shoulders.

You can touch me, Andrew says.

Okay, Neil says.

Carefully, Neil curls his fingers around Andrew’s t-shirt, right over his waist.

Like snow, Andrew slowly melts into their first hug. He tucks his head into the crook of Neil’s shoulder and neck, his breathing peaceful like he has always belonged there.

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