i.
Aaron Minyard can name every muscle in the human body, every attachment, insertion and action.
He knows every element and atomic number on the periodic table.
Aaron Minyard doesn’t need a GPA to know that he’s smart.
“Minyards never get higher than rock bottom.”
Tag: fanfic
so i haven’t seen anyone write about this, and who else shall i turn to than you – what would happen if the twins’ father suddenly showed up?
They’re at the Columbia house late in the afternoon when there’s a knock at the door. It barely cuts through the riot of noise from the television where Aaron and Nicky are playing some kind of video game – it’s white noise to Neil, who is trying to finish an assignment due on Monday.
Andrew stalks past from the kitchen, throwing them all a quick glance as though assuring himself that they’re all in their appropriate places, and then disappears down the hall.
There’s the sound of the front door opening, and then muffled voices. Neil can’t recall ever having someone come to the front door while they’ve been here – if it’s a salesperson of a Mormon, they’re probably already sorry to have made that mistake. Especially when the conversion goes on longer than Andrew’s customary five seconds.
Nicky reaches for the remote with a frown on his face, clearly intending to drop the volume so he can listen in. It goes flying instead when he jerks, startled, at the crash of the door slamming closed.
A moment later, Andrew appears briefly in the doorway on his way back to the kitchen. He looks unfazed, but that isn’t exactly unusual. Nicky, who is clutching his chest in typical dramatic fashion, flicks Neil a wild glance.
“Who was that?” Neil calls, as Aaron pauses the game and plunges them into quiet.
It means Andrew’s voice is perfectly clear when he replies at normal volume, “Our father, apparently.”
It’s such a disconnected concept that, for a moment, they stare at each other. Then, Neil goes for Andrew – Aaron, pushing Nicky back down onto the couch with a fierce stay that definitely won’t stick, goes for the door.
Neil pauses in the doorway of the kitchen, where he has a clear view down the hall to the front door past Aaron’s body and Nicky in the living room doorway. He can barely see the man on the front stoop – thanks to press photos, Neil knows the twins favour Tilda. There’s nothing of this man in them from what he can make out, but he knows that doesn’t mean much. Neil, after all, looks not a thing like his mother.
“Who the fuck are you?” Aaron demands, twice as abrasive as his brother. He has an arm slung across the door frame, protective like he thinks the man outside might try to get in if he doesn’t.
Neil casts Andrew a glance, finds him slicing vegetables for their dinner as though nothing is happening. There’s no tension in his shoulders, no indication that he’s thrown by this development. It doesn’t surprise Neil particularly.
Neil turns back to the other twin, the one with the stiff spine and the voice halfway to a snarl.
“I’m Peter,” the man says. He’s trying for a smile, but it looks like it’s falling off. That’s a mistake, anyway – there’s nothing Andrew likes better than removing someone’s smile, and Aaron’s equally good at doing so even without the same intent.
“You think you’re our father,” Aaron asserts. The our sounds strange from him, probably because he only ever uses it in moments where it’s monsters-versus-everyone else. That said, this situation probably counts.
“I saw you on the television,” Peter says. He presumably means Andrew, because he’s the more news-worthy twin, and never in a good way. Aaron seems to grasp that – the tension in his braced arm winds tighter.
“Your mom and I were, um, together. Around the same time,” Peter rushes on, like he senses his time is running out, and then, “The timeframe works out, let’s put it that way.”
“A lot of people fucked my mother,” Aaron drawls. “Were you wanting a prize for that?”
Behind Neil, the sound of chopping ceases.
“Let me guess,” Aaron goes on, before the stranger can. “You want something, right?”
Peter opens his mouth. Aaron cuts him off. “You’ve come to the wrong place.”
Then, for the second time, the door is slammed closed. The wood groans a complaint, and for a moment Neil fears for the hinges. It’s one thing to send the man packing, but it’s another entirely to crush him.
Aaron spins back, stomping down to the living room door and only avoiding barging into Nicky because Nicky moves first. Nicky throws Neil another please-do-crowd-control glance before he follows Aaron back inside. After a second, the television comes back to life with a blare.
Neil throws Andrew another glance. He’s still unbothered, returned now to his task. Neil wonders how long that peace would last if Peter were to come back. If he were to knock at the door again now. Wonders if Aaron, whose face was barely-contained fury just now, would be the one to break it.
The twins need to stay away from legal trouble. So does Neil, of course, but that’s different. Neil Josten has a clean slate, technically.
It might come in handy if someone ends up calling the cops.
*
Peter’s halfway into his car when the door of the house opens for the third time. Someone slips out, closing the door gently behind them before trotting down the front steps.
The kid is slight, messy hair held back from his face with a bright orange bandana that clashes terribly with his complexion. His face is horrifically scarred across one cheek, warped like melted plastic under his eye.
“Hey,” he says, the most friendly-sounding thing Peter has heard all afternoon. He swears he should recognise him – he’s done plenty of research on the Minyard twins lately. He just knows that this isn’t the cousin: that one is supposedly taller.
“Hi,” he replies, trying to remember how to look friendly again himself. He thinks that expression fell off sometime through his conversation with the second twin, whichever one that was. He pastes on a decent approximation as the kid gets closer.
Neither of the twins got anywhere near within reach, so it’s a surprise when this one gets closer than that. And then closer, so fast that Peter merely flinches before he’s sent crashing back into his own car.
“Shit!” he yelps, and then a hand grasps his throat and stops him from going on with a firm and threatening grip.
“Shh,” the kid warns, which is when Peter finally recognises him. This kid, too, has been in the news. “Don’t disturb the neighbours.”
A squeak crawls out of his throat unbidden. The fingers press down harder for a moment, a reprimand. Someone this short shouldn’t be so strong, never mind so threatening.
The kid’s eyes are an unusual colour – icy, just about. That’s an apt comparison from Peter’s stunned brain as he looks right into them. His name escapes Peter, but he looks just how he would imagine a mobster’s son.
“You’re going to get in your car now. And you’re not going to come back, or come near either of them either again,” he says, almost gently. “Because you won’t like it if you do.”
The threat is implicit, but so real Peter can almost taste the blood in his throat. His heart is pounding in his ears, echoing against the kid’s palm. He can’t feel a heartbeat in the hand in turn, but he suspects it would be as steady as a sleeping man’s if he could. There’s no trace of anxiety in his scarred face – just brutal honesty, and a dash of humour.
He drops his hand and steps back. Peter’s knees nearly go out from under him, forcing him to catch himself against the car. He scrabbles for the door handle, unable to comprehend just what it is that has him panicking, and crashes into the driver’s seat with his legs still shaking.
His tires screech as he peels out. He doesn’t even look at the house in the rearview mirror as he speeds off – he thinks those eyes might be following him.
Happy
earlyValentine’s Day! This is for @whimsyalice as part of @aftgexchange!!! Yay!!! I wanted to include all your fave ships/characters, so this is more Foxes nonsense than ships! Hope you enjoy! 🙂Use this post for reference
It starts on a Monday. The locker room is a cacophony of
chattering voices as the Foxes all arrive for afternoon practice, everyone
still thrumming with excitement from Friday night’s win. Neil follows the group
in and past the lounge. Allison and Renee have their arms linked and heads
bowed together as they make their way into the girls’ changing room. Dan and
one of the freshman girls are close behind them, not even pausing their lively
conversation as they disappear behind the door. Andrew pushes past the door for
the men’s changing room, Neil behind him. Matt and Nicky are hot on their heels
and arguing about some television show as Neil makes his way to his locker.“I’m telling you,” Nicky says. “He’s dead.”
“No way!” Matt argues. “He’s gonna pop up next season. You’ll
see.”“Are you sure we watched the same episode?”
“They can’t just kill off a fan favorite like that!”
Neil tunes them both out and spins the combination into his
locker lock. When he pulls the door open, something falls out and clatters to
the floor. There’s a moment where Neil’s heart stutters to a painful halt in
his chest, his breath clogging up his throat. Somewhere in the back of his
mind, memories he’s long buried try to sink their claws back in. He has to
close his eyes for a moment before he can focus again. Neil slowly looks down only
to find a plastic knife at his feet. He blinks a few times in confusion before
reaching down and picking it up. He turns it over in his hand and sees Justin Mattews scrawled in sharpie
across the handle. As far as threats go, this one definitely makes the least
amount of sense. Neil gives his brain another minute to come up with a possible
explanation, but when it comes up blank, he holds the plastic knife out towards
Andrew in a silent question.“Neil! What’re you doing? You’re not supposed to tell anyone
who you have!” Nicky exclaims from across the row of lockers.“Murder season is finally upon us,” Matt says. “Let
the chaos begin and may the best person win.”
Oh so that’s the list you’ve been taking prompts from!! Could you maybe write number 36 for andreil, only if you feel like it, thanks for all the amazing prompts!!
36: “I really need a hug.” (thank youuu, sorry this took so long !)
The parking lot is overly busy when they get there, cars and pedestrians following each other around corners, false starts and almost collisions and flaring reverse lights streaking together. Neil watches Andrew drive, one self-assured hand draped over the wheel.
He passes him the cigarette they’re sharing and Andrew closes his eyes as he inhales, ignoring the shriek of a horn when he cuts someone off blind.
“I’ve never trusted airports,” Neil muses, watching Andrew negotiate the Maserati into the middle of two parking spots.
Andrew hums. “You don’t trust anywhere that has security guards.”
“They didn’t trust me,” Neil corrects. He can feel a smile winding his face up. Andrew cuts the engine and opens the door.
“Were your passports government issued?”
“Not at the time.”
Andrew shoots him a look as he hops down onto the asphalt.
“Wait up,” Neil calls, listening to the slick beep of the lock before he’s even shut the passenger door.
He falls into step with Andrew halfway across the stretch of road to the airport’s automatic doors, and he takes lazy pleasure in the way their steps match up. People glance to and away from them, and the doors open like they’re hurrying out of their way.
“They on time?” Neil asks, scanning the arrivals column on the nearest screen. The airport has the strangest smell: floor cleaner and a thousand people’s lingering perfume. It reminds him of heading off to the nest for Christmas, and of his mothers nails slicing the skin of his neck to keep him close and hunched in the bustle.
“Early,” Andrew says, and Neil sees them — just beyond the arrivals gate with their arms flailing. Neil waves back while Andrew surveys the reuniting families with practiced detachment.
“You actually came!” Nicky says in loud German. Erik holds the waist-high gate open for Nicky but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I almost bet against you!”
“He did,” Erik confirms, smiling broadly, leonine. “But I try not to bet.”
“Nice to see you,” Neil says politely, and they’re close enough now that he has a slipping moment of doubt, like grabbing a glass you didn’t know was wet.
Nicky gathers Neil in his arms without hesitation, and Neil goes board-stiff for a second. Or maybe longer, because Andrew tugs him physically out of Nicky’s embrace.
Nicky looks a little stricken, but he makes a heroic effort to overcome it. “Sorry to pounce.”
“It’s fine,” Neil says quickly. “I wasn’t expecting it.”
Nicky smiles warmly at that, and reaches out to squeeze his wrist. His eyes bounce and stick on Andrew, who’s still watching Neil.
“And my favourite cousin,” Nicky says. “Thanks for coming.”
Andrew doesn’t try to appease Nicky, and Nicky doesn’t try to touch Andrew. He looks back at Erik with eye-rolling fondness instead.
“This is like a reenactment of my entire senior year at Palmetto, Erik. Skittish Neil and unresponsive Andrew.”
“It’s like I’m there,” Erik says drily, plucking Nicky’s bags from his waving arms before he can hit someone.
They’re wearing matching jackets, Neil notes. One orange and grey and one blue and grey, the sort of spandex monstrosity you’d wear to go jogging or hiking. They’re always texting the group pictures of themselves doing both of those things and alternately kissing at waterfalls.
“Are you guys coming to Dan and Matt’s tonight?” Neil asks, blocking the way when Andrew tries to physically leave the conversation.
“Okay, obviously, Neil,” Nicky says. “Do you know what a rehearsal dinner is?”
“No,” Andrew answers for him.
“Yes,” Neil says narrowly.
“God help us.” Nicky hoists his carryon back out of Erik’s hand and walks backwards towards baggage claim. “The first fox wedding, though. Bound to be a shitshow.”
“Don’t say that,” Erik chides, following him.
Andrew walks in the opposite direction and Neil stalls, unsure who to follow.
Nicky huffs. “Follow your boy. But I’m still waiting for you to hug me like you mean it.”
“Maybe when you leave again,” Neil says, prickling with affection at Nicky’s overdramatic expression. “See you at the car.”
“I don’t know where you’re parked!” Nicky protests.
“Outside,” Neil calls back.
“Useless! Both of you!”
He catches up with Andrew again and feels fingers come up to his wrist as soon as he falls in beside him. “Do I need to have a conversation with him?”
“Who, Nicky?” Neil says, confused.
Andrew looks pointedly down at Neil’s chest and away.
“The hug? He just caught me off guard. You know he’s not a problem, Andrew, come on.”
“Do I know that,” Andrew asks flatly.
“Yes,” Neil says, firm. “It’s just— sudden contact. Contact is difficult. Nicky isn’t.”
“No,” Andrew agrees.
“And t’s a weekend of partying,” Neil continues. “It won’t be the last time I get hugged.”
Andrew gives him a longer, more focused look that says he wishes it was.
“You don’t hesitate when you’re underneath me,” Andrew says, and even though it’s utterly emotionless, Neil’s ears go hot. “But you can’t hug Nicky.”
“That’s different,” Neil hisses.
“How? For some unfathomable reason, you trust Nicky,” Andrew says.
“Trust only carries me so far,” Neil argues. “You—“ he stalls when they come through the doors of the airport and the air gets quiet. “It’s different. With you.”
Andrew shrugs, crossing the street without looking to see if cars are coming or Neil is following.
Neil huffs and jogs after him again.
It bothers him for the rest of the day, that little piece of confusion. Why is it so easy with Andrew? Why does it feel so much like my skin’s coming away when my own friends hug me?
He’s still getting used to actually wanting affection, even after years sharing the same space and trading truths.
It’s different, he tells himself. And Andrew’s voice, cool and grey as morning air, asks how?
67: “My clothes look really good on you.” Neil/Andrew? Pretty please? 🙏🏻
It’s sickly hot on the day they’re supposed to play their first match of the season, a late summer heat that peels the cold morning away and sweats people out of their layers.
Neil’s mostly used to discomfort, so he puts his head down and gets on the bus. The rest of the foxes complain dramatically and threaten to strip until Wymack blasts the air conditioning and cuffs a few heads.
Everyone zips their sweaters off and ties their hair up, starting the laborious process of nest-making for the duration of the 9 hour drive to Cleveland. Every time Neil looks Andrew is aloof and pristine, like the sun isn’t any better at getting under his armour than anyone else.
If you’re looking properly, you can see sweat turning the ends of his hair up and darkening his temples. It’s a strange indignity that Andrew wears like a calculated choice.
Nicky presses his icy water bottle into the base of Neil’s neck, and he gasps, clutching for the source.
“He lives!” Nicky says. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”
“We’ve been on the bus for thirty seconds,” Neil snaps.
“Thirty seconds too long,” Nicky laughs, leaning over the back of his seat so his arms dangle over Neil’s lap. “You wanna come talk strategy with Kev?”
Neil meets Nicky’s bright eyes, overly conscious of Andrew at his back, mussed by the temperature. He feels buttery nostalgia for the three hours they spent talking on the way to Baltimore, teeth pulling his lip in the empty bus, opening doors and considering it a win when Andrew didn’t close them.
“We’ve been pouring over stats for two weeks,” Neil tells Nicky, purposefully looking out the window to avoid his gaze. “We’re walking in ready.”
“Ahh, you’d think that. But apparently we have ‘blind spots’ that need seeing to. So says her majesty.” Nicky smirks, nodding at Kevin over his shoulder.
“Is he vice captain?”
“No,” Nicky says, mouth already curling in satisfaction.
“Then tell him to fuck off.”
“With pleasure, Neil Josten,” Nicky says, overly dramatic, winking back at him as he wanders to Kevin’s seat.
“Are you finally sick of it?” Andrew asks, and Neil lets himself enjoy the thrum of satisfaction he gets whenever Andrew initiates things. He turns all the way around in his seat.
“Of exy? No. Of kevin, yes.”
Andrew’s cool eyes trip over the foxes and windows and coughing AC units, landing on Neil and settling. Neil feels a yank in his gut like someone caught him by the waist while he was running full speed.
“Give me your bag.”
The feeling ebbs in a distracted sort of way, and Neil frowns. “Why?”
Andrew looks away, eyelashes light and fine on his cheekbones when he blinks. Neil knows from experience that another five minutes of heat would have curled Andrew’s hair and flushed his cheeks and neck.
He wants to see that. Like if he could take Andrew off the bus and kiss him in the thick heat, it would fix the feeling in his stomach.
“I want something,” Andrew says simply.
Neil rolls his eyes, but stands anyway. “That’s new.” He sways with the bus as he wrestles his duffel bag from the overhead compartment, dropping it on the seat next to Andrew.
Andrew unzips the top halfway and peels back Neil’s meticulously packed layers. The bus nearly topples him, so he settles back in and watches Andrew work, charmed.
He seems to find what he’s looking for, and Neil sees a flash of black fabric and the blur of Andrew rising out of his seat and into the aisle.
“Where are you going?”
Andrew slides him an unimpressed look and walks to the bathroom installed in the back of the bus. Neil watches him go, wondering wildly if he’s supposed to follow him.
He glances back along the groove of the aisle and finds Kevin ignoring Aaron and Nicky to glare at him. Beyond him, Matt’s grinning at Dan as she talks one of the newcomers through a play, and Allison’s curled up with a sleep mask and Renee’s shoulder.
He sits back against the sun-hot window and lets the jerky motion of the road keep him alert. He looks back towards the closed bathroom door and forward again, curiosity shivering over him.
Andrew emerges a second later, and Neil’s mouth goes cottony dry.
He’s put on Neil’s shirt. It’s the one that goes high enough to cover the scars framing Neil’s collarbones when he’s wearing it, but it leaves his arms open. It was part of this layered ensemble that Andrew bought him over the summer, but he almost only wears it to sleep because it shows the thatched burns on his ribcage. It’s breezy and comfortable and it’s not the first time Andrew’s stolen it.
But he doesn’t usually wear it where people can see, with his sweaty hair pushed halfway back and his arms pink from the sun he caught on the roof yesterday.
He sweeps back into his seat and pulls one knee up to his chest, and Neil watches the orchestration of his muscles matching up and tensing.
Andrew’s finger enters his field of view, too close to focus on. “Get that look off your face.”
“Get my shirt off, then,” Neil says before he can clap a filter on it. Andrew splays his arm all over his lounging knee, and Neil can see a pale triangle of skin under his arm, which shouldn’t mean anything to him. It shouldn’t.
“I didn’t pack for 100 degrees,” Andrew says, voice mild.
“Good,” Neil blurts.“My clothes look really good on you.” He swallows, and Andrew blinks at him, a bored predator.
“That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard, Neil!” Nicky hollers from four seats up. Neil’s mouth pinches with annoyance. “I’ve fucked guys, and that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“No one wants to hear that,” Aaron says, putting in earbuds and shoving over to the far end of his seat.
“I thought it was relevant context,” Nicky argues, and Kevin smacks him in the back of the head.
The front of the bus devolves into chaotic conversation, and Neil looks back at Andrew.
“I was serious.”
“I know you were.” This would be where he took a drag from his cigarette, if this was their rooftop. This would be where he kisses him. Neil watches him with that secret in his mouth, and when Andrew looks back, he can tell he’s thinking the same thing.
“It will not be a regular occurrence,” Andrew says. “Your wardrobe is barely fit for one person.”
“Right.” Neil smiles right behind his teeth, where it doesn’t show on his face. “I’m willing to take the hit.”
Andrew regards him over the seat back. “Aren’t you always?”
Neil leans in and drags his eyes deliberately over the column of Andrew’s neck on the way to his face. “I want to kiss you.”
Andrew tilts his head. “I can’t help you.”
Neil takes this without complaint, but he stays folded over the back of the seat. “This is enough,” he says, a foot between them, Andrew’s broad shoulders holding his shirt taut across them.
“Shouldn’t you be obsessing over the court by now?” Andrew asks, cleanly sidestepping Neil’s attention.
“It is a court,” Neil says, smiling. “It’ll still be there in nine hours.”
“And yet you drag us along three times a day to get your fix.”
“No one asks you to come.”
Andrew gives him a look and Neil huffs, looking at the ceiling like it’ll stop the thrill from showing on his face.
“But I’m glad you do.”
“You’re in a sharing mood today,” Andrew says, like he’s commenting on an unfortunate traffic jam.
Neil reaches out to finger the collar of his shirt, and he feels a hollow jerk go through Andrew when his knuckles brush his neck. “It must be the heat.”
Christmas to Andrew Minyard is chocolate shaped like a bearded man, cold weather, and an excuse for people to preach about love while practicing intolerance. He can’t say he’s a fan of any of the above. Even the chocolate – he’s more of an ice cream kind of guy.
He hasn’t celebrated it in years. At a few of his foster homes he tolerated the trees shedding leaves and glitter and the lights that threatened to give him a headache if he looked too long, at Cass’ he’d even help put them up if she needled him long enough (he wasn’t much help, given she was taller than him, but he was an extra, almost willing pair of hands). The cleaners at Fox Tower wrapped tinsel around the bannisters but his room remained untouched, despite Nicky’s best attempts at coercion. (“Andrew, the tinsel only cost a dollar!” “These lights change colour!” “It’s only a small tree!”) (Andrew had never been impressed by Nicky’s persistent energy, optimism, or continued faith.)
Songs professing what a magical time it was or movies reminding you how wonderful family is are ignored and turned over. Andrew wouldn’t even admit to appreciating a break in the monotony of class and practice.
But maybe there’s something to it.
Maybe.
The cats fighting baubles on a small plastic tree was at least mildly entertaining until the noise threatened to keep Andrew awake. Neil plying Andrew to let him put the small tree up with reindeer-shaped chocolates and an assortment of ridiculously-flavoured candy canes was annoying, but a better bribe than Neil’s usual fare, and held a faint sense of humour. Wrapped presents coming in the mail was definitely infuriating, as were the colourful jumpers they contained, but with some catnip the cats were persuaded to open the presents for him, and they certainly enjoy the jumpers as blankets.
The cold is unforgivable, but at least it’s to the point that even Neil admits it’s cold and turns the heating up. He goes so far as to come back from practice one night with a large, fluffy blanket with a repeating pattern of candy canes, gingerbread houses, and stockings.
He looks at it, as though for the first time, as he wraps Andrew in it like a burrito. “Oh, hey, do you like gingerbread?”
Andrew doesn’t interrupt the glare to say, “Yes.”
The next day Neil comes back with premade kits and suggests they decorate gingerbread houses together.
“This isn’t becoming a twelve days of Christmas thing,” Andrew says, and eats a corner of a gingerbread wall.“Huh? Is that about buying gifts or something?” Neil asks, ignoring Andrew’s blatant attempt at annoying him.
“And human trafficking,” Andrew says, squeezing some icing directly into his mouth.
“Then no. I just saw them,” Neil shrugs. He’s becoming used to having money that can be spent without worry.
“You planned this,” Andrew accuses without any real heat. Neil’s poking his tongue out slightly to focus on icing a window.
He should have known Neil would take that as a challenge.
The next day’s pretty innocuous, he goes out and comes back half an hour later with dinner. Andrew doesn’t comment, but levels Neil an accusatory look.
“Hey, I brought dessert too,” Neil says, as though dessert forgives all sins. And maybe it does.
On the fourth day, Neil digs out some Santa hats they’d been given when they’d been to Matt and Dan’s for Christmas the previous year. (Now the older Foxes are starting to have children, and Christmas is less for their so-called found family and more for their offspring, no matter how young and unappreciative.) Neil tugs one down over Andrew’s eyes, then pulls it up to right it. The fluffy white ball dangles enticingly, and Sir jumps up to bat at it.
“If I get scratched, you’re paying the hospital fees,” Andrew warns Neil, who’s still definitely in his personal space.
“It’s your money,” Neil replies, which isn’t strictly true. He retrieves Sir though.
The fifth day is the 23rd, and even Neil is aware that’s the last day shops will be open. He returns with a bag that he makes a big deal of not showing Andrew and then puts on a Christmas movie from a DVD. “You’re gonna like this one,” he says. “It reminded me of you.”
It’s Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
“Did Nicky make the joke?” Andrew asks, as soon as he sees the title card.
“Yup,” Neil replies, and takes a small mint candy cane from Andrew’s stash. Insult to injury. “We’re still watching it though.”
It’s not the worst movie he’s ever seen.
On Christmas Eve, they’re doing some kind of promotional thing with the members of their team that don’t have prior obligations. Neil has some garishly bright hat with a bobble on top, and he wraps a matching scarf around Andrew’s neck before they leave. “Don’t pretend you’re not cold. I can see your hands turning blue from across the room.”
Andrew glowers as he puts gloves on.
The kids at the event love Neil’s hat. It’s almost endearing, but they’re too loud.
The seventh day of Neil’s makeshift Christmas is Christmas Day. “You know you’ve got your twelve days wrong,” Andrew says. “Aren’t you the one with the Math degree?”
“I’m sure you care so much about the traditions of Christmas,” Neil says.
“Yes,” Andrew replies. “And if we have turkey, I’ll gut you and that will be my meal for tonight.”
Neil smiles, “Funny you should mention dinner.”
It’s not.
“I found Christmas ice cream. I figured that would do for dinner.”
Sometimes Andrew can remember why he hasn’t yet murdered Neil.
The next day, Neil checks his phone and says, “What is boxing day?”
“Ask Matt,” Andrew says.
Neil snorts. “So it’s about fighting to the death. Probably your favourite holiday, then.” He tries to swing out of bed, but hisses, “Fuck me, it’s cold.”
Andrew can feel it in the tip of his nose. “Turn on the heating then.”
“Nope, we’re staying here,” Neil replies and burrows into the blankets. “I’m putting my feet on you,” he says, and does.
“What are you going to do about the eighth day of Christmas?” Andrew asks. Not because he cares.
“I’m your present,” Neil mumbles.
“Shit present.”
On the ninth day, they have to go back to practice. There’s almost no point, as they’ll stop again around New Year, but their Coach says something about “Pros” meaning “professional” as though that’s new, and everyone turns up, bleary-eyed and in new outfits.
Neil hands him a black jumper with a ridiculous Christmas-themed pun. “It’s not Christmas anymore,” Andrew reminds him.
“No, but I forgot that I’d gotten it,” he says. “I got it in your favourite colour.”
Andrew wears it to practice. At least he gets to take it off to put on his goalkeeper gear. Neil wears the shit-eating grin for the whole of practice.
On the tenth day, Kevin turns up at their doorstep. Andrew looks at Neil accusingly, but he shrugs. “I was in town,” Kevin says.
“Merry Christmas,” Neil says.
“You’re three days late,” Kevin replies with a frown.
After an hour or so of what Dan would have called ‘catching up’, Neil swerves the conversation to the new Exy gear the local dedicated shop has and offers to take Kevin. He doesn’t offer to take Andrew.
“Peace is definitely a theme of Christmas,” Neil says to Andrew quietly. “Right?”
Andrew raises his eyebrows.
“You’re welcome,” Neil says, and leaves.
On the eleventh day, Andrew says he’s looking forward to this being over. Neil smiles and puts King in his lap. “I’m regifting.”
Andrew supposes the cat is warm. He doesn’t argue.
It’s the last day of Neil’s attempt at Christmas, and Andrew isn’t sure, but Neil might be the type to have a triumphant finale. Somehow, though, schedules have aligned so that Andrew has to meet with their team’s long-suffering dietician, and Neil has the day to himself.
When Andrew gets back, though, all that’s changed is that the small Christmas tree is gone. Andrew glances at where it was, and Neil shrugs and says, “It’s the last day of Christmas, right?”
“Are you claiming that your gift to me is this being over?” Andrew wouldn’t be disappointed, but there’d be something.
“Of course not,” Neil says. He throws a gift in garishly bright paper covered in cats wearing Santa hats, which Andrew catches, but reluctantly.
Andrew stares at Neil.
“Open it,” Neil replies.
It’s a DVD for a film whose name is obscured by the pictures of candy on the front.
“Matt says I’m bad at gifts,” Neil says.
“You are.“
“That’s unfair. I just ran out of ideas after the second day.”
Andrew stares at Neil, and puts the DVD box down slowly. Into the trash can.
“Merry Christmas, Andrew.”
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?”
Lmao I love this bc Neil and Andrew had clearly shown they believe in justifiable murder before
Nothing but My Aching Soul 