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Andrew thinks about dying, sometimes.
On days when the going gets especially difficult. On days when even the feeling of his clothes rubbing against his skin risk setting him off. On days when rage chokes up in his throat and sinks back into his stomach to clinically carve a gaping wound.
Some days he climbs onto the roof, stands on the ledge, looks down. He spreads his arms wide. Rocks on his heels. So far, yet so close. He never goes over.
Other days, he looks at the scars on his wrists. He’d come close before, when the goal in his mind was harm but not death. He wonders, absently, if he had more purpose then. Now, all he can feel is the choking emptiness, the crushing pain. He takes a knife out of his wristband. Holds it over the pulsing vein at his wrist. Trembles. He pushes down. Not enough to break skin, but the cold steel shocks him any way. He puts it away.
One time, he collects the leftover drugs. He’s got some stashed away, can always find more. He pours them out in front of him. Maybe this wouldn’t hurt so bad. He already hurts so deeply, filling every pore of his body, every single breath he takes. Counts them methodically. Sixteen in all. He thinks that would be enough to do it. Puts one in his mouth, then another, and then another, but the feel of the pills against his tongue triggers his gag reflex and he’s spitting them out and rinsing his mouth out with water before any of them go down. He collapses on his bed, stares at the ceiling, thinks about what it would feel like to be happy.
Andrew gets there, some days, he thinks. He’s not sure, not having much to compare it to, but the swelling crest in his stomach feels like what he imagines being happy to be. Usually when he’s around Neil. Still, those days are far and few inbetween. Andrew’s tried everything. He tries to drown his sorrows. He tries to escape to the roof. But he always circles back to the same thing.
Death.
He thinks it might be the only way out.
He can’t sleep, haunted by visions of his past, of Drake, of the doctor, of losing Neil. He sees Aaron, high out of his mind, he sees his mother, screaming at him moments before her death. They never leave him. Each of them have carved out a small piece of his heart and mind, and they’re waiting for him to give in. He keeps fighting, he doesn’t want to let them win, he’s never been a quitter, not really, but they won’t take a hint. They want him to lose.
Andrew thinks sometimes that might be easier. In the end. Because, really, who will miss him?
Kevin is busy lately, and he and Aaron have never been close, and Nicky’s going to Germany in a few months, and Neil...
Oh, Neil. Neil might miss him, Andrew thinks. He thinks about the fire in Neil’s eyes and the set to his jaw and the stubbornness that coats his soul. Remembers the way Neil went to the Nest, to Riko, for Andrew. For nothing. Just another person Andrew’s let down. Andrew loves Neil, he knows, more than anything. But he’s not sure it’s enough.
Just another all-encompassing feeling, nowhere to go, no one to trust, nothing to show. Oh, Neil deserves better, he knows. Better than Andrew, whose affections are given in half, longing glances, and stolen kisses, and knees knocking together under the table. Neil was tortured for Andrew, Neil lied to Andrew to protect him, Neil would die for Andrew.
Andrew will die first, he knows. He cannot live in a world without Neil.
But Neil knows, or must suspect. He catches Andrew, once.
“Andrew,” Neil calls softly, behind him. Andrew blinks, the wind whipping against his face, his eyes burning. His hands are balled into fists, fingernails digging into the skin of his palms. “Are you okay?”
He looks towards the sky. It’s going to rain, he thinks absently. Maybe that will conceal the tears he knows are coming. There’s a hot ball of agony in his stomach. It’s a bad day. His chest heaves. He’s trying to catch his breath, but it’s just making him more upset. “Go home, Neil,” he manages to say, and his voice doesn’t sound ragged, the way it feels coming out. It’s like spitting daggers. There’s a knot in his throat he keeps swallowing around and he rocks forward a little further without meaning to.
“Come with me,” Neil says. He doesn’t sound any different than usual, a little hoarse, but Andrew knows he’s been fighting off a cold. “I recorded over Kevin’s Exy games, one of the Star Wars movies was on. He’ll be furious.”
Andrew hears shuffling from behind him. Knows Neil is coming closer. The sky opens slightly, rain drips down his cheeks. He tastes salt on his mouth, knows the dam is open. He tucks his chin to his chest. Takes a couple of deep, heaving breaths. His throat aches. He’s hollow inside.
He’s drowning in a sea of emptiness and no one can throw him a rope. But Neil is behind him, patient and willing. He can’t put Neil through this, seeing him die, not today, so Andrew raises a shaking hand, brushes the water off his face, rubs his eyes, and steps down off the ledge.
“Sounds like fun,” he answers. Tries to inject life into his voice, even though he knows Neil isn’t expecting it, and manages to come out just as blank as he usually does.
Blank blank blank no one looks for more no one expects more he is a blank mask and a blank soul and a blank person and one day he will crack and it will all come spilling out but that will be too late and he will be alone when it happens and it’s all too much and he wants it to end.
Needs it to end.
Neil’s face is pale, Andrew sees the flicker of concern in his eyes, but he holds out his arm to Andrew. “C’mon,” he says. “It’s cold.” Andrew lets Neil pull him in, lets Neil wrap an arm around his shoulder, tucks himself into the warmth that is his body.
The whole in his chest is being filled in with the smell of Neil and the feel of Neil’s hipbone pressed against his side, but Andrew knows it’s just a matter of time before it hollows out again.
Neil watches him extra close after that event, but Andrew makes sure not to slip up again. People look to him, expect him to be okay, the solid one after everything they’ve been through. Which, really, Andrew thinks, is where they messed up.
Andrew never promised to be okay. He never promised to be solid. He was high out of his mind for the years they’ve known him, trapped in a happy, medicinal bubble. Andrew hates the feeling of that happiness more than anything he’s ever experienced in his life. He was screaming and clawing in his mind, unable to make a sound.
The thought of going back to that chokes him.
He wakes up in the middle of the night once and thinks about going into the kitchen, taking a knife, and opening his wrists. Neil is out of town for the weekend, talked into going to New York with Matt and Dan for an impromptu weekend. He didn’t want to go, but Andrew all but threw him out the door.
No one would find him until Monday. He thinks about it for half an hour, before he reaches over, grabs his phone, calls Neil.
Neil answers on the third ring, right before Andrew was going to hang up. “‘Lo?” He says. His voice rolls over Andrew like a balm, soothing him. He can’t talk for a second. “Andrew?” Neil’s voice is more focused now, and Andrew can hear the hint of panic in his voice. He thinks he must not be doing as good of a job hiding his true thoughts as he previously believed.
“I’m here,” he whispers, unable to raise his voice. His mind is screaming at him. “Just...” he clears his throat. “Just missed you.” It’s embarrassing to admit, but he thinks maybe it will distract Neil from the other thoughts he might be having.
There’s a long exhale of breath from the other side of the line. “I miss you too,” Neil says softly. Andrew can hear fabric rustling, imagines Neil sitting up in bed, hair messy and chest bare. Neil never sleeps with a shirt on.
His room feels painfully empty without him next to Andrew, his body heat a comforting reminder that Andrew has something to wake up to in the morning. “Don’t go.” Andrew’s still whispering. “Fall asleep with me.”
“Okay,” Neil agrees easily, his voice low. “Okay, Andrew.”
Andrew falls back asleep to the sound of Neil breathing, the steady count of his inhales and exhales the rhythm Andrew times the beat of his heart to.
He wakes up to Neil sliding into bed next to him. “Hmm?” He mumbles, rolling over to face Neil.
“Shh,” Neil murmurs, pulling the blankets back up. “Go back to sleep. It’s okay.”
Andrew blinks, still half-asleep, at Neil. “Wha’ about New York?”
Smoothing a hand down the side of his face, barely touching him, Neil gives Andrew a soft half-smile. “I wanted to come home. Go to sleep. I’m here. It’s okay.” He kisses Andrew’s forehead, featherlight. Andrew doesn’t protest, falls back asleep with the comforting weight of Neil next to him.
Sitting in his chair in Bee’s office, Andrew picks at a loose thread. “What’s bothering you, Andrew?” She’s looking at him softly, her clipboard off to the side.
He contemplates not answering, but knows she’ll see right through him. The words lie on his tongue, hot and heavy, a weight pinning him to the ground. They strangle him, wrapping around his throat like vines, stealing his breath away. He opens his mouth and pauses, closing it again. Saying it aloud makes it real, makes it irrevocable. He can never close this door once it’s open, can never take the words back.
“Andrew?” Bee prods gently. “You’ve been unusually quiet the past few months. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”
That’s all anyone’s been asking him lately. If he’s okay. Obviously he’s not okay. His chest aches with every beat of his heart. He has no way forward, and he doesn’t know how to manage this pain. He clears his throat. Bee has never led him astray before. Neil doesn’t like her, but he’s been encouraging Andrew to make his weekly sessions, when the last thing he wants to do is get out of bed. He clears his throat.
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he says finally, staring at a point to the left of Bee’s head. It’s easier that way.
She waits a moment, clearly seeing if he’ll say anything further. “Thinking about what?”
Andrew blinks. His eyes are dry. He licks his lip. His mouth is like a desert and his palms are sweating and he longs for something cold to run along his skin. He feels like he’s going to erupt into flames.
“Dying.”
Bee makes a noise of understanding, and his eyes flicker over her face long enough to see an expression of acceptance on it. She knows, then, or suspected at the very least. “Have you tried anything?” Her voice is deceptively calm, especially for the question she asks.
He shrugs, moving his gaze back to the wall. “A few times. I can never go through with it.” His voice hitches, against his will, and he hates himself a little bit more for it.
“Andrew,” Bee soothes. “We are going to get you through this, okay?”
He swallows down tears and nods. If there’s anyone he trusts to keep him alive, Bee is one of the few people.
“...third time he’s skipped practice this week! You can’t keep covering for him, or this will fall on the both of you.”
Andrew can vaguely hear Kevin’s raised voice through the wall of his bedroom. Neil must have let him into their apartment, although Andrew can’t fathom why. He’s been laying in bed, the curtains drawn, for the past several hours. He’s not sure how much time has passed.
“Fuck off, Kevin. I mean it.” Neil’s voice is so low Andrew has to strain to hear it. He sounds furious, in the way Andrew knows he gets sometimes. “I told you he was sick. Accept it at face value and move on.”
“No!” Kevin’s voice is getting louder, and Andrew thinks he might be coming closer to the room. “I’m not going to let him slack off. You should no better than to enable him. I don’t know what little conspiracy you two are concocting in your love den or whatever the fuck this is, but I’ve had enough. Dan and Coach agree with me.”
“Take one more step and you’ll regret it.” There’s a pause. “I’m serious, Kevin.” Andrew knows that tone of voice means Neil means business. Silence, and then the sound of a brief scuffle. Kevin yelps in pain. “Get out. Tell everyone that he’s sick and to fuck off and mind their own buisiness. I mean it.”
More silence, followed by the slam of the front door. A few moments pass, and then a shaft of light falls over Andrew as the bedroom door opens. It’s gone as soon as it comes, Neil shutting it behind him, and the sound of his shoes getting kicked to the floor. “Andrew?”
Andrew rolls onto his back. His eyes are dry and his head is throbbing and he feels too heavy to move. “I fuck up your Exy obsession?” The words are harsher than he means them to be, but he’s so exhausted. Neil has been walking on eggshells around him for weeks, never quite meeting his eyes, and Andrew’s riling for a fight. He wonders if it’ll make him feel more alive.
Neil laughs softly. “Not even close,” he answers, and the other side of the bed dips as he sits down. “They’re just worried,” he says, but Andrew can hear the steely anger in his voice. Neil’s not half as good as concealing his emotions as he wants to think he is. Usually, that amuses Andrew, but today, it exhausts him.
“What time is it?” He asks after a long silence. He’s not sure what Neil is doing, and he’s not sure he wants to know. The bed moves as Neil shifts.
“A little after six.”
Andrew’s missed all of practice then. Not for the first time this week. He’s not surprised Kevin’s so pissed. He would be too, if the roles were reversed. But now the only feeling it elicits is exhaustion. He closes his eyes briefly, feels the pounding of his head, wishes he could fall asleep.
The wind takes Andrew’s breath away. It’s cold, and he’s rocking back and forth to keep his blood flowing. “Where the hell are we?” He asks Neil, who’s leaning over the hood of the car, a map spread. Neil’s bundled up in a large coat, his hair is windswept, and his chinks are pinker than usual. He’s distractingly attractive, and it’s driving Andrew crazy.
“I think... Missouri?” Neil drags a finger down the map, furrows his brow, and tilts his head. “We might have drifted into Illinois somehow. I’m not quite sure how that’s possible.”
“You’re truly inspiring confidence,” Andrew grumbles, tugging his coat tighter around him. He can’t bring himself to be truly put-out with Neil. The further they get from campus, the better Andrew feels.
This whole endeavor was Bee’s idea. In one of their sessions, after the topic of dying came up, Andrew mentioned how trapped he felt at Palmetto State. How all the expectations of everyone were crushing him, and the heavier they became, the less he wanted to rise up to meet them. So she suggested he get away over winter break.
Andrew brought the idea up with Neil, about taking a road trip together, just the two of them. Andrew was fine leaving everyone else behind, but Neil was who he leaned on. So, thirty minutes after Neil’s last final, Andrew handed him the keys and they were gone.
They drove straight through the night, only stopping when they had put a few hundred miles between them and everyone else. Now, Andrew feels the weight lifting off him, so he can finally breathe.
“Do you want to read this?” Neil asks, scowling. He glances up, catches sight of Andrew, bundled to hell and wearing two hats, and his face softens. “Besides,” he says, voice the same level of antagonistic even though he now looks like he wants to kiss Andrew, rather than strangle him, “when was the last road sign you saw?”
“Who cares?”Andrew asks, shuffling a little more to keep warm. “Let’s just get in the car and drive until we see one and worry about it then.”
Neil looks back down at the map like he wants to argue, but eventually gives in, rolling it up. “We should have asked for directions at the last gas station, like I wanted,” he grumbles, rolling the map up. “Then we wouldn’t even be in this position.”
Andrew rolls his eyes. Neil’s been worrying about their location for the past few hours, and Andrew eventually got so fed up with it, he made Neil pull over. To him, it doesn’t matter where they are. The further away they are from anyone else, the better. He slides back into the car, his fingers tingling, even through the gloves he’s wearing, and his face frozen. He turns the heat on high, and his body begins to defrost in a distinctly painful experience.
“I hate you,” he tells Neil once he’s back in the car. Neil stares ahead, sitting in the driver’s seat, shakes his head once, and laughs.
He glances at Andrew, that unbearable fondness still present, and smiles. Andrew’s taken aback by the sheer level of affection in the expression. Neil rarely smiles, not real ones anyway, and whenever he does, it’s like he’s smiling with his whole body. His eyes crinkle, and he gets a dimple in his right cheek, and it’s like he’s radiating warmth. “You’re a terrible liar,” Neil says softly, shaking his head again. He pulls off the side of the road.
Andrew reaches out, where Neil’s hand lays on the armrest. He hovers his hand over Neil’s, hesitating for a moment. Likely sensing his hesitation, Neil flips his hand over so his palm faces up. Andrew settles his hand on top of Neil’s, tangling his fingers with Neil. The contact grounds him, reminds him that he’s present in this moment, that whatever waits for him when he falls asleep can’t find him here. Neil applies the tiniest bit of pressure and Andrew returns it, something approaching happiness swelling inside of him.
They eventually find a motel and a gas station so Neil can fill up the tank. He was right earlier, and they wound up in Illinois somehow, so they decide to visit Chicago the next couple of days. They’ll have to return to South Carolina soon, but Andrew’s doing his best to not think of that at the moment. “Should we try to find somewhere to eat?” Neil sounds dubious, and Andrew rolls over to see him peering out the window, frowning. “I think it’s going to start snowing soon.” He sounds disgusted, and Andrew feels disgustingly fond.
“Stay in,” Andrew answers. He pats the bed. “Come sit.”
Neil glances over his shoulder at Andrew, sprawled out across the bed. The desk attendant had given them a weird look when they bought a room with one bed, but hadn’t said anything outwardly rude. Andrew’s death glare might have had something to do with that. Neil moves towards him, kicking off his shoes in the process and collapsing on the bed next to Andrew.
“This makes me think of when I was younger,” Neil says after a few minutes of silence. They’ve moved, so Neil’s head is resting in Andrew’s lap, and he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, fingers tangled in Neil’s hair. He tugs a little harsher than usual, the words taking him off-guard. He knows immediately what Neil is referencing, his years on the run with his mother before she died.
He continues after a few moments, more tentative than before. “Good or bad?”
Neil makes a considering noise, practically arching so he’s pushing his head into Andrew’s hands, encouraging him to continue. “I don’t think it’s one way or the other. Just haven’t been in a motel as shitty as this one since then.”
Andrew stays silent, choosing instead to focus on on raking his fingers through Neil’s hair. Neil will continue to talk, unprompted, if he’s comfortable enough. “It’s strange,” he says finally. “Being alone with you like this. Or alone at all, I guess. I haven’t since then either.”
Andrew pauses again, not quite sure what to do with the information Neil is offering him. When nothing further is forthcoming, he relaxes. Neil is so cryptic, Andrew is often caught off guard when he does offer information freely. He wonders if this is Neil’s way of encouraging conversation about Andrew’s struggle. “Good or bad?” He asks again, instead of going into what’s on his mind.
Neil doesn’t immediately answer. “Good, I think. It can all be a little much sometimes. You’re never like that.” Andrew feels a little mollified after that. He knows, logically, that Neil enjoys spending time with him, but he always manages to doubt himself.
“You’re ridiculous,” Andrew says driely. Neil makes an offended sound and twists under his hand, rolling over so he’s on his stomach, instead of his back. Andrew widens his legs in response, allowing Neil to slot himself in between them.
“Is this okay?” Neil asks, pushing his body up so his weight is resting on his arms, rather than Andrew. He nods silently, embracing the warmth of Neil’s body on top of his. Neil slowly lets himself down, so they’re lined up, body to body. Neil’s still laying down, while Andrew’s sitting up, so Neil’s head only meets Andrew’s chin. “You’re confusing,” he says, once he’s comfortable.
Andrew rolls his eyes, tucking two fingers under Neil’s chin and lifting it, so Neil meets his eyes. Neil lets Andrew manhandle him, pliant under his hands. It’s one of the things Andrew loves most about Neil. He’s placed all his trust in Andrew, trusts him implicitly not to abuse it, not to abuse him, and Andrew guards that trust close to his heart. They moved past the yes and no stage in their relationship, comfortable with casual intimacy. Neil still is gentle with him, announces his movements before he does anything, rarely startles Andrew with a touch. Neil knows when Andrew is open, knows when he needs space, and in return, never abuses that knowledge.
It’s because of this, Andrew feels confident to dip his own chin, pressing a kiss to Neil’s mouth. Neil parts his lips slightly, inviting, and Andrew follow his lead. He kisses Neil again, moving one hand to cradle the back of his head, while he grips Neil’s chin more firmly with the other. He traces Neil’s mouth, feels the insistent press of Neil’s tongue against his, thinks he could stay right here, in this spot, for the rest of his life. He never wants to leave.
His eyes are half-open, so he sees when Neil closes his, breaking the kiss. Neil moves his mouth to Andrew’s neck, quickly finding his pulse point, where he frequently dedicates his attention. Neil mouths over his skin, hot and wet, and Andrew arches his back, making a noise he’s not ever going to admit, feels Neil smile against his skin.
“Your fetish is not attractive,” he pants. “Haven’t we been over this?”
Neil breaks away from his neck for a moment, looking up at Andrew with a devilish glint in his eyes. “Who said it was my fetish?” He answers, breathless. His mouth is redder than usual, his eyes are slightly glazed and his hair is mussed from where Andrew was running his fingers through it.
Andrew pinches his shoulder gently. “If you’re so insistent, there’s something else you could put your mouth on,” he says, straight-faced. Neil rolls his eyes, but Andrew can see the hint of a smile playing around his mouth.
“Unbelievable,” Neil says, already shifting so he’s on his knees, hands moving to Andrew’s belt. He glances up at Andrew, eyes alight with humor, and grins. Andrew wants to live in this moment forever.
He sits straight up in bed. Andrew’s heart is racing, and there’s a clammy feeling in his stomach, and he can’t quite catch his breath.
He tries to count to five, tries to remember what Bee told him to do when he was panicking, but all he can think about is the dream he was having and the way his body is betraying him and the catch in his throat when he tries to breathe normally and he can’t breathe and everything is spinning and oh god he should be doing something but his hands are shaking so bad he can’t stop and he tastes bile and it’s so dark in here and he can’t see and he can’t breathe and
“Andrew,” Neil says urgently, moving next to him. The sound of his voice breaks something in Andrew’s head, and he flinches violently, still struggling for breath. There’s rustling next to him and light floods the room as Neil switches the bedside lamp on. Andrew can’t quite focus on him, and his hands are still shaking, and each breath is a struggle to push out.
“Count to five,” Neil says, moving off the bed and coming around to Andrew’s side. He kneels on the ground beside Andrew, not touching him, which Andrew is unfathomably grateful for. “Just count to five in your head, you can do it. It’s okay. Here, I’ll follow with you, okay? One, two, three, four, five. Okay? One more time. One, two, three, four, five.”
Andrew nods, repeating the words in his head. He’s rocking slightly, but the counting helps calm the rapid beat of his heart. Neil’s voice is soothing, low and emotionless, and Andrew matches the pace of his breathing to the pace of Neil’s counting. “One more time,” Neil encourages. “One, two, three, four, five. Just like that. It’s okay, everything’s okay.”
Slowly, the world stops spinning, and his heart stops trying to jackhammer out of his chest, and he can breathe normally again. His mouth is still dry and his head is pounding, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out anymore. “Water,” he manages to whisper, and Neil moves away from his side. He wishes briefly he hadn’t said anything, wants Neil to return even before he gets up, but when Neil pushes the cup into his hands, he drinks gratefully.
“Everything is okay,” he says, once he’s caught his breath enough to speak normally. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
Neil is staring at him, brow furrowed, but his face wipes clean of any emotion. “Okay,” he answers, moving to stand. “Don’t apologize. If everything is okay...” He trails off when Andrew climbs out of bed, pulling sweatpants and a sweatshirt on. “Where are you going?”
“I need some air,” Andrew says, pulling on a hat and gloves. He shoves a carton of cigarettes into his pocket, forces his feet into shoes. He’s halfway to the door before Neil says anything else.
“Andrew, it’s 4am. It’s freezing outside.” He doesn’t sound reproachful, just tired. Andrew grinds his teeth together, staring at the wood of the door. He can’t look back, knows seeing Neil will keep him in the room, when all he needs is to get out.
“Go back to sleep,” he orders, moving forward without looking over his shoulder. He steps out into the cold air, slams the door behind him. He’s not sure where this anger is coming from, not sure why he’s so mad at Neil, who’s just worried about him. But staying in that room, four walls boxing him in, would have set his teeth on edge.
Maybe it’s his dream that’s sending him careening off-course. Neil had been in that too, and it isn’t something Andrew wants to think about. What he wants to do is smoke the rest of the cigarettes in the box, find a roof, and contemplate throwing himself off it.
Andrew finds stairs that take him up to a locked door. He jams the lock open, makes it to the edge. He lights his first cigarette, hand shaking, takes a deep inhale. Exhales the smoke. The smell grounds him, even though he still feels half-there. He climbs up onto the ledge, looks down at the ground. It would be so easy, he thinks, to go over. Neil’s not here to stop him this time. All he has to do is lean forward.
He takes another drag of the cigarette. It’s burning down, heat licking his hands. He watches it, the flame flickering red, and flicks it off the roof. Lights another one. Takes a drag. He’s still on the edge. Still feels like blades are running down his spine. He feels uncomfortable in his own skin. Wants to tear it off and start anew.
Andrew steps off the ledge. Sits on it instead, lets his legs hang over the edge. He watches the sun rise from that position, doesn’t move until he’s half frozen and stiff. Neil never comes to look for him, and Andrew sits until he thinks he’ll catch hypothermia if he stays there any longer.
When he steps back into their room, their bags are on the bed and Neil’s in the shower. The bed is neatly made, and it’s like they were never there at all. Andrew opens Neil’s bag out of curiosity, sees everything neatly folded and tucked away. He thinks some habits die hard, and Neil’s never been one to break routine.
Andrew changes, is standing by the door when Neil finally comes out of the bathroom, dripping wet. He doesn’t say anything to Andrew about where he’s been all night and doesn’t mention what happened. He just grabs his bag and heads back into the bathroom. Andrew looks at the scars on Neil’s back as he goes, wonders if Neil’s ever wanted to escape life on this earth the way Andrew does.
He doubts it.
They go to breakfast at a small diner down the road. The coffee is terrible, but Andrew pours three creams and 6 sugars in it, stirring it methodically. Neil gets hot water and tea, as well as a large stack of pancakes for them to share. Normally, Andrew would be ravenous, but his stomach claws at him uncomfortably, and the thought of eating makes him sick. They don’t say anything, and the cheery music playing overhead makes Andrew want to shift uncomfortably.
He knocks back his coffee before the food even arrives, and is well into his second cup by the time it comes. Neil must notice that Andrew’s not eating anything, but he doesn’t say anything.
Andrew’s coming out of the bathroom, headed to meet Neil at the car when he overhears him. “...didn’t eat at all,” Neil’s saying, hushed, into his phone. He’s got his back to the restaurant, standing at the car, and Andrew can barely hear him over the wind. He moves closer, but Neil’s so distracted with whatever the other person is saying he doesn’t notice.
“I tried, last night, did the counting thing like you told me. It seemed to help, but he left right after. Never came back. I thought he might have died.” Neil’s voice is growing in volume as his emotions rise, and Andrew wonders at the thought that he’s affected Neil in this manner.
Andrew waits until Neil says goodbye to whoever he’s talking to, hands shoved into his pockets. “Who was that?” He asks when Neil turns, surprise barely registering on his face.
“Kevin,” Neil lies smoothly, his face blank. “Ready to go?” Andrew nods silently, sliding into the driver’s side. He guesses he should probably be more angry with Neil for lying to him, but the ever present exhaustion seems to have slid back into his bones.
Andrew stairs at the space on the wall above Bee’s head. He’s slumped down in his chair, picking at his thumb. His skin has been crawling all day today, and the room is uncomfortably hot. Bee’s sitting across from him, scribbling on a piece of paper. They’ve just finished their session and she grilled on his trip with Neil.
He’s suspected she’s who Neil called from the diner, but he hasn’t brought it up. Neil still hates talking to Bee, refuses to go with Andrew to her office, so he’s not sure why or when Neil started talking to her of his own free will.
“How was the trip?” Bee asks, finally looking up from her papers. She’s especially perky today, and it’s setting Andrew on edge.
He shrugs, the closest thing to an answer he has for her. She just smiles at him, used to his silence by now. Andrew frowns, still feeling unsettled. “Why don’t you ask Neil. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to tell you,” he says, the words coming more like a sneer than he intends.
She looks up quickly, her eyes wide. “Andrew?”
He settles back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve been talking about me behind my back.” She doesn’t immediately answer. “Haven’t you?”
Bee shakes her head, face pale. “Andrew, Neil is just worried about you. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
Andrew wants to roll his eyes, wants to scowl, wants to let her know how much this angers him. Instead, he swallows it down, stiffens his spine, and steels his face. “If he’s worried about something, he should come to me about it. Not run behind my back to you. We’re not in kindergarten.”
“I agree,” Bee says, nodding. She pauses. “Maybe... Neil doesn’t feel like he can come to you about whatever it is he’s worried about.” Andrew doesn’t respond, preferring to stew in his anger.
The rest of the session continues, polite, if not a little strained. Bee is clearly trying to mend whatever she thinks is broken, but Andrew couldn’t care less. The more he thinks about it, the angrier he becomes with Neil. Good intentions or not, this is a direct violation of Andrew’s trust.
“Oh, Andrew, here,” Bee says, as he’s rising to leave once the hour’s up. “I think you should consider this.” She holds a piece of paper out to him.
He takes it unthinkingly, only pausing once he looks at what’s written on it. “A prescription?” As much as he tries to stop it, a hint of betrayal seeps into his words. “You want to put me on drugs again?”
“Andrew, you’re dealing with depression and suicidal urges. These will help stop that. They’ll make it better.” Her voice is gentle, soft, like she doesn’t want to startle him. His fist clenches, but he shoves the prescription into his pocket to be forgotten, and turns to leave.
Andrew’s ditched practice for the fifth time that month when Neil decides to take another course of action. Things had been frosty between them for a few weeks, especially seeing as Andrew’s fairly certain Bee told Neil that Andrew knew. They never talked about it, but Neil had been back to his normal self and stopped tiptoeing around Andrew like he thought he was going to break.
He’s taken to taking long walks around campus and town, instead of going to class or practice, and he’s just returning home when Neil calls him. He picks up seconds after it starts vibrating. “Wanna get lunch?” Neil asks, not wasting breath on formalities. They both gave up on that, seeing as it wasn’t really necessary, and also because it made Kevin unexplainably mad.
“Now?” Andrew checks the time on the stove clock. “It’s 3:30.”
Neil sighs. “Practice was rough. Dan’s being especially stubborn when it comes to drills, and my legs are going to fall off. I could eat a horse.” He sounds breathless, confirming his story.
“Yeah, okay. Text me where.”
“See you soon.” Neil hangs up before Andrew can answer, and soon his phone is buzzing with an address of a local sandwich shop.
When Andrew gets there, he slumps down in a booth with his back to the wall, facing the door. Neil’s running late, which is unlike him, but Andrew guesses he got caught up with Exy stuff.
The bell above the door jingles, drawing Andrew’s attention. He frowns when he sees Aaron come in. “What are you doing here?” He asks, once Aaron’s sat down at his table.
Aaron looks bored, just as uninterested in being there as Andrew is at having him there. “Neil asked me to come,” he says, sounding like he’s wondering how that got him there.
“And you agreed?” Outside of their monthly meeting with Bee, this is the most the two of them have spoken in weeks.
Aaron rolls his eyes. “He asked nicely. He also gave me this.” He pushes a piece of paper across the table towards Andrew. “Cute.”
“Is this some kind of fucked up joke?” Andrew shoves the paper, Bee’s neat handwriting for a prescription familiar. “No one’s laughing.”
Aaron nods, like he expected this reaction. “No,” he agrees, looking down at the table. “No one’s laughing.”
A wave of fury crashes over Andrew, and he pushes himself to his feet. He needs to walk this energy off before he ends up doing something he regrets. “Sit down,” Aaron tells him. “Shut up and listen.”
His hands still trembling with anger, Andrew does as he says, ready to leap up and leave at the drop of a pin.
Aaron looks up, meets his eyes. There’s a burning intensity there that’s unfamiliar to Andrew. “One of the worst days of my life was seeing Drake on top of you.” Andrew flinches at the mention of Drake despite himself. Aaron shakes his head viciously. A muscle in his jaw flexes. “You’re my brother. We’re supposed to protect each other. And I failed.”
Aaron pauses, like he’s considering what he’s going to say next. “Neil told me you tried to kill yourself.”
Andrew flinches again. The words are callous, and somehow having Aaron say them out loud makes them more real. Aaron doesn’t seem to be paying attention to his reaction.
“I was angry when he told me. I thought he might be lying at first, like another fucked up way of trying to get us to connect. But he showed me that. And I realized he wasn’t lying. Was he?”
Aaron’s eyes meet Andrew’s. It’s like staring into a mirror. Andrew’s always hated his own reflection. Shows too much of himself. “No,” he says, toneless. “He wasn’t lying.”
He nods like that was the answer he was expecting. “Looking back, I should have known the second you stopped coming to practice that something was wrong. But I was stupid. I thought maybe you were rebelling against something, that Neil was just covering for you.” Aaron’s fist clenches. “You’re scared of this, aren’t you?”
He pushes the prescription towards Andrew. “I’m not going to take drugs,” Andrew snaps, heat licking at his voice. He doesn’t mean to lose his handle on his temper, but he feels like pins and needles are pricking his skin. “Never again.”
Aaron nods. “You know, when you locked me in that bathroom, I hated you more than anything. After what you did to Mom, I never thought I could forgive you. I was happy to hate you for the rest of my life, or until I could leave. I don’t want to hate you anymore, Andrew. It’s exhausting and it’s pointless, and you’ve always been trying to protect me, even if it’s a fucked up kind of protection. But I’m scared if you go through with whatever suicide plan you have, I’ll resent you for the rest of my life. I want to protect you, for once, but you won’t let anyone in close enough to do that. Me, Neil, Bee, we just want you to be okay. It’s up to you. Do it or don’t do it, but I’ve said my piece.”
Aaron slides out of the booth, standing up. “You don’t always have to do everything on your own.”
Andrew watches him leave. Once the door shuts behind him, he reaches out to pick up the prescription. He smoothes the paper, before folding it neatly and tucking it in his pocket.
Much to Andrew’s displeasure, trying to get back into shape after barely going to practice for the past few months is a very unpleasant process. He’s winded after three laps, but they have another seven. Neil sticks by his side, even though Andrew knows he’s the fastest on the team.
“I don’t need your pity,” he snaps, but the words lack the bite he intended, mostly because he’s struggling to draw enough air into his lungs to breathe. Neil just laughs, cheeks slightly pink from exertion.
“I know you don’t,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Ready to go?” He takes off running, drawing Andrew after him. He’s going to be damned if he lets Neil Josten out-run him. Just because Neil’s been running for his whole life doesn’t mean Andrew’s going to let him beat him.
He notices Dan watching them sprint around the court with a fond smile, and wishes the rest of the team would learn some subtly.
“Close the goddamn window, would you?” Neil grumbles from behind Andrew. Andrew’s got the window propped open, sitting up in the window sill as he smokes. The air is still cold in the morning, even though the seasons are shifting.
“I can if you want the apartment to smell like smoke,” Andrew answers, exhaling smoke.
Neil comes up behind him, bundled up in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, both the hideous PSU orange. He wraps his arms around Andrew’s middle, pressing his forehead against Andrew’s shoulder. “That’s all you smell like anyway.”
He reaches up to take the cigarette from Andrew and Andrew lets him, enjoying the press of Neil against him. “I hate you,” he says, almost without thinking of the words.
Neil snorts, and his hair tickles Andrew’s neck. “Liar.” He presses a kiss to Andrew’s neck, and the coldness of his nose makes Andrew flinch slightly. “Can you even smoke on the meds?”
Andrew shrugs. “Never saw anything that said I couldn’t.”
He’d eventually given in and started taking the medicine that Bee recommended. He’d been nervous at first, of being trapped in his own mind, unable to express himself, but thankfully all they did were keep him grounded. He no longer felt so empty all the time, even though he still woke up in a blind panic on particularly bad nights. Bee said it was all a process the last time he talked to her, so he’s hoping she’s right.
The apartment falls quiet as they pass the cigarette back and forth, Neil still wrapped around Andrew. “I love you,” he says, so quiet Andrew almost doesn’t hear him. It’s not the first time they’ve said it, but it doesn’t come out often. Neither of them have lived lives that embraced love and openness and Andrew’s still trying to learn how to be vulnerable with Neil.
“I love you too,” he says, just as soft.
He still doesn’t feel right all the time, and sometimes he wants to escape to the roof, but he’s getting better. He thinks the good days are starting to outnumber the bad days. Andrew wants to freeze this moment, here in the apartment he and Neil have made for themselves, with Neil holding him, like he’s holding Andrew’s pieces together. Neil’s never been afraid of getting cut on Andrew’s sharp edges, and Andrew thinks that might be what he loves the most.