Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I

Harried. adjective

1. feeling strained as a result of having demands persistently made on one;

2. beset by problems: harassed.

“What about Dracula? I’m sure we had another copy of it…”

“We sold it,” Neil said, not looking up from where he was trying to add up yesterday’s sales. “You persuaded that Chapel Hill student to take the last copy on Halloween. And yes, I’ve ordered another two copies, but they haven’t arrived yet. You know the new stock arrives tomorrow.”

“That’s late. Who are you using? Did you go back to –”

“I haven’t changed wholesaler since you told me to do so in September.” And before that in June and before that in March. Always on Kevin’s recommendation.

“Hm, I’ll have to reconsider whether we keep using them.”

I thought that was my job… Neil thought absently, totalling up the he realising that they weren’t doing quite so badly as he’d thought this month. Still not great though. How on earth had his mother made this work?

Kevin harrumphed, appearing with the book trolley and rolling it round one stack into the next.

“Someone put Murakami in the health and wellbeing section again,” he said.

Oops, thought Neil. “Must be one of those prankster students.”

“Well one of these days I’ll have to tell them that their puerile antics are not appreciated.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“Good point, you’re the owner. You should do it.”

“Yes, sure. I’ll do it.” That was a lie. He was never going to reprimand customers. They lost enough because of Kevin without Neil adding his sharp tongue to the mix. But god was it tempting sometimes.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, Neil was never quite sure – the Curious Fox had quite a loyal following, small, but more than enough to keep them going month on month.

There were students who scurried in, desperate for texts that had been out of print for years but were crucial to essays due in only a couple days’ time. Most of these seemed inured to Kevin’s favourite lectures like the importance of challenging your brain and stimulating young minds for cognitive improvement and did you know that if you start researching an essay earlier, you can decrease your stress levels significantly. Perhaps they’d visited so many times that his particular brand of helpfulness had become acceptable.

There were the regulars - Renee, Dan, Allison and Kevin's girlfriend, Thea - who treated the shop as more of a library. Coming and sitting in the squishy armchairs by the fireplace with their coffees from down the road, they'd chat for hours at time, rarely discussing literature unless it was Thursday. That was when they hosted a book group, also attended by Nicky Klose, the colourful owner of the German Bakery down the road, and Matt Boyd, a sports teacher from the local college who Neil occasionally went hiking with.

And there were families who came in looking for new children’s books and an opinion on their appropriateness for whatever age of child they happened to have. Wymack - Kevin’s father - also fell into this category, as he seemed constantly on the lookout for self-help books and inspiring novels to give the kids that came to his youth club. Neil quite liked him but was never entirely sure how he and Kevin were related. Then again, the same might be said of him and Mary.

He frowned at the numbers again. The problem was that neither he or Kevin was a natural bookseller. They probably lost as many sales as they made.

Kevin was diligent and practically fanatical about things like inventory and shelving and knew the details of more books than anyone Neil had ever met. He knew authors and their history. He could tell you the lineup of every series or the best order to read standalones by this writer or that. He was an absolute godsend to someone like Neil, who’d never imagined he’d end up running a bookshop.

But Kevin also had a tendency to intimidate new customers. When someone fresh-eyed and curious came in looking for the latest romance or thriller or seasonal classic, Kevin inevitably told them all about what their choices represented and why they ought to choose a better book or at least add more to their basket. Sometimes he was successful. More often than not, the potential customer left in a hurry and Kevin came looking for Neil to explain why that particular buyer really wasn’t the sort that they wanted to attract anyway. Inferior taste, was one of his favourite complaints.

Neil on the other hand was hopeless on another level. He wasn’t a reader. He didn’t even really like books that much (unless they were about sports or the mafia or both). He never knew where a novel should be shelved or how popular something might be. He didn’t know much about authors. He floundered when people came in asking for novels based on random details like “the book about a teenage genius, I think it was blue and maybe there was a centaur in it?” or “the one about the whale” or “I know it’s kind of obscure but it’s a book about a book group in the second world war and that blond girl from Mamma Mia is in the film adaptation, do you have it?” How was he meant to know what any of that even meant? Really, he preferred numbers. He liked the logic. The simplicity. The fact that two plus two never equalled five and that very few people ever went into the business and economics section so he could occasionally have a nap.

As Kevin bumbled by with the trolley again, grumbling about another misplaced title, Neil closed his eyes and sighed. He was so tired.

Just three more months, he told himself. Three more months and he’d be able to sell the Curious Fox and go back to England where he… well... he didn’t really belong there either, but it was at least further away from Baltimore and his memories of life on the run, his father... his mother.

A strangled sound came from the stacks. “Oh my god, did you seriously put Margaret Atwood in non-fiction?”

“Nope,” Neil yelled back. “Not me.”

“Liar. I know this was you. You were ranting about the Handmaid’s Tale last week. You totally borrowed this book and then put it back deliberately where it shouldn’t be, probably because you knew I’d find it. This has your mathematical nonsense all over it.”

“You’re such a conspiracy theorist. A regular Cassandra.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Kevin strode out, dust on his cheeks and in his hair. “And Cassandra tells the truth.”

“But no one believes her. Sound familiar?”

“You only know about Cassandra because I made you read Song of Achilles.”

“I learnt about Greek myths before you came along, Day.”

“Could have fooled me. What did Jeremy ask for the other day? The Aeneid? What did you tell him?”

Neil’s face flushed. He’d recommended he check out the books on biology. “To be fair, I thought it was the name of a minor artery…”

Kevin scoffed, rubbing a hand across his face that smeared the dust even further. “Stick to what you’re good at and tell me how we’re doing for sales?”

Neil read out the numbers, not looking up at Kevin. He knew that his mother had been really quite successful in running things - though whatever magic she’d had, clearly hadn’t passed to him. No surprises there. He hadn’t even known she’d left his father, let alone opened her own bookshop, until he received the letter in the post, summoning him to her Will reading. He sighed again, chewing on his thumb as he stared at the careful columns of his accounting. He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see if his sole employee was disappointed with the figures… Kevin was a good guy. He worked hard. He might be a bit of an acquired taste, but he loved the Curious Fox. Then Neil had come along and messed it all up just by breathing.

“You know what, we can work with that,” Kevin said.

“Huh?” Neil peered upwards, still half hiding behind his hair.

“Pfft, don’t look so surprised,” Kevin said. “The numbers aren’t stellar but Black Friday is this week and then we have Christmas. Busiest time of the year by far. We’ll have to pull out all the stops, of course. Mary always used to do mulled wine nights, late-night shopping evenings, seasonal sales. We can do this.”

“Black Friday?”

“Why does that sound like a question?” Kevin’s eyes narrowed.

“Because I don’t think we have that in Britain. Or France. Or anywhere I've lived.”

“You grew up in freaking Maryland.”

Neil winced.

“Sorry,” Kevin said, not sounding sorry at all. “But you did. And dad invited you to Thanksgiving with us. You're the analytical one, you must have worked it out.”

“I’m stupid, remember.”

“You’re not stupid. No, seriously, you’re a smart guy. You’re just…” Kevin trailed off. “You’re just a little disconnected.”

“That’s very kind,” Neil replied. He didn’t believe a word. “But any tips for whatever Black Friday entails? Or Christmas? What’s this about readings?”

“You have Christmas in London.”

“I don’t,” Neil said. “Seriously, the closest thing I’ve done to Christmas in my life is walk down Carnaby Street to look at the lights.”

For a second, Kevin looked as exhausted as Neil felt. His shoulders drooped, his mouth curved down. He took a great sucking breath and then released it. “I don’t know what you’d do without me.”

Nor did Neil. Honestly, Kevin had saved him so many times by this point, he was worried about becoming professionally codependent.

“I’ll go and get my notes from last year. Mary and I planned a whole bunch of stuff before the accident. Give me half an hour. I’ll be back.”

“You’re my hero, Kev.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kevin says. But his mouth curved up again, his cheeks were a little pink as he grabbed his coat.

The bell chimed as he left, letting in the smallest breath of winter air before the door firmly shut it out again.

One thing Neil would always appreciate about the Curious Fox was its warmth. For an old building, it was cosy, low-ceilinged and carefully laid out so that no matter where you were in the shop, there were quiet places to tuck yourself away and lose yourself in a book. It was so unlike his mother. Or at least, unlike the woman he remembered.

It was hard to imagine her living here, working here. In his memory, Mary was savage and harsh and paranoid. She would hide them in the coldest and darkest places for weeks on end. He remembered bus stops and slums, abandoned buildings and car rides, always looking over his shoulder. Back then, she’d drag him across the country, trying to escape from his father. She’d never go into a place without double-checking every exit route, every way a threat could get to her. She’d never have entered this shop with its alcoves and nooks, hundreds of places to hide and such limited ways to escape.

He glanced out of the window, drinking in the frosty street, the cobbled shops, the trees that lost their leaves to the autumn wind. It was hard to imagine Mary in Foxdon at all - in this quiet mountain town with its overly-familiar community. Everyone here knew everything about everyone else. And the first thing he’d learnt was that they knew all about Mary too - where she’d come from, where she’d run from, who she’d left behind. They knew about him, the son she no longer saw. So many strangers had stopped by to say they were sorry for his loss when he arrived. They called her wonderful and creative and kind. They had met someone that he never knew.

At the time, he’d almost thought - or rather, hoped - that he’d accidentally been sent to the wrong place. Calling the solicitor, he’d asked again and again if this was really the right shop, that there was really no wiggle room in her Will. There wasn’t. He'd known that really. The name gave it away - he'd always been her inquisitive boy, her curious fox. 

And so here he was: working in the shop that she’d started after she finally left his father for the last time, trying to keep it going for the year-long obligation he had to fulfil before he could sell up and move on.

A few customers arrived, coming and going with a modicum of efficiency. None of the books they wanted were out of stock or hidden in the wrong section. Their low-maintenance was appreciated. He wasn’t sure he had the capacity to give them any real attention whilst his head was so full of thoughts, questions, memories.

Neil ran his hands through his hair, twisting one finger in the curls that had grown too long. It was hard not to muse on what Kevin said about the upcoming holidays and all the plans that needed to be made. He lifted his eyes to the sky and tried to remember anything about the traditions he experienced as a child. He could recall the tree that his father put up, the empty boxes that were gift wrapped and placed underneath it for appearance's sake. If he squinted into the past, he could picture his mother giving him an angel decoration to place on top of the tree, he could almost imagine her perfume mixed with pine wood. But he knew if he lingered too long here, he’d also remember his father backhanding him so hard that the angel flew out of his hand, its pretty china face shattering where it fell. He grimaced and brought his eyes back down to the street where it was safer.

Or not. Oh no. 

Heat crept up Neil’s face. His heart started to pound. His stomach swooped up into his throat and then down so fast it was like vertigo.

Sauntering up the road was a person at one with the winter - all cold white sun and dark black shadows.

They came closer. Bleach blond hair. Thick coat. Black boots. Clothes as sharp as that flash of a smile he sometimes offered Neil.

Andrew Minyard.

Neil hadn’t known he was back in town.

Oh my god, Neil couldn’t get his thoughts under control. His mouth was gold-fishing. His eyes felt blown open. I’m ridiculous. I’m actually ridiculous. He’s just walking. He’s just walking by on the way to see Nicky, I’m sure. Calm down. So what if he’s back. He probably doesn’t even remember you.

But, shit, now Andrew’d spotted him. Spotted him gawking like some kind of weirdo or a nosy neighbour peeping through the curtains. Andrew’s eyes met his. Neil fought the urge to duck and hide, instead forcing his mouth into something like a smile. He was clearly amused - which was totally not fair - and Neil’s cheeks only pinked further. He raised an awkward hand. Andrew lifted two fingers in a mock salute, gold eyes glinting like bullets that Neil felt in his chest.

How can he make something so dorky look so good?

Andrew didn’t break eye contact until they were level on the street. Only then did his attention drift back ahead as he continued to pass by, not giving Neil or the shop a second glance.

Neil’s skin was too small. His cardigan was too hot. Last time this happened, he’d googled the symptoms and thought he was dying. Only subsequently had he learnt this was probably a crush. A terrible, unrequited and entirely unprecedented crush. Was it really meant to feel so uncomfortable? Did it ever become less embarrassing or heart-stopping? Would his stomach ever not collapse into a flurry of moths whenever Andrew came to town?

He’d never felt like this around anyone before.

He didn’t really understand why it had to be Andrew Minyard either. But ever since the first time they met, something had been different with him.

It had been Neil’s third or fourth week in the shop. February blowing a chill through the town. The boiler was broken. It had been so so cold and it was throwing Neil back to times in his life he’d really rather forget. And then Andrew pushed through the door, taken one look at Neil and realised he wasn’t okay, that he was so far from fine he was losing pieces of himself. Taking three strides across the shop, he’d talked Neil down from a panic attack, listened as he’d all but shaken his way through a confession: that he had no idea what he was doing, that he wanted to sell but he couldn’t, that his mom had died and left him this place but he hadn’t seen her in years, that she’d dragged him across the country more than once, that she always went back to his father, over and over and over, and that he didn’t understand why she’d never told him about this place, why she’d never reached out to say she was out and free and safe and…

“Slow down,” Andrew had said. “Breathe in. Out. You can’t sell the shop?”

“Not for a year,” Neil had admitted between rattling inhalations. “After that, sure. I don’t know why. I don’t know what anyone wants from me here. I don’t know why she did this. I was… I was doing okay back in London.”

He’d been surviving at least, with a little help from Uncle Stuart. Going through the motions. Safe. Far far away from this place and its ghosts.

They’d talked for hours, mostly about Neil.

He shared things he should never have shared. Andrew patient and listening as he spilled his guts and questioned the universe and generally fell apart.

In that initial meeting, he learnt very little about Andrew. Just his name, that he was visiting from New York, that his hands were sure and warm and grounding.

Back then, Andrew was spending the week in a cabin a couple miles further into the Blue Ridge Mountains, stopping by only to visit his cousin and husband. But in the end he’d made the effort to see Neil almost every day of his trip. Their conversations spanned out to include Andrew’s truths - stories like being in foster care and how Nicky essentially became a brother and parent and cousin all at once; stories like the tension between Andrew and his twin, Aaron, as teenagers and how they now spoke on the phone all the time; stories like how Neil didn’t need to hide the scars on his hands, because Andrew had his own and wouldn’t question them.

That week shifted something in Neil. He found himself thinking about Andrew when they were apart, flushing when they were together, constantly conscious of where Andrew was and the distance between them. After he left, Neil still kept looking up at the door, half expecting him to be there. And on the few occasions where Andrew had come to town since, Neil’s heart would begin to loop and shiver and skitter around his rib cage, looking for an escape. It was intolerable.

“Right, I’ve got my notes. Wait, what are you looking at?”

Kevin came bursting through Neil’s thoughts and immediately pounced upon his distraction. “That's Abby... You know she’s dating my dad right?”

“What? No! I was just… I thought it was… I thought I saw... snow!” Neil said, scrambling for an excuse. “Yeah, snow. I was distracted.”

“Er, okay. Glad you’re not leering after my step-mom.”

“Ew, Kev.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Your dad does.”

“My dad does it because I hate it.”

“And he and I are in perfect harmony.”

“Fine, if you’re going to be an ass, I’ll just take my notes and you can work out the holidays on your own.”

Terror flashed through Neil, clean as a knife. “Kevin. Kevin. Mate.”

Kevin lifted his chin, brows knotted. “Don’t do that British thing just to get me to help you.”

“Kevin, my hero, my dearest bibliophile,” Neil kept going, accent thickening with every syllable. “Would you truly leave me in my hour of greatest need?”

“I might.”

“You mightn’t.”

“That’s not even a word.”

“Really?”

“You’re hopeless.”

“I am,” Neil agreed, nodding his head vigorously. “I really am. That’s why I need you. Teach me your weird American traditions. Teach me about Christmas.”

Kevin narrowed his eyes. “We’re in a bookshop, you could just read something.”

“Is there a copy of Christmas for Dummies?” Neil asked, laughing when Kevin’s whole face crumpled into disgust. “Plus you’ve already done so much work, right? It would be a shame to waste  your ideas.”

Neil spotted the exact moment Kevin relented.

“It would,” Kevin said, nodding rather reluctantly. “Last year wasn’t the same without the bookshop.”

“But this year, we’ll make it happen. We’ll do trees and lights and…” Neil trailed off. “Yeah, trees.”

There was a pause. Emotions that Neil couldn’t read passed over Kevin’s face, his green eyes full of doubt and frustration and everything in between. “Trees,” he repeated. “Freaking trees. That’s all you have.”

Shrugging, Neil offered an unapologetic smile. “Sorry?”

“I’ll get you that book. It won’t fix your crappy childhood but… read it and we’ll get ready for Black Friday tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Kev - in. Kevin.”

“Don’t even joke.”

Chapter Text

II

Moonbroch. noun.

1. a hazy halo of cloud around the moon at night that presages an approaching storm (Old Scots)

Neil Josten understood exhaustion.

He knew bone-deep weariness after a hundred nights of half-sleep.

He knew the physical fatigue of months on the run.

He knew the emotional void left behind after having hopes smashed and losses taken.

Between a childhood spent fleeing his father and the years of homelessness, shuffling from one family member to another, Neil was no stranger to the numbness that followed in the wake of adrenalin, the hollow tiredness that washed around his body and threatened to pull him below the waves. Treading water, despite it all, was second nature. Everything was about survival, sacrifice. Pushing through the aches and pains to live another day.

Nothing, however, had prepared him for working in retail. Let alone Black Friday and the surrounding nightmare of impatient shoppers all vying for a better deal than he could afford to offer.

This was another level of debilitation. His legs ached from standing. His back felt twisted. His eyes scratched with every blink. His every nerve seemed to tremble as he crawled out of bed, becoming heavier and heavier with each step. He didn’t even have energy for a run and he always had energy for a run, the same way other people kept space for dessert.

He was just so tired.

Which was why it was such a travesty that today, of all days, his coffee machine decided to die a death, snarling and sputtering into oblivion and without a drop of delicious energy nectar in sight. Neil watched the machine smoking before him and considered cursing, only to realise he didn’t even have it in him to do that.

Letting out a groan, the closest thing to words that would form in his mouth, he looked at the travel clock perched above the oven. Münsters would be open by now, he realised, Nicky always started early. There was hope.

Pulling on the same clothes from the day before - light turtleneck, jeans that’d seen better days, his favourite cardigan with holes for his thumbs - well, he knew he looked rumpled but everything was soft and cosy and easily picked up off the floor.

Would it be so bad if I just crawled back to bed? He wondered, padding downstairs to the darkened shop. Does the world need me today?

In his head he could imagine Kevin calling him a melodramatic asshole and couldn’t bring himself to care. It was barely dawn outside. He wanted coffee. He really wished he wasn’t awake. 

Bracing for the cold, he wished he’d grabbed a scarf and hat but decided it was too late to go back now, instead pushing out into the morning and the absolutely freezing half-light of Foxdon in December.

The town was sleepy, cradled by the mountains as its inhabitants slowly started to stir. The sky was darkest winter blue, the kind of indigo that reminded Neil of deep seas, with threads of pink and orange beginning to soften the edges. Dawn was only stirring,  just starting to bleach away the moon with its cheshire cat smile and the pinpoint stars in the sky. It was so clear - the air, the sky - Neil found himself pausing, looking up along the highstreet, breathing in deeply so that the cold hit his lungs and burned there. As he walked, the memory of mist curled around chimney pots and slatted roofs, the shadow of a cat skittered between frost covered cars, the quiet hushed his footsteps as if the morning wasn’t ready for sound yet.

It was pretty here. The mountains made everything so fresh, so crisp. If Neil was honest, he’d admit that loved being able to run places like Boone and Hickory, adored his hikes through Plateau and Grandfather Mountain, climbing up and up until the world lay before him, observed but unknowing, so far removed from him and his life. Things didn’t seem so claustrophobic when the world was quiet and the day just beginning. Mornings like this, Neil would even say he liked the little town, that maybe he’d visit after he left in the spring.

But the wind was cold today, desperate to prickle through his clothes. He needed coffee. Pretty towns and moribund thoughts could wait until he was properly caffeinated.

Münsters’ Bakery was the corner store on the high street. It was more modern than some of the other shops: huge front windows either side of the door giving a clear view inside where the breads and cakes lined the back walls. The aesthetic was industrial - all natural wood countertops and dark metal seating - but it was softened by faux firs in greens and browns. It was tasteful, welcoming, neutral. And then you noticed the art. Across the walls were photos in black and white, all of beautiful men making beautiful couples - some were lewd and evocative, others more heartfelt. Nicky once explained that he’d started collecting queer historical photographs after finding one of two sailors from the 1850s.

“It’s just beautiful, isn’t it?” He’d gushed to Neil. “All these people tell us that we’re not right, that we’re wrong. But love is love, no matter the genders involved, no matter the century.”

From there, Nicky had begged Neil to tell him about his own sexual preferences, “You play for our team right? You’re not a hetero with a face like that.”

Neil had all but fled, flushed and stammering out his excuses. But Nicky continued to ask, pointing out cute single men and women whenever Neil visited the bakery and always laughing when Neil insisted that he didn’t know, he didn’t really swing, he didn’t really see people like that. He really hoped that today was too early for Nicky to start the interrogation. He wasn’t sure he would cope.

Reaching Münsters, Neil noticed the windows were already decorated with snowflakes and snowballs and that a slightly terrifying winter elf perched on the frame board. He felt the strain of his own worries beginning to squeeze in his chest again, pushed them away. He couldn’t have a panic attack before coffee. He’d pass out. Then he saw what was written on the sign: Gonna lie under the tree so my family remember I’m a gift. It startled a sharp laugh and found himself pushing inside with a small smile on his face.

No one was at the counter, so Neil lent over the counter so he could peer through the crack in the doors to the kitchen. There was definitely someone back there. He called out, “Hey, Nicky. Any chance of a coffee black as my soul?”

Except as soon as the figure through the door stood, Neil knew it wasn’t Nicky. They were broader, shorter, with shoulders like Atlas and hair so pale it could be snow.

“First time I’ve been mistaken for my cousin, I’ll give you that,” Andrew said, coming through the doors. His mouth twitched when Neil took a step back, caught himself and stepped forwards again. “Black as your soul?”

Neil tried to form words. He really did. What came out was, “Wursnucky?”

“You want to try that again in English?”

“Where’s… where’s Nicky? Are you working here now?”

“Nicky’s away for December, off to Germany to see Erik’s family for the holidays. I offered to look after Münsters for them.” Andrew tipped his head, one brow cocking. “That reaction almost suggests you’re not happy to see me.”

“No! I mean. Yes. I. Well, I mean, sure, right?” Neil didn’t know what to say. “I’m glad you’re here.”

His heart was doing that thing again, the fluttery dive and swoop.

“I am too,” said Andrew. But why was he looking at Neil like that as he said it? He was so… so…

Neil’s brain blanked. All he could repeat was, “Coffee?”

He didn’t say please. He knew better from their previous conversations. That didn’t stop him raising large blue and begging eyes. “I could really, really use some of that magical bean juice, Andrew.”

He didn’t miss how Andrew’s ears turned pink, nor the way his gold eyes seemed to burn. “Get out of my face. I’ll bring it over.”

Backing away to his favourite table in the window, Neil decided he had never felt so grateful in his life to sit down and wait. He rubbed his hands together, shaking out the chill before easing back into the blankets of his seat.

The bakery was comfortably warm and full of the scents of fresh baking. It always made him think of Europe, the places he travelled both as a child and an emancipated teen. He’d spent six months exploring Germany, another four in Austria and Switzerland before heading through to France and Italy where he chased the sun and avoided the cold as much as possible. He’d visited museums in Berlin, hiked through the Black Forest, swum in Lake Geneva, learnt to drink in Bruge. He’d sailed the coast of France, from Marseille to Beaulieu, crossed to Bonafacio in Corsica and taken odd jobs that carried him from Sardinia to Sicily. Then a call came through from Stuart - regretful, sad, unsurprised - and Neil had known at once that Mary was dead. They’d expected the news for years. But none of them expected this: The Curious Fox, her new life as a bookseller, her new home in the mountains. It was funny to think how Foxdon was now the place where Neil had stayed the longest since he was seven. Almost a whole year. And it was all because of her.

Banging and a hushed expletive jerked Neil back into the present. “Andrew? You ok?”

“Yes,” Andrew said, biting out the word. “One coffee. On its way.”

Neil’s mouth twitched. He wondered if Andrew actually knew how to use the coffee machine. Had Nicky given him any time to learn anything before jetting off to Germany?

“Ah ha!”

That was a good sign. Neil pointedly didn’t look over to the barista station, kept himself looking out into the street where the sun was finally spilling along the sidewalks and making the frost shimmer and glitter like fool’s gold. If he could see Andrew’s less than composed reflection in the glass, that was a coincidence. He totally wasn’t watching the other man wrestling with the machine like it was beast from below. He definitely wasn’t hiding a snicker in his shoulder, mouth curved into a grin despite his exhaustion.

“I’m glad you’re finding this amusing,” Andrew said, finally appearing eight minutes later with a large mug of something that definitely wasn’t black coffee. His face was a little pink. His mouth was a fierce line. “Here.”

Neil’s eyes widened. “Andrew,” he began. “Is this… meant to look like this?”

“It’s a leaf,” Andrew said.

“It’s a penis,” replied Neil.

“It’s not a penis.”

“It is. You’ve drawn a penis on my latte.” Neil found a giggle bubbling in his throat. “Not even Nicky’s drawn a penis on my latte.”

“At least call it a dick,” said Andrew. “We’re not in middle school.”

Neil kept laughing. Small chuckles bursting from him despite every attempt to stop. “This definitely isn’t black coffee.”

“It’s a white mocha with an extra shot. You look tired,” Andrew said. He looked a bit put out. “Plus I decided the sugar might hide the burnt bean flavour.”

“Oh god,” Neil said. “You have no idea what you’re doing either.”

“Absolutely none. I’ve never worked in a café in my life.”

“Yet here you are, using whatever holiday you have to fill in for your cousin?” Not for the first time, Neil wondered what Andrew actually did for a living. He never seemed to answer to anyone, never took work calls or mentioned a job. Perhaps he’s rich, Neil mused. And just very generous and bored and that’s why he’s helping Nicky out.

“I think I’ve made a dreadful mistake.”

“I think you need some help.”

Andrew plopped himself into the seat opposite Neil. “Renee’s in as backup tomorrow, but she has the day off because of Thanksgiving.”

Neil sipped at his coffee, grimaced at the overwhelming sweetness mixed with what could only be described as charcoal. “I can… I can help you with the machines? I’ve worked in a bunch of cafés before in London and France. Can’t say I’m great but… maybe I can show you how not to burn the beans?”

Andrew’s eyes widened. He looked younger, like this, surprised and thoughtful. “I’d appreciate that, but don’t you have a shop to run?”

Shrugging, Neil rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing a very good job anyway. I’m sure no one will be surprised if it’s not open this morning,” he admitted, rolling his mug between his hands but not daring to take another sip. “Especially not after the disaster of the weekend.”

“I did hear things were particularly chaotic over at the Curious Fox on Friday.”

“Some lady with a little dog thought the stack of new stock was a pile of free books. Reader: they were not.”

“Reader: you are learning how to talk like the bookish.”

“Don’t insult me,” Neil said. “And now Kevin has all these Christmas plans. Keeps going on and on about traditions and stuff. I mean did you know that there are eight reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh? Eight, Andrew. And Kevin wants us to make tiny paper sculptures of all of them to dangle from the ceiling. Then he has us scheduled to make twelve ‘festive’ dioramas out of books. That’s stock sacrifices to the art and crafts gods, if ever I’ve seen it…”  Neil offered a wan smile. “Really, you’d be doing me a favour keeping me here, saving me from death by a thousand inevitable paper cuts.”

Andrew’s lips did that thing, the quirk that wasn’t quite a smile but filled Neil with such a sense of victory. “When you put it like that,” he said. “How can I say no?”

“You can’t really. Well, you can. Of course. You can always say no to me,” Neil says, brain filling in with a hundred ways he’d really like Andrew not to say no. “I don’t want to impose.”

Andrew’s expression might almost be affectionate. Or it could be murderous. It was hard to tell.

“Drink up,” he said. “And teach me how to use the demon machine.”

“I think we’d better make me a new drink,” said Neil. “Come on, we can use it as a test run.”

***

The morning passed too quickly. The decaffeinated arrived and Neil guided Andrew through the motions of making coffee until he was comfortable with each step of the process. His own tiredness was long gone, devoured by the copious espressos he’d shotted during the first hour of being behind the barista bar. It helped that Andrew kept whispering snarky comments about the clientele in his ear and that his cheeks hurt from smiling so much more than he was used to.

At one point, Kevin came in, looking annoyed and a bit worried until he spotted Neil. He left with the keys to the Curious Fox, having apparently forgotten to bring his own, and with a perfectly made double chocolate mocha topped by whipped cream and marshmallows in his hand - on the house - which really meant Neil paid for it later whilst Andrew raised a stupidly perfect eyebrow in mock judgement.

It was, if Neil was honest, probably the best morning he’d had since moving into the apartments above the bookshop. Münsters was popular and the people demanding, but moving around Andrew felt like second nature. Their conversation was wry and constant. He felt content, even if more than one customer did remark on the fact that Neil hadn’t yet put lights up and it was making the street look gloomy.

“Ah yes, the lights,” Neil kept saying, waving off the question over and over with a different excuse each time. “We had to replace some. We’re getting some new ones. We’re putting them up next week. We’re trying something new this year.”

Andrew nudged his hip as they both moved to fulfil the rather large order from Melissa who ran the hairdresser’s next door.

“You know, if you want help putting lights up, I can come over this afternoon.”

Neil felt a little frisson of warmth below his skin at the offer but then ducked his head away. “I don’t have any yet. I tried to buy some yesterday but those Christmas shops are overwhelming.”

“Where did you go?”

“The Grotto,” Neil said, feeling miserable just remembering it. “I honestly didn’t know where to start or where to look or… I’ve been doing some reading, Kevin’s orders, on Christmas and stuff but all I’ve realised is how little I actually know. Do I need a wreath? Garlands? Do we want lights in the garlands? Should it be thematically coloured in red and gold or silver and green? Do I just like deck it out in rainbows? Shouldn’t I be inclusive? Include stuff like a Kwanzaa kinara? Or a Menorah?”

“You’re overthinking this.”

“Am I? It seems like everyone else sees Christmas as second nature. They have traditions and expectations.” Neil moved his mug under the steamer, carefully drawing a leaf into the coffee froth.

“You know Christmas isn’t that hard. Traditions… you just pick the ones you like.”

“Like what? Andrew, I’ve never done this before. I’ve never…”

“You’ve never celebrated before.”

“No.” Neil felt his cheeks burning. He didn’t know why he felt this sudden rush of shame and confusion but he did. He’d felt it when he just wanted to buy lights but couldn’t work out which ones were right. He felt it when Kevin laid out all his careful plans for book sculptures and paper reindeer. He felt it now: the prickling, skin-crawling ache of embarrassment. “I keep trying to work out what people want but there’s just so much.”

Andrew glanced at him, carrying a tray over to the pick up counter. “But it’s not about them - order’s up for Melissa, yes, the ones marked D are decaf, what else would ‘D’ mean in this context? - Neil, don’t look so confused.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It's not about them,” Andrew repeated. “You get to decide what traditions to follow. Sure, a lot of people like trees and candles and fairy lights, but if that’s not your thing. Don’t do it.”

“You make it sounds so simple.”

“It is. You have boundaries, Neil. Respect them. Tell me, what do you actually want to do?”

Neil sighed and bustled off to deliver a walnut macchiato to table nine.

“I think I’d like to start with some lights. Just white ones. You know, nothing fancy.”

Nodding, Andrew said, “I’ll be there at four thirty then.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I’ve already said I’ll help. Don’t fight me on this.”

And Neil was too tired to fight. Help from Andrew sounded really good right about now.

***

He lingered in Münsters for another hour or so before heading back down the road to the bookshop. Kevin was at the till, massacring what looked like a dictionary, trying to turn it into a miniature nativity scene. It wasn’t looking good.

Telling Kevin to take a break, to go get lunch, he promised to see if he could work out a better way to make the manger and the donkey - as the origami tips clearly weren’t working. Ten seconds of staring at the strangely folded paper and Neil could safely say he had no better ideas except to start again and to use papier maché instead.

The bell chimed after a few minutes and Neil was glad of the reprieve until he saw who graced his doorway. Sleek suit, overly shined shoes, too much cologne. Riko Moriyama was a study in clichés, trying to look mercenary and succeeding in looking like an overdressed ass.

“Darling Nathaniel,” he began, flashing a smile that was all teeth. “Thought I’d pop in whilst I was in the neighbourhood.”

“You live two blocks away, you’re always in the neighbourhood. And my name is Neil.”

“And I don’t visit nearly often enough, do I.”

It wasn’t a question. Riko surveyed the scene, the half destroyed book in front of Neil and the empty shop. For a moment, Neil’s whole body vibrated with the urge to run, flee, escape. But unless he wanted to burst through a window or scramble through to the back fire exit, Riko was in front of the only door and Neil was trapped inside with him. 

Neil squared his shoulders and pushed back off the stool. He could at least stand. “What do you want, Riko?”

“Only to see if you’d considered what I offered before? I can take this place off your hands, like that.” He snapped his fingers. It didn’t really work as he was wearing cheap leather gloves that sort of squeaked.

He scowled at the failure and dropped his hand.

“I haven’t really thought about it, actually,” Neil said, keeping his tone airy. As much as he wanted to sell the Curious Fox when the year was over, there wasn’t a chance in any universe of him selling it to the Moriyamas. Even if he didn’t know about their dubious business practices, courtesy of a partnership they’d once done on some property with his father in Baltimore, Riko was enough of a deterrent to stop him from agreeing to anything that might be offered.

“Really, now?” said Riko, but his shark’s smile was faltering. “Are you really saying that you’re not just barely keeping this place going?”

“Actually, no,” Neil lied. “We had a bit of a bumper year for Black Friday and look forward to an equally booming Christmas.”

Riko paused. “Yes, I can see you’re very festive in here. What are you doing? Murdering books instead of selling them now?”

“Well, my father did teach me plenty about cutting things open.” Neil flashed his own teeth as he raised the scalpel, dancing it between his fingers. “I think you had better go, it’s nearly time for the afternoon rush.”

This time Riko actually sneered, his whole face becoming ugly. “The rush. Like you had on Friday.”

“Just like that.”

“Think about my offer, will you,” Riko said, placing a cheesy black fedora on his far too shiny hair. “It won’t stand forever.”

“Toodles for now.” Neil pointed him out with the hand still holding the blade.

Riko left the way he came, so quick it was almost without warning. He stepped from pavement to the back of a sleek Mercedes that sped away down the road. Neil’s fingers clenched tighter, trembling slightly. He didn’t let go until the car was out of sight. What a jerk.

Neil scrubbed his hands through his hair, shivering and feeling the morning’s exhaustion crashing back on him. He closed his eyes. Counted to ten in French, then twenty in German. He was just starting on Japanese when Kevin came crashing through the door.

“Was that Riko Moriyama?” he asked, pushing right up into Neil’s space.

“Fuck, Kevin, what?”

“Riko Moriyama? Was that him? Here?” Kevin’s eyes were bright and sharp, mouth twisting. “What were you doing talking to him?”

“I wasn’t talking to him, he was talking to me.”

“Don’t trust a thing that comes out of his mouth,” Kevin said. “I went to school with him. He…” His eyes dropped, fingers rubbing absently at his hand. The one with the scars.

Neil felt a little part of him harden. He knew gestures like that. Understood them.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “He was an asshole.”

Kevin sucked in a breath. Fine tremors made his body shake. Whatever Riko had done in the past, Kevin still struggled with it. He had to realise though that Neil would never give this store, that his mother had loved and which Kevin was so dedicated to, to someone like Riko. Whatever Riko’s plans were, Neil had no desire to enable them in anyway. Not before. Not now. Not ever.

Neil reached out to touch his wrist. “I wouldn’t take a life vest from him if I was drowning, Kev. He’s not getting the store.”

“Right,” Kevin said. “Right. So.”

“So?”

“So I was thinking about the book sculptures and…”

Sagging back into his stool, Neil gave into Kevin’s Christmas planning. He glanced outside, where the afternoon was growing short. Andrew couldn’t arrive and save him fast enough.

Chapter Text

III

Hoar frost. noun.

1. a deposit of needle-like ice crystals formed on the ground by direct condensation at temperatures below freezing point. Also called: white frost.

2. very small pieces of white ice that cover plants and the ground

Snow. First snow.

Neil stood in the window of the Curious Fox, cup of tea warming his hands. He was watching the flurries dance down from the sky, twisting and dancing in the twinkle of lights just switched on for the day. A thin layer already covered the street, pale and apologetic. It wouldn’t be that way for long. All the broad sky was grey, full of the promise of more snow to come. Give it a few hours, maybe a day or two, they’d be ankle deep in no time.

Matt had been by the day before, exuding joy at Neil’s newly festive shop with its glittering garlands and the small tree now set up in the central book nook, completing the cosy look of the sofas and fireplace. “We’re going to have proper snow, buddy,” he’d said. “You’ll be glad of that fire then - Dan will too. She’s not a cold person.”

“Nor am I,” Neil had grumbled, but Matt had only laughed.

“Just you wait. It’ll be beautiful. Deep and blanketing snow. We’ll be able to sled from one side of town to the other.”

“Uhh…"

“You’ll have to come cross country skiing with me and Thea,” Matt kept going. “You’ll like that. Like running and hiking, but harder and better.”

Neil wasn’t sure about that, he hadn’t skied before, but it was difficult not to feel warm and excited in Matt’s presence. His good nature was infectious - and he wasn’t a bad person to have with you when hiking some of the tougher trails as well. Over the last year, he’d come to think of Matt as a gentle giant, a friend.

Matt had been right about the snow too - about it being in the air. When he tipped his head, he could see icicles dripping from the lip of the roof, sparkling where the lights refracted through them.

It almost surprised him, that he didn’t hate this. He didn’t look at the snow and want to hide away and hibernate. He’d even say that he’d enjoyed the last week or so, shopping for lights, climbing ladders to hang decorations, picking out his first tree - a spindly thing that Kevin called pathetic but Neil thought was perfect. Best of all those, each experience had Andrew at his side, guiding him through with a hand on his elbow, a steady touch on the back of his neck.

Neil never thought he was a tactile person; before this year he could almost count the times he’d been touched with any kind of gentleness, any kind of care or consideration. Now he couldn’t. Matt would nudge his hip, bump his shoulder. Dan would hug him tight. Renee would squeeze his hand and Allison would offer a fist bump or a pinched cheek. Casual stuff. And then there was Andrew with a thousand gestrures - fingers on his chin, a touch on his back, a squeeze of his arm, palms sliding against his chest if only for a moment whilst trying on a new jacket. He didn’t hate any of that either. Far from it. He felt his cheeks growing warm just thinking of Andrew and his hands.

Still, he thought. Does any of it mean anything to Andrew? It was so hard to tell sometimes.

Like, yes, Neil noticed how carefully Andrew held himself away from the world, weighing up everything he touched and analysing everyone he saw. He held the same wariness in his eye that Neil did, an ingrained caution in his actions.

And, yes, Neil knew that he was an exception. Somehow between their conversations over the last year, especially the last few weeks, he had slipped between Andrew’s walls and now seemed to inhabit a different space, a different context. He saw how Andrew reached for him, kept him close whenever he could, held him up in his unquestioning, unyielding way. He was constantly there - not an answer, exactly, but a clue nudging Neil closer to finding one.

His presence made Neil feel safe and secure and flushed and needy all at once. Andrew seemed unaffected by everything.

His eyes found their way towards the corner of the street where he knew Andrew must be beginning to prepare Münsters for the day. He could imagine him in the kitchen, so sure and solid. He could picture the way his blond hair would be tied back in a bun whilst he prepared the day’s first batch of bread, how the slope of his neck would bend as he worked the dough. He knew what Andrew looked like when he was fixed on a task, his intense focus, the bullet sharpness of his eyes, the firm line of his mouth. His shoulders and arms would flex, the thick muscles making easy work of the endless kneading; his hands would be sure and practiced by now, pushing and pulling, making sure the mix was still light and airy before going into bake.

But what are we to each other? Are we friends? Neil wondered, or are we something else?

Sipping at his tea, Neil pushed the questions away, for now at least. He dragged his eyes away from the corner, watching the snow and focusing on what the day would bring.

The hour felt quiet, the morning hushed. He knew that wouldn’t last for long. Twelve days until Christmas and Foxdon was alight with excitement. Every shop and café and bar on the high street now wore festive decorations - from glittering, light up snowmen and angels that twinkled on rooftops, to window dressings of fake snow and jolly quotations. There were sales and offers, happy and curious faces bustles from store to store in search of this present or that.

It had been the busiest week of Neil’s life. Curious Fox had come into its own under Kevin’s thoughtful care - at least, it did once he agreed that maybe they only needed one book sculpture and they could have other decorations to keep things festive. Now the shop smelled of pine from the garlands and smoke from the wood fire they kept burning through the day. There were always people perusing the shop now - adults, students, young children with jutting chins who wanted to be older but always choosing the shiniest books full of the best adventures. Families arrived and wended their way through the children’s and YA sections, delighted to find new titles from Walliams and Haig for the littler ones and just as happy to be given recommendations on titles for cousins, novels for grandparents, biographies and anthologies of poetry for long winter nights. Matt, Dan and Allison popped their heads in regularly, always bringing more mince pies to go by the till and candy canes that they secreted into the stacks for shoppers to discover (apparently Abby’s idea). Neil felt quietly proud of what they’d achieved so far - it wasn’t perfect, he was still learning, but… he was beginning to see why people enjoyed this, just a little bit. Things that felt rushed and overwhelming a week ago, now slotted into place.

He felt cosy, content. Almost ready for another day of being rushed off his feet. At least he could say he was becoming a bit of an expert of holiday reads - from the ever-popular horror stories to classic tales from Robert Louis Stevenson and Nancy Mitford and CS Lewis and Joan Aiken. There were writers and stories he could honestly say he enjoyed now too, having found himself engrossed in Susan Cooper’s The Dark is Rising a few days ago and absolutely devouring the series in four long nights of reading.

Kevin had been annoyed at him for being so tired yesterday, until he found out it was because Neil had been up all night with his nose in a book. Then the man’s expression turned from frustrated to overjoyed. “We’ll make you a proper bibliopole yet,” he’d said. “Come on, what are you reading next? I can recommend this great series by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, I think you’ll like it, it’s set in Barcelona in the 1940s and…”

Still, last night Neil had been given strict instructions not to stay up until all hours reading because today they were hosting the first of night of ‘Read between the (Mulled) Wines’ - the Curious Fox’s first ever stand-up reading competition, and an open invitation for anyone from the community to take part.   

The idea was Andrew’s - he apparently went to a few similar events in New York - and it sounded like the whole thing could become rather bawdy, if done correctly.

“Like a salon without any of the pretentious shit,” Andrew had explained. “The one I go to is a thing called Literary Death Match.” - Of course it was. - “Writers and poets compete by performing to a panel of judges and an audience, kind of like Def Poetry meets American Idol but without the meanness. It’s a bit of a circus but something like that here would be novel.”

“No pun intended?”

“Ha ha, you’re so witty.”

Neil had grinned. It would be different, to say the least. But Kevin’s notes suggested eggnog evenings where people could come and browse, so adding in a bit of a performance could be fun. He said as much to Andrew, adding, “What if people read passages from their favourite books and the best reading gets to pick any book from the shop to take home at the end? Do you think people would come?”

Andrew had rolled his eyes, bumped his shoulder. “If there’s alcohol, people will come.”

“There will be definitely be alcohol,” Neil agreed.

And there would be. Andrew and Renee had said they’d provide the gluhwein, if Neil provided the glassware. Kevin came with him on that trip, helping him pick out a selection of mugs that were printed with illustrations of gnomes. Kevin said they were perfect, perfect for the vibe of the evening. Neil kind of thought they were hideous. He loved them.

When his tea was gone and people began to appear on the pavements, faces turning up to the sky in delight as the snow kept falling, Neil went to light the fire in the nook and tidy up to start his day.

***

“What do you think about these for tonight?” Kevin asked, laying out six books that Neil was sure no one would have ever heard of. “They’re not exactly classic but they’re very historically accurate and… ah, hm, maybe not that one actually…” He separated the Roald Dahl from the pile and went to dismiss it.

“People like Dahl. Keep that one,” Neil grabbed for the B.F.G before Kevin could take it away. “I’m not sure about the others. Is a book on the history of the East India Trading Company particularly festive?”

“I guess not,” Kevin said, nodding thoughtfully.

“And this is about the Cold War?”

“Yes, it’s about a double agent who essentially shaped modern espionage. Oh, I suppose that’s not very seasonal either.”

“Well, they’re all good books,” Neil said, trying to placate. “But perhaps not the best when we may have kids in the audience.”

“True, I’ll save them for when we do a historical evening. Actually I was going to suggest we maybe run a few more of these if all goes well? Perhaps in the new year we could even ask some more writers to come. I know we have Andrew coming but it’s not like he’s going to be doing a proper reading. But maybe he would, if  you asked. He always said no before. And then once we have him we can ask some other big names.” Kevin was practically vibrating, one hand gesticulating rather dangerously, espionage book in hand. “Imagine if we could get someone like Maggie Stiefvater. Or Jon Ronson.”

“Wait. Andrew’s a writer?” Neil really did have a one track mind.

Kevin blinked, owlish. “How don’t you know that? You’re with him every day.”

“It didn’t come up,” Neil said. “Is he a well-known writer?”

“I can’t believe you don’t know this. We put in a new order for his books literally yesterday. There’s a good chance at least three people will read something from him tonight. He’s pretty freaking prolific.”

Neil wracked his brains. He couldn’t remember ordering anything by Andrew Minyard, you’d think he’d have noticed if he had. But then things clicked. “A.M. Doe,” he said. “Holy shit. He’s A. M. Doe.”

“Oh my god, is that your one braincell finally kicking into action? I can’t believe you’re only just figuring this out.”

“I told you I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Kevin said, fond and sharp at the same time. “But you are definitely an idiot.”

Neil shrugged and tried to wrap his head around the new information. A.M. Doe was a household name. The Monsters of Palmetto series was constantly on the New York Times best seller list. It was printed in at least a dozen languages. Neil had read the first one, Not The World That’s Cruel, in French three years ago, picking it up on the train between Eze and Villefranche-Darse. He’d practically swallowed the following four novels after his introduction, collecting the series in quick succession - one in German, two in English, the last in Spanish. He was one of the few writers Neil actually read without prompting and that he could wax lyrical about even before becoming the de facto owner of a bookstore.

“Oh shit.” Waxing lyrical. “Kevin, Kev. Andrew is A.M. Doe.”

“Didn’t we just cover this?”

“I didn’t know.” His voice rose, almost a wail. “Oh god.”

“What? Neil? What’s wrong?”

“Andrew. Oh my god, he must think I’m such an idiot. I’ve spoken to him about Monsters of Palmetto. I told him how I ended up reading the series around Europe. I told him,” Neil gulped. “I told him about my favourite characters. My favourite passages. I gushed about them. To him.”

Kevin did not look half as mortified on his account as Neil felt he should. Rather, he looked kind of puzzled. “He was probably flattered. I bet it doesn’t happen often that people don’t know who he is.”

“I told him they were like my comfort food. That I reread them on bad days.”

This did produce a reaction. Kevin huffed. “Only you would have a book about literal monster detectives fighting over human souls as comfort food.”

“I’m such a fool.”

“Neil,” Kevin said. “You’re overreacting. He must have known you didn’t know. I mean - and this isn’t because you’re stupid - but you’re hyper-observant about anything that could be a threat but you’re completely useless about noticing stuff that’s just innocuous. I’m sure if you’ve spoken about the books and he didn’t say anything, there’s a reason.”

Neil didn’t miss the edge in Kevin’s voice, the way his jaw clenched just slightly and his brows furrowed before his whole body relaxed.

“He’ll have a reason,” Kevin repeated, firmer this time. “Seriously. He’s not a monster.”

Disbelief and horror continued to war inside Neil’s gut. He wanted to grab his duffle and run. He wanted to earth to open and swallow him whole. He wanted to hightail up the mountains and become a hermit, living out the rest of his days in blissful isolation and never having another totally humiliating crush ever again. He’s been relying on Andrew so much. He should have pieced it together. He should have known.

“By the way, it’s your turn to go get the coffee,” Kevin said. “So please don’t combust before you come back with a macchiato.”

He was gone, vanishing between the shelves with his historical tomb stones before Neil could protest. But how could he expect Neil go to Münsters now? How could he ever face Andrew again? Oh god, he was so embarrassed.

***

It took Neil maybe half an hour before he succumbed to Kevin’s nagging and his own coffee addiction. The snow was still falling, catching in his hair and on the wool of today’s oversized grandpa jumper. He probably ought to invest in a coat, like Andrew kept telling him to, but the idea of spending money on things that he wouldn’t need once he moved back to Europe somewhat wrankled.

Plus, he’d been doing ok. He might be freezing now but he was fine. Totally fine. He’d survived far worse.

Still, it was with no small relief that he slipped into Münsters, eyes immediately searching for the familiar comfort of Andrew. There was no sign of him. Playing barista was Renee, her smile in place but worry in her brows. Neil sidled passed the queue with a meek nod to the disgruntled looking lunch rush.

“Andrew?” he asked.

Renee shook her head, clearly not sure what to tell him. “He’s round the back,” she said after finishing the next order. “Tread carefully, Neil.”

His stomach twisted. She was concerned about Andrew and that made him worried in turn. His few encounters with Renee one-on-one had revealed a very similar childhood to his own - one of fear and neglect, bad choices and lucky rescues. They’d both been given second chances, hers with her stepmom, him with his uncle’s family in the UK, even if they had been pretty useless. It was enough to have kept them alive and out of prison. Her concern, therefore, he knew would be justified. She wasn’t one for overstatements or melodrama.

Andrew was a shadow when Neil found him. He stood outside, cigarette dangling from his fingers, chin tucked to chest so that only the sharp plane of his cheekbones were visible over the edge of his coat collar. As Neil moved into his peripheral vision, careful not to startle him, he noticed how colourless Andrew seemed, how his skin was washed out, how his eyes flickered at Neil’s approach but stayed dark and dull, trained on the floor. There remained that frisson of awareness, of danger around him. But it was coiled tight today, held like armour.

Snow fell around them, left flakes in Andrew’s hair, on the edges of his shoulders. He reminded Neil of the stone figures found in graveyards, solemn and fierce, untouchable.

Any lingering shame about the A.M. Doe revelation vanished as Neil stepped closer, just on the edge of Andrew’s space.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked.

Andrew took a second but shook his head. He went to breathe in his cigarette but it had gone out.

“Let me,” Neil said. He stepped even closer, fishing Andrew’s lighter out from his pocket when there was no protest, shivering as he did so. “Here.”

Andrew leant into the flame cupped in Neil’s hands. When he looked at Neil, his gaze was intent, looking at Neil in an unfamiliar, unnerving way. He felt the hair die on the back of his neck but he waited the stare out, waited until Andrew gave a twisted half-smile, with no amusement in it but a kind of anxiety. He sucked on his cigarette and closed his eyes. 

“Bad day?” Neil asked.

“Bad night,” Andrew clarified. He tipped his head back so it rested on the wall. His eyes met Neil’s again. His attention heavy.

“I get those too,” Neil said.

“Hm.”

Neil didn’t move as Andrew smoked. He leant into the familiar scent, one he was increasingly associating with Andrew rather than the cities he’d travelled through. They stood like that for a while, almost toe to toe, Andrew far away and Neil watching carefully for any change or shift in mood.

The snow was becoming heavier. Neil’s jumper was doing nothing for him anymore, the wool heavy and damp. He still didn’t move, not until Andrew had chained through another two cigarettes and the moment seemed to draw to a close.

“I don’t want to go in there today.”

Andrew didn’t have to clarify for Neil to understand where or why. “How about somewhere quiet for a while?”

Andrew breathed in, breathed out, his air and Neil’s mixing between them in puffs of white. “Where would you take me?”

“I have somewhere in mind.” He offered his hand. “Come with me.”

Andrew’s hand is warm in his, though he huffs out a reprimand for Neil’s cold fingers. Hand in hand, they walk back to the street, where the snow bones were just beginning to take shape and salt was being scattered to help prevent too much slippage. At one point, Andrew tucked their joined hands into his pocket and Neil smiled. He knew these days, when the world was too heavy and life too hard. He understands raw edges and frayed nerves. But he had an idea. He hoped it would help.

The first stop was the chocolaterie, where Neil ordered two hot chocolates, both topped with endless whipped cream and marshmallows and little white chocolate snowflakes.

The second was the bookshop, where Neil asked Kevin to handle the afternoon, promising to be back to help with set up for the reading evening.

The third was a further walk, away from downtown and the shops and the buzz, out towards the hills and the hiking trails on the edge of town. They trudge though the snow, almost skidding more than once. Andrew kept Neil standing and Neil reciprocated in kind.

“This was my mum’s,” Neil said as he opened the door to a small cabin, tucked on the edge of town. “I found the key when I moved into the flat above the shop and have been coming here on and off, just for a little headspace. It’s quiet.”

Andrew looked around. The cabin was open and sparsely furnished, but everything inside was soft - rounded edges, white fluffy sheepskins, a futon bed piled up with cushions. It was all Neil’s work - the place had been empty when he found it, as if his mother had bought it with an idea but never had time to execute it.

“I can make us tea?”

“You sound so British when you say that.”

“Because I kind of am?”

“You’re a mongrel. Like I’m a stray.” Andrew’s eyes were fixed on the desk in the window, the stack of papers Neil had piled there and the umpteen pens. “Working on something?”

“Not really,” Neil said. “It’s just a peaceful place to do the accounts. Better than the shop where I’m always interrupted.”

But now that Andrew mentioned the desk, Neil’s mind filled in the image of Andrew working here, writing here, escaping from Münsters for a few hours and just having space to plot and plan and draft and edit. He could imagine himself, sprawled on the bed, reading. Or popping by with snacks and tea whilst Andrew flew through the pages of whatever he was working on. It was a ridiculous idea, a fool’s thought. When Neil left Foxdon, he’d sell this place with the shop. He wouldn’t come back.

Why did that thought twinge in his gut now? It didn’t used to hurt when he imagined leaving, moving on, moving away. Andrew was moving through the cabin, fingers skirting the tables, the chairs, the curtains. He wasn't looking at Neil, lost somewhere inside his head. 

“It was the smell,” he said. “I woke up and smelt burning. The pastries. Renee added too much sugar.”

Confusion cleared as Neil realised Andrew was explaining his bad day. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Andrew didn’t seem to have heard him. “I’m doing better than I was. I don’t have days like this like I used to. But the smell just…” He blew out between his teeth. “It took me back. To Cass. She was my foster mother before I learned about Aaron and Nicky. She always baked on Sunday mornings. She always burnt the fucking sugar.”

Spikes were in his voice, in his stare. Neil felt the cut of them against his skin.

“Smoke used to remind me of my mother,” he offered and Andrew’s attention focused in on him, razor sharp and oh so dark. “She smoked Marlborough Golds.”

“Rancid brand.”

“Yeah, distinctive scene though,” Neil said. “For years, whenever I was walking around places, I’d catch a whiff of those cigarettes and think she was there, ready to grab me, to take me back to him. Even now, sometimes.”

“She’s dead.”

“And so is he.” Neil held Andrew’s gaze. “I imagine it’ll never properly go away. We live with these scars in our heads. They fade with time but sometimes they’ll itch, we’ll get phantom pains under our skin. But we’ve survived before and will again and again until it’s just sometimes and not all the time or every time. We find the things worth living for.”

An unreadable expression crossed Andrew’s face. “You’ve been reading too many book, Mr Josten.”

Neil felt his mouth curling upwards. “Yeah, probably.”

“That was so corny.”

“The corniest.”

“But you make a good point.”

“I like to think so.”

“Don’t be smug.”

“I’m not, at all. The least smuggy.”

“That’s not a word.”

“But it made you smile.”

“I do not smile,” Andrew said.

Neil shuffled closer and poked his cheek. “Then what’s this, Minyard? A grimace?”

“It’s my mask of disaffected mystery.”

“Ah yes, you are deep and mysterious, a veritable heir to the existentialists.”

Andrew’s lips twitched upwards again. There were still shadows in his eyes, a hauntedness in his expression, but that twitch did something to Neil’s insides and he found it impossible to look away from Andrew’s mouth.

What would happen if I kissed him? Neil wondered. Would he shove me away? He’s Nicky’s cousin and he draws dick lattes, I don’t think he’s straight… but I wouldn’t want to guess.

“Staring,” Andrew teased and Neil felt his face beginning to burn.

“Sorry, I um…” Neil took two steps back and nearly fell over, catching himself in time on a chair.

Amusement lingered on Andrew’s face, mixed with something heavier that Neil could only guess at. He followed Neil’s steps, taking his chin between his fingers. His touch was hot on Neil’s skin, firm and gentle and forcing their gazes to lock. All breath left Neil’s body, his lungs didn’t seem to work as each muscle went rigid under Andrew’s attention.

The moment hung between them, a red string pulled so tight that time seemed to quiver.

Then Andrew let go.

“Not today,” Andrew said. “Thank you for bringing me here. We should head back.”

Wait, what? What did he mean by that? Neil knew his eyes were large in his face, wide and blown, whilst his breathing came back ragged and unsure. What had just happened?

“Come on, we have a reading to prepare for.” Andrew was striding away, stepping out into snow whilst Neil tried to gather himself.

He didn’t understand exactly what was occurring between them. But he really wanted to find out.

***

Festive reading nights, Neil decided, were a tradition he could definitely get behind.

The Curious Fox was full tonight. There was a low buzz of energy, laughter as the current reader blasted their way through an excellent rendition of the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Books were flying off the shelves as the guests picked up one after another having listened and enjoyed what they heard.

Standing behind the counter, ringing up a mother and an eleven year old with soft, bookish eyes. “There you go,” he said. “Enjoy. And Merry Christmas.”

He turned to the ‘stage’, which was really the reconfigured nook. They’d moved the shelves so that the space was more open, creating a place for people to perform by the fire and plenty of comfy spots for people to lean and sit and perch.

Andrew had performed first - his voice taking on a timbre like dark chocolate, silken and decadent. He’d read from His Dark Materials, capturing a perfect Iorek Byrnison. Neil melted with each word of the story, hanging off the sentences like a child. Watching how the audience - young and old - sat in rapt admiration, he wondered how different his life might have been if he’d had books when he was younger, places to escape and hide and dream.

The evening wound on, a little girl with a distinctly Mathilda-like vibe took the stage with Tales from Narnia, followed by Matt who cracked through a rambunctious novel about cricketers in mid-nineties New York. Dan’s performance took a sombre tone as she introduced the room to Malorie Blackman and Renee picked a selection of poems from the Albatross Book of Verse. More kids were around than Neil expected but they chimed in happily.

Softening against the counter, he rested his chin in his palm and leant forward to listen to the next one. A little while passed and he felt eyes on his skin - Andrew’s.

Andrew sat on the arm of one of the sofas, mulled wine in one hand and a bag of books by his feet. His stare was knowing as it met Neil’s. There were lights in his hair, the smell of pine and cinnamon filling the room and Neil knew he’d forever associate this season with this man.

The moment broke when Renee tipped her face up and pulled Andrew back into the conversation with others from the bookclub. Kevin laughed at something Andrew said in response, quickly followed by Wymack’s rumbling amusement.

It was a funny group - all different ages, coming from all different walks of life - but Neil could see how they were a family. Even Andrew who was only there on occasion. He fit with them. Loved them. And they loved him too.

Chills ran through Neil’s skin. He wondered whether he could have that kind of family too one day. If he stayed… maybe he’d be part of this one eventually. He’d hike with Matt and try skiing. He’d join the bookclub and help out at the school. He’d host more of these evenings. He’d buy a coat.

Andrew looked up and caught his eye again. There were still shadows in his face, a lingering tiredness. But when he raised his glass across the room, Neil found himself beaming. It was a lopsided smile, too big for his face and so far from the one he knew he inherited from his father that he only smiled wider.

Andrew mouthed. “Idiot.”

Neil snorted. Maybe I already fit. Just a little.

“Hey, can I get these please?” A man interrupted, and Neil pulled himself back to work, smile still pressed on the corner of his lips.

Chapter Text

IV

Hogamadog. noun.

1. The huge ball of snow made by children in rolling a snowball over soft snow

2. When you roll a snowball through a field of snow and it slowly gets bigger and bigger (a regular snowball can be a ‘snow apple’)

***

“Oh no,” Neil said. “Oh absolutely not ok.”

“Are you snowed in?” Kevin asked down the phone. “Dad and Seth just dug Andrew out, we can come to you next.”

“It’s everywhere, Kevin. Snow.”

“Yeah, it was a bit heavier than predicted last night.”

“A bit? I’m downstairs and I can’t see anything but white out my windows.”

“Alright, no need to get pissy,” Kevin said. “We’re on our way. Andrew’s going to help too so shouldn’t take too long.”

The line went dead and Neil listened to the silence for a full minute, still staring, uncomprehending at the snow packed against his windows. Would they shatter, he wondered, if more snow came? Would it crash through the glass and destroy the shop, smother him in the cold? If he turned the lights off, he’d be in pitch darkness too. There was no sign of the morning creeping through the drifts, no crack of sun or shine.

He shuddered, counting his breaths. God, he hated the cold. He couldn’t think of anything worse than death by snow - and his father had once peeled off half of the flesh on his shoulder with a hot iron. The problem was he remembered too many times where he and his mother huddled in the same bed, desperate for warmth in some seedy motel. He didn’t want to dwell on those times, on the fear or the ache in his hands from chilblains.

This is why you can’t stay here, whispered a voice in his head. You’ll never move on. You’ll always be reminded of her. Pack up and go back to London. Settle things and take the money to move to France or Italy, somewhere where it’s never less than ten degrees.

Shaking himself, Neil decided he couldn’t stand any longer in the shop with nothing but the claustrophobia of the snow for company.

He would go upstairs, make a cup of tea and wait with a book. Maybe one of Andrew’s.

He still hadn’t quite told Andrew that he knew about his alter ego, but he somewhat felt that the man already knew that he’d been found out and that he hadn’t changed that much. Certainly, for Neil, the revelation - other than being absolutely horrifyingly desperately humiliating - hadn’t shifted his opinion on Andrew. He was still a man who seemed to be able to carry the universe. Who cared about fashion and comfort in equal measure. Who liked walks but not long ones, just the routes with plenty of things to see. Who enjoyed all foods with sugar, and whose favourite was Nicky’s jambalaya, despite it being so ridiculously spicy that it made his eyes water. He was a man who loved his brother, and constantly showed the ways that he cared through action rather than words. He was the one person who made every atom of Neil’s body thrill, who made him feel wild and brave and whose edges, though different, struck Neil’s and sang. Andrew was a dangerous and disquieting thing. But sometimes he thought Andrew might like him that way too.

The tea helped, as it always did.

All problems became smaller with a cup of tea.

Neil whiled away half an hour reading before deciding to turn on all the festive lights and turn on the playlist that the book group had sent him after the reading evening, insisting that he just had to listen to some of the holiday classics - Joni Mitchell, Katie Melua, The Pretenders, Sufjan Stevens. His favourite, it turned out, was Christmas Wrapping by the Waitresses, a fact that made Kevin quite a lot of money. Turned out they’d all taken bets on which songs he’d actually enjoy and Kevin said it would be ‘the one that’s the most annoying’.

But Neil liked it because it was storytelling and felt real - life always getting in the way of something good, something possible. It understood the stress and the pressure of the season, which he found more than a little relatable. Plus there was the bassline and the horns and the beat that had him bobbing his head along every time. It was a bop and he loved it.

With the music on, he did a little dance around the store, reshelving some of the trolley books and tidying the recommendation tables. He wiggled and wove through Chuck Berry and sang along to Feliz Navidad. Unlike books, he was a quick study on music, and all the ones the Foxes had chosen were ones he found at least a little enjoyable.

Perhaps another half hour went by, Neil losing time in his snowed-in haven. The fire crackled in the hearth. The music rolled on. He almost forgot that he was alone and buried under a building’s worth of snow. Almost. It was kind of hard to ignore when he was fairly certain he could hear the distant sound of shovels, the rise and fall of voices filtering between layers of ice and frost. At first, it was just a murmur, then a sense of words, then what could be sentences.

“You alright in there, buddy?” Matt’s deep timbre was the one he picked out first.

“I’m fine,” Neil called back, yelling through the door.

“We’re nearly there. Just clearing the door so there’s no risk of snow collapsing on you as soon as you step outside.”

Neil pressed his ear to the wood, listening for the distinctive thunk and swoosh, the crunch of boots on snow. He was nearly out, that was good. He would be free soon. Still, better to keep busy.

Perhaps I ought to put on the kettle, he mused. Will they want coffee when they’re done? Tea? Wonder if Wymack drinks darjeeling or if he has Kevin’s palate. Ah ha, mince pies! Thank god for Thea’s stress baking.

Soon, it turned out, was another ten minutes but when the door finally could be shoved open, five flushed faces greeted him - Wymack and Kevin, Matt, Seth and Andrew. Neil felt pinioned by their attention for all of a second. As soon as they noticed the spread of festive treats and steaming tea, their expressions lit up though and Neil was soon surrounded by hungry men scoffing down baked goods in front of the fire. Andrew had moved close, giving Neil a careful inspection before rooting out a hidden candy cane from the shelves and plopping down to suck on it.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Wymack said between chomps of pie, mince meat vanishing between his teeth. “I’m getting too old for this. “But if more people could say thank you like you like this, I wouldn’t mind so much.”

The gratitude made Neil’s heart feel full, almost too heavy for his chest. “It’s nothing. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“You say that like we weren’t gonna come get you.” Matt’s voice was earnest. “You must know no one was going to leave you stuck in here on your own while the snow melts. That would never happen.”

Seth muttered, “Especially since that could be June.”

“Especially since that could be April,” Matt corrected, not making it much better, but Neil appreciated the effort. “Hey is this our playlist?”

The music was still going, currently playing through the Gumption theme from a movie called The Holiday. According to Renee this was another tradition he needed to understand: the ritualised watching of movies full of snow and sugar soft lighting and seasonal glad tidings.

“Great film,” Seth grumbled, clearly recognising the theme. Perhaps it was even his contribution to the playlist, given he was a part-time music teacher at Wymack’s centre for troubled youth. “Excellent score.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Neil said.

“Still a travesty that you haven’t already. Your parents raised you wrong,” Matt said, mouth clearly running ahead of his brain because almost immediately Wymack had cuffed him over the head and Kevin gasped and Matt started to stumbled over an apology that was totally unnecessary.

“Honestly stop, it’s fine,” Neil said, trying to soothe them all. “Not like it’s not true.”

“And you’re lucky,” Seth said. Everyone turned their sharp looks his way. “What? You get to watch The Holiday for the first time. I’d love to watch it for the first time again.”

A forced chuckle later and the tension began to drain away, leaving only an uncertain buzz beneath Neil’s skin. He listened to Kevin and Matt bicker, noted how Seth chose his moments to cause the biggest disturbance, watched Wymack following the conversation with no small amount of paternal pride. He lifted his attention to Andrew, caught him mid lick up the shaft of the candy cane. Neil dropped his eyes.

Was that his heart? It was jackrabbiting in his chest, so loud he heard it in his ears. Holy shit.

He didn’t dare look back again. He didn’t dare not. He peeked up through his lashes, immediately realising this was a mistake as Andrew’s eyes met his. They were molten and amused, the bullet gold of them unwavering whilst his lips wrapped around the cane and slowly sucked it in and his tongue flicked out and…

“You okay Neil? You’re looking kind of pink? Maybe it’s a bit warm in here.” Kevin’s façard was far too innocent to be real.

“‘M fine,” replied Neil.

“Why do I get the impression ‘fine’ doesn’t mean the same thing to you as it does us,” Wymack said. “You look at bit feverish. I’ll call Abby, don’t want you coming down with something.”

“No! Really. I’m so totally fine,” Neil said. “Fine and dandy. Right as candy - I mean - rain. Right as rain.”

His audience stared at him, a mix of confusion, concern and barely disguised laughter from Kevin and Andrew.

“Really, I’m alright. As you say, just got too close to the fire.” He was sitting on the other side of the room but no one pointed that out. 

Fortunately, he was saved from any further awkwardness by Wymack’s phone ringing. They all hushed. Neil tried to gather what was left of his composure since his dignity was well and truly in tatters.

“Right,” Wymack said. “That was Jeremy from the fire department. He said as long as no one else is stuck inside, they’re focusing on clearing the paths and domestic routes, part of a new initiative to stop as many pedestrian accidents. Road’s not going to be able to open until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“That’s a good plan,” Kevin said. “By clearing paths first, accidents can decrease by half and save the local government money.”

“Thanks for that, Kev.”

“It’s true! It’s in Invisible Women. Traditional snow clearing is sexist.”

“We believe you.”

“I’m just saying, it’s brilliant what Jeremy and Jean are doing,” Kevin said, coming out more like a grumble. “Innovative. Modern. Inclusive.”

“Snow clearing by another method can smell more sweet?” Matt teased.

“Urgh, don’t bastardise Shakespeare.”

“So if the road is closed, going to guess nothing can be opened today.” Seth changed the topic, the beginnings of something wicked taking shape in his expression. “Does this mean it’s… time?”

Matt and Kevin immediately lit up. “Yes!”

“Oh here we go,” Wymack said.

“Time?” Neil asked.

“For the annual snowball fight,” Andrew clarified, still finding it far too funny that Neil couldn’t meet his eye. “Usually it takes place on a weekend. Organised fun with the Foxes.”

“You’re obviously welcome to join in. You totally would have been in the youth club with us lot if you grew up here,” Matt said.

“By virtue of your shitty childhood,” Andrew said. “Which Matt keeps referencing this morning.”

“And because you’re basically one of us now,” Matt added, glaring at the blond who was having far too much fun playing the instigator today. “You would have been a great Fox though.”

Neil didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. This reminded him of Nicky in the weeks after Andrew went back to New York the first time, constantly trying to do nice things for him, always looking heartbroken when Neil didn’t know how to respond appropriately.

“If you’re joining in, I want to be on your team,” Kevin said. “I’ve seen your hand-eye coordination and I don’t want to be on the losing side.”

“Teams?” asked Neil.

“Hey, no fair!” Matt’s mouth was an ‘O’ of distress. “I extended the invite. He’s got to be on my team. Plus, we’re hiking buddies, right Neil? We’re basically a team already.”

“What about Dan?” Kevin jabbed back.

Matt wasn’t going to take that one. “What about Thea? Also Dan would understand. My love for her goes beyond the realms of snowball wars.”

“Wars?” asked Neil.

“Also she’s pants in snow.”

“And so what? She’s not great at keeping her balance, but she’s a sniper. She can hit any of you in a sneak attack.”

“You don’t want to play with her,” Kevin said. “Admit it.”

“I always want to play with her. Wait, not like - well yes, like that - but not in this case. Of course, I do!”

“Then it's settled. You should play with her and let me have Neil.”

Matt’s face twitched. No matter how familiar someone was with Kevin’s brand of logic, he certainly had a way of running around a problem until he forced the answer he wanted. Matt apparently still couldn’t navigate those circles.

“Do I get a choice in this?” Neil asked.

“No,” said five voices in terrible unison.

“But—”

“No buts.”

“We’ll rally the troops and prepare the rations,” Matt said. “Andrew, you can be in charge of our new recruit until we return.”

“Lucky me,” said Andrew.

“Try and make him wear something heavier than a sweater, he has a tendency to come hiking in a rain jacket.”

“I do love a challenge.”

***

Everything after that happened way faster than usual - like life had hit hyperdrive and Neil had blinked forward an hour.

Seth, Matt, Wymack and Kevin vanished into the endless white morning, Andrew bundled Neil upstairs so he could assess what clothes might keep him warm. Neil noticed Andrew’s appraisal of the apartment - as spartan and featureless as the cabin, except for the shelves where Neil had a growing collection of books he actually enjoyed.

Nothing Neil owned was, according to Andrew, really suitable for hours in the snow, so after ten minutes he was escorted down to Münsters where Andrew proceeded to layer him with scarves, gloves and an oversized coat that definitely belonged to the blond. It smelt like him: camphor and woodland pine. He tried not to be too obvious in breathing it in, but it was so good, like an addiction. He wanted to bury himself in that smell.

Finally, a dark beanie was tugged on his head, Andrew smoothing the hat over his ears. Neil shivered at the touch, leaning into Andrew’s palm, eyes closing for a second as sure fingers pressed against his scalp and temples. When he opened his eyes, Andrew’s were an eclipse, irises a thin ring of gold around the blown darkness of his pupils.

Perhaps something might have happened.

Perhaps one of them might have shifted just a millimetre closer.

Perhaps the other would have read the signs and the gap would close, the two of them meeting in the middle.

But yells from outside pulled them apart, summoned by the call of their names from the Foxes gathered in the street below, each of them wearing identical grins. It was slightly terrifying.

“I have no idea what I’m getting into?” Neil said, not really meaning for it to be a question.

Andrew squeezed his elbow and agreed. “You don’t.”

But oh how he loved it once they started.

It took twenty minutes to walk to the hillside below the Foxdon Fox Den, Wymack’s youth group. Twelve teenagers of varying ages met them there, all with old-young faces. There was chatter and introductions, Neil felt like a guest of honour, being shown around and introduced as the guy who kept stocking them up with new books. Teams were drawn up, Kevin and Neil ending up flanked by two girls who hung off Kevin’s every word as if he was a god, apparently all down to a rather spectacular victory the year before.

Despite Kevin’s best efforts, however, there really were no tactics. They yelled, they ran, they seized fists of snow and sprinted into the open just to jump on their friends and shove freezing fingers down loose collars. Neil lost himself in the maelstrom.

Running, he danced behind Matt, pelting the giant with three perfectly aimed shots before skittering away behind a large drift. He sprinted and slid between the lines of Thea’s team, taking two pop throws and landing a third so perfectly on her shoulder that she squealed as icy powder sprayed up onto her neck and face. She shook her herself, trying to dislodge the cold, wet mess.

“You little...! This means war!”

Neil cackled, throwing himself to his feet and darting out of range.

It was pure, joyful chaos.

Dan really did have the stealth angle down - she struck Neil twice before Kevin managed to locate and bombard her so thoroughly it looked like she’d escaped a hailstorm. The current Foxes kept swapping teams. Thea and Allison decided to join forces, seemingly becoming a pair of Furies straight out of Greek legend. Andrew had built up something of a snow fort at the top of the hill, from which he and Wymack were able to pelt the other teams with almost no chance of retaliation.

Well, Neil couldn’t have that.

“Distract them!” He hissed to Kevin. “I’m going up there!”

“It’s a suicide mission. You’ll never get close.”

“You underestimate me.”

Waiting only until Kevin and the others had enough premade snowballs ready to go, he began his careful sneak up the hillside, curving slightly to the right where he was sure they had a blindspot. Stay low, stay low.

“RAHHHHHHHH!!” A huge yell came from behind him, Kevin had rallied Allison and Renee and two more teenagers who were all attacking the fort at the same time.

Neil took his chance, scampering through the snow whilst Andrew and Wymack tried to launch a defence. Yes! Kevin, it them again.

Another volley of snow arched above him and he pushed his legs even faster, ignoring the numbness of his toes, the heat in his face. He was so close.

He watched as Kevin took a running start, bowling the apples, perfectly looping through the sky and… it smashed into Andrew’s snow wall, blasting part of it away and sending snow everywhere in a cloud of white and water. This was his chance.

Abandoning all pretence of stealth, Neil sprinted the last few meters, hearing the whoops and cheers of the other teams as he made his advance on the fort. At the last second, he leapt, lifting his arms to release his shots and carrying himself straight over the wall.

Wymack was spluttering, head and eyes covered in snow from Neil’s attack. Andrew was staring at him, surprised, white all over his chest. Neil laughed and tried to run but Andrew lunged for him, grabbing him around the waist and spinning him back towards the wall as if to lift and dump him back on the other side — except as they span, their feet tangled, the snow shifted beneath them. Neil panicked, grabbing tight to Andrew’s shoulders but it seemed the blond had had the same revelation.

“Oh shit.”

Neil barely registered Andrew’s curse before strong arms pulled him tighter, a hand cradled his head, their feet vanished beneath them. Falling, toppling down the bank, their combined weight sent them rolling down the side of the hill.

They tumbled as one, Andrew never letting go even as they bumped and jounced over the mounds of snow. Neil tucked his face into Andrew’s shoulder and clung on, knowing it had to end soon. Their bodies crashed together, hips jolting against hips, legs tangling. It seemed like moments. It felt like forever. They finally rolled to a slow, then a stop that was both welcome and terribly anticlimactic.

Against him, Andrew’s breaths were harsh, an arrhythmic staccato. Neil was dizzy, his body adjusting to the sudden stillness, but he pushed himself off Andrew, flopping onto his back into the snow. The sky was spinning. All he could think of was Andrew’s warmth, the way he held him, the pressure of his hands. He rolled his head to catch Andrew’s gaze, grin flickering to life as he took in the pink nose, the rough smile, the snow in Andrew’s hair and eyebrows and lashes. Laughing, Neil reached out to brush away the flakes on his brow but Andrew’s hand caught his wrist. For a moment, Neil was terrified he’d crossed a line - but then Andrew pushed his arm down, rolled over so he straddled Neil's legs.

Nose to nose, almost cheek to cheek, gold eyes swept over him as if searching for damage, as if asking a question. They were so close Neil could feel the brush of snow-damp hair against his skin. He loosened beneath the attention, wanting to answer yes, please, yes. He zeroed in on Andrew’s mouth, the puffs of white as he exhaled. Not for the first time, he thought Andrew was beautiful, in a wolfish way. There was nervous thrill caught behind Neil’s ribs, a breathless yearning. It would be so easy to kiss him, to be kissed.

He opened his mouth to say Andrew’s name and found himself unable to speak. Andrew looked torn. There was hunger in his stare, yes, it pulled taut as a rope between them. Something was holding him back.  Resolve warred in his expression. He reached out a single, unsteady hand and pushed back the wild curls that had escaped from Neil’s hat.

A second passed where anything could have happened. Anything. Neil was sure Andrew was going to pull away.

Later, he wouldn’t be able to say who moved first, who rose or who fell to meet the other. He would only know that the space between them vanished and that Andrew kissed the way he worked, the way he wrote - with relentless focus. He kissed with that quiet and particular ferocity that was all Andrew, like his world started and stopped with Neil’s mouth. And Neil felt the universe unfold, he was a tide rising to meet the moon, a planet caught in the gravity of a star.

Neil groaned. There was heat beneath his skin, rising in his cheeks, between his legs. Andrew’s hand was cold against his cheek, tight over his wrist but Neil wanted more. He wanted to reach for Andrew’s shoulders, shove his spare hand beneath the layers of Andrew's clothes, hesitating only because of the echo of old conversations in his head. He must have made some kind of movement, however, because Andrew pulled back, just a little at first then entirely. Neil’s head was spinning, he felt bewildered and winded and full of energy like never before.

Andrew slid away, but didn’t release Neil’s wrist. He glanced up the hill as he said, “If we don’t go back, someone will come looking for us.”

“I know,” Neil said. “Doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“To be continued,” Andrew said. It was a promise.

***

Exhausted, soaked, freezing cold and simultaneously boiling hot from all the running around, a ceasefire was called between the teams and Neil declared the unequivocal victor and the began the short troop back into town. Andrew offered for them all to come to Münsters for gluhwein and coffee.

As they went, the story of Neil’s great attack on the ice fort was retold at least twice, each time growing more extraordinary and exciting.

“It was daring. It was bold.” Matt acted like it was a great Holywood battle film. “It was brilliant!”

Smug as anything, Kevin nodded. “It was precisely why I wanted him on my team. I knew he had it in him.”

“Seriously, with moves like that, you should join the town exy team,” Seth said. “Uh, exy is a sport that Kevin’s mom made up for the youth club. Now a bunch of the towns around here play. It’s a bit like indoor lacrosse.”

Dan nodded enthusiastically. “But also like field hockey.”

“And shinty,” Allison said. “You have that in England right?”

“It’s more of a Scottish game,” Neil said. “But consider me intrigued.”

“Wymack’s a great coach.”

“He ought to be, he practically invented it with Kayleigh.”

“We’ll teach you after Christmas when the team’s back,” Matt said.

Neil was surprised. The new year was so close. His future was one open-ended question. And as much as he’d been enjoying the last few days - the success of the reading nights, the buzz of his tentative new friendships - he still felt like he was mostly just being tugged along out of politeness. Like he was welcome but not one of the group. He hadn’t considered that this community might be making a space for him too. That they might start to factor him into their lives.

“I’d love that,” he said, feeling shy and off-kilter. What might happen if he stayed?

Kevin gave him the brightest smile he’d ever seen from the other bookseller. “It’s a bastard sport but it’s the best sport.”

Neil nodded, but he couldn’t pretend to still be listening. His thoughts scurried around his skull like a cat trying to trap a family of mice. If he didn’t sell the shop, if he didn’t leave when his year was over, what would happen next? Would he stay and run things? Would he work with Kevin for the next twenty years? Would he try his hand at cross-country skiing and volunteer at the Fox Den, learn exy?

In some ways, it was nice to think about what kind of life he could have with this community, these people. Sure, it was bloody Baltic here and he hated the cold, but he could have a home. He could make more traditions. Proper ones that he understood and looked forward to and… his eyes skittered over to Andrew, who suddenly seemed to have a wariness in his stance that wasn’t there before. If he stayed, what happened with Andrew?  They’d just kissed, his lips still tingled at the memory of Andrew’s mouth. It wasn’t like he was expecting a proposal.  But if Neil stayed… could they give this a go? Or was he going back to New York as soon as Nicky came home?

Shifting his hand, his gloved knuckles brushed Andrew’s and almost immediately fingers wove between his own.

Maybe Andrew would stay too?

There were fresh snowmen dotted throughout the town as they passed, small children decorating them with scarves and buttons and carrot noses. A group of boys were pushing a ball of snow the size of a dog down the road.

Seth paused to chat to one of them whilst the rest filed into Münsters. He entered a few moments behind them, explaining “Kids’ trying to build the biggest snowman the town’s ever seen. Apparently, they’ve got five of those balls already and plan to stack them next to that modern art piece outside the bank.”

“Hogamadogs,” said Neil. Everyone looked at him. “That’s what you call the big balls of snow that make up the base for snowmen. Hogamadog.”

Laughter bubbled around him, Matt clapping him on the shoulder, Kevin looking proud as if he’d taught him the word. But Neil knew it from his mother. She’d whispered stories of snow days in England to him as a child. He’d forgotten until now. It seemed appropriate that he’d remember now, when he was thinking of what life would be like here. Could he stay with her looming over him for all time?

“So who’s for what?” Renee went around the room. “Hot chocolates? Wine? Coffee?”

“Got a whiskey?” Wymack asked.

“For you, I’ll bring down the Jura,” said Andrew.

Watching them all together, the chaotic way they overlapped and spoke over each other, responding and bumping into each other as drinks were brought out, passed round, Neil felt a peculiar sense of dissociation. He was so close and yet so far from them all.

Dan caught his eye and her expression was soft, understanding. “Neil, I don’t know if anyone’s asked you yet, but we’re doing a small party on Christmas Eve. You’re obviously welcome to join. It’ll be most of us here plus Jeremy and Jean if they have the night off from the station this year.”

Blinking, Neil agreed before he could really think about it. “That sounds great,” he said.

“There’s carolling first,” Matt said. “Get your Good King Wenceslas ready.”

“More like caterwauling,” corrected Wymack.

“Speak for yourself. I have a fabulous voice,” said Allison. “And Renee sounds like an angel.”

“She can hit a high C,” said Matt. “Really, she knows all the descant parts.”

“I’m not a good singer.” Neil felt the need to confess, just in case they were serious about this stuff. “And I won’t know the songs.”

“Sweet baby angel, we’ll teach you, don’t you worry.”

He looked at the group, their eager faces and wondered if he should be worried. He didn’t realise he’d said it outlaid, however, until Andrew turned his familiar, feral smirk his way.

“Terrified,” Andrew said. “Don’t you know what Foxes sound like when they sing?” 

Chapter Text

V

Mufflements. noun. dialect.

1. Thick, warm, insulating clothes (old Lancashire)

“I am shattered,” Neil declared as he swung into Münsters in a cloud of cold air. Snow was tangled in his hair, his eyes bright. “But Andrew, I did it. The third reading was brilliant last night. We sold so many books. And the accounts are looking so much better for the year.”

Andrew met him at the counter with a black coffee already prepared and waiting. “Am I meant to be impressed?” he said.

“Yes, you can tell me I’m awesome now,” Neil took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of coffee and smiling when he also caught a waft of Andrew’s cologne, subtle and addictive as it always was.

“You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot who just sold more books in one weekend than his mum ever did.”

Andrew leaned forward on the counter, peering into Neil’s face. “Am I mistaken or are you beginning to enjoy yourself?”

“Me?” Neil said. “Never.”

“Liar.”

Neil laughed, feeling bright and happy and impossible. “Ok fine. Maybe I am a little.”

Andrew nodded, drawing back. He didn’t say anything, but Neil held the distinct impression that the blond was satisfied as well. He curled a finger into Neil’s collar and pulled him in, kissing him hard and sharp, just deep enough to make Neil’s blood begin to rush in his ears. He tasted of smoke and dark, sweet coffee. He tasted like home. But he let go when the bell tinkled, indicating another customer, so Neil pulled back too and retreated to his usual table with only a little reluctance.

Okay, quite a lot of reluctance.

But could anyone blame him?

Since the snowball fight, there had been plenty of kisses, mostly stolen between visits to each other’s shops. Just yesterday, Andrew had shoved Neil up against the shelves and kissed him until his whole body felt like it might tremble into pieces. Hands had roamed, tongues had chased. Neil had buried his face in Andrew’s shoulder afterwards, shuddering but unsatiated, desperate to drag them both upstairs where they could continue. Neither of them were really ready for that step though, no matter the humming of their blood or the heat of each touch. There was an unspoken boundary that neither wanted to cross - the one that would take them from the limbo of this longing into something that perhaps was real. There was safety, Neil supposed, in this being nothing but kisses, nothing but two people having fun.

The problem was that kisses, touches, longing, lust - those weren’t things Neil usually experienced. His attraction to Andrew was an anomaly. A strange and unfounded thing that he didn’t know how to name. He knew that when he was around Andrew, he was conscious of every little aspect of him - his presence, his smell, the way the light caught in his hair when it was loose or how cowlicks escaped from his bun whilst he worked. He found himself puzzling over him, wondering where this feeling came from, why now. He wondered if this was how other people felt all the time. If this was normal and he was just slow on the uptake. No matter the answer, he knew he had a problem. Even if it was just a few kisses to Andrew, it wasn’t just kisses to him. He suspected it never was and never could be nothing - that it couldn’t be simple - not really, not for him.

“You look pensive,” Andrew commented as Neil delivered his mug back to the bar and collected his takeaway cups for him and Kevin.

“Just thinking,” Neil said.

Andrew hummed. “Don’t strain that braincell of yours, you might need it later.”

“Later?"

“We both have the afternoon off,” Andrew said. His tone was casual but his body language was not. “I figured we can go out somewhere. You. Me. Together. Doing an activity.”

Neil’s froze, brain dropping to the gutter. What did Andrew mean by activity?  “I didn’t know you had the afternoon off.”

“There’s a market,” Andrew said. “Over in Boone. We could go.”

Oh. Neil swallowed, fiddled with the cups in his hands. “Like a… like a date?” he asked.

“No,” Andrew said too fast. “Well. Actually, yes.” He looked a bit ill. “A date.”

“Uh, okay.”

“We don’t have to.”

“No, I’d love - I mean like - I mean that would be…” Neil searched for the word, settled for honesty. It had worked for them so far. “I’ve never been on a date before.”

Andrew, who Neil knew was no where near as calm and collected as everyone seemed to think, still managed to not look too phased by Neil’s revelation. Which made sense when he said, “Nor have I.”

The static energy of tension sparked and vanished. Any lingering awkwardness simmered away, brought off the boil by three small words. “I’ll come back around one?”

“I’ll pick you up,” Andrew said. There was heat in his gaze, the shine of cattish satisfaction.

Perhaps if the café didn’t have such a queue forming, he might have captured Neil for another kiss, sharp and perfect, but as it was Neil left with a buzz under his skin, fish swimming his stomach, around his ribs. He was going on a date. He was going on a date with Andrew Minyard.

***

Clothes were everywhere. Shirts dangled from a chair. Jumpers puddled on the floor by the bed. Running kit lay where it had been kicked, sad and rejected. Neil was a mess. He had retrieved his nicest jeans - with only one non-deliberate hole in the knee - and after that all hell had broken loose from his wardrobe. Over the course of the last year, it turned out he’d bought more stuff than he realised. Stuff to keep him warm. Stuff for hiking. Stuff that was light and airy for the summer, but not revealing of his scars. Now he slumped, shirtless, wanted to curl up and hide from the world because his clothes were clearly completely inadequate for a date. Not just a date - one with Andrew Minyard - who lived in New York and who dressed like a men’s fashion magazine and was so sharp and put together and… He groaned, maybe he should have listened to Allison earlier. Maybe he should have let her and Nicky take him shopping like they’d threatened.

But it wasn’t his fault, right? Sure, he’d dodged their offers and attempts to minorly kidnap and force him through a thousand costume changes, but it was only because he didn’t think he was staying. He wasn’t going to be here in a few months and when he moved on, he’d need to be able to pack light. He didn’t want to have to pay for extra shipping to London, especially when he didn’t even have a place of his own there, just a spare room in Uncle Stuart’s house that he was usually allowed to occupy for a couple weeks before the old grump became sick of his company. It wasn’t his fault. He was just being logical, rational. All the things that made him an excellent bookkeeper and a terrible bookseller.

Not so terrible anymore, whispered a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Kevin. Just look at the numbers.

Not even his record sales weekend could make good clothes magically materialise from the aether though.

Neil forced himself to his feet, shivering as the draught wicked across his skin. He took himself in: his runner’s build, slight and strong, the way his upperbody had gained muscle this year from all the books he’d bought and shelved and sold. He ran a hand over the scars - the iron brand, the stripes from a belt, the thin marks from a knife, the cigar burns on his chest.

What would Andrew think of this horrorshow? He wondered, of the scars that still itched, the phantoms that haunted him from within his skin.

He knew Andrew had scars of his own, there’d been a moment - back in the spring when they were two alley cats prowling around each other’s territory - where Neil’s sleeve slid down his arm and Andrew had seen the burns there. The same ones that Stuart had seen when his mother made the choice to run to her home in England for a change. The same ones that forced Stuart to choose his nephew over his sister, to keep Neil in London even when Mary lost her nerve and went back to Nathan Wesninski. Andrew hadn’t flinched like Stuart had. He didn’t grab Neil’s arm and twist it so the new skin split open anew. He didn’t question it when Neil tugged his sleeves self consciously back into place. Instead, Andrew had slid off his jacket and exposed his forearms, clad in black bands from wrist to elbow.

He had scars too, he’d said, they were a sign that he’d hurt and a sign that he’d healed.

“Have you healed?” Neil had asked. “Really?”

Andrew’s expression had reminded Neil of a storm passing over the sun. “I survived,” he clarified. “There will always be scars.”

The chances of Andrew being disgusted by the wreckage of Neil’s chest and back seemed unlikely. He hadn’t turned away when Neil, a then perfect strange, broke down. He hadn’t turned away when they swapped truths for truths, smoke and cigarettes. He hadn’t ever turned away. Why would he now?

Because you’re a freak, junior, Neil’s shoulders hunched. Because you’re hideous and worthless and have nothing to wear.

He needed to pull himself out of this. He had an hour before Andrew showed up and he was falling apart. This wasn’t how he wanted things to start. But the panic was in his throat and his chest was caving in. The fish had become sharks, gnawing at his heart and his stomach and his lungs.

“Breathe,” he told himself. “Un, deux, trois…”

Eventually, the storm passed. Neil felt shaken and raw, buffeted by the hail, nerves fried by the thunder. He grabbed a dark long-sleeve and his biggest cardigan, black with grey pockets, before staggering downstairs. Twenty-three minutes. Twenty-two. He rocked on his feet. Kevin took one look at him and went to put the kettle on, pressing tea into his hand a minute later before guiding him over to the window seat behind the till.

“Come on, sit where it’s cooler, get some air.”

Kevin watched him carefully, occasionally flicking his attention over to the few lunchtime browsers.

“Been a while since you had one of these,” he said. “Can I bring you anything else? Granola bar? Apple?”

It took a few seconds for Neil to realise that Kevin recognised his mood, his fragility, that he knew exactly how to respond after a year of working side by side. He opened his mouth to respond —

“Don’t say you’re fine,” Kevin said. “I’m your friend. I know when you’re stuck in your head.”

My friend, Neil thought. He really was growing roots, sinking into the Foxdon earth, finding purchase amongst the people here, finding purpose.

“Not stuck,” Neil began, stopped. “Trying to get out of it.”

Kevin nodded. He understood. “This about your date with Andrew?”

Shrugging, Neil sipped his tea. It was too hot, burning his tongue, but he took another and another, the heat scalding away his thoughts.

“He’s a good guy. He won’t do anything you don’t want.” Kevin said. “You don’t need to be nervous.”

“Not that,” Neil kept his eyes on the mug, on  his fingers poking from beneath his sleeves. “I mean maybe a bit of that. I’ve not done this before. This dating thing. I’ve never swung, you know, romantically or like… sexually.” His face felt like it was on fire. “So maybe it is a bit of that. Perhaps, maybe.”

“But?”

“But it’s also… my clothes.”

“Your clothes?” Kevin frowned. “What’s wrong with your clothes? Other than the fact that everything you own is secondhand and has holes in.”

“I have so much stuff now. I have all this kit and so many books and you know I’m not meant to be here much longer but it won’t all fit in my bag anymore. And yet, despite all that, I was thinking about how I wished I had something nicer to wear today. I wanted something better for this thing with Andrew. I’ve never… I’ve always moved. I’ve never stayed before and now here I am thinking about needing stuff for a life that I don’t even know if I’ll have in February.” Neil knew he sounded melodramatic but the words spilled out like marbles, each one hard and cold against his teeth. “I’m ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous,” Kevin agreed, raising an eyebrow when Neil shot him an affronted look. “What? You’re right. What’s that saying? You’re planning for the funeral when the queen’s not dead.”

“I don’t think that’s a saying…”

“Look, if you’re thinking about the end already then it’s already over. Cut your losses. Cut ours. Let us know you’re going. We’ll throw you a party to say goodbye and help you pack.” Kevin’s mouth twisted. “Let me know who you’re selling the shop to - if it’s Riko…”

“It’s not going to be Riko. Of course, it’s not. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Yeah well, you’ve always said you’d sell up at the end of things but I was starting to think that maybe you’d change your mind.”  Kevin kicked his toes into the wooden flooring, clearly not wanting to have this conversation but ploughing ahead nonetheless. “We’ve turned things around, haven’t we? It’s been fun, right? You seemed happy this morning.”

“I am happy!” And that was part of the problem. What did someone like Neil do with a feeling like happiness? This warm, alien feeling inside him was dangerous and devouring. He liked it and that scared him. “I’m happy…” he said again and felt his eyes sting.

“You’re utterly hopeless,” Kevin said. “I’m going to hug you now.”

And he did. Slim, strong arms looping around Neil and tugging him into a loose embrace. He could escaped but he didn’t. He leant his forehead onto Kevin’s chest, wrapping his own hands around Kevin’s waist and working on making his heart settle back into a rhythm yet again. 

Kevin was not a soft man. He wasn’t rough like his father exactly, but he was the kind of guy that was all awkward angles and elbows. Whose attitude could rally an army or draw the ire of a thousand strangers with pitchforks. He didn’t have Renee’s boundless kindness or Dan’s staunch determination, Matt’s overwhelming warmth or Seth’s attention-loving snark. But he was thoughtful and he was straightforward, he was precocious and one of the smartest person Neil had ever met. He was something like a best friend, or the brother he’d never wanted but appeared to be stuck with. 

He didn’t apologise for his insensitivity, though he suspected that was about the summary of his little breakdown. He knew Kevin wouldn’t accept it anyway. But he did say thank you as they pulled apart after a minute, both wearing distinctly unsettled expressions as if they knew they’d crossed a line that couldn’t be taken back.

But Kevin didn’t let him go entirely. He took a firm grip on Neil’s elbow and started to push him back upstairs. “Come on, I have an idea on what you can wear.”

“But I only have ten minutes, Andrew’ll be here — ” 

“So you’d better get a wiggle on,” Kevin said. “Chop chop.”

***

Precisely nine minutes later, because Kevin was a stickler for deadlines, Neil reemerged on the stairs in a warm black turtleneck, his stompy black boots that had been a belated birthday gift from Nicky and Erik, grey gloves and a storm-coloured tartan scarf artfully swept over his shoulders. The jumper was looser than it should be on his frame, no surprise since it was technically Kevin’s, but he had to admit he looked a hell of a lot better than minutes before.

Kevin looked proud. He was now sporting one of Neil’s oversized, holey jumpers and Neil personally thought it rather suited him. He carried off the grandpa-in-training-vibes rather well.

“Also,” Kevin said as he fiddled with the scarf again, making sure it was definitely sitting in the ‘correct’ way. “Andrew’s bringing something for you. Just smile and say thank you.”

“He’s what?”

“Don’t panic. I wouldn’t tell you but I feel like you actually might have a breakdown when you see it, but you’re not allowed.”

“Kevin?”

“Oh look, he’s here!” Kevin pointed as a dark, familiar coat cut across the snow dogs, making a beeline for the Curious Fox.

“Kevin! You can’t — oh my god,” Neil went to run a frantic hand through his hair but paused at Kevin’s glower. “Fuck.”

Andrew stepped through the door looking like something from a dream. His hair was pushed back off his face, his eyes were honey gold and the hint of blond freckles scattered below his pale lashes. As he smiled, Neil’s mouth went dry and he tried to distract himself by looking at other parts of Andrew only to realise what a foolish idea that was. He drank in the lines of his broad shoulders and chest, felt his heart start to pound as he noted the way that the buttons of Andrew’s woollen coat emphasised his build: staunch and strong, built to hold up the world.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Andrew said. “But my eyes are up here.”

Neil blushed, mind scrambling for purchase. “You look amazing,” he blurted, feeling only slightly less of a fool when Andrew’s ears pinked.

“Before we go, this is for you. It should fit.” Andrew held out a bag in his gloved hand,  one that Neil had pointedly tried to ignore.

Over Andrew’s shoulder, Kevin narrowed his eyes and pulled a face. Don’t panic, it said. Don’t you dare panic when I’m wearing your ratty jumper so that you can go on a bloody date.

“It’s a gift,” Andrew added as Neil tentatively opened the bag and pulled out a big winter coat that almost matched Andrew’s. It was deep grey, the colour of a wolf. It was thick and clearly well-made.

“I know you don’t own a proper coat. You keep borrowing them from the Foxes,” Andrew said, when Neil pinched the wool and tried to take in what he was holding. His voice was rough and wry but Neil detected just a hint of nervousness. “Renee’s was particularly fetching but I figured you could do with your own.”

The material was so nice. It was the kind of thing that he’d never buy for himself, not least because it was new. When Neil looked up, Kevin was shaking his head over Andrew’s shoulder. Under no circumstances was Neil allowed to refuse this, even if his earlier panic screamed at him to turn and run. “Andrew…”

“And I know you hate the cold. Just try it on.”

He did. Something bright lit up within his sternum at the realisation that Andrew had noticed his discomfort in the cold. The coat slipped easily over his jumper and scarf, instantly making him a few degrees warmer. He knew that Andrew must have eyeballed his measurements, there was no other way that this could be such a perfect fit. It was snug, exactly right around his shoulders, looser around his arms but still tapered, much like Andrew’s.

“Mufflements,” Andrew said. “You need a better winter wardrobe.”

Neil smoothed his hands down the front, slid them into the pockets and tugged it tight around his body. He bit his lip as they twitched into a smile. It was exactly the right fit. He lifted his eyes and stepped into Andrew space, dropping a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m not good at this stuff but, really, thank you.”

Andrew took the lapel between his fingers, tugging him close and licking the gratitude straight from Neil’s mouth. “Don’t thank me. Wear it and stay warm.”

A cough split them apart. Kevin was shuffling books on the trolley, deliberately not looking their way.

Neil smiled. He reached for Andrew’s hand. “Let’s go,” he said. “Where’s this market again?”

***

No doubt in different times, the little town of Boone was a quaint but all-American mountain community.

But, at Christmas, it seemed the place was transformed, metamorphosed into a chimerical mix of seasonal aesthetics and cultures.

There were German stalls selling ghüwein and bratwürst and stollen cake; Spanish paella stands were completed with seasonal croquettes and polvonores; several Jewish fooderies mixed into the market and Neil ended up stuffing himself with latkes dipped in sour cream, whilst Andrew slathered his in applesauce.

They found trinkets: nutcrackers, nativity pieces, miniature weihnachtspyramide, and stalls upon stalls of jewellery, scarves, gloves, hats. Neil plucked up this and that, thinking of the gifts he could give to the Foxes. Andrew bought a pair of glittery antlers and slid them onto Neil’s head, mouth twisting with mischief. If his hand lingered a little longer than necessary in the curls of Neil’s hair, no one had to know.

They found mulled cider and walked hand in hand despite the askance looks. They bought churros and Neil kissed the sugar from Andrew’s cheek, his nose, his mouth. Their hair was filled with lights. Their skin was cold, their hearts warm. Neil was snug his coat and Andrew took no small delight in tugging him in by the lapels for kiss after kiss after kiss.

When Andrew suggested they go on the ferris wheel, however, Neil shook his head.

“Didn’t you say you’re bad with heights? Let’s go to the throwing stalls instead.”

As they went, Neil told Andrew of the markets he’d passed through in Bruge and Amiens and Grasse and Edinburgh. The time he went to Cologne and ended up working on a stall for a week after losing his wallet. Andrew listened and shared his own stories of his first Christmas with Nicky, the over-spiced turkey and the burnt potatoes. He said it was only when they were older, after a few years of learning how to live with each other that they really started to settle into the season.

“We went to Erik’s a couple times, maybe we were even in Germany at the same time as you.”

Neil liked that idea and he leant into Andrew’s arm, wrapping his own around his waist so his head could rest on Andrew’s shoulder.

They found the shooter games, loop throwing, the one with the big hammer and the bell that Neil never could remember the name of.

“High striker,” Andrew told him, but Neil knew he’d forget again. Or he thought as much until Andrew gave the lever such a whack that the bell seemed to chime for a whole minute. Neil’s belly was giddy, full of food and adoration for the man beside him. He couldn’t stop smiling. 

On the loopers, Neil didn’t miss a single one, landing ring after ring. When the disgruntled game runner asked what prizes they wanted, Neil pointed at a pair of giant fluffy otters. They had little velcro paws so that they could hold hands. Andrew rolled his eyes but didn’t put up a fuss. Their otters tucked under their arms, paws pressed together, they wandered through the games and the lights, sometimes chatting, something content to be quiet side by side.

The afternoon passed in a flurry of snow and colour, and as darkness began to fall, as the lights twinkled brighter and brighter, they gathered their bags of gifts and otters, had one last drink, then slid their hands together and started the amble home.

Feeling warm and a little drunk, too tangled up in each other and the afternoon, they skipped straight passed their street and headed out to Neil’s cabin. Their eyes caught, their hands brushed, they built a fire and made hot cocoa and curled together on the futon. There was the faint catch in Neil’s chest at the idea of what came next and then Andrew was leaning in, brushing glitter from Neil’s cheek and the contact was like a static shock, a spark of energy where skin met skin.

They were breathless and they were alone and this wasn’t a stolen moment between the shelves or Andrew caging him against a wall, grounding and mind-blowing all at once. This was a space they’d carved out together. This was Andrew pressing him down against the mattress and Neil dragging him down with him.  This was kisses trailing down Neil’s throat and Neil’s hands finding the curve of Andrew’s shoulder blades. This was Neil loosening below Andrew, breath hitching as they thrust together, and Andrew being so careful as he took Neil first in hand, then in his mouth, easing him upwards, upwards, until pressure gave way to pleasure, until he was falling apart and coming together, bursting like stars at the very beginning of time.

When Andrew followed him a few moments later, breath quickening and the heat of him so very hard against Neil’s stomach, Neil almost expected reality to come crashing down. But it didn’t. Andrew cleaned them up, as careful as before and just as eager. He seemed to be unable to stop touching Neil, hands continuing to stroke against his sides, to soothe across his shivering skin as they started to doze, to drift. Neil let himself be tucked himself close, ignoring the mess for as long as possible. He felt warm and safe, totally at ease despite his nakedness, his newness at all of this.

As they drifted away, a lazy, hazy, easy awareness stirred in Neil, blowing out lingering worry – all that was left was a notion: of security and safety. And a vision: of Andrew being the one whose bones he curled up to on cold and windy nights, of being allowed to slip his feet underneath Andrew’s legs on the sofa when he was reading, of drowsily kissing Andrew’s mouth as they warmed one another, half asleep, half awake, tangled and at ease.

It was a good dream, he thought, and he thought perhaps he might just chase it.

Chapter Text

VI 

Merry Night. Noun.

1. Frivolities, group merriment, often in a public setting

2. 18 ^th Century word for a party in a public house at Christmas

***

Andrew’s hand slipped under Neil’s Christmas jumper with a scowl on his face. His fingers were cold, teasing against the skin of Neil’s stomach. “I hate this,” he said. “It’s hideous.”

Neil grinned. It really was one of the ugliest sweaters he’d ever had the pleasure of wearing and it was all Andrew’s fault. “You told me it had to be awful.”

“I didn’t know it would be this bad. It makes mine almost look normal.”

“Hardly,” Neil said, swatting away Andrew’s hands as his skin goose-pimpled beneath his clothes. “You’re wearing colour, I think it’s a first.”

“Nothing on this.” Andrew plucked at a piece of tinsel and grimaced. “That’s going to get everywhere later.”

Neil’s most wonderful and festive jumper was red and green stripes decorated with little lights all over, flashing garish colours, as well as tinsel on the shoulders, sleeves and hem. It looked like a cross between a pompom and a helter-skelter, which paired with his new skinny jeans and favourite stompy boots, made him appear deranged, blind or perhaps the victim of a children’s arts and crafts class. To be fair, this wasn’t far from the truth, Neil and Thea had made it under Kevin’s watchful eye the night before, after several mulled wines. Neil was fairly certain that Kevin had also been on the whiskey. Something which he was definitely regretting today.

Andrew on the other hand was wearing a tasteful neon pink sweater, with a black stencil of reindeer leaping into the sky and ‘Sleigh the Patriarchy’ written beneath it in sequins. More sequin stars and love hearts were stitched along his shoulders, each in the colours of a flag from the LGBTQ+ spectrum. Every time Andrew’s muscles moved, they seemed to wave, shimmering in the light. It was fantastically awful. Neil couldn’t wait to peel it off Andrew after the party.

“You ready, buddy?” Matt intruded on their space, slinging a heavy arm around Neil’s shoulders. “Got your carol sheet?”

It was Christmas Eve at last. Nearly time mince pies and a feast of canapés chased by champagne and wine and no doubt a brandy schnapps or two (apparently Abby’s favourite). Neil had delivered his homemade gingerbread the day before, apologising for the chocolate that had once looked like decorations but hadn’t travelled well. Dan had been so delighted by his offering that she’d hugged him and promised to try them, no matter how hideous they looked. Neil was kind of worried for her, he’d never baked before and Andrew had only watched, laughed and licked the spoon at the end.

But first, they had one more tradition to insist on Neil joining: carols.

“So we’re going to start here,” Kevin was telling late-arrivals, Jeremy and Jean. “And then we’re going to end up in the square by the giant hogamadogs.”

“The what?”

“Apparently that’s what you call the giant snowballs those kids named. Neil told us.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to Neil and he waved. “Hi guys.”

Jeremy waved back with enthusiasm, his light-up snowman jumper flashing blue and pink. “Great to see you again, Neil, feels like a while.”

“That’s because it was before you were on nights,” Jean said, looping his arm around his boyfriend’s waist and offering a more restrained nod in greeting towards Neil. “Fortunately, this one has Christmas off this year. No fires to put out or daring cat rescues until the 27^th.”

“But that last litter of kittens were adorable, you have to admit it.”

“I am allergic.” Jean sniffed. “No cats pour moi.”

Jeremy wilted, mouth forming the smallest of pouts.

But because no one liked to see the sunshine boy pouting, a young woman with wild blond hair jumped in. “Just imagine all the friends you’ll be able to visit with cats next year though, Jez.”

“Kittens?” Neil asked.

As it turned out Sara and her girlfriend Alvarez also worked at the fire station and Neil found himself being shown dozens of photos of tiny fluff monsters in various states of waking and asleep. He cooed over one the colour of soot and another with paws that seemed too big for its body. He could almost imagine having a cat. They were independent enough, fluffy and stabby at the same time, enjoyed sleep and warm places, wouldn’t put up with bullshit. They were almost relatable.

The peace couldn’t last, whilst Kevin fretted over the number of unexpected arrivals and the lack of enough sheet music, Neil was ushered through more handshakes and hugs from people he knew, people he didn’t, people who seemed to have received the horrible jumper memo and people who looked at him like he might be contagious. The tinsel did malt, he supposed, but really his jumper was art.

Finally, under Kevin’s guidance (or really Thea’s), the group assembled into rough sections from sopranos to basses. Neil, having no clue what that even meant, just stuck close to Andrew and Matt and hoped he was doing the right thing. When the music started though, his worries melted away with the realisation that most people couldn’t actually sing and carols were more about enthusiasm than talent. As Andrew’s gloved fingers slid into his back pocket, Neil decided enthusiasm was definitely something he could give.

They bellowed their way through O Come, O Come Emmanuel, screeched through Coventery Carol, mooed and moaned through the Bleak Midwinter, had a rousing solo from one of Wymack’s youths for Once in Royal David’s City, and then nearly fell apart laughing as the Twelve Days of Christmas kept having the words changed by one cheeky caroller or another.

Stille Nacht made Neil feel quite at home and he enjoyed the side eye Andrew gave him over his perfect pronunciation. He hadn’t mentioned he spoke German fluently yet, preferring to keep it quiet. He also didn’t want to give away that he’d been using it for months to listen in on Nicky’s running commentary on the clientele of Münsters, himself included. If Andrew’s fingers tightened on his ass, squeezing in mock admonishment, he wasn’t complaining.

There were some good singers, of course. Matt was a warm tenor refined from years growing up attending chapel a his old private school. Wymack was rough but hit the notes. And Renee really did know all the descants - she led the way through Come all ye Faithful’s high notes, although almost everyone winced as Allison tried to follow suit and possibly communicated with the dolphins. Her wicked grin made it quite clear that all mistakes were deliberate.

Neil decided, however, that Andrew’s singing was his favourite. Imperfect at times, but a smooth, deep bass in his ear that reminded him of glacier lakes and dark forests, nights filled with so many endless stars that your own insignificance pressed down and threatened to devour you. Or perhaps that was just his own feelings dancing to the surface, the all-consuming nature of the way his body wanted Andrew, the way his heart did. He’d never been a believer in souls, but this thing inside him moved whenever Andrew moved, stirred like sand at the bottom of a river with the touch of a hand, the glance of an eye, obscuring all rational thought until all that was left was the rush of water, the cool surety that he was destined to travel towards him, always running towards the ocean.

The carollers moseyed their way from house to house and performed a final, rousing We Three Kings before a call went up for drinks and spiced cakes. Andrew never let go of Neil, not even as the others buffeted them and the troops began to trudge through the snow too Matt and Dan’s. They peel away from the crowd to walk together, fingers finding fingers.

Neil’s heart was beating out its own song, a drummer boy in his chest. But for once it was steady and sure. He was with Andrew. He felt full of possibility - like between the trust and the honesty, the coffee and the kisses - he had become real. He had traditions now. He had friends. He glanced over to where Kevin and Thea were walking, heads together, and he smiled. He had something like a family.

“Thank you,” he whispered, leaning to kiss Andrew’s cheek. “This was amazing.”

“You’re being an idiot,” Andrew said, but his mouth curved upwards and his fingers squeezed Neil’s and Neil felt like he was blooming. Like the future was right here. Like everything was falling into place.

***

The party wasn’t a big as the carols, with people like Alvarez and Sara splitting off to go back to work and the youth group mostly going home to their families with some modicum of grumbling at not being allowed to drink yet.

Still, there were plenty of people to fill up the Boyds’ living room and kitchen and hallway.

Drinks were poured, toasts raised. Canapés emerged from the kitchen on slate trays and Dan made the hushed point in Neil’s ear that Matt’s mom was oddly particular about crockery.

Everyone’s Christmas jumpers began to come off, too warm inside for wool and nylon. Andrew caught Neil admiring his arms in his tight black t-shirt and wrapped his arms around him but didn’t kiss him, not straight away. He pushed Neil back against the door frame, pressed their bodies close, letting him go only to cradle Neil’s face in his hands.

“Mistletoe,” he murmured against Neil’s lips.

“Oh,” Neil said. “Does that mean something?”

“You’re hopeless,” Andrew said and closed the gap.

Andrew wasn’t gentle, not exactly. His mouth still felt bruising. His teeth were still sharp on Neil’s lips. It was a kiss so hard it was as if he was at last coming up for air after an age underwater. It was a kiss full of need and Neil kissed back just as deeply and necessarily.

Whoops and cheers brought them back to the room and Andrew looked particularly satisfied with himself when Neil couldn’t quite understand why they were pulling apart so soon. His hands had tangled in Andrew’s long hair, pulling it out of its bun and now he buried his face in Andrew’s chest, hot with the knowledge that everyone had just seen it happen.

“You’re an ass,” he said, deliberately nipping at Andrew’s neck before he could pull away. The responding shiver gave him a small vengeful thrill.

“You started it, staring at me like that.”

“You should be stared at,” Neil said. “You’re impossible not to look at.”

Andrew pulled back and shoved his face away, ears pink, cheeks taking on a distinctive hue.

“Oh my god, what did you say to make Andrew blush?” Matt’s voice cut through the rest and suddenly Neil found himself apart from Andrew, still warm and welcome, but in the glow of Matt and Jeremy.

It looked like Andrew was receiving a similar debrief from Renee and an overly intrigued Allison. Neil was quite sure he heard the phrase Nicky and so much money, before the interrogation from Matt truly began.

He wanted to know when this thing with Andrew happened. He wanted to know if they were official now. He wanted to know a multitude of things that Neil couldn’t really answer. When had it happened? Was it today? Was it their date? Was it that first kiss in the snow or when Neil taught Andrew how to make leaves on coffee foam instead of dicks? Was it months before, when Andrew first came into the Curious Fox and saved Neil from himself or more recently than that? How could he put his finger on it when Andrew felt like déjà vu, when every time they touched or spoke or kissed or bickered, he was so overwhelmed with the sense that he had been here before? Like there were a thousand alternate universes where he and Andrew met and in each of them, they were inevitable.

“You have it so bad,” Jeremy said. “It’s adorable.”

Jean made a noise behind him. “It is so much sugar my teeth are rotting.”

“You can’t talk,” Matt said. “None of us can. We’re a group of unrepentant romantics, of course Neil would be the same.”

“I’m not sure I’d say I’m a romantic…”

Jean glowered. “As a Frenchman, I will decide this. Does that man make you feel like you are falling, like gravity has let go of the earth? Do you feel like your earth might shatter with a single moment of eye contact, the accidental brush of a hand?” His eyes were hard. “Answer yes, to any of these and you are a romantic.”

“I um… think I need more champagne, actually.” Neil said, trying to wriggle out of answering. “I could go get another bottle. Anyone else need a top up?”

Apparently, however, this was yes by another name because Jean’s face melted into a warmer smile. He gave Neil a little bow of his head and said, “You see, I know, for this is how I am with Jeremy. He is my sun.”

“Unrepentant romantics,” Matt said. “And I’m not sorry.”

“That is literally what unrepentant means,” said Jean.

And finally the conversation turned. They moved on to Matt’s students and Jeremy’s rescue kittens and Jean’s portfolio career of art and podcasting and the column he wrote for the local paper. From what Neil understood, Jean’s parents had never given him any choices in what he did or how he behaved as a child and now his true artistic self was burning through years of control and restraint with a little help from his blond partner.

Time and again, Neil caught a glimpse of Andrew through the throngs - listening intently to Renee, raising a glass with Wymack, changing the song to something by Robbie Williams just to annoy Kevin. In those moments, the crowd around him was nothing but a blur of bodies, with Andrew always in focus, sharp and impossible to ignore.

Mingling, it turned out to be as much about eating as conversation. Neil tucked into the salmon blinis, tried the mini crab quiches, enjoyed the thumb-sized Yorkshire puddings with beef and horseradish. His favourite was still the asparagus wrapped in parma ham, but Neil found himself grazing around the room, going from friend to stranger, group to group, making introductions and hugging the people he knew. More than once, he found himself accepting thanks from one person or another for the reading nights throughout the season, being told it really helped feed the Christmas spirit this year.

“It was Andrew’s idea,” he said. “Really, we couldn’t have done it without him.”

Savoury bites turned to sweet nibbles and Neil decided to take the chance at grabbing some of his gingerbread to take to Andrew. The man may have overseen his baking and licked the spoon clean as filthily as possible, but he hadn’t tried the finished thing. Hopefully it wasn’t awful.

It took two turns of downstairs before he realised that Andrew wasn’t there. Realising, he must have gone outside for a smoke, Neil began to head for the door when he heard voices trailing downwards from the landing. One of them was Kevin. He sounded angry.

“If you’re doing all this for the shop then you need to stop,” he was saying. “I know you’ve always wanted it. That you were upset when Bee sold it to Mary instead of you, but you can’t do this to Neil.”

To him?

Neil carefully tiptoed up the first few stairs. From where he was, he could see Kevin and Andrew - Kevin looking as fierce as Neil had ever seen him. Andrew’s arms were crossed, his face was blank.

Neil’s body felt glued to the spot, his muscles frozen and his eyes wide. What were they arguing about? Why did Kevin look so unhappy?

“Neil’s not like you, Andrew. He’s not someone who messes around with people. He’s not a backroom of a bar guy.” Kevin said. “He’s been half in love with you for months and then you take him on that date and he’s walking on air and I just… I don’t want you to cut him down like everyone else.”

“Like you, you mean.” Andrew’s tone was cold.

“Not like me,” Kevin said. “We were kids and I was experimenting. That was nothing.”

“But you don’t think this is.”

“Not to Neil.” Kevin rubbed at his hand, the reflexive, nervous movement that Neil knew was a sign of past pain. “He’s… you know what his mom did to him. The scars from his dad. If you’re just messing with his heart because you want the shop then you need to stop this. You need to stop before he gets even more hurt than he already will.”

Messing with my heart? What about the Curious Fox? Stop this? Kevin and Andrew were together? Was this nothing after all?

He felt the world rock, a ship bucking beneath his feet. And somewhere between one breath and the next, two pairs of eyes found his - green and gold.

“Neil,” Kevin said. “Shit, Neil.”

But Neil was looking at Andrew. Andrew whose face was impassive, whose eyes were blank and unreadable.

Had this all been a lie?

Anger surged through Neil first, the heat of it scouring. In its wake was embarrassment and shame, pain in his chest burning bright as any he’d felt throughout his life. His head roiled. He didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom what was happening, what he’d heard. There was a weight on his shoulders, reality’s gravity come crashing down all at once.

He tried to say something and couldn’t form the words, realised he had to move. He couldn’t be here anymore. He turned, fleeing back down the stairs, dropping gingerbread in his wake. He ignored the pile of coats where his had been thrown, darted by Matt who let out a startled sound but didn’t react fast enough to stop him. He stumbled out into the snow, cold stopping his heart for a moment as his whole body seized in the frigid cold. Sucking in a breath, he started to stagger away from the house, desperate for space, for air. He couldn’t get enough into his lungs. There wasn’t enough air in the universe to fill the holes cracking open inside of him.

“Neil! Neil, wait! Wait!” Andrew’s yells made him walk faster but with no coat or jumper, he was shaking too hard to move with any speed. “Fucking wait, dammit.”

Andrew’s hands were so familiar, heavy and certain and spinning him around. His gold eyes were furious. He swung Neil’s coat over his shoulders, tugging it tight around him. “What the hell are you thinking coming out here like this, you’d fucking die before you got home.”

Neil jerked away from him, grabbing the corners of his coat and pulling it tight. It smelt of Andrew’s cigarettes and his heart splintered just a little more. Was Kevin right? Was this all just a game for Andrew?

“Of course it wasn’t,” Andrew said. “I don’t play games.”

Neil hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud but now he knew he could talk, he finds the questions pouring out of him. What did Kevin mean? What did any of that mean?

“You know Bee was my therapist,” Andrew began slowly, clearly searching for the words and thinking them through before speaking. Snow was landing in his hair, melting against his pale skin. “And later my friend. She believed in bibliotherapy - the power of books to heal people - she’s the reason I started writing and the reason I’m alive today.”

Neil nodded, waiting. None of this was news to him.

“Well, she also owned the Curious Fox. Had it for decades, actually, though she didn’t run it like you or your mother. She’d inherited it from her parents and hired people to keep it going, and she often took me and people like me to the shop to buy new books.” Andrew clenched his fists, released them. “She sold it one day to a stranger. Your mother. I was angry. I wanted to know if it was because she needed the money. I could have helped her by then. And then I wanted to know why she didn’t tell me when she knew I loved the shop, that I would have bought it in a heartbeat.”

“But she told me my life wasn’t here. That a small town wasn’t right for me, not yet. I was furious. She’d never in her life tried to tell me how to live mine and yet there she was doing exactly that.”

“So you wanted the shop,” Neil said, corrected himself. “You want it.”

“I did,” Andrew admitted. “To her credit, your mom ran it well. She loved the shop. She brought it to life in a way that I couldn’t have imagined. And to be honest, I figured that was that until the accident. When I heard she’d died, I got in touch with Nicky to find out about the shop. He told me about you.”

Andrew focused on Neil now, he took a step closer but Neil took a step back. Something flickered across Andrew’s face, hurt perhaps, anger maybe. There was no sign of guilt. Whatever this look was it was dark and intense enough to swallow Neil whole. “You have to understand that it changed after I met you. At first, yes, I came here thinking I’d make an offer to take the store off your hands but then I saw in you what I used to see in me - someone standing on the edge and one fine thread stopping you from falling.”

Neil shook, he didn’t want to hear what came next but Andrew said it anyway.

“You needed the store more than me. You needed somewhere to heal.”

“Somewhere to heal.” Neil stared at Andrew. His feet told him to run. His tongue told him to lash out. “You think that’s what I needed? Was all this just pity then? You saw I was broken and wanted to fix me?”

Andrew shook his head, the gesture almost violent. “I’m not your answer.”

He had that right. “Of course you’re bloody well not.” Rage was such a vivid thing in Neil, inherited from his father. He could feel that horrible smile cleaving open his face and wondered what he’d done to deserve this kind of pain. “You are not my answer because I am a survivor, Andrew. And maybe my life was a bit shit before, but I was working things out, in my own time, at my own pace. I survived. And I’ll keep on fucking surviving.”

“I know that,” Andrew said. “Neil, I know that. It’s why I want you to stay.”

“Fuck you,” said Neil. “I don’t want your pity shop, your pity life.”

“That’s not what this is!”

“Then what is it? Because I thought… fuck I thought we were something.” Neil hated how his voice cracked. “And what I’m finding out is that none of this meant anything to you? Was it all some great laugh? Befriend me. Make me trust you. Kiss me. And why? Because of some misplaced and unwanted charity?”

“No one said it meant nothing to me.”

“Then what was that with Kevin?”

“You heard a fragment of a conversation that wasn’t meant for you and you’re jumping to conclusions—”

“God, you didn’t even tell me who you were. That you’re A.M. Doe. You’ve been avoiding so many truths, why shouldn’t this be one more?”

Andrew snorted and crossed his arms. “Excuses,” he said. “These are excuses now. I think you’re so used to looking for reasons to run, you’ve forgotten how to see reasons to stay.”

Neil glared at him, blue eyes flashing dangerous and bright. “Fuck you, Andrew Minyard," he said. "Next time someone says you’re a monster, I’ll try to believe them.”

Chapter Text

VII

Apricity. Noun.

1. The warmth of sun in winter

***

The shop was cold when Neil woke up on Christmas Day. With yesterday closed for the holidays and dinner out with the Foxes, there had been no need to light the fire and now the whole building felt like the life had been sucked out of it. The wind creaked through the beams, carrying with it a freezing winter chill.

Neil rolled over in bed and pulled the blankets over his head, desperate to burrow back into the land of the unconscious. His head hurt. His chest ached. His bones held a weariness that he didn’t recognise and didn’t want to. Everything just felt heavy and inevitable.

Whenever he closed his eyes, the night before replayed - his fury, Andrew’s words, the way they lashed out, landing blows that would bruise and burn for days.

He’d come home and turned off all the Christmas lights that had been twinkling merrily through the evening. He’d ripped down a bunch of the garlands on the bannisters, shoved the trolley so hard that books had crashed onto the floor. He’d shoved everything off his bed, thrown as much as he could fit into a bag, zipped it shut and flung it into the corner where he’d left his coat. Memories kept coming back to him as he squeezed his eyes even tighter.

One, in particular, kept circulating in his head: he’d booked a flight last night, one-way back to London.

And he’d texted Riko Moriyama.

Guilt washed through him - after all those promises to Kevin, he’d texted the man who hurt him at school and nearly sold the shop just to spite Andrew. He wouldn’t follow up on it, of course not. If there was one thing he’d never do, it was going through with any kind of transaction with Riko. It was just that last night… he’d been so angry, so hurt. All because of Andrew.

Andrew…

Neil’s eyes felt hot, tears leaking from between his lashes. He rolled his face to bury them in the pillow. No one could see him but he could see himself. He could hear himself telling Andrew he was a monster. He could see the way Andrew’s eyes hardened, the squaring of his shoulders as he walked back to Matt and Dan’s.

“When you’re ready to stop running, you know where I am,” he’d said before leaving Neil in the snow. “I’ll tell Dan you had fun but were feeling ill.”

And god hadn’t those words haunted Neil home. Hadn’t they infuriated and incensed him. He was so angry, all he’d heard was the patronising assumption that Neil was the one who needed to bend. Like Neil was the one who needed to calm down and capitulate. Which, in the hoary light of day, perhaps was true. Replaying their conversation, he could admit that he’d been assuming the worst from the moment he overheard Kevin talking on the stairs. For weeks, it had felt like he was waiting for reality to strike, the other shoe to drop. Never in his life had he had nice things happen to him and stay that way - any respite was always followed by twice the pain and fear as before.

Maybe Andrew was right. Maybe he had been looking for an excuse to run. Why not when he’d grown so conditioned to the belief that anything good in his life had to end and end badly, with no chance of redemption or recovery.

He thought of the plane ticket he’d booked. He thought of the carefully wrapped box under his bed, the one he’d been planning to give to Andrew. He thought of Renee and Allison and Matt and Dan, the smiling faces he’d been surrounded by for the last few weeks. He thought of the dozen or so presents he had under his tree, the first ones he’d ever received from anyone other than Uncle Stuart. He thought of Kevin, of the patience he didn’t have and the caring that he rarely showed but which had manifested in swapped clothes, warm hugs, reassuring words, and endless bickering

If he let himself, Neil knew he was so close to having so much. He had been happy here. He had found somewhere that he could grow roots, where he had a purpose, or at least space to work out what his purpose might be.

Rolling over again, more tears leaked down his temples, prickling through his hair. Was he really going to hop on a plane and leave it all behind?

I don’t want to go, he realised. He didn’t want to leave. So why did he feel like he had no choice?

Time for a cup of tea, clear your head, came the voice that still sounded more like Kevin than anyone else Neil knew. He’d packed almost all his jumpers so he kept the duvet firmly wrapped around him as he padded into the kitchen. His feet felt like ice as he stood there, waiting for the kettle to boil, shivers travelling from his toes to his torso.

Next time someone calls you a monster… his words to Andrew made his chest constrict, his throat choke. A sob caught behind his teeth. How could he have said that? It was so far from the truth. There was nothing monstrous about Andrew.

“Fuck,” he said. “Fucking fuck.”

Even if he did take the flight, he couldn’t leave with those being the last words he ever said to Andrew.

No matter whether he’d lied or omitted the truth or pitied him enough to kiss him - Andrew didn’t deserve to have those words thrown at him, not after all the little things he’d done to show he cared, at least on some level, for Neil and his wellbeing.

The kettle began to whistle. Before he did anything, though, he needed a cup of tea and a biscuit and to stop crying. He glanced outside, took a shuddering breath in and let it out. He just needed a minute.

***

A minute really meant half an hour - it took that long for the redness of his eyes to go down and to decide on what to wear. He wasn’t entirely sure which cardigan said I’m sorry for being an asshole but he dithered long enough to develop fairly strong opinions on the topic.

The answer, of course, was none of them because they all had holes, threads, tatty elbows and badly patched hems.

Feeling desperate, he poked at the gifts under the tree, opening all the ones that seemed squishy enough to possibly be clothes. He was rewarded for the effort; Allison had sent him a rather lovely black cashmere jumper with a high neck and a dropped waist so it slipped perfectly underneath the well-fitted dungarees he received from Renee. Dan’s gift of a blue and cream scarf also added itself to Neil’s apology aesthetic as he decided it might bring out his eyes. One pair of stompy boots, a quick rummage under the bed, and his grey coat later, he set out into the bright blue morning.

Turning to lock up, however, was a mistake.

“Darling,” came a voice from his left. “Dearest, Nathaniel, alone on Christmas? How terribly sad.”

Riko stood a few feet from the door, black coat, black sweater, pressed black trousers, stupidly shiny shoes and slicked-back hair. He was as obnoxious as ever. His smile like a lion that had just caught a gazelle.

“Actually as you can see, I’m on my way out,” Neil said, finishing the lock and turning to go. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Now, now, is that any way to treat your buyer?” Riko said, holding out an arm. “I’m just following up on that little message you sent me. I wanted to lock in the deal so that we can all have a very merry day indeed.”

“I’m not selling,” said Neil. And he realised that it was true as soon as the words left his mouth. “It was a typo in my message. I’m not looking for offers. I’m keeping the shop.”

“What?” Riko’s smile had vanished. Instead, something twisted in his face, turning his fine, pointed features into something sharp and cruel. “Nathaniel, I think you may be under some stress. Perhaps you would like to take this inside.”

“No,” Neil said. “No, I’m fine. More than fine actually. I’m not selling the shop to you. Or anyone else. It’s mine. I’m keeping and Kevin and I will run it.”

“I’d like to know what changed your mind. I’ve come an awfully long way today—”

“Two blocks is not a long way and I have no idea why you bother to drive a three minute distance every time,” Neil said, glaring. “And I’m staying here. That’s all you need to know.”

He pushed by with no more preamble, shoulder jouncing off of Riko’s when the other man didn’t move out of the way. He shoved his hands into his pockets, heart jackrabbiting in his chest. He was staying. Of course, he was staying. That should have been obvious the moment he woke up crying at the thought of leaving. It wasn’t just Andrew, it was all of this that he wanted. It was all of Foxdon that felt like home.

***

His feet carried him to Münsters without any real thought. The door was locked because the store was closed for Christmas but Neil knew he could slip in through the back door with a little jimmying. He broke in without trying to ring the bell and took the stairs two at a time to the Klose apartment. He paused there, catching his breath, trying to gather whatever courage he had inside him to knock.

His hand balled into a fist. His fingers twitched against his palm.

The door opened.

Andrew stood there. Eyes wide, mouth ajar. “Oh,” he breathed. “Neil. What are you…?”

“I’m staying,” Neil blurted. “I’m staying here. In Foxdon. At the shop.”

“What?” Andrew looked bewildered.

“I’m not leaving. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for calling you a monster. I’m sorry for not listening. I was scared. I don’t know how to do this stuff and I panicked. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll cancel my flight. I’m staying.”

Words popped through Neil’s teeth, one after the other like machine-gun fire into the hedgerow. He had no idea what sentences took shape, what points he made, but he knew he was telling Andrew that he was staying. He was staying. He was staying.

As he took in Andrew’s familiar face, he saw how mussed up his blond hair was, how his eyes were just as bloodshot as Neil’s. He noted the way he was still dressed in last night’s clothes and had a cigarette and lighter already in hand.

“Andrew,” he said. “I got something for you. And I know I’ve been a prat and I know I have no right to ask you this, but I’m going to stay -” It felt like that phrase would never grow old. “And I don’t know if you’ll forgive me, but if you can, then I want you to have this.”

He handed over the gift from under his bed. Andrew took it, held it, passed Neil his smokes and carefully unpicked the paper. The moment seemed to last forever as the wrapping fell away and Andrew revealed the small box within. He popped the lid open. Inside was a key.

“It’s to our cabin,” Neil said. “I thought… I hoped… I know you usually stay out of town when  you visit Nicky but I thought… if you were visiting me then maybe…”

Andrew’s gaze silenced him. His shoulders seemed to sag in something that could have been relief or despair, Neil couldn’t tell, he was too nervous to know what was real and what was anxiety.

“You didn’t call me a monster,” Andrew said, finally, when the silence became too much.

Neil frowned. That was what he had to say? “I think… I did? Last night. I’m sorry thou—”

“Stop. You didn’t call me a monster. You said you’d try to believe it when other people said it. You told me that you don’t see me that way, despite the rumours and the books and the things I’ve told you about my past. You don’t see me like that.” Andrew inhaled, closed his eyes for a moment. For a moment, Neil wondered if he was forgiven. That maybe this meant they could work out something between them, something with no more little lies or unspoken truths. Then Andrew added, “I don’t want to visit you.”

Neil took an immediate step back. His chest began throb, his stomach doing its sickening swoop up and down from mouth to pelvis.

Andrew didn’t want this, he thought. And that was fair enough. Why would he if the shop wasn’t for sale and Neil was just going to be like everyone else putting designs on his life and—

“I want to stay too.”

Wait.

An inelegant sound came from Neil’s throat. “Huh?” 

“I don’t want to visit you. I want to be with you. I want to stay,” Andrew repeated.

Neil couldn’t compute.

“I should have told you about Bee and about the books. Kevin told me about the conversation when you found out. I didn’t tell you because I kind of liked it. The fact that you didn’t know about that part of my life like everyone else here. But I should have told you, because whatever this is—” Andrew gestured between them. “— I want it.”

“I want it too,” Neil said, his voice a little shuddery. “I want you.”

“Yes or no?” asked Andrew, stepping forward, hooking a finger below Neil’s chin. “Let’s try this for real.”

“Yes,” Neil said. “It’s always yes with you. Yes, yes, yes, yes—”

Andrew’s mouth cut him off, swallowing Neil’s yeses, his always yeses. They surged together, curved together, their kisses going from question marks to answers that neither of needed but both of them wanted.

And when Andrew dragged Neil back into the apartment, as Neil shoved him against the wall, as Andrew simply picked him up and carried him to his bed - well - the only one who was going to complain were the neighbours.

Andrew kissed down Neil’s jaw, chased the thump of his carotid and licked along his collarbone. He wrapped his hands around the dungaree suspenders and pushed them off Neil’s shoulders. He splayed a hand over Neil’s heart and pressed down, just slightly. 

“We’re staying,” he said. 

“Yes,” said Neil, placing his own palm over Andrew's with a smile. “Together.”

Chapter Text

EPILOGUE

Hogmanay. Noun.

1. The Scots word for the last day of the year and is synonymous with the celebration of the New Year (Gregorian calendar) in the Scottish manner.

2. The celebration of New Years in Scotland

***

One year later.

“Keep doing that and we’re going to be late,” said Neil, tilting his head to give Andrew better access to his throat. His arms were trapped in front of him, wrists pinned in one of Andrew’s hand whilst the other squeezed his hip. 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” came the responding murmur in his ear. Andrew’s chest was firm behind him, and it was taking all of Neil’s poor restraint not to push back into Andrew’s hips, to sink into his attention and swap the Foxes’ New Years festivities for a private party of their own. “You’ve been anxious today, let me take the edge off.”

“Andrew, you made me do my hair,” he said. “I’m wearing my new jeans.”

“And they’d look so damn good on the floor, right now,” Andrew said, nuzzling at the soft fuzz at the side of his skull where Allison had finally given him the undercut she claimed he deserved. “Just like you would look so damn good sprawled across my desk.”

Neil’s chest hitched, limbs so close to simply melting into the moment. Andrew was irresistible when he was like this - the immovable object that not even Neil, unstoppable force that he was, could overcome. Not that he really wanted to. He really had been anxious today, the prospect of hosting their first New Year’s party taking up more of his head than he realised. And Andrew’s particular brand of distraction was a well-known cure by now. As if on cue, Andrew’s free hand snaked further around his middle, playing with the waist of his jeans, fingers dancing as if he might pop the buttons, slide down the zipper. His thumbs were skimming the skin of Neil’s stomach with a knowing dip under his shirt.

“Andrew,” Neil breathed. “Andrew, we’re —”

But whatever he was going to say vanished from his head as teeth nipped at his jugular and a warm tongue sent full body shivers across his skin. Sagging into the hold around him, he arched his spine, head finding rest on a firm shoulder, ass shifting back so it rubbed just so. There was a huff of amusement against his throat. Sure fingers finally slid inside his jeans to play along his hip bones. Neil felt himself quicken, the familiar heat and curling need rising in his stomach, spreading through his chest, seeping into his bones. Andrew always did know how to play him, how to make him lose sense of time and space and reason.

“We’re going to be so late,” Neil breathed, but the words weren’t a complaint. “For our own party.”

“Yes, we are,” Andrew agreed. “I’m going to take you so hard you can’t walk without thinking of  me.”

“I don’t walk without thinking of you anyway,” Neil pointed out, legs already shaking. “Oh!”

Andrew had worked open his jeans, pushed them just low enough so he could fit his hand entirely around Neil’s cock. He gave it a tug, another, made a sound like a chuckle into Neil’s hair. “You’re so easy,” he said. “Desk, Neil. Think you can make it.”

Neil, who hadn’t realised his eyes had drifted shut, cracked them open now, looking across their cabin to where Andrew’s desk sat nestled in the window. It seemed very far away when there was a perfectly good futon behind them but then again… he remembered the way his hips hit the wood, the way Andrew bent over him, worshipped the ruts of his spine, the way he pulled one arm back to hold his hand, leaving Neil small and pinioned and feeling so impossibly safe. A moan slipped out of him as Andrew’s hand curled tight again and then let go.

“Junkie,” Andrew said, releasing him completely for a moment - just enough time to spin him, lift him.

Unprompted, Neil’s legs wrapped around his waist and Andrew carried him the ten paces to his desk. Papers scattered to the floor as Neil found himself deposited on the tabletop, post-its ruffled above their heads, lips crashed into lips as a pot of pens clattered somewhere off to the side.

“You’re going to spend all night with the memory of me inside you,” Andrew said. “Just like last year. Just last week at the like the carols. Just like I like you.”

“Hate you," Neil said, but he was pushing Andrew’s shirt open, mouth seeking the dip between his pectorals, the line of muscle above his abs. “You’re a menace.”

Andrew wasn’t having it. He always did take pride in shutting Neil up. With a thumb under Neil’s chin, he lifted his face, his kisses slow and hard and full of that deep intentionality that was so distinctly his. Neil’s hands fluttered to his side, tugging him closer, tugging him between his legs. He wanted to them to collide like stars, to consume each other, become each other.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Andrew said. “Let go, Neil. Let me take you.”

And Neil obeyed.

He let himself be pushed down against the desk, let his hips be lifted and his jeans tugged off. “God, your legs,” Andrew said, burying his face in the crease between thigh and pelvis. “Stupid perfect runners legs.” He kissed Neil’s inner thighs, nipped at the sensitive skin and dragged the rough stubble of his jaw up against his knees. He spread them wider, fingers hard against muscle as he ghosted a kiss across Neil's hip before swallowing him whole.

Neil almost bucked out of instinct but Andrew held him down, held him down and took him apart until time shuddered, slid out of focus, words becoming nothing but sounds. The only thing that made sense being Andrew’s name - and even that was lost when that warm, hot mouth slipped lower, licking inside him alongside two slick fingers. Squirming, Neil reached for anything, shoulders, hands, Andrew’s beautiful fucking hair and found the edge of the desk instead, he clamped down, whining for more. Andrew lifted away to kiss his knuckles, to kiss the hollows of his elbows, his wrists. Neil gasped.

“So responsive,” Andrew commented, voice rough and as desperate as Neil felt. “Are you ready for me?”

Incoherent as Neil was, it was effort enough to open his eyes and nod, but as he met the gold of Andrew’s attention he said, “Yes, Drew, yes.”

There was a shift as Andrew’s fingers withdrew, as he pulled Neil closer to the lip of the desk, as his hips canted forward and he took Neil in a long, steady thrust. He paused, leaning forward, tilting deeper, pressing kisses to Neil’s ruined skin and pale freckles and the blush spreading over his chest and neck. He said something like so good for me, so strong, mine but his words were quiet, possessive things that Neil let slip over his skin without chasing them. He was so full, the kind that only came from this union between them, the act they’d spent nearly a year building up to and now couldn’t get enough of - and when Andrew began to move, his world slowly became uncontainable - spiralling up and out and up and out - and away.

When it was over, when something was tugged loose and he came arching, tightening, spilling between them, when Andrew had chased him over the edge with his head pressed to Neil’s collarbone and his mouth moving over Neil’s heart - then, and only then, did Andrew fold around him, holding him in the circle of their warmth, becoming soft and gentle, soothing him back to the moment and their cabin and reality.

“I’ve got you,” he was saying. “So good, Neil, I’ve got you.”

And Neil was loose-jointed and shiver-sated beneath him, content to be held. He ran his palms over Andrew’s shoulders, tucked loose strands of blond hair beneath his ears, gave a tug to the cuff in his helix and pressed his face into the hand on his cheek.

No matter happened, good or bad, highs or lows, strengths and faults, this man was his. And imperfect as Neil was, he belonged to Andrew too.

“Feel better?” Andrew asked, pulling away only enough to meet Neil’s eyes.

Humming, Neil lifted himself to kissed Andrew’s jaw. “Much,” he said because it was the truth. “But god help me when I have to get back into those jeans.”

But when Andrew's rough laughter against his cheek felt as satisfying as the mind-blowing sex, he really couldn't complain too much. 

***

They were late for their own party, just as Neil predicted. Not terribly so but enough that Kevin had let the first few people into the store and lit the fire and opened a bottle of champagne that Neil had left in the mini-fridge behind the counter for reading events. He took one look at Neil and Andrew, their intertwined fingers and their cattish smiles and rolled his eyes.

“You’re lucky I remembered the event booze,” he said. “Go get the canapés and don’t make out on the way.”

They did, of course. Andrew couldn’t resist doing a thing once he’d been told not to so he ravaged Neil against the bannisters and left him breathless once again. They also stopped to feed King and Sir, the two cats they’d adopted from Jeremy the year before on Boxing Day. It had been Andrew’s idea - apparently, he’d been on his way out to pick them up when Neil showed up on Christmas. After their fight, he’d told Jeremy he wanted them but his intention had been to give one to Neil in a move to ask him to stay.

“I’m really glad you came looking for me,” he’d said when they stirred the morning after their reunion. “I don’t know what I would have done with two cats.”

Now the two little fluff monsters were full-grown and full of personality. Neither of them liked parties much, however, so were carefully shut into the spare bedroom where they’d be safe in the quiet and the dark. It seemed like such a long time ago that they were kittens, falling over themselves and Neil and Andrew were just teasing at their promise of a future together.

Look at us now, Neil thought, watching Andrew expertly manoeuvre a tray of champagne flutes down the stairs. Practically domestic.

They made a couple of trips to bring the food and wine and champagne down, but once there was plenty on offer to their growing number of guests, Neil coughed to gather everyone’s attention. “Shall we go through?” he said, gesturing at the new door that been put into the back.

“Yes!” Dan enthused. “Oh my god, I’m so excited.”

“I think we all are, the drama around this has been insane.” Allison took a sip of her champagne and winked at Neil. “Better be worth it, Neilio.”

“Just think about how lovely Thursdays in the summer will be,” Renee added, all sweet smile and mischief. She was definitely the one who kept bringing wine to the book group and making sure each of them was thoroughly sozzled on a semi-regular basis.

Neil grinned. It had been Andrew’s idea - all the good ones were - and as he led the Foxes through to the new reading garden at the back of the shop, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of happiness.

What had historically been a bit of a collapsing and rotten storeroom had been knocked away, revealing a large space that Andrew said would be perfect as a garden space - somewhere for summer book readings and opening up a new nook for readers who wanted somewhere quiet to sit with their coffees or latest purchase. 

For tonight, however, it was their garden - with a white canopy overhead to protect them from the snow and a million sparkling lights turning the space into a fairy palace. Gas heaters lit up the corners, keeping it cosy. And Neil felt a rush of pride looking at the fresh green grass, the beautiful trees, the raised flowerbeds with their carefully crafted benches.

Collective ‘ohs’ rolled around the group as one by one they stepped out onto the stone path that wound between the grass. Andrew slid his hand around his waist and pulled him close, resting his chin on Neil’s shoulder. They spent a good five minutes discussing the design, the intentions, the flowers that would grow. Each Fox had something to say, a curio to enthuse about. Neil accepted the compliments and praise, passing it all onto Andrew who passed it right back.

“Time for some music, I think,” Seth said. “Enough sappy shit, let’s celebrate!”

And celebrate they did. More guests arrived, including Nicky and Erik, who had just closed Münster’s for the evening, and Aaron and Katelyn, who’d finally both managed to take New Years off together from the hospital. Aaron still wasn’t entirely sure about Neil, but Andrew didn’t much care and so nor did Neil. They all had edges, if it took time for them to learn how to live alongside each other, well, Andrew was worth the effort.

Drinks were had. Dances were done. Seth raised a toast, which meant that Matt decided to raise one as well. Not to be outdone, Allison had started to say something but Renee had whispered something into her ear and instead the two of them had disappeared inside for a good few minutes that Neil could only make assumptions about.

At one point, Neil tried to suggest a ceilidh, which Andrew vetoed before the night could descend into chaos. At five to midnight, they poured champagne and when the count down began, Andrew found Neil in the crowd. As the clock struck, they shared the softest of kisses. The one that said always yes with you, and they clinked their glasses and smiled.

Above them, fireworks went off and they all shuffled into the very corner of the garden to stare into the sky and watch the colours burst and shimmer overhead.

Neil, however, wasn’t watching the light show. He was watching his friends as their faces lit up in blue then green, red, yellow, and orange. They were a funny group, a motley and unlikely crew. They had routines and traditions and histories full of hurt and comfort. They had welcomed him, ushered him in from the cold and made him warm. He couldn’t help but smile.

A year ago he was only just beginning to believe that he could have a life and a home and something like a family. He’d been so scared of the idea of a future. Terrified of what it meant to put down roots and stay still. Tonight he was a Fox, part of a community, watched out for and loved. He looked at Andrew, found that he was already being watched by gold eyes that reflected every burst and shatter in the sky.

Andrew took his hand, lifted it to his mouth and kissed his palm.

“To staying,” Andrew said.

Neil pulled on Andrew’s hand, leant in so he could finish the sentence against Andrew’s mouth. “Together.”

It was a promise. It was forever.