Archive of Our Own ^beta

He was covered in bandages, sitting in the corner of the narrow bed across from Andrew’s - his knees pressed to his chin, his back against the painted cinder block wall. When Andrew walked in the kid was rocking a bit and singing quietly… ‘Michelle, ma belle, sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble... tres bien ensemble.’ They’d finally gotten desperate enough to give Andrew a roommate, and he was singing Beatles songs. Fucking great.

"Andrew, he’s so fast though - he’s faster than Renee. I think he could score on you.” Kevin was leaning forward in his seat, his long fingers wrapped around his club soda, extolling all the virtues of the newest player he’d coerced into their weekly soccer game. 

Andrew raised an eyebrow. Kevin was basically gushing, and Andrew highly doubted that Palmetto State’s new British literature professor was faster than Renee. Even though Renee hadn’t really been a soccer player, she had played lacrosse at Bryn Mawr and she was the fastest midfielder in their Sunday morning scrimmages. 

“Sounds like you have a crush,” he teased, taking a sip of his scotch, “does Thea need to be worried?” 

Kevin blushed and then scoffed, “Shut up - no, I’m just saying. I can’t wait until you play him on Sunday.”

Shaking her head at Kevin, Renee added her own two cents. “Actually he is pretty great Andrew - not just at soccer. He’s fallen in with our group. I think you’ll like him - he’ll be at Wymack’s tomorrow, of course.”

“I don’t like anyone,” Andrew snorted - an old habit.  

Renee just smiled back serenely - an old habit.  

Andrew swirled the liquid in his glass. 

It was good to be home. 

It didn’t take long for him to crawl out of his shell, and underneath all those bandages he was a mouthy fucker, starting fights with the other kids that Andrew had to finish. He also sang when he wasn’t paying attention. All Beatles songs, all the time, he knew every one. What the fuck. But that voice. It was a voice like molten honey, it was distracting… and so were those piercing blue eyes.

Andrew had been gone from Palmetto State for almost a year, on a writing sabbatical to finish his research on the evolution of dystopian YA literature - which, thank fuck, was getting published this year - which also meant he would likely be up for tenure come Spring. 

He’d spent four months in Berlin with Nicky and Erik, and then four months in New York with Aaron and Katelyn. He’d finished his research while still in Berlin, and before he’d jumped into turning all that work into something readable, he’d gotten a legitimate chance to spend time with a happy, mellowed out version of his cousin. 

Nicky had only badgered him once about his dating life. “I just want you to be happy, I don’t want you to be alone, ya know? Don’t you want what I have with Erik, or what Aaron has with Katelyn?” 

“No, I’m not particularly interested in Erik or Katelyn,” Andrew had deadpanned, which had caused Erik to chuckle and pull Nicky close, chiding him to let Andrew be, and that had been the end of it.

New York had been surprising as well, his twin amenable to give him the space to write when he needed it, but offering up a comfortable camaraderie when he wanted a break from his work. Not to mention that Aaron and Katelyn’s five year old son Matthew was hilarious now - much more entertaining than the last time Andrew had spent any significant time with his little nephew. And he and Aaron… well, they had sorted their shit out a long time ago; as much as they ever would. 

So it had been a good year. But when Kevin picked Andrew up from the airport just before the beginning of the semester, Andrew was shocked to realize that he had actually missed the bastard. 

When they hit up their local bar to meet Renee for a welcome back drink, he completely forgot himself and hugged her. Renee had smiled and hugged him back carefully. Somewhere behind him Kevin had started laughing, and Andrew had ignored him. 

This was the life he had built for himself, one that a scared, angry kid in foster care never thought he could have. He had ended up at Palmetto on a soccer scholarship - which he hadn’t really cared about, it had just been a means to an end to get himself through college.  When coach Rhemann had recruited Nicky and Aaron too, it had become an offer they couldn’t refuse. So Andrew had played, defending the goal as the shortest goalie in the history of the NCAA, and he had been good - better than good - but what he had really cared about were his books and his classes. 

He’d met Kevin on the team and - truth be told - it was the striker’s good looks that had initially captured Andrew’s attention. That flirtation had petered out once Andrew realized Kevin wasn’t into sex - and sex was pretty much all Andrew was able to give, then. But Kevin did have something of interest to Andrew: a dream, and a plan for his life. A dream he was willing to share with Andrew. That shared dream turned into a friendship better than any hookup could have been. 

So, after graduation Andrew had stayed on at Palmetto State in the PhD program - and so had Kevin. They defended their dissertations the same year, and were hired on - Andrew to the tiny English department headed up by Dr. David Wymack, and Kevin to the History department. It wasn’t until that year that Andrew found out that Wymack was Kevin’s father. 

Renee had come along later, recruited in Andrew’s second year as an associate professor of Creative Writing. She wrote wildly successful novels that garnered the attention of Oprah’s endorsement and Reese Witherspoon’s book club, and now she taught eager undergraduates and insufferable MFA grad students how to turn their prose into something readable. It was common knowledge that she never would have joined their podunk department if her wife, Dr. Allison “Ally” Reynolds, hadn’t already been tenured there. Renee had been a hiring coup, and nothing could wipe Wymack’s grin off his face for her entire first year with them. 

For Andrew, Renee had been the other piece he didn’t know he was looking for. Her depths of darkness mirrored his own, and she really saw him - understood him - in a way Kevin would never be able to. As much as Andrew cared for Kevin, was committed to protecting him, Renee was the one who started to soften his edges. 

The bandages were off, which Andrew figured meant his roommate could finally use his hands for something useful. Watching Andrew work his way through novel after novel, he’d confessed that he had never read a book - ever. When he came back from the infirmary with the bandages gone and his scars on display, Andrew threw his copy of The Giver at him; told him if he bent the pages he’d kill him in his sleep.

Andrew parked his Ducati Monster 696 outside of Wymack’s house and pulled his helmet off, giving his hair a shake. He’d missed his motorcycle - he’d been stuck using public transport both in Berlin and New York when he preferred to be the one in control, to be closer to the road, to go fast. 

Tucking his helmet under his arm, he looked up at the craftsman bungalow in front of him, warm light spilling out of all the windows. Wymack started every semester off with a faculty dinner the night before classes began. It was annoying, it was mandatory, and Andrew wouldn’t admit it out loud - but he was looking forward to it. 

Wymack opened the door to Andrew’s knock, clapping him on the shoulder and welcoming him back heartily before motioning him into the house. Everyone was gathered in the cozy, open floorplan of a living room. Wymack’s wife Abby was leaning in the wide doorway that led into the kitchen, her fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass, a smile lighting up her face when she saw Andrew. He inclined his head at her with his own small smile and then turned to take in the room.   

Ally was laying on the floor with her feet propped up on a chair, waving a small tumbler of some amber colored liquid in the air and holding court over the department’s two current PhD students, Laila and Alvarez. Andrew was pretty sure he wanted a glass of whatever Ally had gotten her hands on - whatever he might think about Renee’s over-the-top wife, she had good taste in whiskey. 

Kevin’s partner Thea - also a history professor - was across the room, chatting with Robin Cross, the queer studies professor who had a double appointment in the English and Sociology departments. Robin’s husband Jeremy stood next to his partner, nodding along, his arm wrapped around the back of Robin’s waist. The two had been married right before Andrew left for Berlin and they looked happy, and it satisfied something in Andrew to see it. Robin had come to Palmetto three years ago, and Andrew had seen a little too much of himself in their face. Robin looked happier now than he’d seen them, a contented smile on their face as they leaned into their husband. Good.

He recognized Kevin and Renee by the backs of their heads - they sat on either end of the couch, and between them sat someone he didn’t recognize - a neatly trimmed asymmetrical flip of auburn curls and Andrew could see tattoos on the man’s arms where they were propped up against the back of the couch. This must be the famous “faster than Renee” British lit professor then. 

Wymack cleared his throat loudly, and everyone turned towards Andrew. The three on the couch stood up, Renee was smiling as she reached a hand out to the shoulder of the man now standing next to her, and Andrew finally got a good look at his face and -

Suddenly Andrew’s world stopped spinning on its axis and vaguely, dimly, he was aware of Renee talking to him, and it was through a fog in his brain and a ringing in his ears that he realized that she was saying something to him. “Oh Andrew, finally, I’m so excited to introduce you to-”

“Neil,” Andrew said. It fell out of his mouth, unbidden. And with that one word, Andrew’s vision cleared and his hearing sharpened, and Neil - Neil fucking Josten - stood in front of him.

Jesus fuck it was him. He was older - if Andrew was 30, then Neil would be 29 - but good god all age did was make him sexier. Andrew had dreams about those arctic blue eyes, but those dreams paled in comparison to seeing them in person again. The hair was new - well, mostly. The last time Andrew had seen Neil his bad dye job had grown out enough to expose a couple inches of deep auburn roots. Now his curls glowed like burnished copper, tumbling over half of his forehead, but neatly trimmed around the sides. The floral tattoos creeping out from beneath Neil’s rolled shirt sleeves though, those were definitely new. Dark skinny jeans hugged his defined thighs and calves above brown leather lace up boots, and his soft lavender oxford shirt was open at the neck. He looked really really good. 

Andrew was staring. Neil was staring back. Kevin looked back and forth between them, and Renee had taken a tentative step towards Andrew, concern written all over her face. No one had said anything at all since Andrew had said Neil’s name, and suddenly Neil turned and walked swiftly past Abby and out the back door. 

Neil’s departure broke the dam of silence and it felt like everyone was shouting at Andrew all at once, a disjointed cacophony and all his head could make sense of was Neil, Neil, Neil is here.

Andrew ignored his colleagues, his friends, pushing past Kevin to follow Neil, to find him standing in the middle of the back deck. 

Andrew came to a halt a few feet away from him, still staring stupidly. Neil was staring right back at him, and his face was an emotional disaster. Andrew was a little concerned about what his own face might look like. 

God, he needed a minute. Methodically, carefully, precisely, Andrew pulled out a cigarette, lit it, breathed the smoke in and then out slowly. It grounded him, a little. 

“Dr. Hatford,” Andrew said, calmly. He was impressed with himself - he didn’t feel calm. He also didn’t miss the irony that his friends had been talking to him about Dr. Neil Hatford for the past year and he hadn’t realized - hadn’t known - because of a stupid last name

Neil scrubbed his hands across his eyes and when he looked up at Andrew again his striking face had organized itself, and he managed a small smile and a nod in Andrew’s direction. “Yeah, it’s Hatford now - I took the family name from mom’s side after… well, after.”

Andrew pulled a second cigarette out of the pack, lit it and handed it to Neil. Taking another deep drag on his own, Andrew pointed at Neil accusingly. “You got taller.”

Neil laughed quietly. “Not by much.” He took a drag on the cigarette and held it out in front of him. “Fuck, I’ve missed that smell,” he muttered.

“Why are you here?” 

“Is it bad that I am?” Neil asked, gazing at him intently.

“That’s not an answer.”

Neil regarded him for a moment longer. “What do you want my answer to be?”

“The truth.”

Neil huffed a laugh again. “You haven’t changed.”

“But you have,” Andrew bit out, without hesitation. The Neil in his head was fifteen years old, crawling his way out of trauma yes, but still flighty, a fight to pick with everyone - everyone except Andrew. This Neil was not those things. This Neil stood relaxed, self-possessed, comfortable in his own skin. Fifteen year old Neil had been attractive. The man in front of Andrew was fucking gorgeous. 

“Have I?” Neil asked, and Andrew heard the bitterness in his voice. Andrew wondered at that bitterness. 

“Why are you here?” Andrew asked again. ”Did you know I was here?”

“Drew…” Neil whispered, taking a step closer to him. 

Andrew jerked away. “Don’t. You do not know me anymore. Do not presume that you do.” Andrew was reeling and he couldn’t tell up from down - he hated surprises and he didn’t know what to make of this one. He hadn’t seen Neil since he was sixteen years old, and not a day had passed since then that he didn’t think about him. About Neil. Who was currently standing in front of him like a specter. Like a goddamned gorgeous pipe dream.

Neil was regarding him, steady. Waiting. Fuck.

“I don’t trust it,” Andrew finally forced himself to say, because he wasn’t fucking sixteen anymore, because he could communicate, because this was Neil. What he couldn’t say was that it wasn’t Neil himself that he didn’t trust. That Neil being here was impossible. That seeing him again was terrifying. 

“Ah. So we’re going to do that again,” Neil sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, and something tightened around his mouth that Andrew couldn’t quite place. “I did look for you, though. After… well, after everything. But I didn’t have much to go on, and I was in England by then. My uncle has resources, but not so many connections here in the States. And there’s a surprising number of ‘Andrew Does’ out there.”

“It’s Minyard now,” Andrew supplied helpfully.

“So I’ve gathered,” he said dryly. Neil stepped a bit more into the light and took a small drag on his cigarette to keep it from going out. He hesitated, then asked, “Did you look for me?”

Andrew shrugged. He hadn’t had to look for Neil - Neil’s face had been all over the news - well, Nathaniel Wesninski’s had - the trial in the wake of his father’s death had brought the biggest crime syndicate on the east coast to its knees, and Neil had been in the middle of it all. Andrew had devoured every piece of information he could get, every picture of Neil - no, Nathaniel’s - face he could find. Suddenly, as was often the case with the fickle media, that face had disappeared. From one day to the next the news had moved on and there had been no more Nathaniel, no more Neil. 

And then Aaron… and Tilda… and well, then there had been other things to deal with and new promises to keep.

“Maybe,” he admitted. 

Neil did smile then, a real smile, and it lit up his face and did very interesting things to his cheekbones. He took another step closer, and Andrew was not amused to see that he hadn’t grown out of those damned freckles. 

“Andrew, it’s really good to see you. I-” 

Neil stopped, distracted by something over Andrew’s shoulder, and Andrew turned to find the entire faculty of Palmetto State’s tiny English department along with two stray history professors and a handful of their spouses gawking at them from the other side of the sliding glass door. To Renee’s credit at least she was clearly trying to drag Allison and Kevin away. Wymack looked confused, and Abby darted her gaze away as she sipped her wine. 

God they were annoying. Andrew sighed. “They are just going to keep staring until we go back in there.” He tossed the end of his cigarette over the railing and started to turn, but Neil stepped in front of him, putting his hand up, careful not to touch him. Careful not to touch him. Still. After all this time. Andrew thought his heart might stop. 

“Wait. What do we tell them about...?” Neil pointed between the two of them quickly.

Andrew looked up again and caught Renee’s eye; she nodded and Andrew saw her start to address the group. Turning back to Neil he said, “Nothing. They won’t ask - for now.”

Neil nodded. “Okay, but Andrew, I’m-” he huffed, then, “this is a lot.”

“Is it?” Andrew asked, frustrated at his own words, but he couldn’t manage anything else.

“You know that it is,” Neil said quietly. He reached out slowly, his hand hidden from view by his own body. He hesitated. “Yes or no?” he whispered. 

Andrew’s gaze flickered down to Neil’s hand, hovering between them. “Yes,” he said, not knowing he was going to until he said it. 

Neil’s hand landed carefully on Andrew’s chest, and Andrew’s heart fluttered like some long dead thing trying to come back to life. He wrapped his fingers carefully around Neil’s wrist. They stood there for one moment. Two moments. And then Andrew pulled Neil’s hand away, still holding his wrist for one breath. Two breaths. Then he let go, and went back inside. 

The whimper woke Andrew just in time for him to watch Neil sit bolt upright in the dark, gasping for breath. Andrew crawled out of his own bed and clamped his hand on the back of Neil’s neck. “Stop it,” Andrew whispered. “You are safe.” Eventually Neil’s breath evened out, he laid back down. “Stay?” Neil asked him. “Just for a few minutes?” Andrew nodded and lay down next to him - close on the narrow bed, but not touching. Quietly, so quietly, Neil started to sing, “Hey Jude. Don’t make it bad. Take a sad song, and make it better…”

The first day of the semester was always a bit hectic - new students, new room assignments. At this point Andrew had his syllabus locked down for most of the courses he taught, but he was doing a special topics seminar on dystopian literature in American society for the first time - and while the topic was his specialty, he hadn’t specifically taught a course on it before. At least it was a senior honors class and capped at twelve students, so he’d only have to deal with a limited amount of stupidity. Hopefully. 

Andrew had planned to get to campus early so he could review the new syllabus one more time before he printed it out. He may have also planned to corner Neil and continue their conversation from last night. But when he arrived on the third floor of Thompkins - the small building that housed most of the humanities offices and classrooms - he found he wasn’t the only one who’d thought an early start to the day was a good idea.

If Andrew had really thought about it, he would have realized that Neil’s office had to be right next to his. When Seth Gordon - their last British lit professor - had taken a tenure track position at Vanderbilt, he had vacated that office, so of course that’s where Neil had ended up. Right next to Andrew.

“Professor Hatford?” Some slightly disheveled, fresh-faced undergrad was pushing at Neil’s office door. Andrew heard something muffled from inside and then the kid pushed all the way into Neil’s office and closed the door behind him. 

Andrew stared after him for a minute before unlocking his own office. He’d dropped his armful of books and papers on the desk and had just opened the blinds when Robin walked in, an overgrown pothos plant in hand. 

“Hey,” they said, setting the heavy pot on his desk. “I’ve brought back your girl. She got fat. And she missed you.”

“It’s a plant Robin.”

“Yeah, but like, the internet said plants like it when you talk to them. So I did. Gave her a name too,” they smirked.

“You did not.”

“Did! You can call her Medusa from here on out. She likes it.”

“For fucks sake.”

“Shut up, you know you missed me. And Medusa.”

Andrew grunted and Robin’s smile grew when he didn’t disagree. “It’s good to have you back Andrew,” they tossed over their shoulder as they waltzed back out of his office. 

Andrew huffed quietly to himself, getting up to put - Medusa apparently - on her shelf by the window before settling down and opening up his laptop to eyeball that syllabus one more time. He had just finished a couple of tweaks, deciding to change the final project parameters, when he heard Neil’s office door open again. 

Andrew stood up quickly, telling himself he was going to grab a coffee, and stepped into the hallway just in time to see another student knock on the doorframe, call out, “Dr. Hatford, you got a minute?” then disappear into Neil’s office.  What. The. Fuck. 

Andrew whipped around when he heard a stifled laugh behind him and found Ally standing there, propped up against the doorframe of her own office with two coffee mugs in hand. Ally was already tall, and her ever-present heels pushed her to at least six feet. She had been the Women’s Lit professor since Andrew’s undergraduate days, and her snarky wit had garnered a touch of Andrew’s respect even then - that and he found her impeccable image and sexy wardrobe a hilarious fuck you to her chosen field of study. She held one of the coffee mugs out to him. Andrew scowled at her, but took it; Ally stashed the good creamer in her office and he wasn’t about to turn that down.

“Welcome back monster,” she grinned at him affectionately. Andrew flipped her off as he took a sip of the coffee - ah, surgery, creamy, french vanilla goodness. Ally inclined her head at Neil’s closed door after taking her own sip of coffee. “It was like this all last year too, that kid gets more play during office hours than all the rest of us combined.” 

Andrew didn’t respond to that and he could feel her eyes on him, considering. “So you two caused a bit of a stir last night,” she said. Andrew just sipped the coffee, ignoring her. “Renee made me promise not to ask but, you know, if you wanted to just tell me, I’ll split my winnings with you.” Ally winked at him, and he tried not to choke.

Gathering his dignity Andrew raised an eyebrow at her. Of course his damn friends were betting on him. Fucking great. He raised his coffee mug in a salute. “Fuck off,” he said cheerfully. Ally did laugh then, and Andrew turned away to go back and hide in his office, trying to remember why he’d come back from his sabbatical in the first place. 

Andrew found excuses to pop out of his office two more times, but Neil’s door was always closed, and then it had been time to power through his Monday classes - idiots, all of them, but the senior seminar class had promise, if he was honest. 

The last student had just skittered out and Andrew was packing up his laptop and notes when Kevin tapped on the door frame of the small classroom. “Hey, we’re heading out for happy hour, you coming?” Kevin asked. Andrew looked up and caught Kevin’s curious gaze, tensed for the questions he’d been expecting from him since Wymack’s party last night, but he relaxed minutely when he saw Thea hovering behind Kevin. His best friend wouldn’t corner him when his partner was there, and for once Andrew was grateful for Thea’s presence. 

Before he could respond, Neil appeared beside Kevin and grinned at him. “We’re all going, come on Andrew,” Neil said with a bit too much cheer. 

“Yeah,” Kevin echoed, side-eying Neil, and then giving Andrew the same look. “Come on Andrew,” he parroted.  

Yeah, yeah…of course he was coming. Fuck.

‘...and when I awoke I was alone, this bird had flown-’ “Why the fucking Beatles?” Andrew interrupted him. Neil was perched on the end of Andrew’s bed, he looked up and grinned, and then finished the verse: ‘so, I lit a fire, isn’t it good, Norwegian Wood.’ Neil shrugged. “My mom,” he said, “she had a thing for the Beatles, sang their songs all the time.” Andrew nodded. He had opinions about Neil’s mom, but Neil didn’t like those opinions. “Does it annoy you?” Neil asked. “Everything you do annoys me,” Andrew said. Neil’s grin got bigger. “Noted,” he said. Andrew glared at him, but didn’t complain when Neil inched his feet over towards Andrew slowly, tucking them up under his thigh. Andrew stared at him for a moment, for two. Neil blushed but didn’t drop his gaze.

Mitch’s Tavern was their go-to watering hole. It was usually jammed with professors and grad students until seven or eight, and then the crowd slowly turned over to the undergrads and a few horny grad students as the sun went down. It had been an institution nestled in Palmetto State’s tiny strip of head shops, coffee shops, and bars since the 1960s. Andrew wasn’t a fan of the nostalgia or the uncomfortable chairs, but the bar did have three decent bottles of scotch on their top shelf  - even if one of them was a blend - and the price for a double shot was more than amenable. 

Somehow Andrew ended up tucked into a corner of the large table with Neil at his side, and that somehow had probably been orchestrated by one Renee Walker. Andrew glowered at the back of her rainbow-dipped dreadlocks, but her head was turned away and she conveniently ignored him, plastered up against the side of her wife, ostensibly engaged in some conversation about the historical context of the women’s suffrage movement with Kevin and Thea. Robin and Jeremy had joined them too, taking the seats next to Neil, Jeremy fresh from the office but with his tie loosened and his jacket draped over the back of his chair. 

Matt and Dan showed up just as the bartender was dropping off the first round of drinks. Kevin had adopted the earnest and hardworking soccer coaches a few years back by inviting them to join their Sunday morning games - Andrew had initially been annoyed with Matt’s buoyant personality and Dan’s misguided ferocity, but the couple had grown on him. Matt had taken over for Rhemann, who had retired the year Kevin and Andrew graduated undergrad, and Dan had taken over the women’s soccer team the next year. Their romance had been inevitable, if a bit obvious. Mostly they were tolerable when they weren’t talking about soccer. Unfortunately for Andrew, they were usually talking about soccer. 

“Andrew!” Matt called from down the table as he settled into a chair next to Robin. “Glad to have you back man, the goal has been sad without you - particularly now that Jean is in Marseille this year. We would have had to find another goalie if you hadn’t come back!” Andrew inclined his head, not sure what he was supposed to say to that, and thankfully Matt didn’t appear to require an answer as he turned to Robin and started extolling the virtue of his freshmen recruits while Dan jumped into the middle of Renee and Ally’s argument with Kevin. 

With everyone’s attention turned away from them, Andrew was suddenly hyper aware of Neil sitting quietly at his side, and he let his focus hone in on the barest touch of Neil’s knee next to his, to Neil raising his hot tea to his lips, to Neil sliding his gaze over to Andrew. Neil smiled tentatively and said, “So I’ve been hearing for a year about how you have a knack for shutting down the goal. It’s all Kevin can talk about.” 

Andrew nodded, re-aligning his brain. He didn’t want to talk about soccer, but, okay, fine. “Yes. It’s just a thing. I’ve been hearing about how fast you are,” Andrew said, wincing at his own awkward words. Neil chuckled softly next to him, and Andrew turned a bit more towards him, his knee pressing firmly against Neil’s. 

Neil’s left hand was resting in his lap. Andrew glanced up briefly to see that the conversation still had the rest of the table engaged before he captured Neil’s eyes, flicking a look down. Andrew hesitated, but then quietly asked Neil, “Yes or no?” 

“Yes,” Neil barely whispered, no hesitation. There was that.  

Andrew reached out two fingers under the table, resting them against the inside of Neil’s wrist. He heard Neil’s breath catch. They were both quiet when Andrew knew there were so many words to be said, but all he could think was that he wanted to trace this ink, that he remembered the scars lining Neil’s body and now they were hidden beneath peonies and roses and irises and he wanted to map him out all over again, find the place where this garden of ink stopped. 

Andrew dragged his fingers gently across Neil’s skin, edging up against his rolled sleeve. Neil watched him intently. “When did you get these?” Andrew asked. He wanted to ask why, but he thought maybe he knew. He remembered the raw, circular burns lining Neil’s arms, the cross hatched lines carved into him with a knife. Those scars ran down his hands, past the lines of the tattoos, but with the riot and swirls of color in the flowers, a casual glance could be distracted, invasive questions deflected. 

“My first year at uni,” Neil said quietly, a new hint of British accent seeping into his voice - new to Andrew at least. He raised his eyes to Neil’s blue gaze, listening. “I got tired of the looks. I don’t know, I was young - it seemed like a good idea at the time. I went from no tattoos to full sleeves on both arms.” Neil shrugged and Andrew felt him flex a little under his fingertips, turning his forearm a bit before settling again. “I don’t hate them,” he said casually. 

“I don’t either,” Andrew said, trailing his fingers up a bit further along the lines of a dusty pink chrysanthemum. 

Neil reached over, pausing to give Andrew a minute to say no, to pull away, before fingering the edge of his armbands. “These are new too,” he said softly, not pushing, but just drifting the edge of his fingers over the fabric. 

“Same idea, different medium,” Andrew said quietly. Neil was quiet too, tips of his fingers tucked under Andrew’s armbands, Andrew’s fingers now resting on Neil’s wrist.

“Oh, Andrew,” Robin said, startling him. For a moment Andrew had almost forgotten that he was surrounded by his nosy, meddlesome friends. Neil and Andrew pulled their respective hands back as if burned, Andrew’s gaze snapping up to Robin’s as Neil reached for his tea and Andrew noticed a bit of a blush creeping up his neck.

Andrew grabbed his own glass, taking a sip as he looked back at Robin where they were snuggled into Jeremy’s side. Andrew had a sudden flash of realization that every single one of his friends were coupled up and married except for him. “I meant to tell you,” they said, “I got my hands on an OG Super Nintendo while you were gone. We’ve been waging epic battles - Mario Kart of course. You in for Sunday? I’m bringing it over to Renee and Allison’s after the game.” 

“Yeah, hmmm,” Andrew hedged. “Not sure anything can tempt me away from my Game Cube, but we’ll see.” The table exploded in arguments over the best vintage version of the Nintendo system, resulting in Kevin being pelted in french fries for his insistence on Nintendo 64 as the ultimate Mario Kart platform. 

Andrew’s leg was still pressed up against Neil’s, but it was clear their stolen moment was gone as he and Neil got pulled into the various conversations around the table, and he resigned himself to sipping his drink and dodging projectile food until he could come up with a semi-reasonable excuse to go home. 

In the steam of the shower room, their clothes clinging to them in the damp, Neil only in his sweatpants, Andrew traced his fingers along the imprint of an iron, the line of a knife, the rough swath from an angry road. Andrew looked up to find Neil watching him intently, eyes clear, deep pools of crystal blue. “I want to kiss you,” Andrew whispered. “Yes or no?” Neil nodded, “Yes,” he breathed. Andrew kissed him, and warmth exploded in his heart.

Andrew’s head snapped sideways painfully as Renee’s fist slammed into his jaw. He staggered a step back and groaned a bit as he rolled his neck. Renee paused, balanced on the balls of her feet, a shocked look on her face and her fists slowly sinking to her side. 

“Really Andrew? If I’d known you weren’t going to bother to block me I wouldn’t have hit you so hard.”

Andrew cocked an eyebrow at her as he rubbed his jaw. “Yes you would have.”

“Yes I would have,” Renee laughed, reaching over to grab their water bottles and plopping down on the gym floor. “That’s it for today though, you are way too distracted.”

Andrew grunted and sat down next to her, flopping back dramatically. “I am not distracted. I just have things on my mind.”

“Oh sure,” Renee looked down at him serenely. “Things like blue eyes and auburn hair and a sassy mouth?”

Andrew glared at her. “Shut up,” he growled. 

Renee smiled into her water bottle, taking a few sips before laying back on the mat next to him. They stared up at the ceiling for a while, catching their breath. Renee eventually broke the silence with a little hum, and then turned her head towards Andrew. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Andrew heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. Renee knew almost everything about him at this point, but she didn’t know this. This he had kept for himself, wrapped up and hidden away because it was never going to be a this. 

Andrew twirled his hand in the air for a minute, arranging his words. “In juvie,” he finally decided. “We met in juvenile detention. Fifteen years ago, give or take.”

Andrew opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling again. He knew that Renee knew how hard it was for him to make his own words carry meaning - which was ironic considering his profession. But Renee was the creative writer - Andrew just tore apart the writings of others. When it wasn’t personal his words could flow. When it was about him, well. This is what happened.

Andrew also knew without looking at Renee what look was on her face - composed, calm, patient. Andrew rolled his head towards her anyway, and saw he was right.

She wouldn’t push him, but Andrew could push himself, and he did. “I would go back for him,” he said, willing her to understand.

Renee’s eyes narrowed briefly and then comprehension lit them up and she smiled a little. “In the zombie apocalypse,” she said.

“In the zombie apocalypse,” Andrew agreed. 

“Have you told him that?” 

“I told him that fifteen years ago.”

Renee cocked her head, considering. “Has that changed?”

Andrew considered his answer. 

“No,” he said. But I don’t know what that means, he didn’t say.

“You know they are betting on you two already,” Renee told him. 

“Mmmm,” Andrew murmured. 

Renee nodded, reading him and changing the subject. 

“So, are you headed to Kevin and Thea’s tonight?”

“Some of us have work to do.”

“Okay sure, but we’ll see you at the soccer game tomorrow?”

“Yes. Apparently I have to defend my reputation.”

Renee smirked. “Apparently.”

“I’d help you kill him, I know how to get rid of bodies,” Neil whispered fiercely, placing his hand on Andrew’s chest, feeling for his heartbeat. Andrew had told him about Drake - a truth for a truth. “I don’t need you to protect me,” Andrew bit out. “No, but you have me anyway, Drew.” Andrew pushed Neil’s head back down onto his shoulder. “Shut up or I won’t read to you anymore.” Neil shut up, and Andrew picked up Catch 22 and started reading again, Neil tucked up against his side.

Andrew hitched his knee up to tighten the laces on his cleats. They were old - still the last pair he’d had from his undergrad days, but it’s not like his feet had changed size and for their once a week Sunday morning game he didn’t need top shelf gear. Besides, he was a goalie - and most of these geezers didn’t get close enough to his goal for him to have to move around all that much. 

Kevin had started these games their first year in grad school, but it had taken almost a semester to convince Andrew to play with him. That had been seven years ago, and now it was just another part of Andrew’s life - on Sundays he played soccer and his reward was Renee’s cooking followed by copious amounts of alcohol. He didn’t hate it. Objectively though, this was one weird little insular life they had created. 

Andrew looked over at Kevin, his long legs crossed and his torso folded over them as he stretched out. “You know, this is not normal academic life,” Andrew told him blandly.

Kevin scoffed, “Is there such a thing?” He winked - did he just fucking wink? - and then ran off in his bright orange shin guards to warm up with Matt. 

The usual players were all there - not much had changed except Neil had taken Seth’s place, and Jean was on sabbatical in France for the year. Renee, Robin, Ally, Laila, and Matt made up the rest of Andrew’s team; Kevin, Thea, Dan, Alvarez, and Neil on the other with Jeremy in goal.

It started out friendly, but got competitive quickly - as it always did; there was no casual play with Kevin on the field. Andrew felt good being back in the goal, his space to protect, his people laid out in front of him, the rules and parameters clear and not complicated - and a chance to see Neil in those stupid little shorts, his thighs on full display as he sped across the field. So far he’d had a couple of close calls, some shots on goal as Neil flung himself past Andrew’s defensive players, but he’d yet to score and the game was already more than half over - the alarm Kevin always set on his phone alerting them that they were in the last fifteen minutes of the game. 

That alarm set fire to the two teams, as if there was something to prove in this first game back. And yeah, Kevin hadn’t lied: Neil was fast - Jesus he was fast. He was currently flying down the field towards Andrew and he was a tiny, intense freight train gathering speed. He was fast - but so was Renee, winging after him from the left on a collision course. 

Andrew stepped towards them, coiled and crouched and ready to spring, not watching the ball - watching Neil’s body, watching as Neil darted a glance to the top right corner of his goal. Andrew smiled the tiniest of smiles and got ready to launch, and he would have - except in a split second it all went to shit. 

Renee bodychecked Neil, aiming to steal the ball, but Neil anticipated it and somehow managed a step-over, neatly popping the ball around Renee and spinning behind her - all of which would have been fine, except the move put Renee off balance and she went down - right under Neil’s feet. Neil leapt, clearly trying not to step on her with his cleats, but he tripped on the ball - which went wonky - and suddenly he was flying through the air straight at Andrew. 

Neil’s body slammed chest-first into Andrew, and they fell backwards, Andrew flat on his back in the goal with a whole lot of Dr. Neil Hatford draped over him, heaving for breath. 

Andrew froze for a second, for two, his brain working overtime cataloguing the freckles on Neil’s nose, the beads of sweat on his forehead and then his whole body revolted against being pinned down and he acted instinctively - grabbed Neil’s wrists and flipped him over onto his back, Andrew’s knees splayed on either side of Neil’s thighs, his face hovering inches above Neil’s. 

“Ow,” Neil groaned when his head hit the ground, his brow furrowed as he looked up at Andrew. 

“You ran into me,” Andrew said, rather stupidly. 

“Brilliant observation,” Neil laughed. Andrew’s eyes drifted down to Neil’s mouth and his body took over from his brain, short circuiting with the want coursing through him. He didn’t move. Neil didn’t move. There was just breath and sweat and body heat.

“Drew,” Neil said quietly. Andrew’s gaze snapped up to Neil’s eyes again and he saw that his brow had smoothed out, and there was something unreadable in his eyes. 

After a moment - a long moment - Neil flicked a look to the left and grinned. “I scored on you.”

Andrew followed his gaze and saw the ball nestled in the corner of the net. Neil shifted a little under him, moving his hands slightly, and Andrew realized he still had Neil’s wrists pinned down over his head. 

He let go, and scrambled to his feet, only to see that everyone was right the fuck there. Staring. Renee was still on the ground where she’d fallen, but she’d rolled over to her stomach and had her chin propped in her hands, smiling that smile of hers. Kevin was gaping at them, and Matt had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Well that was -” he started to say, but Dan elbowed him in the gut and he cut off with an, “oof.” 

Andrew glared at them before turning to offer Neil his hand, pulling him to his feet, and then stalking off the field. Fuck he was so, so screwed. 

Neil is humming Here Comes the Sun when he drops The Old Man and the Sea on Andrew’s lap. “This one is boring,” he says, “but I like how he writes. It’s like how you talk. To the point, but beautiful.” Andrew stares at him. “Yes or no Neil?” Neil grins, his eyes sparkling, his barely healed scars pulling across his face. “It’s always yes with you.” “Don’t be an idiot,” Andrew says, as he pulls Neil in for a kiss.

They always went to Renee and Allison’s house after their games. It was bigger and nicer than anyone else’s place, but more importantly Renee was a devastatingly talented cook. After running home for showers they would filter into the kitchen and perch around the perimeter, watching Renee chop, prep, simmer, and generally float about making magic happen with food.

Kevin usually played sous chef and today was no different - he scrubbed veggies and followed directions while they put together the pieces for a Moroccan tagine and a giant side dish of vegetable couscous. Kevin didn’t drink alcohol - he’d been sober for five years now - and he had brewed up a pot of mint tea to go with the theme. Andrew noted that the rest of them were pretty much half-way to tipsy, except for Neil, who was also sipping the mint tea. 

Andrew poured himself a bit more scotch and propped up against the counter to watch Neil. His back was to Andrew as he talked animatedly with Robin, throwing his empty hand around in the air, and every few minutes Robin would cackle with laughter.

Neil must have felt eyes on him, because he turned, caught Andrew’s gaze, pausing in his story for a moment. He tilted his head to the side and cocked an eyebrow, asking a question. For a moment Andrew thought he was going to head his way, but then Matt bounded over, and his boisterous voice carried across the room enough to make it clear he was talking soccer strategy - a conversation Andrew did not want to be part of. Neil shot one more glance at him. Andrew raised his glass and then turned to watch Renee and Kevin finishing up their prep and putting the cone-shaped tagine into the oven. 

“It’s going to be at least an hour kids,” Renee announced as she finished washing her hands and went to grab her own mint tea, “so pace yourselves with the drinking and eat some of these fancy crackers and cheese that Ally bought you heathens.”

Andrew stuffed a slice of Gruyere in his mouth and snuck out through one of the back bedrooms to the garden balcony. He had just gotten a cigarette lit when Kevin came out to join him. Andrew sighed. He’d managed to avoid being alone with Kevin all week - he wasn’t going to be able to avoid him forever. 

Andrew offered his cigarette pack and Kevin rolled his eyes and snorted. “You really should quit those things, they are awful for you.” 

Andrew shrugged. “I mostly have,” he said as he tucked the pack into his back pocket. Kevin snorted again, and leaned back on the railing, eyeing Andrew. “Go ahead Kevin, get it over with.” 

“What?” Kevin hedged.

“You know what,” Andrew said. “You’ve been side-eying me all week.”

Kevin’s mouth twitched at that. “Fine. So, who is Neil to you?” 

“He’s nothing,” Andrew said automatically.

“Oh Andrew.” Kevin frowned. “Don’t lie to me. Not about this.” 

Andrew hesitated. He and Kevin didn’t really talk like this, and he hated it. “Fine,” he yielded, “it’s not nothing.” 

“Obviously,” Kevin smirked.

“Fuck you,” Andrew said pleasantly on an exhale.

They stood there together for a moment. Comfortable silence had always been more in their wheelhouse. Eventually Kevin glanced over at him, clearly considering his words. “You know I’m here if you need me. I know I’m not Renee, but I care, okay?” 

Fuck. “Hey,” Andrew grabbed his elbow just before he slipped back inside. “Thank you.” 

Kevin grinned. “I’ll see you inside.”

By the time Andrew came back inside everyone was getting settled at the long dining table, and he managed to snag a seat right across from Neil. It was a good dinner - it always was. Ally held court - she always did, while Renee smiled serenely, a goddess overseeing her table and her found family. It had been impossible for Andrew to get Neil alone before dinner was served, but he didn’t think he was imagining their eyes connecting here over the bottle of wine Andrew was pouring from, and later over the homemade rose ice cream that Renee pulled out at the end of dinner. 

Renee rarely drank much, but she had indulged in the wine with dinner, which meant that it only took some cursory begging from Laila and Alvarez to get her to go dig out her guitar. Andrew could see that the burgeoning crush that both of their grad students had on the most famous of their department’s professors hadn’t waned while he’d been away. 

Renee settled into the sunken living room, the group sprawled out around her as she played some Fleetwood Mac, her soft mezzo soprano mello and perfect in their post-dinner haze. After a few songs Matt called for something they could all sing along to; Ally tsked at him for ruining the mood, but then suggested Brown Eyed Girl, at which the entire room erupted into a sing along that abused Andrew’s ears. He snuck away to get some water, only returning once he heard the final godawful strains of their singing dying down. 

Renee was calling for any last requests before they moved on to Mario Kart - apparently Robin had brought over that Super Nintendo. Dan shouted for Mad World and Kevin was stridently arguing for anything from U2. Renee caught Andrew’s eye as he eased back into the room. “Andrew, how about you? Anything in particular you want to hear?” 

He didn’t know what he was thinking - shit, he wasn’t thinking - because before he could stop himself he said, “Something from The Beatles.” Renee nodded, tilting her head in thought for a moment. Andrew pretended not to see Kevin staring at him intently, and he resolutely refused to look at Neil. As Renee decided on a song and strummed the first chords, Andrew felt his whole body tense. He was an idiot. 

Renee started to sing: “Blackbird singing in the dead of night… Take these broken wings and learn to fly… All your life… You were only waiting for this moment to arise. ” Renee hit a chord or two and, was about to pick up the lyrics of the next verse when a voice joined her - clear and sweet and sultry and - fuck, yep, Andrew was an idiot. 

Neil’s voice washed over the room as he picked up the lyrics, and Renee stopped singing but kept playing, and it was just Neil singing and the room was hanging on a breath to hear him, all eyes on the redhead, all eyes except Andrew’s: “...Blackbird singing in the dead of night… Take these sunken eyes and learn to see…. All your life… You were only waiting for this moment to be free. Blackbird, fly… Blackbird, fly… Into the light of the dark black night.” 

Renee watched Neil as he sang, a look of soft wonder on her face. Andrew could see it wash over her because he was watching Renee and not watching Neil, and so she must have followed Neil’s gaze because she turned to Andrew quizzically, and whatever she saw there on his face stilled her fingers on the strings. Andrew finally let his eyes find Neil where he was sitting next to Renee, looking unwaveringly at Andrew. In the silence Ally urged her wife quietly, reverently, “Renee, keep going.” Renee closed her eyes, took a breath, started strumming the chords again. 

Neil’s voice picked back up with her, his eyes locked with Andrew’s. “Blackbird, fly… Blackbird, fly… Into the light of the dark black night… Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly… All your life… You were only waiting for this moment to arise.” Renee drew out the closing chords, and Andrew could hear his friends quipping up behind him as he turned to go, their shock at Neil’s stunning voice evident, and Andrew felt a grim and painful satisfaction that Neil had apparently never sung for them in the entire year he’d been there, but it didn’t matter because Andrew was leaving.

He made it out the door and to the side of the Ducati before Neil caught him. “Andrew, wait,” he called out. Andrew stilled but didn’t turn. He held his helmet in his hand and had already pulled on his tight leather jacket. August was always warm in South Carolina, and even though the sun had settled behind the horizon hours ago it was still sultry and the leather was sticking to his biceps above his armbands. The gravel behind him crunched as Neil stepped closer. “Wait,” he said again. 

“I’m waiting,” Andrew said, finally turning to face him. 

Neil shoved his hands into his pockets, leaned forward a touch, hesitated. “Can we talk?” 

Andrew flicked his eyes up to the windows above them. All of their friends except for Renee and Kevin were lined up, drinks in hand, watching them like they were a rock opera. Andrew sighed, ruffling his hand through his hair, looking back at Neil. His face was so fucking earnest in the soft streetlight. 

“Not here,” Andrew finally said, striding back towards the house. Before he could reach the front door it opened, and Renee was there with Kevin hovering behind her. She reached out, the spare helmet she kept at her house for herself in her hand. 

Andrew paused, searching her face. Her usual mask of calm was back in place, but Kevin’s face was tense behind her. “I hate you both,” he said, grabbing the helmet from her. 

Renee smiled beautifully. “No you don’t,” she called after him as he turned to stalk back to the motorcycle, and to Neil. 

Andrew shoved the helmet at Neil, who grabbed it with both hands, watching Andrew secure his own helmet. 

“You can hold on to my hips, just don’t wrap your arms around me,” Andrew said carefully as he toed up the kickstand and swung a leg over, sliding a bit forward and turning to look at Neil. 

Neil was gaping at him, still holding on to the helmet.

“Well?” Andrew asked. “Do you want to come with me or not?”

Neil finally nodded, putting Renee’s helmet on and stepping over to the bike. His legs were a touch longer than Andrew’s and he fluidly threw his leg over the back, settling behind him. Andrew’s breath hitched for a moment and he had to gather himself, remind himself that Renee had ridden behind him dozens of times, remind himself that this was Neil, and that it was okay. 

Then Neil’s hands settled at the side of Andrew’s hips and his body leaned forward into the back of Andrew’s, and Neil was whispering quietly in his ear, “Like this?” and Andrew was suddenly very clear that this was not Renee behind him. 

Andrew gripped the clutch painfully tight, and with a quick inhale he stomped his foot against the starter, eased into the gas, said, “Hold on,” and they were off. 

Neil wasn’t in class. Unusual, but it wasn’t until he was missing from the cafeteria and then work detail that Andrew started to worry. He slammed into their room, stopped cold at the stripped bed, at Neil’s meager belongings - gone. Fuck. Andrew’s copy of The Giver sat on the middle of his pillow. He picked it up and stared at it, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. Andrew threw it across the room, and a small piece of paper fluttered out, slowly floating down to the floor like a big fuck you to his rage. He hesitated and then picked it up, Neil’s messy scrawl looping the words… “But of all these friends and lovers, there is no one, compares with you. And these memories lose their meaning, when I think of love as something new… Thank you. You were amazing.” 

The wind, the road, the dark sky and the streetlights streaming past. Neil’s hands on his hips, fingers gripped tightly. Their speed made it chilly even in this heat, but Neil pressed against his back was warm, so warm. Andrew was tempted to go on forever, at least until they ran out of gas; Neil on the back of his bike and the stars above. 

But this wasn’t his Neil. This was a grown up version of Neil. A Neil who’d had a life for almost fifteen years without him. They didn’t know each other anymore, and yeah, they needed to talk. 

Andrew hated needing to talk.  

He finally pulled into his driveway, cutting the gas and giving Neil a moment to climb off first. Andrew was missing the warmth at his back already. He sighed at his own stupidity before climbing off himself, pulling his helmet loose and running a hand through his hair.

“This is your house?” Neil asked, looking at the 1960’s era brick ranch they’d stopped in front of. 

“No, I just picked a random one to stop at,” Andrew deadpanned as he settled the kickstand into place. 

“Asshole,” Neil smiled. That smile.

Andrew let that slide and led them up to the side door, propping the storm door with his shoulder as he finagled the key. It was cool inside, the air conditioning a stark contrast to the heavy humidity outside. Andrew tossed his jacket and helmet on the kitchen table, taking Renee’s helmet from Neil and doing the same with it. Neil’s hair was unruly, and Andrew stifled the urge to reach over and push it back from his forehead, to take the half step that would put him close enough to twine his fingers in those red curls. 

Andrew suddenly realized that this might have been a very bad idea. He turned on his heel, trusting Neil to follow and led him towards the back of the house to his library. 

This was Andrew’s favorite place in his house - his favorite place anywhere, really. The house had been a fixer-upper; Kevin and Renee had helped him tear out walls to create a big, open room with wall to wall built-in bookshelves along the entire length of the back, and those shelves were filled to the brim with books now. Big picture windows with cosy window seats looked out onto his small backyard, and in one corner of the room was a bar cart jumbled with a few of his favorite bottles. A giant, worn leather couch was moored in the middle of the room, a few books piled on the floor near it and a curving antique brass floor lamp next to it. This was home. 

He stopped in the middle of his library and Neil came to a halt next to him, looking around, and suddenly Andrew felt vulnerable, at a loss, not sure how he was standing here in his library with Neil fucking Josten next to him. Oh, right. Neil Hatford, now. 

“Drink?” Andrew asked him, not sure if he’d take him up on it - he’d only seen Neil drinking tea the past week. “I have scotch and scotch.”

Neil laughed. “Sure, okay. I’ll have a scotch.” 

Andrew rolled his eyes and walked over to the bar cart, grabbing two glasses and filling both with a couple of fingers of the Highland Park 18 year. 

Andrew heard Neil shuffling around behind him, but didn’t realize he’d wandered over to Andrew’s extensive collection of dystopian novels until he’d turned around, a glass in each hand. Watching Neil reach up and run those elegant scarred fingers along the spines of his books, he had to suppress a shiver. 

“See anything you like?” Andrew asked, settling at one end of the couch. Neil glanced over his shoulder, a cryptic look on his face as he pulled one of the novels loose and brought it with him over to the couch. Andrew’s stomach fluttered uncomfortably - really, these feelings were getting out of hand. He knew what book that was. Neil sat on the other end of the couch, placing the book on the cushion between them. The Giver. Andrew stared at the cover for a moment too long before handing one of the glasses to Neil, and their fingertips grazed when he took it.

Neil took a sip of his drink, and Andrew was impressed when he didn’t grimace. Hm, not just a tea drinker then. He was looking at the book between them, a look of contemplation on his face, but then tugged his eyes away from it to gaze up at Andrew. 

“Did you really look for me?” Neil asked, his voice even. 

“I answered that already,” Andrew said, a bit caught off guard by the question. 

Neil stared at him intently. “You said ‘maybe’ actually. Is that really your answer?”

“Did you want me to look for you?” Andrew asked, knowing he was avoiding the question, hedging for time. 

Neil huffed, a bit of frustration showing through his carefully cultivated mask, but he didn’t respond.

“Neil?” Andrew asked gently - the softness of his own voice shocking him but he refused to retract it.

Neil was shaking his head slowly, looking down at the book again. Andrew itched to snatch it away, to hide it behind a couch cushion. He felt like his soul was tucked into the pages of that stupid book and he was terrified for Neil to see it.

“Yes, for fucks sake Andrew. I wanted you to look for me,” he whispered, that hint of British accent creeping out again. “I-,” Neil stopped, and seemed to be choking on his words. He took a big swallow of his scotch then set it down on the floor, turning fully towards Andrew, his eyes still on the damned book that was searing a hole in the couch. Andrew could see Neil’s hands shaking and suddenly he knew, he knew - and he didn’t want to hear what Neil was going to say, and he started to raise a hand, to hold him off. 

“Ask me again,” Neil said, softly, still not looking at him. “Ask me what I didn’t answer the other night.” 

Andrew cursed his ridiculous memory, because he knew exactly what Neil meant, and he couldn’t stop himself. “Did you know I was here?” he asked.

Neil did look up at him then, his eyes deep shining pools of light. 

“Yes, Drew, I knew you were here. I’ve known for years.”

Andrew just stared at him. Neil waited - clearly he was quite good at waiting. Andrew could feel his fingers clenching on his glass and he forced himself to relax his grip, thinking stupidly that he liked this glass and he didn’t want to break it. He had known - he had known in his unease that first night back at Wymack’s. He hadn’t trusted it - Neil here, now, after all of these years. After he had built a life with his friends and his work and after he was - well, not happy, but as content as he had ever thought he had a right to hope for. Of course it was too good to be true, this fever dream from his past, this boy who had grown into a man tucked away inside Andrew’s withered and hungry heart. 

“How long,” he asked, his face impassive, but his mind in chaos.

Neil shifted forward a bit, tucking his legs up underneath his body - like he was trying to fold in on himself and reach out at the same time. “Ten years,” he said quietly. 

Andrew launched from the couch, walking away, staring at the wall of books, his jaw clenched. Ten. Fucking. Years. Ten Years. Ten years that he could have had… what exactly? His mind was a jumble, couldn’t bring the pieces together. He knew this but he didn’t want to know it, and now he couldn’t un-know it, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Andrew turned around, walked back, sat down, forced himself to take a sip of the whiskey. 

“Why now?” he demanded. It wasn’t even really a question, it was a command for words. Make me understand his heart screamed, even as it shriveled up tighter on itself. 

Neil nodded slowly, and Andrew could almost see him collecting his thoughts as he tapped his fingers on the book between them before reaching down to pick up his own glass from the floor, taking a sip, and then another. “I told you some of this before, but you know who my father was, how horrible he was. I didn’t realize the extent of his empire until the trial really. I didn’t realize the extent of what my Uncle Stuart does.” Neil’s eyelashes fluttered a bit. “So, when Stuart killed my father, when he left me for the trial and to appease the FBI, he had always planned on coming back for me, I just didn’t know that at the time.” Neil paused, shifting again, like he couldn’t sit still.

Andrew waited for him to go on. He knew Neil had been put in juvie to keep him safe until the trial, that he would be under witness protection when he got out. It’s part of why he thought he hadn’t been able to find him. The truth is that Andrew did look for Neil - after Tilda had overdosed, after he and Aaron had moved in with Nicky, after Andrew had five minutes to breathe. And nothing. No Neil Josten, no way to find out what had happened to that scrawny kid after the trial was over. Andrew knew, because he had scoured every article he could find on the Butcher of Baltimore and his son, and that son had - for all intents and purposes - vanished. 

“He did - Stuart - he came back for me. Took me to London, got me back into school. It was - an adjustment, to say the least. Normal life,” Neil laughed mirthlessly. “Well, what stands in for normal life when you are attached to one of the largest criminal organizations in the British Isles. Once things had settled, I asked Stuart to find you. It took a while, but he did find you. You were at Palmetto, you had a brother for fuck’s sake. You had Kevin-” 

Andrew started to interrupt, but Neil held his hand up. “I know,” he said, “but from across an ocean you looked happy. Settled. I was still - fuck, I was such a mess. Nightmares - well you know about those. Couldn’t stand for anyone to touch me. I was broken, really, but I healed eventually, healed myself with what I loved - and what I loved were the novels. That’s all you Andrew. You started my whole life for me really. So right then I made a plan - I would get my shit together and come find you. I was thinking maybe a year or so, I was almost done with uni - majoring in literature of course, with plans to do my PhD. But then well. There were complications.”

“The feds didn’t find all of my father’s associates. Stuart was worried that if I returned to the States they would find me. He forbade me to go until we found them all. Took care of the threat,” Neil said vaguely. “Well. Two years ago we found the last one - Lola. Suddenly it was safe and…”

“I was scared. It had been so long, what if… It’s always ever just been you for me. No one else. But I mean, that couldn’t be the same for you could it? I just… I couldn’t just show up. I needed time. So well… we arranged for Seth to get that job offer at Vanderbilt…”

Andrew did interrupt then, his chaotic mind latching onto how insane that was. “You arranged a tenure track position at a top university for a mediocre professor,” he said, incredulity creeping into his voice. “Yeah, definitely sounds like your Uncle Stuart doesn’t have connections in the States.”

“Okay yeah,” Neil sighed. “I may have stretched that truth a bit.”

“A bit,” Andrew muttered. 

Neil ignored him, clearly committed to getting through this. “We didn’t push him. He didn’t have to take the job. I wouldn’t have done that.”

Andrew shrugged, indulging the tangent. “He didn’t fit in here anyway.”

“And me? Is there a place for me here?” Neil asked. 

“Keep talking. You aren’t done, are you?” Again, the not-question. 

Neil sighed softly. “No, I’m not done. I- well, I found out you were going to be on sabbatical. It seemed like a good time to show up and… feel things out.”

Andrew stared at him. “Coward,” he said. 

Neil flinched. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “But the truth is I wanted to know if this could even be something you wanted. I wanted to know if you already had someone. I just...” Neil petered off, at a loss. 

“It was just six months Neil. We were kids. I am not your answer and you sure as fuck aren’t mine,” Andrew bit out. 

“I know you aren’t my answer,” Neil said firmly. “That is the other reason why I waited. I needed to find my own answer. To be my own man.” Neil shifted forward on his knees, raising up, his hands hovering. Andrew didn’t flinch but it was a close thing and Neil froze. 

Slowly, carefully, Neil settled back down on his heels, picking up the book that still lay between them, running his thumb along the pages, but not opening it. “Yes Andrew, it was six months, and yes we were kids, but it was everything, and fuck you if you are going to pretend that it wasn’t.”

Silence was left in the wake of that. Andrew fought his words, fought his feelings, fought that everything. He couldn’t - he wouldn’t - do this right now. But he needed to know, because it was right there in front of him and he couldn’t trust it but he needed to know: “So what do you want Neil?”

Neil huffed softly, that grin trying to creep onto his face but failing. There was too much at stake for grins. “Isn’t it obvious?” he whispered. “I want you. I have never stopped wanting you.”

Andrew watched his hand slowly reaching towards Neil, as if he had no fucking control, as if he were just a puppet in a daze. Coming to his senses suddenly he snatched it back and carefully, slowly, he blinked. “This is a lot,” he finally said, parroting Neil’s words from that first night.

“I know,” Neil said, softly, kindly. “I don’t want to-” he started, but cut off when Andrew raised his hand, palm out, closing his eyes for longer.

“This is a lot,” he said again, “and I need some time.” Andrew stood up abruptly. 

Neil watched him for a moment, finally standing and running a hand through his hair. Those curls were now completely out of control, Andrew noted somewhat wildly. 

“Okay, I mean, I can catch an Uber.”

“No,” Andrew said harshly, paused. Took a ragged breath, and started again a bit more calmly. “No, it takes forever for them to come out to the suburbs anyway. I have a spare bedroom. Just stay, okay?”

Neil looked at him searchingly. ”Okay,” he said. 

It had been the work of a few moments to show Neil the guest bedroom, the ensuite bathroom, hand him a spare toothbrush and - with butterflies in his stomach - a shirt and pajama pants to sleep in. Andrew refused to dwell on the thought of Neil sleeping in his clothes. 

Instead, he curled up in his own bed, his sound machine making the soothing noises of the rain as he did dwell on the fact that Neil fucking Josten was sleeping one wall away from him. As he did dwell on those eyes, searching him with molten heat, and those truths spilling from beestung lips. Andrew was angry but he was also lost, adrift, and he couldn’t tether his anger to anything specific. He was used to being in control and this was out of his control, every bit of it taunted him, those red curls taunted him, fingers digging into his hips on the back of his bike taunted him. Those words - I have never stopped wanting you - oh, they taunted him. 

And Neil? Neil was a liar. But Neil had never lied to him. He just hadn’t called or written or shown up for ten fucking years. 

Andrew flipped over, shoving his face into his pillow. An eidetic memory wasn’t the same as a photographic memory, but he had read his favorite novel enough times that this one thing he could do… he started at the beginning, mentally reciting the words until he was able to - fitfully - fall asleep. 

Eventually Andrew picked the stupid book up, tucked the piece of paper back between the pages, smoothed the edges back down methodically. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at what had been Neil’s space across from him. Of course he didn’t get to have this. He tucked the book under his pillow, crossed his arms across his chest, and slowly, painfully started to beat his heart into submission.

It’s a good thing that Andrew didn’t have to teach until noon, because he woke up late, feeling like he’d been hit by a bus. Bullshit emotions will do that to you he thought, as he ran his hand down his face. He pulled on a hoodie from the pile by his laundry basket, shuffled out of his room, and was surprised to find the guest bedroom door open, He peeked in and saw the bed hastily made back up, and his loaned pajamas folded on top. Huh. 

Walking through the rest of the house it quickly became clear that Neil was already gone, and Andrew felt the emptiness drop into his stomach like an anchor. Neil must have caught an Uber or a ride after all. Telling himself he didn’t care, that it was for the best, he pulled out the coffee beans, tugged the grinder towards him, yawned - and then his eyes caught it. That damned book, sitting on the edge of the counter, next to the keys to his bike. 

Andrew glared at it. Decided to ignore it, finished pouring beans into the grinder, whirred them away into grounds, surreptitiously side-eyeing the book the whole time. That’s not where it was when he went to bed, it had been left on the couch, touched, but unopened. 

Andrew let the coffee brew, shuffling to the fridge to pull out half and half, shuffling to the pantry to pull out the sugar. The damn book was still there, and the damn coffee still wasn’t done brewing. Andrew glared at it some more, but it didn’t disappear, and finally he reached over to pick it up. 

He didn’t even like The Giver that much, it just happened to be the book that he was reading when Neil dropped into his life, but still - that happenstance had tied this book irrevocably to his memory of Neil. Andrew thumbed through the pages, and he knew what he would find tucked inside. The piece of paper was familiar in his fingers; faded and creased, something he had pulled out and reread and held on to on nights when he’d had a drink alone and was feeling masochistic. 

Now new words were added to the old, penned in fresh blue ink below the faded black, but still the same messy, looping scrawl, a new verse, a new song:

I know it’s true, it’s all because of you

And if I make it through, it’s all because of you

And now and then, if we must start again

Well we will know for sure, that I love you

Fuck. Standing there, staring at this little scrap of paper, Andrew was struck with blinding clarity that he didn’t care how it had happened, it didn’t matter how long it had taken - Neil was here, there was nothing stopping them this time, and he was never letting him go again. 

Andrew showered quickly, pulled his favorite faded black t-shirt on with a grey velvet blazer, skinny jeans and black boots. He downed some coffee, inhaled a pop-tart, and briefly considered leaving that damned book behind before he grabbed it, stuffed it into his messenger bag, and hopped on the Ducati. 

He was on campus by 10:15 a.m., his heart pounding in his throat. Andrew threw his helmet onto his desk, pulled The Giver out of his bag, and rounded on Neil’s door. It was closed. He didn’t care. He slammed it open without knocking. 

One of the students from his senior seminar was simpering in the chair across from Neil’s desk - Andrew briefly registered that she must be taking one of Neil’s classes as well as his own, but right now it didn’t fucking matter. Marissa? Melissa? Melinda? Fuck. “Out,” he barked at her. She stared at him like a deer in headlights. “Get. Out.” He glared at her, trying for a slightly calmer tone, not sure if he’d managed it. Clearly flustered, the girl gathered her papers to her chest, her bookbag slung haphazardly over one arm as she scurried out. 

Andrew turned around only long enough to close the door before turning back to Neil, who had stood up, come around the edge of his desk, was standing there in a damned oversized cardigan, uncertain.

“You left,” Andrew said. “Didn’t even stay for pop-tarts.”

Neil regarded him warily, with something else that took a minute for Andrew to define. Ah, there it was. A spark of hope, just in the corner of his eye. 

Andrew took three steps towards him and plopped the book down on his desk. “You are a dramatic asshole, did you know that?”

Neil didn’t say anything. Andrew took another step closer, pulled the scrap of paper out of his pocket, where he’d tucked it before he’d left home. He was a breath away from Neil now. “I had to google this shit. It’s not even a proper Beatles song. Just John Lennon, all on his own.”

Neil nodded. He still hadn’t said anything, holding himself rigidly, arms crossed across his front, protected. Neil had put everything out there, laid it all on the table, and yeah, Andrew had needed a minute, but he wasn’t about to let him drop. He was here. He was so fucking here for this. 

Andrew leaned into his space, put his hand to Neil’s chest, looked him in the eyes. “It was everything to me too,” he said lowly. Neil froze. And then. And then… Neil shuddered under his hand, his arms uncrossing and his body collapsing towards Andrew on a silent sob, and Andrew wrapped his arms around Neil, feeling Neil’s face seek out the crook of his neck like he was coming home. 

Andrew placed Neil's hands on his hips, and he pulled him in tight. It was seconds, it was minutes, it was just enough time to breathe and to wonder. Eventually Andrew pulled back, pressed his hand into the back of Neil’s neck and pulled his forehead down to rest against his. “I’m going to fucking die if I don’t kiss you right now. Yes or no?” Andrew whispered the question against Neil’s lips. 

Neil huffed a quiet laugh. “Now who’s the dramatic asshole?” 

“Neil,” Andrew ground out.

Neil almost cut him off with his breathless, “Yes, it’s still always a yes with you.” 

“Don’t always me,” Andrew said, a habit, a memory, before he pressed in and kissed him. 

For Andrew, it was coming home too. 

Many many minutes later, Andrew forced himself to pull away from Neil, to ignore lips swollen from kisses and the dazed look in his eyes. He was quite clear that if they didn’t walk out of this office right now that they were going to have bigger problems to deal with and that neither of them were going to show up to teach their first classes. 

“Coffee,” Andrew said, pulling Neil by the wrist to the door.

“Hmm?” Neil mumbled, stumbling after him.

“I need coffee. I only had one cup before I rushed down here after you.” 

“You rushed after me?” Neil started to grin.

Andrew rolled his eyes, and told himself he absolutely could not push Neil up against the bookcase and kiss that grin off of his face. “Fucking obviously.” Andrew pulled the door open, and was both surprised and not surprised when Ally almost fell into the office. Robin and Kevin were right behind her, and Renee stood a reasonable distance back but was clearly still a part of this. 

“How is Kevin even here?” Andrew demanded. “This isn’t even your department,” he directed at his friend. Kevin shrugged, grinning at him. 

“I texted him as soon as you flew through here, into Neil’s office and threw that poor undergrad unceremoniously out on her ass,” Ally crowed. 

Andrew rolled his eyes. He couldn’t even be mad. “So who won the pot?” he asked, glancing over at Neil. He still hadn’t let go of his wrist. Andrew thought that maybe he’d never stop touching him again. 

“That pleasure goes to Kevin here.” Ally hip checked him and he blushed a bit. Fucking Kevin.

“Not Renee?” he asked. He looked over at his friend. She smiled at him, and it was pure sunshine. 

“I didn’t bet,” she said softly. Of course she didn’t. Andrew’s heart glowed in a way he chose to ignore. He started to tug Neil past them, done with all of this, but Neil stopped, his face curious as he turned to Ally.

“And who bet on us not getting together?” he asked her. 

Ally’s face stilled. “Oh, no one, honey.” She smiled at Neil, and it was the softest look Andrew had ever seen on her face. “One look at Andrew when he saw you at Wymack’s and that option just was never on the table. It was never a question of would you; it was just a question of when.”

Neil’s face registered shock for a moment before fading into a pleased smile. Andrew pulled him along again. “I hate all of you,” he tossed back over his shoulder. 

“No you don’t,” he heard Renee call after him. 

Andrew sighed, allowed himself to twine his fingers with Neil’s. He turned around again, looked at Renee. “No I don’t,” he agreed. 

Renee’s answering smile was blinding.