Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Andrew, we know that the trial is this weekend. Anything to say on that?"

Andrew almost sighs. He doesn't - but it's a near miss. The fact is that he's so sick of talking about the trial, so sick of having to justify Aaron's actions using his own trauma. Neil has spent long hours telling him that he doesn't have to say anything - which he knew - and arguing with the press for bringing it up - which he doesn't need to do, because Andrew is more than capable of handling some misplaced words - but the thing is that Andrew is so sick of it all.

If he could go the rest of his life without ever having to talk about what happened to him, he would, because it shouldn't be something that still affects him to this day. He doesn't want it to have such a weight on his life. Of course, he can't regret it any time he asks Neil "yes or no" and he says no, knows that he can trust Andrew to back off when he needs him to. And he supposes in a way that it was his trauma that broke the dam and allowed him and Aaron and Nicky to become closer as a family.

So he's heard the question, he's thinking about the answer, and he's about to open his mouth when, to his endless surprise (though he'll never admit it), Wilds starts speaking instead.

"Respectfully, sir, that's none of your business," she says, and she does sound polite, does sound like she's trying to cram respect into every syllable. It's only because Andrew is good at reading people that he can see the way her jaw tenses, the way the vein in her neck becomes more defined. "This is supposed to focus solely on Exy and the game we just played - which we won, by the way, almost entirely thanks to Andrew here. His personal life should not be something that you're asking about and I think we'd all thank you to mind your own business in the future."

And with that, it's over. Wilds doesn't touch him, but she does gesture for him to walk away and Andrew is able to take a hint so he heads into the locker room. Neil, it appears, is waiting for him by his locker, patient as always but looking as though he has been tensing with every minute that passes when Andrew isn't there.

Wilds is gone, Andrew assumes to head to the girls' locker room, so there is nobody there who knows what just happened. Usually, Andrew would appreciate that, would like knowing that nobody saw somebody else stepping in to defend him of all people, but he thinks that maybe he needs clarification that, yes, that did just happen, Dan Wilds did step in on your behalf. Instead, he lifts a shaking hand to the back of Neil's neck and just rests it there for a moment, grounding himself.

Neil looks up at him, and for a moment, Andrew thinks he might be baring his soul for the world to see - or rather his world to see, because some days he thinks that nothing matters more than Neil.

"Okay?"

Andrew squeezes the back of his neck once and then lets go, collecting his gear and heading in to the showers.

**

That should have been it. Andrew knows what they think of him - sometimes he does his best to cultivate it, because he isn't all that interested by his teammates - so there should be no reason for any of them to try and defend him. Especially when he has proven time and time again that he's more than capable of defending himself.

But then comes the match against Breckenridge, and Andrew thinks he might try for this game. He would try anyway, because the look that Neil gives him when he misses a nearly impossible goal is almost enough to make things very awkward for the other players right there on the pitch, but something about Breckenridge makes him want to completely shut them out. So he does.

He's only on for the second half, with Renee and the freshman goalie switching out halfway through the first, but by about twenty minutes in, the Jackals seem to have realised that they're not going to get a goal past him. Neil also seems to have realised this, and there's a bit of a flush on his cheek that promises of a good time later. Andrew wonders when he started wanting so much.

The Jackals have never been known as the nicest team - and thank fuck, because Andrew hates nice people, hates when they look at him like he's anything interesting - but that is proved when their striker gets frustrated after losing the ball and runs forward to slam him into the wall of the goal.

His head cracks back, hitting the plexiglass hard, and his legs wobble before he's crumpling to the ground. Before he can do anything though - signal that he's okay, exchange a look with Neil - the striker is ripped away from him, and not by Neil or Kevin as he would've expected. No - this time it's Boyd.

Boyd who steps forward, pulls the striker away from Andrew and punches him hard in the gut for good measure. Even if Andrew was in his right mind after such a hard hit to the head, he would have no idea what to think. Boyd, fortunately, doesn't give him a chance, because as soon as the striker is down and the referees are on the pitch to give him a red card and send him off, Boyd is in front of him and holding a hand out to help him up.

Andrew ignores it, but he does give the hand a contemplative look which seems to be enough for Boyd.

"If Neil got over here in time, he would've killed him," he says simply and Andrew thinks that's probably true. He looks over at Neil and sure enough, he looks about two seconds from leaving the pitch and going after the striker. It's only Kevin's body blocking the view of him that stops Neil, from what Andrew can tell. "Bros don't let bros commit murder for their boyfriends if they have the option."

Andrew looks up at Boyd and is startled by the earnest look in his eyes - he means it, he realises - but there's something more. Andrew doesn't like hope, doesn't like jumping to conclusions, but he thinks that maybe Boyd might be doing this for another reason as well, thinks that maybe Boyd is feeling defensive towards Andrew as well. He isn't altogether all that sure how to feel about that.

His head is a little sore but he doesn't think he has a concussion, so when Abby gestures for him to let the referees know that he needs to leave, he ignores her in favour of finishing the game. The Jackals don't score any more goals - the Foxes score another four, two of which were Neil. In the locker room, afterwards, Neil doesn't leave Andrew's side. Usually the hovering would piss him off, but he's been thrown for a loop by the clear defensive streak starting to present itself in the upperclassmen.

So when Neil rests his hand palm up on his own thigh - a clear invitation - Andrew barely even hesitates before reaching out and intertwining their fingers loosely. Neil seems startled - despite being the one to make the first move, he wasn't really expecting Andrew to accept it - but he tightens his grip and lifts his other hand to trace shapes over the back of Andrew's. It takes a moment to realise that he's tracing where the scars are on his own hand.

Andrew squeezes Neil's hand - once, twice, thrice - and then lets go, standing up and turning to grab both their bags and swinging them over one shoulder. Neil, in return, reaches over and tugs his bag away from Andrew and ghosts his fingers over the back of his head. There's a small bump.

"Dizzy?" Andrew shakes his head. "Sick? Confused?"

"I don't have a concussion, Josten."

Neil nods and holds his hand out again, though this time he seems as though he's accepted that he'll be denied. Maybe he thinks that twice in a row is too much for Andrew, that he won't be comfortable showing so much physical affection.

The problem is that some small part of him needs to show the upperclassmen that he knows what they're doing, that he knows they're mostly doing it for Neil and that he appreciates him as much as they do. It's a very small part of him, a part that he has grown used to ignoring, but now he blows on the spark gently and reaches out to take Neil's hand.

He notices lingering glances from their teammates, a shared look there between Boyd and Wilds, and he thinks maybe they think they understand a little bit about him and Neil, about what they are. He doubts they actually do - some days even he can't comprehend everything that Neil is to him, can't comprehend why he can sleep next to him, why he has started to let Neil see him naked. It's been a long build up, this thing between them, but at least he's started to admit that it is a this, that it isn't nothing. Some days he can even think of Neil and him as being in a relationship, some days he doesn't catch himself before he mentally refers to Neil as his boyfriend.

He grants himself one last squeeze to the hand before he is tugging Neil past the rest of their teammates and out to the parking lot where the bus is. As soon as it starts moving, Neil is plastered against his side, head resting against Andrew's shoulder.

"Maybe I should buy Matt some new boxing gloves." He says it idly and Andrew might ignore it usually, but he's frustrated at the knowledge that Matt did something for him without asking for anything in return.

"Make them black," he says gruffly and if Neil's surprised, he doesn't show it.

He hums quietly in response. "I was thinking of getting Dan a new coat too."

"Stop spoiling your teammates, Josten. They're like cats. They'll never leave."

He hates that Neil can interpret the words the way he meant them only unconsciously, hates the way that Neil leans over, brushes his lips just over Andrew's jaw, close enough to his neck that he shudders without really meaning to or wanting to. He can feel Neil's light smirk against his skin.

"113%."

Neil smiles then, a genuine smile that makes everything in the world bearable just for a moment. "They don't want anything from you, Andrew. They're sticking up for you because they like you." Andrew says nothing, but he can't help the question filtering through his mind: why? why? why?

"Why?" It leaves his lips before he can help it, and he thinks that maybe he has more of a concussion than he thought.

Neil sighs softly. "Because you're doing a terrible job at acting soulless these days."

"Who says I was acting before?"

"I do." He rests his chin on Andrew's shoulder, leans his forehead against Andrew's temple and it's so grounding that Andrew actually closes his eyes for a moment. "You're not a sociopath, Andrew."

No, he thinks. I suppose I'm not.