Chapter Text
Andrew chooses Palmetto State because Aaron does. They have a decent medical program, or so he says. They also have a class I Exy team.
He plays because he’s bored and because it reminds him of someone and he’s the masochistic sort. Kevin interests him enough to give him a promise, though not much more than that. Wymack is tolerable. Renee is a little more than.
He earns a nickname. Monster. It’s not accurate but he doesn’t correct them. He goes to parties for the free alcohol and for the occasional hookup. He goes to class because it beats staying in bed. He tries to forget.
A month passes and then two and then a couple more, and then he is almost finished with his freshman year of college when he didn’t think he’d make it past sixteen. How those therapists would rejoice to see him now. Or not. He never really liked them and they never really liked him back.
Kevin looks for new recruits. No one is good enough for him. Figures. Andrew might suggest the one person he knows might meet his standards, but that person might as well be dead. He might be dead. Andrew doesn’t think about that.
He is perched on Wymack’s desk after a home game, nursing a bottle of vodka, a gift for blocking a few more goals than he'd technically cared to. His skin is sticky with sweat and his throat burns from the alcohol, but for the moment he is content.
“If you actually tried maybe we would stand a chance,” Kevin says to him, nursing his hand with an ice pack.
“I tried plenty,” Andrew says.
“We both know you could have blocked every one of those shots.”
“We don’t,” Andrew corrects. “You think.”
“Quit squabbling,” Wymack says, and plops a stack of file folders onto his desk. “Kevin. Go through these again. And maybe lower your expectations.”
“No need,” Kevin says, waving a dismissive ice pack. “I found one.”
“Finally,” Wymack says, because even his patience must be wearing thin with all the time they’ve spent trying to find a striker suitable to Kevin’s standards. “Which one?”
Kevin pulls a file out of nowhere. Or maybe Andrew is too drunk to notice he’d had it the whole time.
“Millport.”
“Fuck is Millport?” Andrew says.
“Some town. I don’t know,” Kevin says. “It doesn’t matter where. Only that he’s good.”
“Gimme,” Andrew says, motioning for the folder. Kevin hands it to him. He flips it open with one hand and his heart lurches into his throat. Or maybe that's bile.
Staring back at him from a grainy photograph is Neil. His hair is a muddy brown now, matching muddy brown eyes, but it is unmistakably him. He’s got a scar by his eyebrow from where he’d been pistol-whipped. His expression is miserable.
Andrew stops himself from running his fingers over the photograph. He flips the file closed and tosses it beside him onto the desk.
“He sucks.” Andrew knows better. Still.
“His stats do. But you haven't seen the tape,” Kevin says. “He’s good.”
Andrew shrugs, takes another sip of vodka. His heart does something uncomfortable in his chest. It feels too big now, like it no longer fits. His eyes burn now along with his throat. Maybe he should pour alcohol on them. Go blind.
It wouldn’t do any good. Neil is permanently imprinted onto the back of his eyelids.
“If you’re certain, we need to fly out before the season is over,” Wymack says.
“We can leave tomorrow,” Kevin replies easily.
“I’m coming,” Andrew says before he can stop and think if he really means to.
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Wymack says to him. Rude but at least he was honest.
“I go where he goes,” Andrew says, nodding towards Kevin, who grimaces but doesn't disagree.
“Fine,” Wymack agrees. “Just don’t scare him off before we sign him.”
Oh. They wouldn’t have to worry about that. Neil would sprint before they even got the chance to ask.
The town of Millport was small and rustic. Andrew tries not to think too hard about how similar it is to his own. How Neil might pick small towns for a reason. They grab dinner in the local diner and then head to the high school.
Andrew smokes too many cigarettes and thinks about nothing. He grows bored quickly, and leaves Kevin and Wymack to speak to the high school Exy coach alone, wandering the campus grounds until they bother to call him.
“What?” He says into his phone. Kevin doesn’t bother with greetings either.
“His coach says he’s got something going on at home,” Kevin says. “So he might be flighty.”
You don’t say.
He says nothing.
“So Wymack is gonna try and talk to him first,” Kevin goes on. “Without us.”
“Sure,” Andrew says. Because he doesn’t care. He does not care.
“Stay put until he agrees to sign.”
“Where is this little talk taking place?”
“Bleachers by the court. Don’t come,” Kevin reiterates.
Andrew hangs up.
With that information, he picks a spot in the locker room. If Neil bolted, which Andrew knew he would but hadn’t bothered to tell them, the nearest path to escape was through here. So he picks up a spare racquet and sits down and waits.
It takes longer than he thought it would. Figures Wymack is convincing enough Neil didn’t bolt at the immediate sight of him. But Neil is predictable now that Andrew has had time to stew over him.
He rushes through the locker room, so desperate to get away he doesn’t notice Andrew in the shadows. The inattentiveness is not typical of him, but maybe he’s tired. Andrew swings the racquet hard. Neil goes down with a noise that makes Andrew regret the bitterness in his swing, but only for a brief moment.
Neil crouches, forehead to the floor and arm pressed to his stomach. His hair canopies his face, hiding his expression from view, and he gasps for breath before finally catching it and groaning in pain.
“Jesus, Minyard,” Wymack says, coming in from behind. “What have I said about breaking things?”
“My bad,” Andrew says, and tosses the racquet aside.
Neil rises slowly, arm still pressed to his gut. When he looks at Andrew his eyes are wide and afraid and the wrong color. He is gorgeous and miserable and Andrew hates him.
“Andrew,” he says. His voice cracks. He sounds small. At the sound of him Andrew almost reaches out, to steady his unsteady stance, to hold him.
“You know each other?” Wymack says.
Yes, better than anyone. Better even than myself.
“No,” Andrew says. Neil looks at him then, no longer afraid but now Andrew cannot read the look in his eyes. He looks away.
Miraculously, they get Neil to sign.
Andrew picks him up from the airport. Neil says nothing as he leads him to the parking garage. Nothing as he gets in the car and nothing as they drive. Andrew is no stranger to silence. He used to share it comfortably with Neil all the time.
This silence is different. Tangible. He could pull out a knife from his wristbands and it would slice the air between them. He could stop the car in the middle of the road and kiss him. He could crash it instead. He wants so badly to do both.
It’d been a long time since he’d wanted anything.
“Andrew,” Neil says to the silence. “Are you going to say something?”
“No,” Andrew says.
“You just did.”
Stupid. He doesn’t respond. In his peripheral, Neil is looking at him. If he turns his head and sees the look in his eyes he’ll wreck the car. Instead he turns onto the shoulder of the highway and breaks hard enough Neil puts his hand against the dashboard to brace himself.
“Get out,” he says, turning off the car.
“What?” Neil says.
“Get out.”
“I don’t have money for a taxi.” A lie. An excuse to keep Andrew from kicking him out and leaving him here. He wouldn’t do that. It was a little bit funny to think Neil thought he could.
“I’m not leaving,” he says even though he doesn’t have to, and doesn’t think about the irony of those words. “Just get out.”
“Okay.” Neil unbuckles himself before stepping out of the car. Andrew follows him, not bothering to look for traffic, and walks around to meet him at the side of the highway.
Neil’s hair is longer now than when he left, the wind of the passing cars making it fly messily in his face. He is wearing Andrew’s old sweatshirt. He took it with him before he went. Andrew closes his eyes for a long moment before opening them again. It doesn't help.
“Talk,” he says.
“What do you want me say?”
Everything. Or maybe nothing. Or maybe he has no idea. Neil looks lost and guilty and beautiful. Andrew takes a step closer to him.
“What are you doing here?”
Neil looks confused for a moment, like he doesn’t understand the question. “I was recruited,” he says. “You were there.”
“Why did you sign?”
“Andrew. Stop with the questions.”
“ Why did you sign?” Andrew says again. The frustration leaks into his voice though he doesn’t mean it to. He takes a step closer.
“Because I wanted to," Neil says. "Because maybe I’m tired of running. Maybe I don’t want to anymore.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew says. “They’ll find you.”
“You think I don’t know that? Jesus, of course I know that. I don’t care.”
“You should. You’re acting reckless.”
“Why are you so angry?”
“I’m not. I don’t care,” he says.
“Stop lying,” Neil says, and Andrew doesn’t think he’s seen him this angry before. “I know you. I know you do.”
“You can’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because what? ”
“Because,” Andrew says, heat in his cheeks and anger fiery in his chest. “Because you left.”
Neil quiets. He looks whiplashed, and Andrew almost wants to laugh. He swallows the sound of it, and the hard lump in his throat. It tastes disgusting.
“I left,” Neil says.
“Yeah, you left.”
He is too tired to be angry anymore, and if he was being honest, he didn't think he ever was in the first place. Maybe Neil felt the same, because his chest deflates and he moves closer, so close Andrew can feel the warmth of his body.
“I thought you knew I would,” Neil says. “Eventually.”
“Maybe. But it didn’t make a difference.”
He means to say that he wasn’t surprised Neil left but was surprised at how empty it made him. He means to say he never meant to be collateral, that he can’t stand the thought of it and that sometimes it made him want to puke. He doesn't say any of that.
“Andrew, listen to me,” Neil says. “I left because I couldn’t let you… they would hurt you and it would be my fault. They did hurt you. And I couldn’t--”
“Don’t,” Andrew says. He cannot stand that. He cannot stand Neil’s guilt. His martyrdom. It was the one thing about Neil he’d always wanted to change.
“It’s true,” Neil says. “But I made a mistake. I should have stayed. The only way to keep you safe is to stay."
"I don't need you to do that," Andrew says. It was stupid of Neil to think otherwise.
"I know that. Of course I do. But it's a two way street, isn't it? And anyway, it's more than that. Maybe I'm selfish, but I wanted to… I want you. So I’m telling you now. I’m staying.”
“You can’t say that.”
“I can.”
Andrew hooks his fingers in the collar of Neil’s sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, presses himself against him and uses his body to push him backwards. Neil grunts when his back hits the car. From this distance Andrew can almost make out the icy blue of his eyes beneath his contacts. Neil blinks. Smiles.
“Stop that,” Andrew says. He can’t keep his eyes off him. He doesn’t know at which part of his face to look.
“Stop what?” Neil says.
“Playing dumb.”
“I’m not. I’m making you a promise. I’m not leaving. I’m never leaving again.”
Andrew kisses him.
Neil is as he always was. So familiar to Andrew that his eyes water as he closes them. He moves his hands to touch Neil’s neck and face and hair. Neil keeps his fisted in the fabric of Andrew’s sweater. He kisses him so hard there is the scrape of teeth. And then so softly Neil makes a sound like he can’t stand it so gentle.
He tastes like nothing and everything. Like sweet from their first time and like blood from their last and like everything in between. Andrew kisses him for as long as they can hold their breaths and then a little longer. Pressed to the side of his car by the highway. The sun will be setting soon.
“I missed you,” he says, because the sound of the highway will drown him out. Because something knotted inside of him has finally been undone. Because he says it into Neil’s mouth so it won’t escape into the air. It will stay inside of him, underneath his tongue, so that only when Andrew kisses him will it ever be known.
“I missed you,” Neil says back.
He aches everywhere. They have matching home-stitched scars that healed so sloppily. Andrew can feel it when he puts his hand there and Neil kisses him harder. Neil’s father will come for him. Probably sooner than they think or maybe not. Sometimes Andrew cannot get out of bed in the morning.
It is not okay. But bones heal even unset. And Neil is here now. And he’s given a promise. Andrew holds it to his chest and tucks it into his ribs for safekeeping. He holds Neil closer. Except this, nothing is really okay.
But it will be.