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Sweat is beginning to pool in the dip at the small of Neil’s back and he sighs, which does nothing but send a puff of warm breath up and over his already sweaty face, completely exacerbating the problem. When he had first migrated over to the bathroom floor it had been pleasingly cool beneath his back but now it just feels vaguely sticky, making the cotton sleep shirt stick to his back uncomfortably. Considering his life on the run it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to assume Neil could power on through hot weather like he did just about anything else, but the truth was he had always hated it. Not that he would say as much to his mother, mind you; only once had he requested a change of clothing, anything that wasn’t the two pairs of jeans and seven alternating shirts he always wore, and he’d paid dearly for that slip up. Cotton trousers were out of the question, she had said. They were far too thin, would tear easily and wouldn’t protect his skin from inevitable cuts and scrapes. Shorts fell under the same category, not to mention they would reveal enough of his legs to allow someone to catalogue something so minute as a cluster of freckles for identification. Even short sleeved t-shirts were ruled out, though he could get away with rolling up his sleeves when his mother wasn’t around. Ever since Palmetto Neil had acquired a steadily expanding collection of clothing. More jeans than he knew what to do with, frankly; a selection of skin-tight black jeans usually reserved for Colombia, slim-fit charcoal ones for everyday wear, a pair of high-waisted blue ones that Allison had corralled him into buying, some ripped blue ones he’d started to like a lot. Most of his shirts were short-sleeved, now; if he felt self-conscious of his arms he wore the bands Andrew had gifted him, but generally his arms were more of an aftershock to the face situation, so he didn’t always mind. One thing he didn’t have, still, was summer clothing. His wardrobe, while more adventurous than his original rotation of looks, was safe.
He had considered, upon realising the air-conditioning was broken, just wearing his game shorts and a t-shirt, but they were in the big laundry machine at the back of the common area along with everyone else’s after last night’s game, his away uniform was in his locker and honestly, Wymack just did not trust them to have their own uniform out of his direct line of sight. Understandable, since Nicky had once worn his jersey to take a selfie in, walked out into the hallway for better lighting only to fall against a wall that very clearly had a wet paint sign taped to it.
So Neil had no choice, barring sitting around in his underwear all day, but to wear his loosest pair of pants (which were still sweats and were slim leg, as per Allison’s recommendation and the approving twitch of Andrew’s eyebrow when he first saw them) and a t shirt and just hope for the best. It was warmer outside than it was inside, which seemed an impossible feat, and the whole campus was down on electricity until the maintenance team arrived in a few hours. Neil was trapped in an endless cycle of muggy, sticky warmth, and he made a pained noise at the thought.
Distantly he hears the front door unlatch, identifies the light, bouncing footsteps to be Nicky’s. “Neil? You in here?”
“I wish I was dead” is Neil’s affirmation, a deadpan from the bathroom floor. Nicky eases open the door and frowns down at Neil.
“Honey, why are you on the floor? And why are you wearing sweatpants, for the love of god?”
Tipping his head back reveals the long, dark stretch of Nicky’s legs where he is, perhaps sensibly, wearing cut-off denim shorts and a loose, oversized vest. “I don’t have any weather appropriate clothing”
“Of course you don’t” Nicky tsks, crouching down to better look at Neil. “You’re a drama queen, do you know that?”
“Nicky, this entire dorm is hell on earth”
“Neil, you have literally almost died on multiple occasions”
Huffing, Neil rolls over onto his front and props his chin between his palms. “What do you suggest I do? I already took a cold shower. I’m going to die on this occasion if I sweat any more”
“Well first of all, we need to get you out of those clothes” Nicky winks, and at Neil’s deadpan face, he says “okay, but really. Shopping, me and you, now. Except, like, put on some better pants”
Neil almost bangs his head on the underside of the sink when he sits up. “Shopping? In this heat?”
“Andrew’s car is very well air-conditioned” Nicky points out, and Neil runs a hand over his face in disbelief.
“Nicky. I’m so stupid”
“Yes,” Nicky says thoughtfully, “you really are, hon. Now come on before you sweat right through the floor”
Outside, Neil finds that Matt, Dan and Allison have taken up residence in Matt’s truck, the air conditioning on full blast. Neil almost can’t believe he spent hours suffocating in his dorm room when the Maserati was right there the whole time. There is a joyful chorus of hello’s from the truck, when Neil draws close, and he notices that the three of them are sipping from what look to be frozen margarita packs.
“Jeans, Neil?” Matt asks, patting at his own cargo shorts, “rather you than me, dude”
“Don’t worry, I’m taking young Neil to the store and fixing him this instant” Nicky proclaims. Neil ignores the flurry of suggestions by jumping into the car, wincing at how hot the interior is and then swearing in a rather colourful string of German when the air-vents throw out hot air first. Hovering by the drivers’ door, Nicky hedges “y’know, you could let me drive this once” and Neil rewards him with an Andrew-esque stare until Nicky gives it up and heads for the passenger.
And then promptly squeals, leaping up so fast he almost knocks his head on the roof.
“Leather seats, leather seats, my delicate thighs, oh my god”
The seats are uncomfortably warm but at least, Neil thinks, he’s protected by his impractical jeans. While Nicky frets, Neil reaches back and rummages behind the passenger seat until his fingertips find purchase in the material of the hoodie he’d left in Andrew’s car a few weeks back and neglected to bring inside ever since. He throws it at Nicky; “here, sit on this”
Nicky holds it out consideringly. “Why is your hoodie in Andrew’s car?”
“Nicky, why do you say that so suspiciously? I literally have keys to this car. You already know I’m dating Andrew”
“Yes” Nicky replies, settling primly on the covered seat, “I just like to hear you say it.” He leans across Neil a little to call out of the open window, “Reynolds, you owe me ten bucks”
If Nicky bumps his thigh painfully on the gearstick when Neil starts the car suddenly, well, its his own fault.
Blessedly, the mall is air-conditioned to the teeth. It’s almost too cold, but Neil is wearing his aforementioned impractical jeans and so he fares far better than Nicky, who complains almost immediately. By now, Nicky is very well versed in Neil’s specific brand of shopping-related impatience and so they power through the first few stores in the now accustomed manner; Nicky hurries through racks and racks of clothing, picking up pieces here and there without bothering to show Neil any of them until he eventually pushes Neil into a changing cubicle and stands sentinel outside, only entering whenever Neil calls out a sarcastic “all clear.” It had taken a little bit of time after everything settled down but one day, Nicky had dragged Neil out to a coffee store and wept into a macchiato as he profusely apologised for kissing Neil in Colombia. They had a long, important discussion about boundaries and consent and the slight discomfort that Neil hadn’t realised he’d been harbouring finally made itself scarce. Now, Nicky was a model student when it came to making sure Neil was comfortable, which seemed to include humming A-Ha’s Take On Me from the other side of the curtain while Neil decides between two very similar pairs of shorts.
“Nicky” Neil says. There white shirt is soft where the fabric falls between his fingers and he holds it out at arms length, tilting his head in contemplation. The humming stops; “did you think I wouldn’t notice the crop top?”
“On the contrary. I hoped you’d notice and try it on and say wow, Nicky is incredible and I do look gorgeous”
Neil considers it. Compared to previous crops that Nicky has tried to smuggle into Neil’s approved pile, this one seems at least reasonable. Boxy in shape, it looks like a regular shirt with a few inches cut off the bottom. Not as cropped as the ones he’s seen Dan wear, that show off the strong line of her abs and make Matt drop anything that happens to be in his hands (including but not limited to: an Exy racquet, a mug of hot coffee, Neil) but cropped enough to blur the line between t-shirt and other. He tries it on and is pleased to find that it sits just at the waistband of his shorts, only shows skin if he stretches his arms up, and it feels so much lighter than a full t-shirt. Damn Nicky Hemmick, he thinks.
“You win this round” Neil says sullenly. When they finally wrap up the shopping and Neil ducks into a toilet cubicle to switch his jeans out for the crop and a pair of black shorts, Nicky claps his hands together delightedly and refuses to stop beaming at Neil the whole drive home. It does help with the heat, loathe as he is to admit it.
“I didn’t want to say anything” Nicky says, fiddling with the car radio, “but you dress like a straight person. So this look is like, such a step up for you”
Neil stares stoically out of the car window, but he’s a little wounded. While he isn’t gay he’s not straight, either, and he isn’t sure how he feels about looking straight. Andrew, for all that his wardrobe is a monochromatic predictability, always seems to look neatly fashionable and put together. If being gay unlocks specific wardrobe knowledge, Neil thinks he might have to reconsider the position of his swing. Though, caring about his wardrobe still isn’t high on his list of priorities, so maybe not.
When they finally pull back into the parking lot of Fox Tower, Neil reaches up behind the sun visor for Andrew’s parking pass and feels a wave of exhilaration pass over him when the stretch takes his shirt with it, exposing the lower part of his abdomen. Maybe, he thinks, Nicky had a point.
Not that he would ever give Nicky the satisfaction, mind you.
Allison aims a wadded up dollar bill at Nicky’s forehead when they approach the truck, and Matt gives Neil an approving whistle. “Lookin’ summery, my man. How does it feel?”
“Um,” Neil says. “Breezy?”
He lifts his arms in demonstration, watching Matt’s eyebrows vanish into his hairline. “Oh, dude, Nicky is so good”
“Careful, Matt, you’ll summon Andrew” Allison warns, then gasps delightedly. “Do you think if Dan and Neil wear crops at the same time Matt will have a breakdown?”
“Allison” Matt says, very seriously. “A man can only handle so much at once”
Having his whole team offhandedly discuss how attractive he apparently is will never not make Neil feel slightly uncomfortable; he loves them, but he can’t help but wonder if they’re humouring him. Maybe he would have been attractive once, before the scars started to pile up, but now he isn’t so sure. He catches himself rubbing self-consciously at the skin of his arms and shakes it off, gathering up today’s purchases instead and heading inside in the vain hope that his dorm has somehow gotten less disgustingly hot in the time he’s been gone.
It hasn’t, but it has acquired the presence of one Andrew Minyard, who appears to be keeping himself cool by working his way through a pint of ice cream. Without even turning his head, Andrew comments, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you put gas in that car”
“And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you put ice cream in that freezer, but somehow you’re still eating it”
Pointedly, Neil makes his way over to the kitchen and unloads the handful of cartons he’d picked up on the way home. Andrew doesn’t dignify this with a response, and Neil gets lost in the ice cold air of the freezer for a few moments too long before he realises the tell tale scraping of a spoon against plastic has stopped. When he turns, Andrew is watching him with a completely blank expression. In Andrew-speak, this meant he was trying especially hard to conceal whatever was going on behind it. Neil raises a brow in question.
“Those are…shorts” Andrew says, and Neil sees it when Andrew hears his own words back, watches the imperceptible tightening of his jaw and the twitch of his brows.
“Yes,” and Neil is trying very hard not to look happy about it, “they’re new”
“Hm”
As nonchalantly as he can manage, Neil reaches up to run a hand through the top of his hair. Andrew’s eyes track the movement of fabric shifting up to Neil’s waist, exposing the flat plane of his abdomen, and his fingers flex around the pint of ice-cream. When he unfolds himself from the sofa with the air of a man who has all the time in the world, Andrew tries to school his features into their standard detachment and it almost makes Neil smile. The thing is, to anyone else, Andrew’s expressions are as unchanging as they ever have been. Except that Neil can read him better, now, can detect humour in the tiny crinkles at the corner of his eye, arousal in the faint pink that dusts his cheeks, true anger in the way that his hands stiffen and his shoulders tense.
A few inches from Neil, Andrew tilts his head in consideration. “Yes or no?”
At Neil’s assent, he reaches over and slips one hand under the hem of Neil’s shirt, fingers splaying out over the criss-crossing scars there. There’s a delicacy to his touch that Neil is almost certain he’ll never get enough of. From the very beginning of their nothing, Neil had noticed that Andrew found comfort in his scars, often traced over them with his fingertips when they were doing anything intimate. He isn’t stupid enough to ask about it but he knows it helps Andrew ground himself, reminds him that it’s Neil touching him, nobody else.
Quietly, so as not to break the settled calm, he explains “Nicky took me shopping for summer appropriate clothing”
Tugging at the t-shirt with his other hand, Andrew hums. “Perhaps my idiot cousin is good for something, after all”
“I like it” Neil admits. Then, pushing his luck, “you like it”
“I hate it” Andrew decides, “I hate you”
It seems a little contradictory when Andrew follows this up by tipping his forehead until it rests gently against Neil’s own, and Neil murmurs a quiet yes before Andrew can even ask. They kiss slow and soft, Andrew’s fingers weaving paths between stretches of scar tissue, and Neil thinks he ought to buy Nicky a drink the next time they all go out.