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Neil drops several pom poms putting his new “partner” in his enclosure.
The felted fennec fox, only slightly bigger than Neil’s thumb, stares up at him with black eyes full of nothing but brainlessness. Softness.
Neil has to look away.
He loves it. Or, maybe he just loves the thought of the person who gave it to him. It’s laughably easy to kickstart this feeling now. It starts in his toes, a subtle tingle, a switch that unleashes the butterflies in his stomach until he can’t keep still. He checks the ceiling of his room, so, so high up. He thinks he could reach it if he tried.
Willing away the heat on his face, Neil zips the plastic pouch up, trapping the fox inside. He shakes it like a snow globe, watches the pom poms bounce around and off the fox’s head.
It was his friend, Dan, who showed him the videos of people creating little pouch enclosures for their trinkets. Cute, colorful, childish. Everything Neil was not. It would go against his entire brand, probably, bringing something like this to cuss someone out publicly. But since when has Neil cared about aesthetics?
Something about it itched his brain. Like the clay dogs before it, all the way back to the original wooden duck.
That’s all it took, from the moment Andrew placed his new friend gently in his hands, touch lingering. Neil gravitated towards the craft store without realizing, and now he was staring down at the end result.
The fennec fox looks cozy, right at home surrounded by orange and white pom poms. Some of them are sparkly. Neil’s favorite detail is the small, felted knife held in his paw. Andrew’s personal touch.
Andrew .
Neil has to sit down. Forget the ceiling, he’ll go through it and who knows when he’ll stop.
He’s not used to this feeling, not even months later. Whimsy and longing, playfulness and fantasy . He finds himself talking to Andrew more and more in his head, thinking of what he’ll say to him, show him. A once solitary life, seemingly so boring and uninteresting to his own passing thoughts, bursts to life. He sees something silly at a coffee shop, a cute dog at the park, an embarrassing exchange in the quad and thinks, I have to tell Andrew later .
It should scare Neil more.
His nerve, his temper, is something that clings to his bones, his marrow, unable to be squashed no matter how much life has stacked on his shoulders. He’s resilient, a grade A asshole.
But now, he finds himself willing that tenacity to not slip through his fingers.
Before he can lose it, or overthink what’s become of him, he whips out his phone and sends a text, a picture of the pouch attached.
he’s coming with me to cuss out a group of frat guys today
Giddily, too giddily, jesus christ , Neil bounces on the balls of his feet. He places his phone against his lips, suppressing some unbecoming sound. He doesn’t expect Andrew to respond as quickly as he does. No sooner does he send the text than he feels the vibration against his lips.
The ticklish feeling lasts, intensifies, even after he nearly drops the phone trying to read the new message.
Where.
Ah, oops, Neil thinks. He bites his lip to suppress a smile.
I’ll be okay. Most people don’t shoot the messenger, shockingly.
I can run fast too.
It’s a half lie. A lot of people love to shoot the messenger. But Neil’s not worried. Certainly not enough to make Andrew come and stand watch. Though, he does feel a bit light-headed at the thought. He hasn’t seen Andrew in…oh, thirty-five hours, right?
The butterflies return full force when he realizes his accuracy, and the fact that Andrew would definitely know for sure.
His phone buzzes again.
Didn’t ask. Address. Now.
Neil doesn’t think this is part of the wooing. Right? No. He’s seen enough of Andrew’s protective instincts to know better.
This is just Andrew, already his, but not allowing Neil to give him the label he’s fighting for.
“Fighting.”
It’s not much of a battle. Far from a war. Neil willingly surrendered.
It took Andrew little more than a week to cross enemy lines, to erode Neil’s walls and make him comfortable. A trojan duck. If Neil could manage to wrangle a shred of honesty from his vault of weapons, he’d admit it started from that first meeting. Neil accepted the gift, the initial attack, and there was no going back.
Full infiltration. Except Andrew hadn’t stopped there. He hadn’t really allowed himself to take, either.
It’s been a month or so of this…this wooing . Andrew had called it that once, sarcastically, but it had stuck. Andrew committed. Gift after gift, but more than that, moment after moment.
Neil can’t remember when he started expecting to see Andrew waiting for him outside of his classes. He would walk Neil around campus, join him for lunch if he could. Once, they spent over an hour trading secrets while Andrew drew him pictures in wet cement with a stick.
Andrew was talented with his hands. Neil had yet to be proven wrong about that.
Neil’s name is still etched onto a campus sidewalk, surrounded by meaningless doodles. All Neil’s requests.
Neil, shyly. “Can you do a dog next?”
And Andrew, sure and steady, delivering that and more. A wooden terrier the next day, complete with Andrew’s initials on the collar. Yeah, Neil guesses it made sense.
Andrew was letting Neil walk him like a dog, after all.
Dozens of whittled woodland creatures later, and Andrew branched out into other crafts. Felted animals and air-dry clay. Neil basically has an army of them spilling over his bookshelves. He prioritizes them over his textbooks.
But more than gifts, Andrew gave company Neil didn’t know he was missing. Easy, unbothered company. No need for conversation if Neil wasn’t in the mood, no expectations to advance whatever they seemed to be doing.
Their… this .
Now, Neil thinks he would place his own life in Andrew’s hands. To hold, to shape. He’s seen the beauty Andrew creates with his own eyes. He would be cherished, has been cherished.
They’ve blurred the lines quite a bit. No—
Neil thinks they left the line in the dust some time ago. There’s no other explanation for how right it felt for Neil to do what he did after seeing Andrew’s hands, covered in band aids from accidentally poking his fingers with a felting needle.
He handed Neil a small, felted giraffe, had the audacity to seem confused when Neil set it aside in favor of grabbing Andrew’s hands and kissing them for far too long. An empty park late in the evening, cold as ice. They could see each and every stuttering breath Neil took as he kissed along Andrew’s knuckles.
They hadn’t kissed, hadn’t touched any more than that. But when Andrew got up from the park bench way later on, he seemed as woozy as Neil was.
And after instances like that, Neil had been so confused , not sure what this was all about. He asked Andrew about it one night, pressed up against him by a fire pit while Andrew whittled. It was the rough beginnings of a snake. Neil would name it Apple.
“What…is all this for?” Neil asked, a whisper dancing on the crackling flame. His legs tightened over Andrew’s lap.
“I’m courting you,” Andrew stated, almost bored with it as he expertly shaved at the wood with a knife.
Neil blinked. His first instinct, predictably, was to think of some kind of sport. “Courting?”
Andrew’s anguished sigh was so unnecessary that Neil used his foot to nudge his stomach right where Andrew was most ticklish.
“ Gifts , Neil. Attention,” Andrew said, unevenly as he wrangled Neil’s foot away. “Clearly, you’re not familiar with either.”
And Neil froze. Gifts, he may not be used to. Attention, he always thought he hated. But intentions…those he’s always been able to read. A skill that’s kept him safe. He could pull out bad ones from the most seemingly upstanding individuals.
But no one ever had good intentions with him. Not like this.
Oh .
And that’s what Andrew meant, wasn’t it? Andrew, who knew things Neil wouldn’t even share with a therapist. He was making Neil familiar with it.
“But…you did it,” Neil said, breathless with the lazy confession. Andrew’s resoluteness left his head spinning. He was still afraid to say it at that point, to label their relationship. But Andrew, with all his confidence, had to know too. “I already like you. I want to…”
To be yours.
“But I still need to do this,” Andrew said, not missing a beat. He shaved another thin line off the snake’s tail. The movement was so slight, Neil wondered how the sliver didn’t snap off and ruin the whole thing. Andrew wasn’t even looking at it anymore
The intense, molten gold of his eyes was all for Neil. Almost angry . “Not because I’m supposed to. Fuck that. You—”
Andrew grunted, unable to find the words. Or maybe, just as reluctant as Neil was to fully give himself over. For all the secrets Neil shared, Andrew shared his own. Just as harrowing, as vulnerable. Andrew was not a man of many words, Neil realized. It was easy to notice the pattern, the more time they spent together.
Andrew spoke with actions, with his hands.
The words did not come to either of them, admissions were barbed wire, but Neil thought he could understand anyways.
It’s not about what you’re supposed to do. You don’t do anything you don’t wanna do, right?
At what must’ve been a sick, love struck expression on Neil's face, Andrew rolled his eyes.
“A face like yours,” he muttered, before turning back to his snake. The tips of his ears were redder, with the fire going nearby. “You should be used to it.”
It had taken Neil some time to decode that. But realizing what Andrew meant had sealed the deal. It was not a dig. It was a declaration.
Neil slings his bag over his shoulder, pouch strapped securely to the front. It bounces on his way out the door.
Yeah, Neil thinks Andrew’s done a good job on delivering on such a promise.
Neil’s getting quite used to this.
--
Andrew beats him to the frat house, because of course he does.
He stands sentinel, as he tends to when he joins Neil for appointments, looking ready to fight if need be. He hasn’t needed to help yet, but the thought that he would has Neil losing it all over again. It’s safe to say he’s obsessed. He has to give Andrew a run for his money.
Neil grins and jogs up to him, very much aware that he’s practically skipping. He just likes the way Andrew’s spine straightens.
He eyes the chunky rings on Andrew’s fingers, the high platform boots on his feet.
Good for stomping.
Neil shows him his pouch buddy and appreciates how gently Andrew grips the pouch to turn it this way and that. Neil smirks, ready to drop his rehearsed introduction from the moment he woke up. “I named him Hot Pocket.”
The waiting game is worth it for how Andrew stills. The blond closes his eyes, probably counts to three. It’s a point of playful contention between them, Neil’s inability to name his children. Neil’s creativity is puddle deep, and most of the time the names come from what he knows.
Thus…food and sport brands.
He thinks Andrew has given up expecting anything more.
He sighs, reaches into his pocket. The rustle of something has Neil’s head shooting up, pavlovian. “Right. Does Hot Pocket want a friend?”
“Yes,” Neil answers too fast. Okay, yeah, he is getting used to this. Andrew has an edge of smugness to him at Neil’s eagerness, and when he opens his palm, it only grows as Neil’s eyes go wide with wonder.
It’s so small .
The felted deer, spotted, sits cutely in the center of Andrew’s large hand. It’s laying down, making it seem impossibly smaller. Neil must be imagining it, but he thinks this one has an edge of sadness to his eyes. He’ll have to ask Andrew later, if maybe this is some kind of Bambi joke.
Carefully, so carefully, Neil lifts it from Andrew’s hand and holds it close to his face. He has to take in all the details, knowing everything about Andrew’s crafts are intentional. He still notices new things on his other animals all the time.
“Will this one be named after a shitty food, or an athleisure brand this time?” Andrew jabs. He never was good at dealing with Neil’s praise, silent or otherwise. Maybe Andrew’s the one who could get used to some attention.
In a bout of courage, Neil leans forward and pecks Andrew right on the lips. They stick a little bit when he pulls away. Neil has to suppress a shiver, already hoping he can do it again soon . He doesn’t linger, tries not to let it throw off the moment. It’s new for them, but Neil very much wants them to get used to that too.
He doesn’t miss the way Andrew almost chases him.
“Adidas is a cute name,” Neil says, tucking the deer away into his pouch for safety.
Andrew’s sigh coincides with his targets walking out of the frat house, and gives Neil the perfect surge of energy he needs to rip them to shreds.
--
“And that’s why Jen and Angie never want to see you again,” Neil finishes, only slightly breathless. He improvised a bit towards the end, spurred on by Andrew’s attention. He somehow gets meaner when Andrew is around.
He leaves two of the frat boys stunned and trying to comfort their crying brothers, a dramatic mess on the steps of the fraternity’s driveway. A dressing down for all to see.
Satisfied, Neil snaps a picture, a bonus for his client he doesn’t tend to offer. But this one felt especially good. Cheating on two people while your friend lies and spies for you is never the way to go.
When Neil turns around, Andrew’s expression doesn’t leave a ton to the imagination. Neil nearly goes weak in the knees. He stumbles right towards Andrew’s half-lidded stare, straight up halts when the honey gaze sweeps him head to toe.
They’ve shared less than ten kisses, but Andrew looks like he’s ready to devour him. Neil would let him. He’d let Andrew do anything.
They’re in sync. Neil’s arms around Andrew’s shoulders in a split second, Andrew’s strong, nicked hands around Neil’s neck.
Nine …
That’s all Neil thinks as Andrew tips Neil’s head back and shoves his tongue down his throat.
Nine turns to lost count that afternoon.
--
Later, after a walk through the campus park, Andrew buys them drinks from the nearby vending machine. The crumbled garden wall they’re leaning against is just low enough for Andrew to lift Neil up onto it by the waist. Neil gasps at how light he feels. Andrew doesn’t so much as strain, bored with the movement in every way except for his lingering fingertips.
A moment later, he joins him. Up close, Andrew’s lips shine, thoroughly kissed.
And it may be retaliation for how brainless Andrew makes him feel, but screw it. It’s not like Neil doesn’t want to.
Boldly, Neil scoots close enough to be sitting half in Andrew’s lap, his other hand absentmindedly petting Andrew’s chest. He likes the hard muscle there. It intrigues him, what Andrew must do to maintain it. He maps the plane of it, presses extra hard when he feels a soft spot. He thinks his nail accidentally scrapes over one of Andrew’s nipples at one point.
When he looks up at Andrew’s sharp intake of breath, there’s not much behind those eyes. They dart, torn, between what Neil is doing and Neil’s face. Yeah. Andrew’s thoughts have left the building. Good.
“So, um, are you still wooing me?” Neil asks.
It takes Andrew a few seconds to catch up. It’s the first time Neil’s ever heard “uh” come out of his mouth.
Andrew shoves Neil when he can longer hide his smirk. He grabs Neil’s hands, stopping them from scrambling his brain any further.
Andrew’s gaze is as critical as ever, searching, always paying so much attention. No, no. Neil can’t get used to this. He wants to feel this novelty all the time.
“Why?” Andrew asks.
“I was thinking,” Neil starts, waving his hand. Even with it being what Andrew wants from him, it’s hard to ask for things. He almost seizes up right then, but no, he wants to do this. For more than the selfish reason, it’s a way for him to ask…
“I have too many little guys now. They don’t all fit on my bookshelves. But I do want more. So…”
I want more, because I want you around for as long as you’ll stay.
Andrew bounces him on his knee, a clear get on with it.
“Maybe we can build them a home together.” Since you’re already my home.
“You want a dollhouse now?”
Neil scrunches his nose up. As cute as Andrew’s animals are, Neil can’t get behind it. They don’t belong in a dollhouse. “That doesn’t feel right but yeah, I guess. Something like that.”
Andrew nods, and Neil can see the blueprint go up in his head. Nothing’s ever too much for him when it comes to Neil. He’ll have to tell Andrew not to make the thing five mini stories high.
“Hmm. I can manage that.” Then, “You said we.”
And this is it. Neil takes a deep breath. He’s ready to put a label on it.
Not because he’s supposed to. Fuck that.
But it’s more than a this . It’s been more than a this .
He thinks they both deserve to act like it.
“Yeah, think of it as….the end of the courting phase,” Neil says. “We can do it together, and maybe after…we can go on a date?”
Dates . But Neil will take one to start.
That’s what people do, right?
Andrew, because he’s got a mean streak to rival Neil’s own, lets the request sit in the silence far too long. Neil starts to wriggle, kept balanced only by Andrew’s hand around his waist. It’s how he knows he didn’t ruin this. Andrew’s touch, and the spark of amusement in those eyes.
A joke Neil doesn’t get. But he will. He knows in due time, it’ll all make sense.
Eventually, Andrew frees him from the bundle of nerves, snips every knot in one fell swoop.
“It’s a deal about the date, but Neil…” Andrew starts. And this, this is something Neil is sure is just for him too. The slightest upturn of Andrew’s mouth, trusting Neil to keep his secrets. Neil almost wants to cup it, like a flame. For his eyes only, for his hands, his everything. He wants to sear it into his being.
Andrew’s release of breath is a tiny, vulnerable thing. It lets Neil know that this secret, this truth, is one he can’t betray for anything. A confession, stronger than any three simple words. He looks away when he says it, hands fisting in Neil’s clothes. But he gets it out, he meets Neil halfway.
“The thing is, I don’t think the wooing will end.”
And Neil feels Andrew’s promise too, like a flame, growing more and more each day.
--
Andrew builds Neil a carved, detailed wooden prison for his felted animals. They paint it together, rig it with little sirens and lights. It takes a few months, during which Andrew becomes a near permanent fixture in Neil’s apartment.
The day Andrew moves in, they spend the afternoon assigning each animal a cell and a crime to match. Some deserve life sentences. It’s much more fitting than a dollhouse, Neil thinks as he sets his carved wooden duck in the prison’s central booking. A looming, authoritative warden.
Andrew helps him lift it onto its own shelf, right in the center of their home. It should feel like the end, but it’s far from it. So, really, Neil guesses Andrew was right.
The wooing doesn’t end.