And you sure as fuck aren't mine

Neil has a habit of slowly slipping lower until his face disappears into the crook of Andrew’s neck or against his chest. he doesn’t even try to hide the deep breath he draws in, filling his lungs with Andrew’s scent as though searching for the one place where nothing else in the apartment can reach him, where there’s only Andrew. “You smell like yourself,” he murmurs, his lips never leaving Andrew’s skin. “Were you expecting someone else’s?” Andrew asks, absentmindedly combing his fingers through Neil’s curls. Neil only answers with a quiet grunt, shaking his head before burrowing even closer. again and again, he makes the same tiny adjustments, clumsily trying to melt into Andrew without disturbing him, until Andrew finally lets out a quiet sigh. “You’ve got ten minutes.” It’s all the permission Neil needs. the very next second, his legs are hopelessly tangled with Andrew’s, his arms wrapped securely around Andrew’s lower back as he presses every inch of himself as close as physically possible. soon, the only part of him still visible is the crown of red hair tucked beneath Andrew’s chin. “Junkie.” Andrew rolls his eyes, thoroughly trapped in a position that isn’t particularly comfortable, but at least Neil finally stops squirming. the top of Neil’s head rests directly beneath Andrew’s lips, making it almost inevitable that he scatters a few absentminded kisses there as they talk. eventually, Andrew shifts, sliding a hand beneath Neil’s back before rolling him fully underneath him, pinning him gently between the mattress and his own body as he settles his weight on top. the moment Andrew’s scent completely overwhelms every other smell in the room, Neil lets out a muffled, deeply content little “Yeah…” as his hands instinctively stroke Andrew’s back and sides. Andrew isn’t entirely sure whether that quiet “yeah” is Neil’s response to being called a junkie or something slipped out from his unconscious mind, but judging by the way Neil melts beneath him, he clearly prefers this position. resting his chin atop Neil’s head, Andrew presses another lingering kiss into his hair, breathing in the clean scent left behind by Neil’s evening shower. “I’ll make it twenty,” he murmurs quietly. “if it's too hard—wheeze." Neil’s arms only tighten more firmly around Andrew’s waist locking them together, making it perfectly clear that he couldn’t care less about the discomfort if it means holding onto this moment for just a little longer.

Forever of the strong belief that YES, Neil can and DOES borrow Andrew’s hoodies and his jerseys but that Andrew physically CANNOT do the same with Neil’s because that boy is #thick and big and strong and if he TRIED to put on one of the #10 jackets/jerseys, it would split down the middle and has. & Neil LIKES that image but Andrew doesn’t go for it anymore because he entertained Neil TOO MUCH at the start and now Wymack refuses to get Neil any new PSU clothing if he Andrew rips any more

kevin day should’ve been an ancient greek tragic heroine and instead he got stuck in a self published 2010s contemporary sports/crime thriller… and he didn’t even get put on the woke team so he doesn’t know about estrogen or bisexuality

genuinely if i was into neil josten i would be humiliated by it too. the man wears jorts. he's never picked up a social cue in his life and the only thing he thinks about is stick ball. he smokes but he actually doesn't and he's ginger and he's got mommy issues and the most punchable face a man has ever worn. he doesn't even pick up on any of your cool smooth lines nor does he care how sexy your car is. he's british. when you're talking he says things like 'i could draw on you with a marker' and when you're gone he says you're all that matters. andrew was right to hate him this would be a fucking devastating thing to discover about yourself.