Neil stomps into their dorm room with fury written all over his body. Andrew watches curiously from his spot half way buried into a bean bag. Neil glances at him, and for a brief moment the tension in his shoulders drops, before his glare returns with even more force than earlier. He slips into their bedroom without a sound, the soft click of the latch the only evidence of his presence.
Andrew keeps one eye on it, barely pretending to be watching Gordom Ramsey chew out some chef while he waits to see what Neil will do. It's not hard to piece together what happened. It's a Thursday, which means Neil spends a few hours with the upperclassmen in between classes, before heading to practice with Andrew and Kevin.
He's back early and angry, angry enough that Andrew knows someone found themselves on the receiving end of that sharp tongue. Andrew reflects on Neil's look, the fury racheting up to a higher degree immediately afterwards.
Neil's protection still creates a pit in his stomach, a bone deep sense of wrongness not easily replaced, but Andrew feels it in his chest, too. His lungs stutter first, forget how to draw in air due to his surprise, than warmth rises between his ribs, small, like a flame barely coaxed out of embers.
For a moment Andrew is torn between two instincts, and then Neil returns to his side. His duffel is in his hands. Everything inside of Andrew freezes, or maybe that's the Earth, spinning so fast Andrew seems still in comparison. The anger doesn't get a chance to chokehold his fear before Neil realizes his mistake, his own anger cedeing to guilt as he drops the bag carelessly to his side. He reaches for Andrew instead, hands an inch away from skin, framing his face.
"I'm staying," Neil says calmly, resolutely, as honest as a liar knows how to be.
The world slowly rights itself; his lungs remember how to breathe. Andrew scowls, at himself, for being stupid enough to think Neil would leave like this, with the courtesy of a goodbye. He scowls at Neil too, for making Andrew like this, for his runner nature, for the hands Andrew leans into because, against everything he knows, that's where he wants to be.
Neil's hands are warm and calloused, scarred pianist's fingers rubbing soothing circles Andrew wishes he could hate into his scalp. His thumbs brush under his eyes, firm enough that Andrew knows he's imagining erasing the dark circles that lay there.
"I only grabbed the bag because I wanted to ask to go to Columbia," Neil puts an inflection Andrew can't quite read on the word ask, but that's not the only reason Andrew's eyebrows twitch up in surprise.
"I didn't think they were capable of pissing you off enough to skip a game."
Neil huffs, "Just practice tonight, and our morning classes tomorrow; we can get back in time for the game."
"Of course," Andrew says, "Silly me."
Neil rolls his eye before moving away so that Andrew can stand; he doesn't miss his touch as soon as it's gone. He refuses.
He moves to get his own bag together when Neil stops him, "I grabbed things for you too."
Andrew flicks the duffel one single unimpressed look before turning on his heel and walking out the door.
Andrew watches Neil sink into the passenger's seat. He breathes in first, like the scent of leather and smoke is more necessary than oxygen. His eyes close next, tilting his head back onto the headrest, unintentionally drawing attention to the line of his neck.
Andrew is unsure if Neil himself is aware of this ritual, of the tension he carries which never disappears entirely outside of these small moments. The growl of the engine wakes him from his trance, and Andrew watches from the corner of his eyes as Neil buckles, before twisting in the seat to stare at him.
Andrew ignores it for now. He focuses on the road ahead of them, lets himself enjoy the purr of the engine, the control as they hurtle down the highway. Neil doesn't speak, only stares at Andrew with increasing intensity as they get closer to their destination.
Neil waits until they're twenty minutes from the house to speak up. Andrew's surprised he made it that long, considering he'd started twitching and biting his lip thirty minutes ago.
"They don't think you can say no to me," the words leave Neil in a rush.
Andrew watches the anger return as he continues to speak, the dam broken.
"They were joking about it," Neil says with disgust, "Ask Andrew to dye his hair pink. Ask Andrew to follow Kevin's diet, on and on and on. Like I could just force you to do something you didn't want. It was-"
"Your anger is pointless," Andrew says flatly.
This time Neil's eyes flash with anger at him, icey cold except for how it warms his skin. "It is not. Not when it's about you. Not when it's about this. If I thought you- If I thought I-"
Neil's jaw clenches, "It was the first thing you said to me, after we kissed. I didn't understand then, not really. I think I do, now," Neil faces the horizon as he says it.
When Neil finally turns back to him its with a fervid gleam in his eyes, "When was the last time you told me no?"
"No," Andrew says flatly, petty and unwilling to contribute to Neil's mental gymnastics.
"Abram," Andrew responds sharply, "You are being an idiot."
"Maybe," Neil says, a tremor growing in his body, "Maybe I am an idiot, but I can't remember the last time you told me no. I was so angry earlier, but-"
"Careful," Andrew interrupts darkly, "Do not believe them more than you believe me."
Neil inhales sharply, turning towards Andrew frantically, "It's not that Andrew. I believe you; I trust you more than anyone. I just-"
Andrew settles at his reassurances. This isn't Neil turning his back on him, or second guessing his honesty. This is Neil spiraling, harder than Andrew has seen for a minute.
They're almost to the house when Neil stutters through his next thought, "I thought I couldn't hurt you, before- before Baltimore. I didn't realize I made it onto the list of the very few things that could, and now, you don't say no to me." Neil looks at his hands like they aren't his own, "I could-"
Andrew slides recklessly into the driveway, turning before the car is in park to place a hand on Neil's neck. It's not enough. He unclasps their seatbelts himself, pulling at Neil until he scrambles over the center console into Andrew's lap. Andrew presses hard on the soft skin of Neil's nape, until his trembling body slumps into his own, forehead pressed to his shoulder as Andrew holds him.
"You are not my weapon of choice for self destruction," Andrew says harshly, presses his hands into Neil's skin, like that will make the truth sink in faster.
Neil shudders once and then goes still, relaxing further into him. Good, Andrew thinks. He's remembering what Andrew already knows, the terrible and awful truth that burns him from the inside out.
Neil is good for him, even more than that, he's good to him. He follows Andrew's boundaries to a T; he never pushes for more than what Andrew wants to give. On his bad days he does not say no to Neil's touch, he says later or not today or nothing at all, and Neil is content to stay by his side. He's never said no less than in the past year, which is humorous now that he's finally found someone who will respect it.
Andrew cards his fingers through Neil's mess of hair, his other arm circled around his waist. It feels so impossible to be able to hold everything that matters in his arms like this.
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