#curlyhairedneil

He should take a page out of Kevin’s book and get caught up on some homework. His chemistry is falling a bit short, but it’s fine because he’s still managing to maintain his GPA. Neil’s already done the math for that. He’d still be eligible to play even if he gets a low D in the class. And thank god, because Neil doesn’t understand the subject and his tutor is atrocious.

“Do your homework,” Andrew says as Neil drops down onto the sofa beside him, heaving a great sigh of boredom.

“No.” Neil stares at the ceiling and then at Andrew’s lap, debating.

“Yes,” Andrew says, and Neil can’t tell if it’s to maintain their argument or if it’s an invitation, but he takes it as the latter and settles down with his head on Andrew’s lap. Neil likes the way Andrew’s eyes track his progression all the way down until he’s on his back, neck at a bit of an uncomfortable angle, but it’s fine because Andrew is watching, looking. It makes Neil warmer, as if it wasn’t winter outside at all.

Kevin puts in his headphones and turns on an Exy game. Neil had known that the homework wouldn’t last long, especially since it was for his literature class and not any of his three history classes. It’s still nice to know that anything Neil says to Andrew and vise versa will be in confidence.

Neil waits for a staring comment from Andrew, but what he gets instead is a hand in his hair as Andrew returns his attention to the television. Neil doesn’t know what’s on, doesn’t care. He watches Andrew the way Andrew watches the show, taking in the reflection of the screen in Andrew’s glasses only to the extent that he likes the way the colors play on Andrew’s amber eyes beneath the lenses. He hums when Andrew takes to lightly scratching his nails over Neil’s scalp, and Neil likes the way Andrew’s jaw works like he’s trying impossibly hard to restrain himself from looking at Neil at all.

There was a time in his life – a long, long time – when this, here with Andrew, wasn’t even a thought in Neil’s head. It wasn’t even a fever dream. Neil knew his life was running and running and lying, was new identities and his mother’s backhand when he fucked up their backstory. Teenage hormones had gotten him a secret kiss that had turned out in the end to be not as secret as he had thought – and nothing special anyway. It hadn’t been worth the beating, hadn’t set off anything inside of Neil that kissing Andrew had – does.

Kissing Andrew is… different. It’s something Neil is afraid will be taken from him one day, something that could be used against him. Every kiss could be the last, every moment like this could be taken away from him so quickly, so easily. His father is dead, Lola is dead, Romero is dead, but there are so many, many others. And on top of it all, there’s Ichirou. Neil could wake up one day and his life could be in ruins.

So when moments like this come – no classes, no practice, an invitingly comfortable Andrew to lounge against, Neil knows better than to wish for anything else.

Neil tracks time by episode changes. They’re all half-hour segments, short little skits that Neil still finds too long and uninteresting. The tropes are boring, and Neil hates how poor the acting is, how the information is never tied together properly and how most of the “facts” are presented through a screen of bullshit. The plots are predictable, all following the same arch, the same path. The jokes are subpar and bourgeois. He’s never asked why Andrew likes them because it never seemed relevant; there were more important truths to be shared.

“Why do you watch them?” Neil asks during a commercial break. Andrew mutes the television and looks down at Neil. “If I spewed half of the nonsense coming from these shows, you would knife me.”

Andrew gives him a look which clearly tells him to not be so dramatic and then returns his attention to the still-muted television.

Kevin swears into the silence, then mumbles something about the stats of the game he’s watching. Neil picks up on the scribble of a pencil and wonders if Kevin is going to assign him this particular game to watch at a later date – tomorrow, most likely.

“I watched them in juvie,” Andrew says, pulling Neil’s focus where it should never have strayed from. The position of his neck is getting uncomfortable, but he doesn’t dare move. If he pulls away now, Andrew might stop talking, and Neil would rather die. “It was always funny to me,” Andrew continues in a humorless tone, “that the detention center allowed us free range on the television for an hour each day, but most of my foster homes wouldn’t even let us look at their screens.”

Thinking about Andrew’s past is never fulfilling for Neil, in the same way that he would rather never think about his own past. It happened, it was awful, and he doesn’t want it to keep affecting who he is today. Neil was never allowed to watch TV shows either, unless it was the news or it was a requirement for class – and those were usually documentaries. It was only when Neil showed up here, rooming with Seth and Matt, that he was allowed television. And despite Neil never taking advantage of Matt’s open invitation to watch sports other than Exy or Allison’s near-insistence that Neil watch some reality show with her, Neil can empathize with Andrew, with the juxtaposition of gaining a freedom in a place that should have been his prison.

But, for all of the hideous events that they have survived, television is not something worth weeping over.

So Neil snorts derisively and gives his head a small shake. “And of all of the channels available on cable network, you chose this one?”

Andrew blinks quickly enough for Neil to count it as surprise. Of course, Andrew chose the channel in juvie. Andrew has been frightful since day one, and Neil doubts that Andrew has ever allowed himself to be weak. Juvie would have been the perfect opportunity for him to bulk up, to punch someone hard enough to knock a tooth, to gain some semblance of control for the first time in his life.

It’s not surprising when Andrew tugs at Neil’s hair, signaling him to sit up. It’s also not surprising when Andrew immediately stands and makes his way to the kitchenette. But Andrew’s crooked finger is intriguing enough to unfold Neil’s legs and get him off the sofa. He glances just once at Kevin, sees his nose mere inches from the screen, and decides to just let him go blind.

Andrew pins Neil with a yes or no the second he’s in the kitchenette. The answer is yes, always yes, and Andrew’s mouth is a fire trying to fend off South Carolina’s poor excuse for a winter. Neil winds his fingers through Andrew’s hair to tug him along as he backs himself into the counter. He likes being here, something solid at his back and Andrew at his front. It doesn’t feel like being pinned for dissection. It feels… good. It feels like home, like reassurance, like Andrew’s hot breath against Neil’s wet lips as they break apart for a quick grab of air.

They don’t need words, don’t need misguided and ambiguous ‘thank you’s. They don’t even need to trade one calm assist for another.

Andrew kisses Neil once more, just as intense but not for as long, and then pulls away.

“We’re out of ice cream,” Neil says, half-amused when Andrew beelines for the freezer. They haven’t eaten supper yet – fuck, they haven’t even eaten lunch yet – but ice cream is an easy way for Andrew to, well, cool down after a mention of his past. Andrew stops before his fingertips even brush the freezer’s handle. Neil waits for Andrew to open the door, to double check as if looking for himself might make the ice cream appear, but he’s mildly surprised when Andrew instead turns back to Neil. Being the recipient of trust is still a new sensation.

“Who ate the last of my ice cream?”

Nicky did. “I don’t know,” Neil says, and he knows that Andrew knows he’s lying. But Andrew doesn’t call him out except to frown a little deeper. “We could always go get some.”

That suggestion is greeted with indifferent eyes and a simple, “It’s snowing. Everything is shut down.”

“I’m sure Walmart is open.”

“That’s in Columbia.”

Neil shrugs. “Good thing you own a car.”

“I’m not going to drive in this weather.”

Neil has a close call with a humorless scoff, but manages to pass it off as a hitch in his breath. “It’s just a little snow, Andrew. Haven’t you ever driven in snow?”

“No,” Andrew says, immediate and honest. “But you have.” It doesn’t have to be a question.

Once more, Neil shrugs. “That’s not a very interesting story. Just some shitty cars, some grinding gear shifts, and some snowy mountains.” Maybe Neil owes Andrew for the story about juvie, but that doesn’t mean he owes it now. It could be a debt, something to pay later when Andrew needs something from him versus simply wanting something.

“To Columbia, though?” Andrew asks, and Neil gets where he’s coming from. “It’s just ice cream.” And it’s a long fucking drive.

“Not only,” Neil says. “It’s a way to get me out of the damn dorm. I’m dying. I hate being cooped up.”

“So dramatic. Alright,” Andrew says, agreeing just like that.

They don’t bother to say goodbye to Kevin, to tell him where they’re going or what they’re doing. Andrew doesn’t even text Nicky to put him in charge of Kevin. Riko is dead and their deal is off – Kevin needs independence more than he needs protection.

Andrew grabs his jacket and for a half-second, Neil debates shirking his own just to prove a point – but in the end he doesn’t know what point he’s trying to prove, and he, like Andrew, has adjusted to South Carolina’s temperature enough that it does feel chilly outside. He can afford time for comfort, so he puts on the jacket and follows Andrew outside.

The car keys are traded for the cigarettes in Neil’s pocket, and Andrew crosses behind Neil for the passenger side. It takes a moment to readjust the driver’s seat to where Neil likes it, but soon enough they’re on the road.

The snow plows are out. Neil honestly can’t fucking believe it. There’s less than an inch of snow collected on the grass, and the pavement is wet but completely clear. He doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend how an entire campus and surrounding businesses can close down from such a minor inconvenience.

In the passenger seat, Andrew lights a cigarette, but he doesn’t offer one to Neil. More surprised than offended, Neil glances at Andrew.

“Eyes on the road,” is all Andrew says.

“There’s nothing wrong with the road except slow-ass snow plows and the congestion they’re causing,” Neil says. “Can I have a cigarette?”

Andrew seems to debate it, staring stonily out of the windshield. After a moment, he digs out a new stick and lights it. “If we end up in the ditch because of you, you had better pray that the crash is bad enough to kill us both, or you’re paying for all of the damages and buying me a new car.”

“Again,” Neil supplies – unhelpfully, judging from Andrew’s expression.

The interstate is shut down – really? Neil thinks, and flips a U-turn in the middle of the on-ramp – so they take the back roads. It’s freeing, Neil supposes. Peaceful in a way that comes from them being alone on the road, everyone else shut-up inside their homes, enjoying a day off from school or work. Though the snow is melting almost faster than it can accumulate, it’s still pretty as it falls from the clouds, and Neil likes the sheer screen it makes across his vision, something beautifully obscure.

“Do you like the winter?” Andrew asks, and maybe it’s collecting a debt but maybe it’s just curiosity.

“I miss it, sometimes,” Neil admits. “I’ve had a lot of good ones and a lot of bad ones. I’ve seen snow turn red, seen it fall like crisp linens to cover bodies and any traces that my mother and I were there. But I’ve also woken up and seen an inch of frost covering the trees, catching the light.” He wants to say that he’s spent a couple of winters with Andrew, now, and they’ve been the best yet, but he keeps that to himself. “I like the cold. It’s refreshing, makes me feel alive.”

“You have Exy for that.” Andrew digs out the pack of cigarettes, and Neil thinks it’s to hide his bemusement. “I’m not living anywhere that gets constant snow. You’re on your own.”

Neil’s hands relax on the steering wheel as a laugh rolls through him. “Making me choose between you and snow. That’s not fair.”

“I could make it be Exy and me,” Andrew threatens around the cigarette in his mouth, clicking lighter in his hands.

Neil takes the cigarette away and catches Andrew’s eyes for as long as he dares on the snow-wetted highway. “I would choose you,” he says, “without hesitation.”

Andrew looks away. For a moment, Neil thinks he’s lost the conversation, lost their pleasant afternoon. But then Andrew rasps out, “Don’t say that.”

“You think I don’t mean it?”

The slight shake of Andrew’s head would have been answer enough. “You’ve told me once already that Exy is everything to you. Don’t lie to me and tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

Neil puts on the brakes and pulls the car over to the side of the road. He puts the hazards on just in case before he twists in his seat to face Andrew head-on. “Look at me,” he says, and Andrew does. “I mean it. I don’t believe that you would ever make me choose between you and Exy, but if something happened… if the world aligned the wrong way and I had to give up one or the other….” Neil reaches out, stops, and then touches Andrew’s cheek when he nods. “You are the single best thing in my life. That I get to share my favorite hobby – my future job – with you is beyond amazing. But you are worth so much more than that, Andrew.”

They both know what it feels like to not be wanted, to be used and then pushed aside. Neil is not going to let Andrew feel like that anymore, not around him, anyway. But he’s also not about to force Andrew into an emotional conversation so far from home, in the middle of the snow that Andrew seems to loathe. So Neil smiles and hands back the cigarette. Then he shakes his head and pulls back onto the road.

“I’m driving two hours just to get you some damn ice cream,” Neil mutters, as if that should be proof enough. It’s not, but it does what needed to be done. Andrew relaxes and takes a drag, flicking the ash out through the cracked window.

“Stop bitching and drive.” He sounds normal again.