#tfchc

tbh this is such an interesting idea! like i think the book vaguely mentions it hurting a little bit when he and andrew kiss but like... here’s some thoughts

somehow neil’s life is filled with people protecting him, and it hurts

hurts to know that he thought he was going to leave these people who love him

hurts to know that they would spread silly rumors to protect him from questions

hurts to know that he loves the life his mother would have loathed for him

but mostly it hurts to smile

which he’s been doing a lot of lately 

(andrew being a catalyst at least half the time)

neil’s face is stiff and taught and to others he has the stare of a serial killer (thanks to nathan’s genetics)

and when dan and matt jump in or andrew gives him the look or kevin makes a particularly good goal at night practice neil can’t help but smile

a concept he once held at arms length, even before running with his mother, has become to common place

but the ache in his face anytime his mouth curves upwards is worth it

it reminds him he is alive

it reminds him he is safe

it reminds him he is loved

Dan’s red string shows up her freshman year of high school and she steadfastly ignores it

Dan Wilds does not have time for soulmates thank you very much she has exy practice and needs to make money appear from no where if she’d like to eat tonight 

Allison was born with her string 

It was a highly publicized thing, like everything else in Allison’s life would be

Allison could never date without speculation, without ruthless teasing, so she simply stops giving a shit about her soulmate

Honestly fuck them if they’ve given her this much trouble before even meeting yet

Renee’s string shows up when she’s nine years old and she rolls it up and tucks it into her pocket

She thinks of the string like her own little secret and plans to keep it to herself for as long as she can 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he says, and walks to his desk to start assembling his books.

“Oh man, I’m sick of this,” Nicky says, dramatically rolling his eyes. “I’ve heard Andrew say he hates you, or say you’re ‘nothing’ or whatever, and we all know it’s bullshit.”

Neil almost smiles. “It’s not a lie.”

“Okay, sure, whatever. What would you call it, then? Partners in crime?”

Neil shrugs. He’s never had to find a word or phrase for what Andrew is to him. It doesn’t matter.

“Oh, come on, even you have to admit that’s ridiculous. He’s your boyfriend. It’s simple.”

“He’s not my anything,” Neil replies. Andrew doesn’t belong to him.

“Tell me,” Nicky pushes. “If he’s not your boyfriend, what is he?”

Nicky is going to continue pushing it, Neil knows. The best way to get him to stop is to give him an answer, though Neil also knows that giving an answer Nicky doesn’t like is just as likely to keep the conversation going. So Neil thinks.

There’s no title Neil can give Andrew that would be right. Boyfriend is juvenile, partner is almost too serious, significant other is a mouthful and altogether too formal; and all come with the issue that it would make Andrew into some type of belonging.

And besides, how could all Andrew is be confined to a single word? He’s home, he’s safety, he’s stability. He’s everything Neil never knew he needed and the comfort Neil never thought he’d get to feel. He’s warmth and fire and sparks. There is no word for the multitudes that make Andrew: the intelligence, the strength, the humour; his jagged edges and sharp eyes. 

Andrew’s eyes were frantic as they search through the crowd. He shoved people aside right left and centre, looking for a single glimpse of that auburn hair, or blue eyes. They’re nowhere to be found.

The crowd pushes against him, towards the doors of the court. They’re ecstatic, high on the rush of the Trojan’s win. They’re unaware of the strife of Andrew, his searching gaze through the crowd, the clench of his fist around his knife. It had been easy enough to slide it from his armband without being noticed, and the crowd paid him no attention. 

Neil had disappeared at the end of the game, with Ichirou Moriyama on his tail. The crowd had blocked Neil from his view, and Andrew had lost him in seconds. The other Foxes were fanned out around the court, each searching for their missing striker but with no luck.

The crowd thins, and yet neither Neil nor Ichirou and his followers can be seen. 

Kevin appeared at Andrew’s side, and the tip of Andrew’s knife is pressed to the underside of Kevin’s chin in a second. “Where is he? What did he tell you?”

Kevin blanched. “Nothing.”

“You’d better not be lying to me, or you’ll regret it.” Andrew shoved his hand against Kevin’s chest and pushed past him. “Which way did he go?” He asked Matt. “You were the last one with him. Where. Did. He. Go.”

“I don’t know. I turned away for one second and he was gone.” The worry in Matt’s face led Andrew to believe that was true, but he resented him for letting Neil get away. He hadn’t left a trace, in a typical Neil way. Andrew rolled his eyes. If he ever found Neil, he was going to kill him.

The crowd was gone, leaving nothing but waste in their path. They were nothing but a problem anyway. Only the Foxes and the Trojans remained in the large court, and Neil was nowhere.

Until. Until.

Suddenly Neil is standing at the door to the changing rooms and his eyes locked with Andrew’s. It takes only a few strides until Andrew can reach out to take Neil’s chin, turning his face left and right to examine it thoroughly. 

“Did they touch you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Neil. Did they hurt you?”

“No. He wanted assurance that we wouldn’t lose next time. He wants his money. He wants me to make Court.”

Andrew’s face tightened at the mention of Court, but only Neil could see that.

“You don’t leave like that. Not ever again.”

“Okay.”

On the worst day of Neil’s life, Andrew dies.

Surprisingly enough, this is not what makes it the worst day. It had qualified long before Andrew falls to Neil’s feet, long before he’d faced his family for the last time. It had started staring down the barrel of a gun and it seemed it would end the same way.

Neil doesn’t even bat an eyelid at the body at his feet. It didn’t change anything. He was going to die here; he’d known it all along. It would be at his father’s hand, as slow as Nathan could make himself go. Neil wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of his pain. He clenches his jaw and says, “You got the wrong one.”

Nathan laughs, sharp and loud, but before he can say anything, Andrew sits up.

At that, Neil’s mouth hangs a little agape. Andrew is red with both his and Neil’s blood, sat in a pool of it, bullet holes riddling his shirt.

“Andrew?” Neil says, suddenly crouching to pull Andrew up.

Andrew accepts Neil’s hand, sticky with blood, and pulls himself up with surprising sturdiness. “Your father is a useless shot.”

Laughter bubbles up in Neil’s chest, sudden and almost choking.

Bang. Andrew’s body jerks with the force of a bullet.

Bang. Neil watches a second bullet land on Andrew’s chest, a fatal shot, surely - but no new blood appears.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Shots sound as Nathan steps closer to the duo, and Neil notices crushed bullets land at Andrew’s feet.

“Looks like you’re going to need stronger bullets, Nathan,” Andrew drawls, never one to be fazed by the impossible.

Andrew turns, shrugging Neil’s hands off him, and stands squarely between Neil and his father.

“What game is this?” Nathan growls.

“It’s a new one,” Andrew says, pushing Neil back. “This will be fun. How many bullets do you have left? Will it be enough to get through? I don’t think it will.”

“What did you do?”

“Oh, I think it’s what you did,” Andrew says, then strikes, knocking the gun out of Nathan’s hands.

Neil blinks and Andrew has handled Nathan and his crew. It must have taken longer, but Neil couldn’t say for certain. He doesn’t know what Andrew is capable of beyond bulletproof skin.

When Neil is certain Andrew’s done, he approaches him and reaches a hand out slowly to his face. “What happened?” He wonders aloud, running a hand down Andrew’s cheek - it feels the same under the layers of blood.

“I think I died,” Andrew replies, matter-of-fact.

The breath catches in Neil’s chest. “I thought so, too. But you’re here.”

Andrew gives him a hard look.

“This isn’t linked to your research project,” Neil says. “Your theory about superheroes.”

“EOs,” Andrew corrects blandly.

“So, what, you died and came back with special powers? A gift from God?”

“More like a gift from biology,” Andrew replies.

“Yeah, sure.”

“How else would you explain the fact that six bullets bounced harmlessly off my skin?”

Neil opens his mouth for a second, then shrugs. The human body may be capable of many extraordinary things when under stress, this he knows, but he doesn’t think defying death quite this literally is among those. “Does this mean you’re a zombie now?”

Andrew considers that. “Technically.”

Neil sighs. “I really thought that if my dad was gone, my life could go back to normal.”

“Your life has never been normal,” Andrew says. “Come on, I’m sure the Feds would love to get their hands on these bodies.”

“Come on, Neil,” Neil replies tiredly. “Just get over the fact that I’m a superhero now and your family is dead, we’ve got to move on.”

“Exactly,” Andrew says, already climbing the stairs.

“Don’t you think this gives you an unfair advantage against Renee?”

“There are no rules in sparring.”

“Who brings bulletproof skin to a knife fight?”

“I’ll bury you alive.”

this is my commission for @cabeswaterlovesthem for @tfcfansgive! hope you guys all enjoy some fluffy lailalvarez, and don’t forget to check the compilation zine which will come out july 11th!

“I was meant to have a week to stop thinking about her,” Laila groans, throwing herself onto Chey’s bed.

“But instead you figured out you have the hots for her,” Chey replies with no small amount of smugness, though she does submit to stroking Laila’s hair.

“No! It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?”

Laila bites her lip. “It might be a little bit like that. But she’s a dick! Just ‘cause I like her stupid hair doesn’t mean I like her.”

“Kinda seems like it does,” Chey says musingly.

“All I really know about her is that she’s a good backliner and she’s kinda funny, I guess, when it’s not directed against me.”

“And that she has great hair.”

“And face and eyes and- she’s very pretty, I can admit that, I’m not too petty to admit that.” Laila groans, realising the mocking thoughts in her head sound remarkably like Alvarez’s voice, little hints of a more Southern accent than her own bleeding through. “How weird would it be if I added her on Facebook mid-spring break to find out if she’s actually a prick to everyone or just me?”

“Very weird,” Chey says, plucking Laila’s phone from her hand.