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It starts in October.
More specifically, it starts on a Friday in October, when Neil steps out of class feeling like he’s been run over by a freight train of integrals and theorems. This is, unfortunately, not a new feeling, and it has come to Neil’s attention that choosing to pursue a master's degree in Applied and Computational Mathematics was probably not his best idea.
Does Neil love math? Yes. Does Neil love math enough that it makes spending every waking moment with his nose buried in textbooks worth it? Debatable.
Now, deep in the throes of midterm season, Neil is regretting his life choices more than ever. But it is what it is, and if Neil is good at anything, it’s putting his nose to the grindstone and toughing things out with all the grace of a stubborn mule. He hikes his backpack further up his shoulders and heads toward the campus library.
So yes, it starts in October.
Neil spends enough time at the coffee shop adjoining the library that the afternoon shift barista knows his name and order.
“Hi Neil,” Marissa says, perking up behind the counter as he walks through the door. “Small dark roast with a splash of cream?” she asks, smoothing out her skirt and blinking up at him repeatedly. It’s a bit unnerving. Neil wonders if there’s something in her eye.
“Yes, please. Thanks,” he replies, reaching for his wallet as Marissa slides a to-go cup across the counter.
She tucks her hands behind her back when Neil tries to hand over a crumpled five-dollar bill. The blinking intensifies. “It’s on the house.”
Neil frowns. “Is there some sort of special deal today?
“Um, no,” Marissa stutters, faltering, hands moving to fiddle with the braid thrown over her shoulder.
“Then why would this be free?”
“Um,” Marissa repeats, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “I just—never mind. That’ll be two dollars and fifty cents,” she mumbles, taking the bill from Neil.
Neil tosses the change into the tip jar shaped like a mushroom and grabs his coffee. “Thanks, have a good weekend.” He’s stepping through the sliding glass doors before Marissa even has a chance to respond.
The library is crowded for a Friday afternoon. All the tables on the first floor are occupied, including Neil’s favorite table tucked into a corner by a window. Sighing, Neil starts for the stairs to the second floor when he hears his name from across the room.
“Hey, Neil! Over here!” a familiar voice booms, and Neil, along with fifty other mildly pissed off and stressed out students, immediately turn towards one Matt Boyd.
Dan smacks him over the head with her pen. “Quiet, Boyd,” she hisses.
Matt winces, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead while Neil crosses the room, dropping his backpack on the floor with a thud and sliding into the empty seat across from Dan and Matt.
“Long day?” Matt asks after taking one look at Neil, keeping his voice low so he doesn’t evoke the wrath of half the library once again.
“Yep,” Neil says, popping the p. “More like a long week.” Dan and Matt don’t seem to be faring any better, if the dark circles blooming under Dan’s eyes and the concerning number of energy drink cans scattered around Matt are any indication. “Same for you both, huh?”
“Yeah,” Dan says with a wince. “Midterms are a bitch.”
Neil hums in agreement, digging through his backpack for a specific textbook. He’s elbow-deep and two seconds away from upending the entire bag on the floor when he realizes with a jolt that he left said textbook back at his apartment, twenty minutes from campus.
Cursing under his breath, Neil grabs his coffee, heading towards the information desk at the front of the library. Here’s hoping the library has a copy of the textbook he can borrow. The last thing he wants to do is waste quality study time running back and forth from his apartment.
The university librarian is an older lady named Bertha, who is hard of hearing and smells like baby powder and mothballs. But she’s sweet, always asks Neil how his day is going, and compliments him on how blue his eyes are. Neil likes her.
When he arrives, Bertha is nowhere to be found, probably off helping another student, so he leans against the counter and waits, taking small sips of his coffee. A few minutes pass without any signs of Bertha, and Neil is seriously contemplating making the trek back to his apartment when a voice that is decidedly not Bertha speaks up.
“What do you want?” asks the voice, low and gruff, right next to Neil’s ear.
Neil looks up so quickly he pinches something and accidentally swallows his coffee down the wrong pipe, launching into an unfortunately timed coughing fit. The voice belongs to a man, shorter than Neil by a few inches, probably around Neil’s age, with pale blond hair and eyes that seem to bore into Neil, drilling in deep. He’s wearing a pair of black armbands pulled up to his elbows and his nails are painted in glossy black polish.
Nope, definitely not Bertha.
Neil continues hacking up a lung and the man continues staring at Neil, a bored expression on his face. “You are making a lot of noise. This is a library,” he says, unimpressed, as Neil’s body fights its windpipe.
Neil pounds a fist against his chest, annoyed. “I apologize for choking to death,” he croaks sarcastically.
The man doesn’t reply, continuing his staredown. Neil thinks he might be scrutinizing the scars on his cheeks. The silence is becoming mildly uncomfortable, but the man doesn’t seem intent on making conversation, his eyes scanning Neil from head to toe, practiced and swift.
Neil studies him back, taking in broad shoulders, the flat lines of his golden eyebrows, until Neil’s eyes catch on the nametag pinned onto his black v-neck. It reads: “Hello, my name is ________” and… that’s it. The space where you’re supposed to write your name is completely blank.
“Your nametag,” Neil blurts as his lungs slowly start cooperating again. The man raises a brow as if to say what about it? “It’s blank,” Neil continues, desperate for some kind of beacon in the utter awkwardness of the situation.
“Yes.”
Neil pauses, waiting to see if he’ll say anything else. He doesn’t. “What’s your name?”
“Bertha,” clearly Not Bertha replies and Neil frowns. He opens his mouth to ask again but Not Bertha speaks up first. “What do you want?” he repeats, his voice falling flat, not quite a question, and Neil gives up. He’s wasted enough time already.
“I’m looking for a textbook, Perturbation Bounds for Matrix Eigenvalues, Volume Two.”
The man blinks. “Was that English?”
“Yes?” Neil says, gripping his coffee cup. Not Bertha is being unnecessarily difficult. Neil just wants this textbook so he can return to his table and study until he can’t keep his eyelids open any longer.
The man continues staring at Neil, long enough that Neil contemplates snapping at him for being shit at his job, before moving towards the computer, his dark-painted nails flying over the keyboard as he presumably checks if they have the book in the building. Then, without a word, he abruptly turns and walks in the opposite direction.
Neil’s mouth drops open, bewildered as he watches him go. Who even is this guy? Not Bertha is nearly twenty steps away before he turns back to Neil. “Do you want your book of gibberish or not?”
Oh, right.
Neil scrambles after him, his feet moving faster than his body in some sort of awkward Scooby Doo skedaddle and Neil thinks he spies an uptick of amusement appear on the man’s lips for a millisecond.
He leads Neil to some nearly forgotten corner of the library. A plume of dust billows off the shelf as he grabs a heavy book, dumping it unceremoniously into Neil’s free hand. The cover looks about two seconds away from deteriorating completely, and the pages leave a residue of grime on Neil’s fingers, but it’ll do.
“Thank yo—”
“Are you going to call them?” Not Bertha interrupts, and Neil looks up, confused.
“What?”
Not Bertha inclines his head toward Neil’s coffee cup and Neil blinks, lifting it to his face. On the sleeve is a message he never noticed until now. “Call me♡” is written in neat purple ink, followed by a phone number. Marissa’s, probably.
“Oh, um. No,” Neil says, brows furrowed.
“No?”
“I’m not interested.”
“Hmm,” the man says, tilting his head to the side, hazel eyes watching Neil, like he’s used to judging people with a quick glance. Without another word, he turns and walks away, disappearing behind the rows of shelves, and Neil is left with the curious sensation that he’s been utterly dismissed.
Huh.
Neil walks back to Dan and Matt, slightly baffled and extremely curious. He drops the dusty textbook on the table and flicks the grime off his fingers.
“Hey, man. Where’d you g—”
“Who’s the new librarian?” Neil blurts, lowering his voice when a girl one table over gives him a side-eye.
“We have a new librarian?” Dan whispers back.
Neil nods and scans the library, straining his neck to catch a glimpse of the slightly infuriating short blond man who may or may not have been making fun of him. He spots Not Bertha by the printers and Dan turns her head to follow Neil’s line of sight.
She blanches. “Oh, him,” she says with a wince. “That’s Andrew.”
“Andrew,” Neil repeats.
“Yeah, Andrew Minyard,” Matt chimes in. “He’s a student here too, getting his master’s in Criminal Justice, I think. Was he the one who helped you?” Matt leans in a little closer. “Was he super rude?”
“What? No,” Neil says, then pauses. “I mean, I wouldn’t say he was super rude.”
“Did he threaten to kill you?”
“No? Why would he threaten to kill me?”
“He’s kind of crazy,” Dan says with a grimace. “Be careful around him.”
Neil purses his lips. “Do you know him?”
“No, but there are tons of rumors about him floating around. I’m surprised you haven’t heard any of them.”
“I mind my own business and don’t use social media.”
“Okay, fair.”
Neil turns his attention back to Andrew, watching as he fixes a jammed printer by kicking the tray back in place with full force. “What do you know about him?”
“He went to juvie for a few years when he was younger,” Matt says. “There’s a rumor that he’s killed someone, or maybe it was two people, I don’t remember. Anyways, people call him a psychopath. He always carries at least ten knives on him at all times.”
“Ten knives,” Neil repeats blandly.
“Just telling you what I’ve heard,” Matt says with a shrug, twirling his pen around his middle and index finger. “He also has a twin named Aaron, but they don’t like each other. I’m surprised Andrew didn’t eat Aaron in the womb.”
“Okay, I think I’ve heard enough,” Neil says.
“I wonder why he’s working in the library,” Dan wonders aloud.
“Maybe he killed Bertha,” Matt jokes and Dan snorts.
Neil does not laugh. Neil does not find any of this funny at all because those rumors sound like a pile of baseless bullshit that students have spread to make their uneventful lives seem less mundane. He scans the library for Andrew again and finds him sitting at the information desk, fiddling with something in his hands. Neil squints.
It takes a few seconds of observation to figure out that Andrew is creating origami, using scrap paper from the library’s printer, folding the pieces carefully with deft fingers. Neil watches, entranced as the paper begins taking shape in Andrew’s hands. Neil strains his eyes, trying to figure out what Andrew is making—a cat, maybe?
Suddenly, Andrew looks up, his sharp eyes finding Neil’s immediately and Neil startles, ducking back down, pretending to read the musty textbook in front of him. When he looks up again, Andrew is gone.
Neil shakes his head and wills himself to focus on his studies, even though he wants nothing more than to learn everything he can about Andrew Minyard.
*
Because Neil has sold his soul to the academic regime, he practically lives at the library for the next few days, his nose buried in textbooks as he studies for midterm after midterm.
Fortunately, Neil feels well-prepared for all his exams. Unfortunately, he hasn’t seen Andrew since that fateful Friday afternoon. He searches for Andrew whenever he walks through the library doors, ignoring Marissa waving at him through the coffee shop windows and detouring past the information desk. He’s disappointed every time.
But Wednesday.
Wednesday is a lucky day. Neil steps into the library between classes and there he is.
Andrew sits slouched in his chair at the information desk, folding pieces of scrap paper into airplanes before launching them at a trash can a few feet away. Neil watches as three paper airplanes nosedive into the trash can with perfect precision—the fourth misses by a few inches, whizzing past and landing by Neil’s feet.
Neil grabs it off the ground as he walks towards the desk, placing the crumpled airplane in front of Andrew. Andrew’s eyes narrow slightly in recognition, flickering from Neil to the paper airplane and then back to Neil again, and Neil decides to speak before they end up locked in another stalemate staring contest.
“Your name is Andrew,” Neil blurts because he is as eloquent as ever.
Andrew cocks his head to the side. “I thought I said it was Bertha.”
Neil chooses to ignore that. “My name is Neil. Neil Josten.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve heard things about you,” Neil says, then winces because it makes him sound like a creep. Andrew doesn’t seem bothered, one of his pale eyebrows arching up.
“And what have you heard, Neil Josten?”
“That I should be careful around you.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. You don’t seem that scary, though.”
Andrew’s other eyebrow goes up and he taps his fingers against the desk in a slow, antagonizing rhythm. “Are you looking for me to prove you wrong?”
“No,” Neil says with a shrug. “I don’t think you can.”
Andrew’s fingers stop their tapping as he leans towards Neil, resting his elbows against the desk’s surface. His unreadable, almost hollow stare should probably be unnerving, but Neil doesn’t feel threatened in the slightest. Andrew opens his mouth to speak but someone beats him to it.
“Hey, Neil! There you are, buddy.” Matt appears next to Neil, wrapping a large arm around Neil’s shoulder, his face stretched out into a thin smile, uncharacteristically tense. “Dan and I have a table on the second floor. Come join us.”
Neil turns towards Matt, irritated that his conversation with Andrew is being cut short. Matt looks extremely uncomfortable, his eyes darting warily towards Andrew, which is absurd because Andrew isn’t even looking at Matt. He’s still staring at Neil with that same bored expression. Matt tugs against Neil’s backpack. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll be right there,” Neil says.
Matt’s eyes shift back towards Andrew. “I can stay with you while you—”
“I’m fine,” Neil interrupts, wiggling out of Matt’s grip.
“Okay, man,” Matt says, giving Andrew one last look before slinking away.
Neil turns back to find Andrew’s eyes still on him. “So, Neil,” Andrew says when Matt is out of earshot. He grabs a piece of printer paper and starts folding. “What else have you heard about me?”
“That you carry ten knives on you.”
Andrew hums, unfazed, making multiple diagonal folds with practiced hands. It’s quiet as Andrew continues folding—the top corner diagonally down to align with the opposite edge, repeating on the other side. Neil waits, watching as the paper takes the shape of a frog. Andrew makes the final fold and presses down on the frog’s hind legs with a finger. The origami frog flips into the air, landing next to the origami cat Andrew made a few days ago.
“That is preposterous,” Andrew says, finally looking back at Neil. “I only carry three.”
*
The third time Neil sees Andrew at the library, he’s forgotten his textbook again.
Actually, this is a lie.
Neil stares blankly at the study guide open on his laptop, retaining absolutely none of it when he spies a flash of blond in his periphery. It’s Andrew, clocking in for his shift, and Neil is yanking his headphones off, pushing up from his chair before he can even think.
“I left my textbook at my apartment,” he says a little too casually, ignoring that said textbook is currently tucked safely inside his backpack. “Going to see if the library has it.”
Dan looks up from her laptop, her sharp eyes immediately flickering towards the information desk where Andrew is flopped on the desk chair, tossing M&M's into his mouth. She turns to Matt, who stares back with worried eyes, and Neil watches, unimpressed, as they communicate through some sort of weird, silent, couple telepathy.
“I’ll come with you,” Dan says when they’ve completed their eye-to-eye communication.
Neil scrunches his nose. “Why?” Dan’s eyes dart towards Andrew again and Neil feels his temper rising exponentially. He tamps it down. “Andrew isn’t going to murder me.”
“I’m sure that’s what the person he murdered thought,” Matt says sagely, “right before Andrew murdered them.”
“You don’t even have any proof of that stupid rumor. You heard it from Allison who heard it from Seth who heard it from some crackhead in his philosophy lecture.”
Matt has the decency to look somewhat ashamed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “It doesn’t hurt to be careful. Shouldn’t you have better self-preservation instincts? You know, with your mafia dad and that whole thing?”
“I do have good self-preservation instincts. Which is why my dad is dead and I am not,” Neil snaps, tone probably a bit more vicious than he intends it to be, and Matt raises his hands in surrender.
“Damn, Neil. Okay.”
Neil doesn’t dignify that with a response. “I’m going to get that textbook. Do not follow me.”
He feels Dan and Matt’s eyes on him as he marches towards the information desk. He hunches his shoulders, elongating his steps. Andrew is mid-M&M throw when he spots Neil, expertly catching a red M&M in his mouth.
“No bodyguard today?” he asks sardonically, chucking a green M&M at Neil. It bounces off the tip of Neil’s nose and lands on the floor.
Neil picks it up and tosses it back at Andrew. It hits Andrew right at the center of his chest. “I don’t get why people are afraid of you.”
Andrew slants Neil a flat stare, studying him with an unreadable gaze. Neil isn’t sure what Andrew is looking for, and he doesn’t know if he finds it because Andrew turns and pops another M&M into his mouth—peanut butter M&M's, Neil notices.
“What do you want?”
“I’m looking for another book. Applied Multivariate Statistics. I accidentally left mine at home again.”
Andrew continues staring at Neil. Andrew does that a lot, staring. Neil finds that he doesn’t mind. “Are you always this forgetful, Neil Josten?”
“No,” Neil answers a little too quickly.
“Right,” Andrew says, then stands, immediately walking in the opposite direction. Neil, once again, scrambles to follow.
“You know,” Neil starts as he trails behind Andrew. Andrew doesn’t respond and Neil takes that as his cue to keep talking. “I’ve never seen you at the library until recently. Have you always worked here?”
“I do not particularly enjoy the library,” Andrew says, taking a sharp left. Neil nearly walks into a wall.
“Oh. Then why are you working here? Where’s Bertha?”
“Bertha is in Kentucky. Her daughter just had a baby.”
Neil hums. “Why are you her replacement?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You need to give better answers.”
Ignoring Neil, Andrew walks until they reach another dusty bookshelf and he pulls another deteriorating textbook off the wall while a cloud of dust goes straight into Neil’s nostrils.
“Bertha is a friend of a friend,” Andrew says suddenly, and Neil startles, not expecting an actual answer from Andrew. “I owed my friend a favor. She asked me for help, I said yes.”
“That’s it?” Neil asks, somewhat in disbelief. Andrew doesn’t respond, clearly not fond of repeating himself. He hasn’t known Andrew for very long (he barely knows Andrew at all, really), but it’s almost impossible to imagine Andrew agreeing to something because someone simply asked.
“I keep my promises.”
“Huh,” Neil says, tilting his head to the side as he watches Andrew.
“Staring,” Andrew replies.
“You stare a lot, too,” Neil shoots back and relishes in the wholly unamused look Andrew gives him.
“Get out of my sight, Josten.”
Neil grins at him, a rare, wide smile that he’s sure pushes out the hidden dimple on the left side of his cheek.
“Do not look at me like that,” Andrew orders, and Neil’s grin grows wider.
“Thank you for the book,” Neil says, heading back before Dan and Matt jump to the (incorrect) conclusion that Andrew did, in fact, murder him.
“Josten.”
Neil turns around so quickly he makes himself lightheaded. “Yeah?”
Andrew leans against the dusty bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest. “Remember your book next time. I am sick of getting my hands covered in dust.”
Neil laughs. “No promises.”
The unimpressed look Andrew gives him is starting to feel familiar. Neil likes it.
*
The next time Neil buys himself a coffee at the campus coffee shop, his eyes catch on the pastries display case.
“I’ll take a peanut butter brownie, too,” Neil says when Marissa hands him his coffee.
There’s no phone number on his cup this time which is a relief.
Andrew is at the information desk when Neil walks in, playing a random pinball game on the ancient library computer.
“Here,” Neil says, dropping the paper bag in front of Andrew.
Andrew stops clicking his mouse, glancing curiously at the bag. He slides it towards him by the corner, it crinkles loudly as he peeks inside. A golden eyebrow arches up. “What is this?”
“It’s called a brownie. You might have heard of it before.”
Andrew looks unenthused by Neil’s response. “Why are you giving it to me?”
Neil shrugs, suddenly somewhat self-conscious. “You were eating peanut butter M&M's last time. This is a peanut butter brownie.” He hopes that is explanation enough.
Something in Andrew’s indifferent expression seems to catch the light before it’s snuffed out as quickly as it had come. Andrew doesn’t say anything, his fingers still pinching the corner of the bag, his eyes still on Neil’s. Staring, Neil wants to say.
“I don’t really like chocolate,” Neil says instead. “Or any sweets, actually. I do like fruit-flavored things though.
“Did I ask?”
“No, but I wanted to tell you anyway,” Neil says, taking a sip of his coffee. Andrew continues to stare and for once, his face isn’t blank—he’s looking at Neil with something else in his eyes—curiosity, maybe. It urges Neil to keep talking.
“I do enjoy peanut butter on occasion, usually in smoothies. My roommate is a health freak though so he only buys the natural peanut butter you have to stir. Or the powdered kind, which isn’t exactly my favorite. I bought Skippy chunky peanut butter home once because it was on sale and he nearly had an aneurysm. It was honestly kind of funny.”
Andrew is still staring at him by the end of his peanut butter monologue, an impassive look in his eyes. He lets out a quiet hum. Neil shrugs.
“Well, enjoy your brownie,” he says, turning to go. Andrew’s voice stops him.
“Hold out your hand.”
Neil blinks. “What?”
“Your hearing cannot possibly be that bad.”
Neil rolls his eyes and extends an arm towards Andrew. In one swift motion, Andrew flips Neil’s hand and deposits something into his open palm. Neil feels the slide of Andrew’s fingers against his, warm and dry.
“What—” Neil starts and abruptly shuts his mouth. In his palm is an origami fox, made from the stack of orange sticky notes scattered around the information desk. Andrew even colored the tip of the nose black with a Sharpie. He looks at Andrew, who is currently popping a piece of brownie into his mouth. “Thank you, Andrew.”
Andrew simply breaks off another piece of brownie, seemingly done with their conversation, his eyes back on his unfinished pinball game. Neil smiles and turns to leave, cupping the paper fox in his hand.
“Chocolate is superior. Peanut butter is fine. Fruit flavors are artificial as fuck and its existence should be illegal.”
Neil whirls around and looks at Andrew, whose eyes are still glued to the computer screen, acting like he didn’t just willingly tell Neil something about himself. Neil huffs out a laugh. “So you want a lemon bar next time, got it.”
Andrew flips Neil off without looking up and Neil shakes his head, turning to find an empty table.
The fox sits by his textbooks and keeps him company while he studies.
*
Neil likes this new thing he has going on with Andrew, trading pastries and sweets for origami.
He passes Andrew a chocolate madeleine and receives an origami bunny made from some random student’s discarded essay paper. He drops a bag of creme puffs into Andrew’s lap and receives two origami turtles made from Andrew’s no-longer-needed class notes. He tosses Andrew a Kit Kat bar and gets an origami duck chucked at his face in return.
“I didn’t know you make origami,” Matt says one day when he plops onto the seat across from Neil. He pokes at the paper crane Neil got by trading Andrew a Snickers bar and Neil stifles the urge to smack Matt’s hand away.
“I don’t,” Neil says, typing away on his laptop. He sees Matt give Dan a look out of the corner of his eye. Dan shakes her head, signaling Matt to leave it alone.
Neil discreetly scoots the paper crane closer to his side of the table.
*
Neil likes trading pastries and sweets for Andrew’s origami, but what he likes even more is trading truth for truth.
“You cannot be serious,” Andrew says, his face as close to a sneer as it can get. “If you had to sing one song by memory to save your life, it would be You Belong With Me?”
“Yep.”
“What are you, a teenage girl?”
Neil laughs, perched on the information desk facing Andrew, swinging his feet back and forth. “My friend Allison enjoys singing it in the car. Also, the music video is cute.” Andrew’s answering look tells Neil he does not share the same sentiment. “Okay then, music connoisseur. What is your song of choice?”
“All Star by Smash Mouth.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Have you ever seen Shrek?”
“No? What is that?”
“You are a disgrace, Josten.”
*
“What is your dream job?” Neil asks as he squints his eyes, lining up his aim before launching a Hershey’s Kiss at Andrew’s mouth. Andrew catches it easily, letting the chocolate melt on his tongue before answering.
“Barista.”
“Yeah? Like at a bar?”
“Cat cafe.”
Neil is so thrown by this answer he forgets to catch the Hershey’s Kiss Andrew lobs his way. It bounces off his nose.
“Really?”
“I like coffee. I also like cats.”
“Andrew Minyard is a cat guy. Who would’ve thought.”
Andrew tosses another chocolate at Neil. This one bounces off his cheek. “Your turn.”
“Hmmm, professional athlete, maybe. Track and field or cross country.”
“You want to be a professional jock. Gross.”
“I’d bring all my teammates to your cat cafe.”
Another Hershey’s Kiss bounces off Neil’s forehead.
*
“What are you scared of?” Neil asks.
They’re sitting hidden under the information desk, ripping up pieces of printer paper, creating a messy pile of scraps on the floor.
“Heights. What is your worst habit?”
“I tend to run away from my problems. Literally. Why do you dislike the library?”
“It reminds me of my brother. How did you get your scars?”
Neil pauses. He figured the question would come up eventually, he’s honestly surprised Andrew hadn’t asked sooner. Neil stops ripping the paper in his hands, gathering his thoughts, and finds that he doesn’t mind telling Andrew the truth. He wants Andrew to know, actually.
“My mob boss father wanted me dead,” he says simply, like he’s talking about the weather. Andrew watches Neil. He takes in this information, considering it, before nodding. Neil feels his shoulders loosen, he finds Andrew’s lack of reaction comforting. “Why do you carry knives?”
Andrew’s back straightens. “Some people do not understand how to take ‘no’ for an answer.” Neil bites down on his bottom lip, ignoring the raw feeling clawing through his chest, uncomfortable and unfamiliar. “What is your pet peeve?” Andrew asks, like his previous words didn’t just reveal a much larger truth.
“When strangers stand too close to me. If you were a superhero, who would your archnemesis be?”
“You,” Andrew says without missing a beat.
“Oh good, I’d definitely beat you during our final climatic battle.” Andrew gives Neil a look as flat and dry as a piece of plywood and a grin breaks out on Neil’s face. “If I survived my father’s people trying to singe my face off I’m sure I can survive you.”
Something flashes across Andrew’s face, his expression smooth, but his eyes gleaming with something other than his usual indifference. It’s gone before Neil can make anything of it.
“You,” Andrew says, chucking two handfuls of scrap paper at Neil’s face, “are a menace. Go away.”
Sputtering, Neil shakes his head like a wet dog, attempting to shake the smaller scraps from his mess of curls. He spies a tiny quirk on Andrew’s lips, a light crinkle that spreads at the corner of his eyes and instantly brightens his entire face.
It’s a good look on Andrew.
Before he shoos Neil away, Andrew shoves a new origami creature into Neil’s jacket pocket—a butterfly, made from pink and green sticky notes.
Neil smiles stupidly wide. Andrew places his entire palm over Neil’s face and shoves.
Neil walks out the door with a new origami creature in his pocket and a collection of new Andrew Facts in his brain.
*
October turns into November, then December, then Bertha is back.
Bertha is back and Andrew isn’t at the information desk and the bag of Chips Ahoy Neil is holding suddenly feels heavy in his hand.
I guess that’s that, Neil thinks somewhat bitterly. Andrew has made his distaste for the library quite clear. Neil never saw him there before he took Bertha’s place, and the university campus is large enough that running into Andrew by coincidence would be highly unlikely.
He feels somewhat lost, and a little (okay, a lot) upset that Andrew never told him when his last day would be. If anything, it could’ve been one of the many truths he’s shared with Neil these past few months.
Walking away from the information desk feels like wrestling a magnet from metal. He should probably say hi to Bertha, welcome her back, ask how her grandbaby is doing, but Neil doesn’t want to do any of that.
He turns to find Dan and Matt, detouring towards the trash cans so he can dump the bag of Chips Ahoy when someone bunches their fingers in the fabric of his hoodie.
“Hey, what—” Neil blurts, annoyed, before he’s promptly yanked towards the direction of the bookshelves. “What the hell—” he starts, readying himself to smack the stranger’s hand away and rip them a new one about personal space when familiar chipped black nail polish and arm bands come into view. Neil blinks. “Andrew?”
Andrew doesn’t respond, continuing to drag Neil by the front of his hoodie while Neil trips over his own two feet to keep up. Spending all that time with Andrew means Neil has become somewhat of an Andrew Expert. He can tell by the restless energy emanating from Andrew that something isn’t quite wrong, but something isn’t all the way right. Neil won’t pry, Andrew will tell him when he’s ready.
Neil finds himself back at the same, nearly abandoned, dusty bookshelf in the back of the library. Andrew lets go of Neil’s collar, his face as blank as ever, but something is different. Neil can still feel the phantom warmth of Andrew’s knuckles against his skin through the fabric.
“Looks like you’ve lost your job,” Neil says when it’s clear Andrew won’t speak first. Andrew continues watching Neil, his eyes steady, a swirl of hazel and flecks of green that seem to glow under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the library. “I got you cookies. Chips Ahoy. The chewy kind that you like.”
Andrew looks down at the bag in Neil’s hand, then back up at Neil. There’s a tension in the line of his back, eyes hard as he studies Neil’s face. Then Andrew is reaching up, knuckles hovering over Neil’s cheekbone, ghosting down the side of Neil’s face.
“Yes or no?” he murmurs, and oh. Oh.
Neil closes his mouth, opens it, then closes it again. “Yes,” he says, his voice embarrassingly soft. “Yes.”
Andrew presses his palm flat against the edge of Neil’s jaw, brushing his thumb over Neil’s cheekbone, and Neil absently thinks to himself that everyone has it wrong. Everyone who’s spread any absurd, inane rumor about Andrew has it so very wrong.
Neil leans forward, Andrew meets him, then they’re kissing, and Neil’s head spins.
Neil has been kissed before. But this, this is different. Good different, very good different. His other kisses never felt like this. Andrew’s lips are soft and sure and he steals Neil’s breath in an instant. It’s not at all what Neil was expecting, or maybe it is, considering how long he’s been watching Andrew, learning Andrew, understanding Andrew.
Warmth unfurls in Neil’s stomach. He can feel Andrew everywhere, can taste a hint of Andrew’s mouth from his slightly parted lips, a vibration straight to Neil’s molars. The bag of Chips Ahoy stays clutched in Neil’s hand, crinkling under his grip, doing nothing to ease the tremors in his hands.
It’s over before Neil completely wraps his mind around it. He can’t even tell how long they’ve been kissing—seconds, minutes—all Neil knows is he wants Andrew’s mouth back on his like, yesterday.
Neil blinks, feeling punch-drunk and stupid from just one kiss.
“Andrew,” he blurts. They’re still close. He can feel Andrew’s breath, soft against his mouth, their noses nearly pressed together. “What—”
“No,” Andrew says without preamble, but his fingers ghost the curve of Neil’s throat, tracing the line of his Adam’s apple. Neil shivers at the touch and then Andrew drops his arm, turns, and walks away.
Neil stares blankly after Andrew’s retreating form, watching how his usual black t-shirt stretches over broad shoulders, the slight flush that spreads across his neck, making his ivory skin glow pink. Neil doesn’t quite understand what just happened, but he also knows he doesn’t have to, not right now.
He tucks his chin against his chest, hiding the smile that he can’t seem to keep off his cheeks. He knows his left dimple is out in full force.
The problem with being kissed by Andrew out of the blue is that he doesn’t quite realize how affected he is until he’s standing in front of Dan and Matt.
“Um,” Matt frowns, looking up from his notebook. “Why is your shirt all messed up?”
“Why are your cheeks all flushed?” Dan tacks on. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Uh,” Neil says, fingers flying to the collar of his hoodie in a futile attempt to smooth out the wrinkles left by Andrew’s hands.
Dan, ever the observant one, continues squinting up at Neil. “Are you wearing chapstick?”
“Uh,” Neil says again, any and all of his command of the English language escaping him.
Andrew wasn’t kissing Neil hard enough to leave marks, or even ruffle his hair, but he still feels unaccountably like Dan and Matt must know what Neil was up to, or be able to guess.
“What’s going on with you—oh.” Dan stops mid-sentence and stares wide-eyed at something, or someone behind Neil. Matt’s pen drops to the ground.
Neil narrows his eyes in confusion, and then Andrew is suddenly next to him, materializing in that stoic quiet way of his that should be unnerving, but instead instantly puts Neil at ease. “Hi,” Neil says with a grin.
He hears Matt’s quiet, “Should we do something?” Dan shushes him loudly, but Andrew acts like no one else is there.
“You did not give me my cookies,” Andrew says, eyes never leaving Neil’s.
“Oh, right,” Neil replies, patting his hoodie pocket. He unveils the bag of Chips Ahoy and deposits it into Andrew’s waiting hand. He then flips his hand, palm facing up, and just like the past few months, Andrew places a new origami figurine into Neil’s waiting palm. Neil brings the figure up to his face. It’s a dinosaur this time, a T-Rex, specifically, made from green sticky notes, its paper hands comically small compared to its much larger head.
By the time Neil looks up from admiring the T-Rex, Andrew is already walking away, ripping open the bag of Chips Ahoy and popping a cookie into his mouth. Neil smiles, feeling unbelievably fond, and the twin looks of incredulity on Dan and Matt’s faces make Neil feel incredibly smug.
“Is that—” Dan suddenly blurts, voice choked, her eyes fixed on the origami T-Rex.
Neil’s mouth hitches into the very shape of annoyance, ready to tell Dan that no, this is not something Andrew is using to murder him, it is simply folded paper, and oh, that’s new. Neil brings the T-Rex closer to his face.
There’s a phone number on the side of the T-Rex’s body, written in such a messy scrawl that it’s nearly illegible, almost like it’s daring the recipient to give up on deciphering it. It’s so quintessentially Andrew that it makes Neil laugh, a carefree thing that rings loud in the library and causes half of the room to glare at him.
“Yeah,” Neil says with a smile, helplessly giddy. “Yeah, it is.”
Neil tucks the T-Rex safely into his pocket. This is one phone number he’ll definitely call.