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Neil was not used to being in a position where he had to say goodbye.
Not goodbye as in thank you, you were amazing but just a normal, regular I’ll see you soon.
Andrew watched him, his expression mildly unimpressed, and Neil resisted the urge to pick at the scars on his arms.
He already had to convince Andrew, more than once, that he would be fine enough for Andrew to leave for Germany— a trip him, Nicky, and Aaron had been planning for months. Originally, Neil had been included in those plans until Browning showed up, like a bullet through the chest, and informed Neil that he was still technically a person of interest until the trials were over, and so he technically couldn’t leave the country.
“We don’t have to listen to him,” Neil had said. “I’ve snuck out of the country before. It’s not that hard.”
Andrew had cut him down with a single look. “No, rabbit.”
That single no led to weeks of pushing and pulling between them. Neil insisting he would be fine. Andrew insisting he didn’t know the definition of the word. Neil saying he had survived on his own for years. Andrew not even deigning that with a response.
So, yeah.
Neil wasn’t going to let weeks of work go to waste by balking at the finish line. It was just—
He didn’t know how to say goodbye.
“Hurry up,” Aaron called, standing on the sidewalk in front of Airport Terminal A. Nicky stood beside him and shot them both a thumbs up.
Andrew shifted over the car console, taking Neil’s chin in his hand.
“Did you lie to me, rabbit?”
Neil knew exactly what he was asking.
“No.” He said harshly. “I’ll be—“
Andrew squeezed his fingers, slightly, and Neil cut off that word.
“This trip is important. Bee said so— twin bonding or whatever.”
“You can parrot my therapist's words back to me when you actually book a session with her.”
Neil grimaced.
“Abram,” Andrew said.
One word, and it somehow encompassed novels of text. Neil felt some of the tension melt from his shoulders. They didn’t have to say goodbye like normal people. Neil and Andrew had a language of their very own, something better than words and stronger than touch.
“Get me a keychain, yeah?”
“I’m not wasting my money on cheap tourist attractions.”
Neil blinked, waited.
Andrew, looking mildly disgusted with himself, leaned over and crashed his lips against Neil’s own. He pulled away with a taut— “Fine.”
“Three weeks,” Neil said with a grin. Or he at least tried.
“Three weeks,” Andrew confirmed, like a promise.
He got out of his car, grabbed his suitcase, and wheeled it next to Aaron and Nicky. It was plain black, and matched the sweatshirt and sweatpants he was wearing. Neil knew exactly how soft that sweatshirt was. His hands curled around the wheel, because getting out of the car and asking Andrew to leave it for him would definitely not be acceptable behavior. Probably.
Nicky gave him one last wave, and they all moved towards the sliding glass doors. Neil waited. Waited.
The doors whooshed closed and Andrew didn’t look back.
Neil could barely make out the back of his head through the glass doors, pale blonde hair stark against his black clothing, slowly growing smaller and smaller. It wasn’t like– it wasn’t like that at all yet–
Neil blinked, and he smelled smoke. Not the gentle yet sharp smoke that filled his nights on the roof with Andrew, but something dark and choking. Neil blinked, and flames burned behind his eyelids. Neil blinked, and he could hear the crash of waves and sand filling his converse.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Andrew leaving right now was nothing like that. Neil wasn’t his mother, burning in a car, and Andrew wasn’t him. He would be coming back in three weeks.
Neil turned the ignition, flicked on the radio to some station Andrew always had playing, and left the airport.
Three weeks.
—-----------------
Neil tossed the tennis ball against the wall.
Again and
Again and
Again.
It was 2am and the Columbia apartment was empty. Neil had woken up from a nightmare and attempted to go outside for a smoke, but it didn’t feel the same. It had been three days with Andrew gone.
Neil had the keys to the Columbia apartment, Andrew’s car, the dorms, and the Exy court. His joke about Andrew getting him a keychain suddenly felt very on base. Although, the Exy court wasn’t the same either, without Kevin there.
Both him and Wymack had taken a trip out to see some of Wymack’s extended family. Father-son bonding. Twin bonding. And Neil. Bonding this tennis ball with the wall.
The ball thwacked against the wall hard and–
Neil felt the thud of his father’s fist against his cheek. The minty-fresh smell of his breath as it slid across younger Neil’s face, because he was always chewing through packs of gum like it was candy–
The ball bounced a couple times before rolling underneath the bed and Neil blinked back to himself. That had been happening more often– even before Andrew had left. It was why Andrew, in his way, had been more pushy about Neil actually seeing Bee.
But Neil had it under control.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the trembling of his hands, and scrolled through his contacts. Allison was back home for a bit, and dragged Renee along for moral support. Dan and Matt were on some type of couple’s cruise Neil didn’t understand. He never called them anyway, and if he did now, Neil knew somehow this would get back to Andrew and Andrew would call him, sitting silently on the other side of the line until truths came tumbling out of Neil’s mouth unbidden.
It was almost annoying at times, how impossible it was to lie to Andrew.
Neil pressed call on a number.
“Nathaniel.” The accent was dipped in French and disdain.
“Miss me?” Neil asked, flopping onto his back on the bed. That tennis ball was probably lost forever now.
“No,” Jean said shortly, before continuing on. “Your– Andrew. He is in Germany.”
“How did you know?”
Jean made a sound that was a cross between displeasure and fondness. “Jeremy showed me. On something called internal gram.”
Jean was even more hopeless than him. Nicky must have posted something.
“How’s the golden boy?”
“Nathaniel.” Jean huffed. “What do you need?”
“A hobby, probably.”
“Good idea.”
Neil forced Jean through another fifteen minutes of stilted conversation, mostly just because it was fun to torture the Frenchman, before he ended the call. A hobby. It had been a joke, mostly, but…
Neil stared up at the ceiling, his mind spinning.
—------------------------
Most of Neil’s time was filled with Exy, Andrew, or whatever the rest of the Foxes inevitably dragged him to. Domesticate Neil Project, Allison had called it, forcing him to watch 2000s movies, paint his nails, or all other sorts of horrifying tasks Neil submitted himself to.
Before, on the run, Neil had stretches of days with nothing to do. Motel room stays before they could enroll him in school. Long, cross-country bus rides. Hiding out in warehouses. Neil didn’t remember ever being bored then. When you were surviving, each second was an eternity and each eternity was a blink.
But Neil wasn’t just surviving anymore, and no one was around.
Surprisingly, even with long morning runs and hours at the court, Neil still somehow had hours of his day to fill.
Neil started by swiping Kevin’s laptop from his room, guessing his password was the date of his first professional Exy goal, and moving to his web browser. What do normal people do, Neil typed in.
The first couple of tasks Neil was already completing with stellar scores: eating, breathing, sleeping (well, okay– not that one).
Neil narrowed down his search and typed in the word hobbies.
He hit the jackpot instantly. A list of one hundred hobbies, alphabetized from A-Z.
Neil meticulously copied it down on the back of a receipt in tiny, scrawled script and got to work.
—-----------------------
“Eat a lot of sausages?”
“Is that a euphemism,” Andrew drawled over the phone.
Neil blinked. “Huh?”
Andrew just huffed, faintly, which Neil translated as you’re clueless. Neil couldn’t even argue with that, and so he didn’t.
“How is it over there?”
“German,” Andrew deadpanned, and now it was Neil’s turn to huff. He switched the phone to his other shoulder, holding it against his ear, and worked on kneading the bread. It looked lumpy, but Neil figured that was probably okay.
“Nicky wants me to tell you–”
An ambulance blared in the distance, somewhere outside of the apartment. Hands were holding him down. He kept asking for Andrew, his words slurred and throat thick with blood. They were pumping drugs into his system. People were leaning over him, their voices muffled. Where’s Andrew? Neil wanted to ask. Are my legs okay? He wanted to know.
“Abram.”
Neil flinched, nearly dropping the phone in the process. He was in the kitchen, talking to Andrew, and everything was fine. Not back in Baltimore, being transported to the hospital, surrounded by strangers.
“Ambulance,” Neil explained, and could practically feel Andrew’s displeasure over the phone. “Don’t say it.”
“Call Bee.”
Neil snorted. “Told you not to say it.”
“And I’ve told you not to be an idiot. Many times.” Andrew paused. “Have you been sleeping?”
“You sound real concerned for someone who claims to care about nothing.”
“110%, rabbit.”
Neil smiled around the ache in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew there was this something inside him that wanted desperately to see Andrew’s face. The long, straight line of his nose. His downturned lips, always looking bored with everything. The shell of his ear. The mole under his jaw that made Andrew twitch when Neil kissed it.
“What are you doing today, junkie?”
“Making bread,” Neil answered easily, looking at the slop on the counter in front of him. Or trying to.
“I thought we didn’t lie.”
Neil laughed, and Andrew hung up the phone.
—----------------------
Another nightmare. Neil wasn’t sure how much sleep he was averaging a night, because he had stopped counting days ago. Better not to know, that way it wouldn’t be lying when he told Andrew he had no idea.
Things were starting to feel… off.
Like saran wrap was encasing his body. Neil felt sluggish, slow. Yet, at the same time, like his mind was racing, racing, racing, Neil’s own little running track operating inside his brain.
But he had to be fine, because if he wasn’t, he would have lied to Andrew. Andrew needed Neil to be fine. He couldn’t… rely so heavily on Andrew like that, or Andrew might get bored with him even faster and then Neil would be–
Making candles.
Neil was making candles.
And crocheting, because one hobby at a time didn’t feel anywhere near enough. So he was switching between the two, and eating bites of his bread, that was hard as a rock, around the mold that had grown in.
Being a normal person was great.
Neil’s phone blared and Neil’s crochet hook slipped, messing up the line.
“What?”
“Uh.” Kevin coughed. “Hey?”
“You fucked up my crochet."
“Is this–” There was a rustle and a pause before Kevin’s voice returned. “I’m talking to Neil, right? I was expecting to find you at the court.”
“I’m allowed to have other hobbies,” Neil pointed out. Wax overflowed and dripped down the makeshift candle receptacle Neil had been using.
“Right.” Kevin cleared his throat again. “I was going to send some drills for you to try–”
“Send them,” Neil said quickly, “I’ve got time.”
Neil had even more time than before, considering he was sleeping less. Kevin rattled off the drills, promising to send some videos of them, and Neil hung up the phone.
More time, which meant Neil needed more hobbies.
Yeah.
—----------------------
“So, what now?”
The fish stared back. Glub glub.
Neil tapped his finger gently against the tank and watched the fish swim back and forth. He had named it Butter, even though it was a dark blue, because Neil had been thinking of Andrew’s hair at the time. Fish keeping was turning out to be a pretty boring hobby.
“Do you do any tricks?”
Butter said nothing.
One google search later, and Neil was drawn down a rabbit hole about beta fish– which could be taught tricks. Two hours later Neil was back in front of the tank, blinking heavily.
“I’m going to make you the best athlete out there,” Neil promised, channeling Wymack. “Andrew is going to be so impressed.”
Andrew, actually, would probably stare at Neil in that way he had and say Abram in that low tone. Because Neil knew he didn’t look… great. Didn’t feel that great, either. But there was still six days until Andrew returned, which meant he had plenty of time to get back on track.
Besides, he was just indulging in some hobbies which, other than the sleep deprivation, constant flashbacks, and weird detached feeling was actually pretty… fun. Neil had blown bubbles for two hours the other day. He bedazzled a notebook for Nicky and Aaron’s textbook because he knew Aaron would hate it.
He had never had so much time on his own where he didn’t have to worry about surviving, and it was– nice.
And completely fucking horrible.
And totally, definitely fine.
“Six days,” Neil said to Butter, “Then you can meet him.”
Butter waved a tailfin and kept swimming.
—----------------------
Later that night, Neil got a call from Andrew. He did quick math before answering.
“Nightmare?” He asked the minute the line connected.
Andrew grunted over the line. It was only 7:42pm Neil's time, which meant it was around 2am in Germany. Neil took a break from his jigsaw puzzle, settling back onto the couch, and pressed the phone closer to his ear.
“Do you want me to talk or just be here?”
Andrew grunted again.
Neil stayed silent. The only sound was their soft, even breathing. His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion dragging them down. Like this, Neil could almost pretend like Andrew was right next to him. Neil’s head would be in Andrew’s lap, and Andrew would be dragging his fingers through Neil’s curls.
Neil never really knew the definition of peace until he meant Andrew.
The smoke alarm going off jolted Neil out of that reverie. He was on his feet in an instant. Pack your bag, Abram, his mom was hissing, now. Neil wasn’t moving fast enough. She would backhand him later for that, because if you weren’t moving fast enough it could mean the difference between life and–
“Breathe, rabbit.” Andrew’s voice had that hoarse quality to it, which meant he had managed to fall back asleep over the phone before Neil fucked it. “Breathe.”
Neil dragged in a large, unsteady breath.
“You’re in the apartment,” Andrew said. “Tell me what you see.”
“The couch.” Old, weathered, comfortable. “The TV.” Where him and Kevin watched Exy games, and Andrew acted like a martyr for sitting through them. “Ash tray.” For their cigarettes, on occasion. “My– fuck. My shrinky dinks!”
Neil rushed to the kitchen, grabbed the tray out of the smoking oven, realized he forgot gloves which meant instead of grabbing the tray what actually happened was hot pain licked up his palms and the pan clattered to the ground, the burnt shrinky dinks scattering across the floor.
The smoke alarm was still blaring, and Neil grabbed the broom resting in the corner to knock it clear off the ceiling. He’d deal with that later. He pushed all the windows up, left the oven door ajar, and shoved his hands under the kitchen sink water.
“What.” Andrew’s voice was flat when Neil finally picked up the phone again.
“Minor disaster,” Neil said confidently, ignoring the fact that he had to hold the phone gingerly and the kitchen looked like a trainwreck. “Crisis averted.”
“You’re making shrinky dinks. At eleven in the night.”
“Well,” Neil shrugged. “Technically I was making shrinky dinks at seven, but then you called and I got distracted.”
Andrew’s silence was damning.
“I’m fine, Drew,” Neil said softly.
“Don’t.”
His voice was razor sharp, and Neil knew he had fucked up. What was the point of being with someone who carried all his truths unflinchingly, if Neil never handed them over for Andrew to carry? The sigh that left him was exhausted.
“It’s just… I think I miss you.” Neil’s voice came out sounding exactly as confused as he felt. “Is that weird?”
“Weird,” Andrew echoed, a question.
“I don’t know. Like– I never really missed my mom, I don’t think. Even after she died, I was just glad she didn’t have to keep worrying about me anymore. I mean, I wish she was around sometimes, but…” Neil should stop talking. He didn’t. “It’s like there’s this ache in my chest. And– and the bed isn’t the same. I’ve been sleeping on the floor. Is that– is that normal?”
Nothing. Silence.
Neil rushed to fill it. “But I am fine. I am. I’m actually… really discovering things about myself.”
That was a phrase Neil had seen on his internet search– hobbies can help you discover things about yourself– although he sort of felt like he was maybe discovering the wrong things. Like the fact that he was a terrible cook, as evidenced by the stale bread, burnt brownies, and stir fry so horrible even he hadn’t been able to choke it down. Or that journaling, an activity that was supposedly relaxing and could help him sleep, only caused his entire body to start shaking and his breaths to come fast. Or how he tried to meditate and was instantly pulled into a memory so violent he was almost sick to his stomach.
Neil was discovering how much he needed Andrew, and how much that terrified him. More than all his years on the run combined. Andrew had said, months ago, I’m not your answer.
And he wasn’t. Andrew was–
The solid ground underneath Neil’s feet. The hand at the back of his neck. The way he kept breathing. Just looking at Andrew’s face was enough to remind Neil I’m here, I’m with Andrew, I’m Neil, I’m safe safe safe
Ok so. Maybe Neil was doing the hobby thing wrong.
“You’re not fine,” Andrew said.
“Drew–”
The call cut off. Andrew had hung up.
—--------------------
Things went downhill.
Or maybe they had been going downhill for months. Andrew would probably agree with that. He would be distinctly pissed off (in that blank-faced away of his) to know he had been right. Andrew had been saying Neil needed to see someone. Words like PTSD and trauma that Neil had only snorted at. Those were fancy, wrapped up words made up by doctors.
Except then Andrew would blink at him, and Neil would realize Andrew needed those words for his own healing, and he would feel like the shittiest asshole alive.
But then they would make out and everything would be fixed and Neil would be fine.
It wasn’t so much of a downhill slide as Neil had been walking along the edge for months (maybe his whole life) but recently he had Andrew walking right there with him, holding his hand to make sure he didn’t tip off.
But then Andrew left for Germany, and Neil was in a free fall.
And the best way to handle it?
Ignore everything.
Engage in hobbies.
Calm the fuck down, because Andrew would be returning in 5 days and Neil had to act at least mostly human.
“Somewhere, over the rainbow–” The guitar Neil had stolen from Nicky’s room sounded fucked up, and Neil wasn’t sure if that was because of his playing or if it was out of tune. “Way up high–”
Butter watched him, unimpressed.
Neil hadn’t slept more than a few hours in three weeks.
“This is harder than it looks,” Neil told the fish. The apartment smelled like brownies, because Neil was trying his hand at them again. “Should I try the juggling?”
Butter swam back and forth. Neil took that as a yes and figured the only thing better than juggling was juggling while playing a guitar, so he was trying to unsuccessfully grab all the juggling balls in one hand while balancing the guitar in the other when the apartment door opened.
Andrew.
His face brought flashbacks, but only the good kind. Trading cigarettes on the roof. Soft showers, where Andrew pretended to grumble in annoyance while Neil washed his hair. Cereal in the mornings. Late night drives, listening to Andrew’s music. Rolling over in the morning to see that frowning face, already awake.
Andrew.
His eyes flicked calmly over the room. Neil did the same and winced. There was a half-finished jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table, rolls of yarn exploded over the back of the couch, two journals with ripped out pages on the floor, molded bread on the kitchen counter…
And Neil himself was wearing only one sock, a sweatshirt Andrew left behind, boxer shorts, and uncombed, greasy curls falling around his shoulders. He hadn’t looked in a mirror, but if he did he was sure he would look like–
Well. Actually, he was sure he would look a lot like Andrew did right then. Slightly thinner, dark bags under his eyes, more pale.
Neil set the guitar and juggling balls down and cleared his throat.
“Are you– okay?”
Andrew flicked his fingers, encompassing the room. “Think I should be asking you that, rabbit. I don’t remember consenting to a pet.”
“That’s Butter,” Neil answered easily. “I’m teaching him tricks.”
“I hate you.”
“You’re back early.”
Andrew stepped into the apartment, dragging his suitcase behind him. He closed the door with the heel of his foot. The suitcase was left abandoned by the front door, Andrew coming to stand in front of Neil in three easy strides. All it took was Andrew’s hand on the back of his neck and Neil was breaking.
“I didn’t mean to lie. I swear– I didn’t.” Those amber eyes caught and held Neil’s own. “The flashbacks and nightmares… got worse. And I got this weird floaty feeling sometimes. But I– I’m trying to be okay without you.”
Andrew looked to the side, at the crochet. He raised his eyebrows slightly.
“The internet says hobbies are good for you,” Neil admitted sheepishly.
“You need therapy. You’re not fine. No one, after what you experienced, would be fine.” Andrew’s tone brooked no room for argument, until it softened. “But I’m not either.”
“What–” Neil’s eyebrows drew together.
“The bed isn’t the same without you,” Andrew echoed Neil’s words from earlier and his heart lurched. Neil traced the lines of Andrew's face, before resting on the shadows underneath his eyes.
“Bad dreams?”
“I still have bad dreams with you there.”
“But they’re better,” Neil said, because he understood.
Andrew sighed through his nose. “They’re better.”
The ache in Neil’s chest, now with Andrew in front of him, was gone. Like something slotting back into place. Neil knew it didn’t fix everything– didn’t fix anything, really. Andrew would probably keep bringing up therapy until Neil actually went so… maybe Neil just needed to go. Because if Andrew was willing to put in the work, Neil had to be willing also. They could carry each other, always, but they both needed to be strong enough to do so.
He wouldn’t give in so easily though yet. If he held out a few days, he could probably get Andrew to make some type of deal for it. Like Neil would go to therapy in exchange for Andrew watching Exy re-runs on the couch with him, or something.
“We’re taking a nap,” Andrew said.
Neil looked over his shoulder. “Do you want to see Butter’s tricks? I’m still training him but–”
Andrew silenced him with a kiss, and Neil relaxed in his hold. They separated, and Andrew pressed his forehead against Neil’s.
“Next time,” Andrew said, “we’re smuggling you out of the country.”
Neil was just fine with that.