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Colours.
That's all he saw. Shifting hues from red to brown, blue to white, brown to blond.
Blond- Andrew. He thinks the name brushes past his lips, jumbled and tangled in panic, but no one responds.
It’s quiet and overwhelmingly loud at once. Beeping, blaring- its ripping his eardrums and tearing into his brain. For a moment he hopes Andrew isn’t here to see him like this, but then the selfish, cruel want crawls beneath his ribs and nuzzles in his chest, and he takes it back.
He smells ash, burning. He tries calling for his Mom, but she was never one to answer his cries. The static pries open his mouth and sticks its grubby claws down his throat and into his heart. Maybe someone laced it with misery, chipped so fine the shards started slicing and embedding themselves in his muscles.
Was death supposed to be this tedious?
Andrew.
There’s a brushing against his face, but he thinks he might he’s dreaming. His mother used to touch him like that, so tenderly when she thought he might break.
No one touches him like that anymore, but it's alright. Andrew’s touches are harsh and thoughtful, safe.
He wants to be safe.
Trying to pry his eyes open is fruitless, they're glued. They don't even twitch. Maybe it's blood crusting them shut, maybe he’s already dead and hell was just the misconception of having to live unwanted.
He should have dug the knife deeper. He shouldn’t have dug the knife at all.
Maybe flowers would bloom from his open wounds- the poems always did tend to frame death as life’s epiphany .
He trades the static for aching lungs. Each breath burns. He can’t tell if his chest is heaving or steady, he can't tell if it’s night or day, he can’t-
“Neil?”
He just wants Andrew.
-
—
-
“How was the ceremony?” Bee asks, back turned as she stirred powder into their drinks, “Renee tells me you provided refreshments.”
Snitch.Andrew wants to snap, but he holds his tongue.
“I made food for myself.” He says, accepting the mug when it's handed to him, “I didn't provide anything.”
Bee smiles, knowing, as she took her seat across from him, “Is there a reason she has that misinterpretation?”
Andrew shrugs, “Neil’s a liar.”
If she seemed surprised at the mention of Neil from Andrew first, she didn’t show it, “Why do you think that?”
Andrew raised his eyebrow, and Bee smiled into her hand.
“He took the box down and paraded them around the whole thing.” Andrew clarified, taking a sip and feeling the heat burn down his throat, “He’s an idiot.”
“He did that behind your back?”
“No.” Andrew says sharply, and they sit in the silence for a moment. Andrew huffs, leaning back on the couch while he cradles the warm mug in his hands. He closes his eyes, breath harsh as it leaves his lips, “He’s an idiot.”
Bee, very smartly, does not point out he’s already said that.
Instead, she swerves the subject, “The girls graduating is a big change. Freshman, new teammates- it can understandably become overwhelming.”
Andrew’s tongue feels stuck. There’s something he wants to say but it’s as if he’s jaw locked. The cocoa doesn't loosen it, the sun brushing his thigh through the split of the curtain doesn't loosen it. He feels trapped, conflicted.
His eyes drift shut again, but he snaps them open at the flash of auburn and blistering blue that crosses the back of his lids.
He exhales, and somehow sunburnt freckles and ginger melt his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
“Neil is not okay.”
Bee places her notebook beside her on the desk casually, like every word isn't water dripping into Andrew’s lungs.
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s an idiot.” He says for the third time. Drip.
“Andrew,” She says his name so sweetly it’s sickly, “I can only help you if I know what's going on.”
Andrew did not need help. He needed Neil, and Neil needed help. A realisation he was still coming to terms with.
Anxiety settled in his belly, knotting and tugging. He forced his mouth open, “He’s a fucking idiot.”
Fourth time, drip.
“Something very stupid is going to happen if he keeps this up.” Andrew admits, because he will very likely kill Neil if he dares to run, “He being an idiot.”
Fifth time. He thinks he’s drowning.
“Take a deep breath for me, if you can.” Bee suggests, sensing his panic before it can spiral, “Would you like me to talk to Neil?”
The phone rings before he can answer. It’s a piercing sound, bouncing off the walls and nipping underneath his skin. Andrew flicks his hands in a dismissive motion for her to take it, and gets up to wander over to the window. The birds chirp with the summer day and the campus is flooded- people are yelling, running. He watches a particular group spray each other with bottled water, the sun soaking it up moments after hitting the ground.
He hears Bee walk up behind him, stopping before bumping into his space. He turns, takes in her stiff face before his eyes flick down to her outstretched hand.
“It’s Aaron.” She says, “He’s asking for you.”
Andrew makes a face but takes the phone and presses it to his ear, “What?”
He hears a shaky breath, and the tension shoots up his back and solidifies in his shoulders.
“H-hey.” Aaron starts, “Um- where are you?”
Andrew narrows his eyes, watching Bee grab their mugs and step away.
“Where do you think?” He answers, waiting impatiently. He hears rattling on the other line, then muffled voices, so he calls Aaron’s name down the line. He says it twice before his brother speaks.
“I’m gonna be blunt here,” Aaron warns, like he’s ever been anything but such, “Neil fucked up. I’m with Kaitlyn driving to the hospital.
Hospital. The phone creaks under his grip, and fear washes throughout his body. Neil.
“What did he do?” Aaron clearly doesn’t answer fast enough because Andrew brings the phone up to his mouth to snap the question again, voice dripping with malice.
He has never repeated himself this much in a long time. He really does think he’s drowning.
“I dont- fuck! I don’t fucking know!” Aaron yells at him. Andrew hears it over the rustling of his coat, and he thinks he hears Bee calling out to him too, but the sprint to his car is unbroken.
“Matt called me first because he thinks- he thinks I’m some fucking doctor!” Aaron’s voice is background noise as Andrew throws his phone on the centre console, car reversing before the door is even shut, “Oh my god. Andrew, he’s a fucking mess.”
The chill in Andrew’s forearms tells him Neil is dying- the pit in his stomach tells him he’s already dead.
Neil.
A pipe dream, a junkie, a rabbit.
Neil fucking Josten.
HIs pipedream, his junkie, his rabbit.
Andrew curses him the entire drive to the hospital.
-
—
-
It’s a struggle to open his eyes.
There’s more colours. Bright whites, dark blues and horrid stench on disinfectant. His back aches, his hips twitch and his head is foggy. Foggy and light, floating and free.
Neil blinks once, twice. There’s a line of fluorescent lights above him, dimmed to a small yellow hue; he's thankful. A splitting pain pulses through the right side of his head and he whimpers, the noise echoing loud through the room.
He doesn’t realise his hand is warm until suddenly it isn't. The warmth is yanked back, and his fingers twitch against the sheets in a fight to find it.
Craning his neck, he sees his legs snug beneath thin blue sheets with something fuzzy tickling him beneath- it feels like the blanket he stole from Allison, the pretty, red sheep fur one she reluctantly gave up searching for. He blinks again, the stiffness of the mattress familiar against his back.
Hospital bed.
He’s alive.
Neil braces himself for a wave of panic that never comes.
Sinking back into the pillows, he lets his head roll to the side. He sees amber, eyes that split and burn his skin like dragon's breath. Andrew is looking at him, face blank, and Neil can’t find it in himself to turn away. It’s a few minutes of eye contact, challenging, and suddenly Neil is hit with a wave of grief for the one he is about to lose.
“I-”
“That was stupid.” Andrew interrupts, narrowing his eyes. Neil takes a breath despite tight lungs, eyes widening slightly as he stares.
Vulnerability- Neil is so open and raw. One move and Andrew could plunge the knife, leaving him with unrecoverable agony.
Neil shimmies his arms from beneath the covers, grimacing at the gown brushing against his scars, and lays his hand flat. He’s too fragile to sit up, too weak to grab and too defeated to argue. Andrew’s gaze flicks down to Neil’s open palm, acknowledging the request with vacant eyes as he considers it.
Neil’s heart sinks when Andrew does not take it.
Neil knew Andrew was fighting a war, holding the cap of bottled memories shut. Neil stared down at his hand, an empty feeling in his chest.
The drugs help his mind float somewhere brighter, and the next time he blinks, there’s a nurse standing at the bottom of his bed. Maybe he was looking at Andrew for minutes, hours, basking in silence. It wouldn’t be a surprise, he could watch Andrew through lifetimes and beyond. Neil turned away with thought that maybe just not this one.
“-a day. But, I really would like his psychiatrist up here for an evaluation before you make this choice.” The nurse says adamantly, but it's directed toward Andrew rather than Neil.
There’s a sudden uneasiness in the fact he drifted far enough to block out such strong voices.
“I heard you the first time you said it.” Andrew says, “I’m telling you no.”
No.
Neil snaps up. Nausea hits him when he’s upright, burns through his stomach like acid, but he shoves it down. He can't find the words but he glares, vicious and violent, and the nurse takes a few cautious steps back.
“How are you feeling?” She asks him to which he ignores.
He turns to Andrew again, bringing a shaky hand up to clutch the string of his hoodie. It takes a while for his lips to move, but he eventually manages to force out a trembling, “W-what?”
It's so tender and meek that it barely hits the air. He sees the tension between Andrew’s eyebrows and he wants to kiss it away, wants to smooth it over with his thumb but he thinks he might have lost that privilege.
“They’ve been asking you questions.” Andrew says to him quietly, and Neil melts at the relief that hits him, “You’ve been ignoring them.”
Neil snaps his head to the nurse, “I’m going home.”
Normally, Andrew would not let Neil win this argument. They’d had it many times, stretched into different variants but all the same.
Take me home, Neil would ask.
You can barely walk, Andrew would reply, Not yet.
Andrew stayed silent.
-
—
-
Neil came too a little more within the hour, answering the nurses’ questions blatant and rude. Andrew eyed him through every moment, but Neil felt transparent.
“Neil.” This nurse was different. She was older, sharper, “I hope you do realise this is a serious case. You play exy, right? You have such a bright future, no one wants to watch you throw that away.”
He yanked his bandage arm out of her hold, tugging it tight to his chest, “I told you what happened, what more do you want?.”
“This is a very odd way to attempt murder.” She states, and Neil is hit with the urge to bite her, “Two vertical slashes to the wrist.”
He curls into himself, “When are you going to leave?”
“You know, if that’s truly the case,” The nurse took a seat on the end of his bed, “You should really give the police-“
“Get out.” He snaps, grinding his teeth, “I don’t need to be interrogated.”
When the nurse doesn’t budge, Andrew roughly taps her ankle with the toe of his boot. It was harsh enough that she shifted quickly then, edging out the door with her eyes trained on both of them.
The door clicks shut, and they’re alone again.
“Your idiots are downstairs.” Andrew says, reading from his phone screen, “Quite a present you left them to find.”
Neil hummed, curling his fingers into bed sheets.
“Your mugger ought to have some tact.” Andrew carried on- pushing, tipping, waiting for Neil to crack, “They forgot to turn your location off.”
Neil brung his knees up to his chest, “Stop it.”
“Did he take anything? Strange that the thief left your phone. Pretty sure that watch isn’t cheap either.”
“Stop it, Andrew.” Neil snaps. His skin was boiling, ripping apart at the seams.
“It’s ironic after every blade you survived,” Andrew snaps back, voice deep. He brings two fingers forward to tap Neil’s bandages before sharply pulling back, “You bring one to your own.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful to have survived that?” Neil argues. A gentle smile forms on his lips, “I close my eyes and there’s always someone there. How is that fair? Why does he get to rest when I was the one who was ruined?”
Andrew drags his chair closer, bracing his arms on the side of the bed. Neil watches him rest his chin on his hands, and they stare at each other.
Eye level- equals.
“Never do that again.” Andrew says, deep and guttural, “It was stupid, and you are stupid.”
“I wasn't-”
“Stop.” Andrew warns, “What will it take for you to stay?”
Neil’s bottom lip quivers. He doesn’t remember ever crying; not on a dusty California beach, not in a blood coated Baltimore basement. He might have cried when Lola got her hands on him, but the memories were fuzzy and the tears were washed out by streaks of diluted red.
It’s slow as Andrew reaches his hand out- Neil’s lips spewing a tender ‘yes’ on autopilot. Andrew catches the first tear as it falls, and none follow.
“Answer me.” He says, palm warm against his check. Neil thinks pale fingers are moving against his scars, but he lost sensation years ago.
“I’m not going to do it again.”
“Debatable.” Andrew says firmly, “You’re ready to run right now. This feeling doesn’t ever go away if you wallow in self pity.”
Neil blinks, hand curling in Andrew’s sweater. Only now is he realising it’s his own: worn and fraying around the collar, coffee stain on the left sleeve.
“I’ll try.” Neil whispers. There’s a numbness dripping through his body. His heart’s pumping, his eyes are blinking and Andrew is holding him and- he’s alive. He’s alive and safe. But he’s hollow. It’s so overwhelming.
Some days he thinks Neil Josten really did die in that basement.
“Not what I asked.” Andrew says, “You know knives, you know blood. A moment of hesitation is what kept you alive, Neil. This is not a game.”
Andrew’s right. There was a lingering thought, dangerous and scratching at the back of his mind. He thought of Andrew and hard kisses, Matt and morning coffees, Kevin’s new found stupid victory dance and Allison’s obnoxiously pink graduation dress- and then suddenly he couldn’t cut quite deep enough.
Andrew’s hand slid down his cheeks and gripped at his chin, tugging Neil’s head down until they were only breaths away, “Tell me what you need.”
“Stay with me.” Neil says, “Stay so I know where to stand.”
Stay so I know where I’m wanted.
Stay so I know how to breathe.
Then I will try.
Andrew nods.
-
—
-
Going home wasn’t easy. Neil’s chest held so much dread that it was hard to balance. He thought that maybe he should feel something else, something stronger- maybe guilt for not wanting to see his family, but nothing.
Keeping his head down was tricky, but Neil assumed Andrew had threatened them all beforehand as the path to their dorm was clear. Aaron was slouched on the couch, Kevin on the floor at his feet and they were arguing over a game like it was a usual Wednesday afternoon.
Neil blinks, watching. Kevin looks his way, eyes trailing across Neil’s face. He seems like he’s going to speak but Aaron’s victory cheer rips through the room, the controller slamming the table hard as it goes down.
“You’ve never learnt not to look away from your attacker?” Aaron huffs, triumphant. Neil turns in search of Andrew, heart heavy when he meets his eyes from the kitchen.
Kevin’s gaze is flicking back and forth, from Neil standing awkwardly at the end of the couch to the fat ‘LOSER’ marked on his side of the screen.
“Hey.” Kevin says hesitantly.
“You lost.” Neil replies, wounds aching almost as much as his lungs.
He’s tired, he’s hurt- he doesn’t want to be alone.
“He always loses.” Aaron mumbles, snatching the controller from Kevin’s hands and slapping it into Neil’s chest. He fumbles to catch it, awestruck, until Aaron’s shit eating grin turns his way, “Give me a run for my money?”
They both knew Neil was nothing but incompetent, and maybe it was an act of pity, but he sat down anyway.
He was alive, he was home. He could fall as far as he needed because he’d be caught before his skull cracked the bottom. Nights would be long, and days longer, but he was here surrounded by snarky remarks, empty soda cans and family- familiarity.
“Drink this.” Andrew shoved a mug in his hands, swapping it for the controller, “You’re shit.”
Neil sat with them until the sun cracked through the blinds and the birds started to sing.
They’d talk about it tomorrow.
He promised them tomorrow.