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Neil was drunk. Not irredeemably so, but enough that the world was tilting on its axis.
He was out running when it happened. Neil usually ran on campus, but he had been feeling particularly restless when he had laced up his battered sneakers, so he had taken a new path, one that strayed away from the warm glow of street lights meant for the Palmetto students. Flashes of Riko had laced through his mind, intertwining with the smell of ocean air and flames that burned all too brightly. He had known it would be a bad day when he had woken up sweating and shaking, trying to pull free from nonexistent cuffs. He had stumbled through the day on autopilot, avoiding human interaction even more than usual. He was pretty certain that he had avoided scrutiny, other than the blank stare Andrew had thrown at him right before he had disappeared after their customary night practice with Kevin. Their nightly ritual on the roof was an unspoken one, and if Andrew knew he was feeling off, he assumed Andrew wouldn’t care about him missing tonight. He just needed to clear his mind, he just needed to run until the burning in his lungs drove out all other thoughts and feelings.
He was fast, but sometimes that just wasn’t enough. He saw the flash of a blade and his fight response clashed with his flight response and he froze, burning through the valuable instant that he should have used to choose a defense mechanism.
A random mugging. How utterly cliché. He didn’t even have anything valuable on him, even his phone was lying dead on the very center of his bed back in his dorm. The man didn’t even stick around after Neil took a poorly aimed swing, just slashed at him, catching him shallowly in the ribs, then turned to flee. He didn’t waste time thinking about the irony of it all, focused solely on the open gash on his ribcage that was leaking much faster than he would like it to be. A quick assessment told him it wasn’t deadly, but exhaustion combined with blood loss were still a vicious combo, clouding the edges of his vision with black. He took a few stumbling steps forward, clutching his abdomen to stymie the flow of blood, and began to jog back towards the Fox’s tower.
He lost chunks of time on the way, and the world seemed to lose its integrity as he ran, but Neil made it back. He made it back because he had to - all he knew how to do was survive. By the time he made it to Fox Tower, the wound had fortunately stopped bleeding, but flashed red hot pain through his body with every step he took. It was dumb luck that no one saw him stumble to his room, and quite frankly a miracle that Matt wasn’t there as Neil shuffled to the bathroom, snagging a bottle of liquor along the way. He took a healthy swig before removing his shirt, and another before gritting his teeth and sitting in the bathtub. The burn of liquor in his throat was familiar and settled his nerves just enough for him to splash some of it on his wound.
The searing pain threatened to take him out entirely, the entire world flashing to black for an instant, but Neil stubbornly clung to consciousness. Further assessment of his injury confirmed that it was nonlethal, and a stray streak of irritation fluttered through him. If he wasn’t so strung out, this would hardly be an issue. He could hear his mother’s voice in his ear, berating him for his vulnerabilities. She would have helped patch him back together with a heavy hand, but he was alone in the tub, alive while she was not.
He could stand to get stitches, but experience told him that he would heal just fine without them. He cleaned out the wound, emptying just as much of the liquor onto the gash in his ribs as he consumed. A peaceful numbness settled into his limbs, curbing the edge of the pain. After cleaning it, he bandaged himself tightly, with brutal efficiency. He would be just fine - he had survived too much to be taken out by one superficial slice across his stomach. Relief dragged at his limbs, followed by the hazy realization that he had consumed more liquor than he had in many years.
Matt was out, but Neil didn’t know when he was returning, and didn’t want him coming back to Neil bleeding out in the tub. He couldn’t deal with the concern right now - his head felt hot and fuzzy. Trusting his instincts, he grabbed the nearly empty bottle of liquor, forced on a sweatshirt, and made his way to the roof. The space was mercifully empty, and a quiet sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding in escaped his lips. Neil approached the edge, sliding to the ground against the ledge, his legs crumpled uselessly to the side. The world was tilting at too much of a dangerous angle for Neil to risk looking over the edge. He closed his eyes to stop the spinning, taking one last swig from the bottle of liquor before placing it on the ground beside him, willing his head to remain quiet and forcing himself to stop thinking.
“Neil.” Neil’s eyes shot open, his whole body rocking back from the voice. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, and the world was still warm and fuzzy around the edges. It took him a moment to focus on the figure in front of him, but he immediately knew it was Andrew. Neil didn’t respond, just blinked passively, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. He wondered for a brief moment what time it was. Andrew’s presence was even more of a relaxant than the liquor was, and his body felt so far away from him, muscles lax and the last remaining tension bleeding from his body.
“Neil.” The second calling of his name caught his attention and held it. Andrew didn’t repeat himself . It sent a warning off in the back of his mind, but his brain couldn’t hang onto a solid thought, the alarm fading as quickly as it arose.
“Present,” Neil attempted humor, but it fell flat. Nicky was right - he needed to work on his delivery. No one had ever expected him to be funny before, though. His deadpan delivery had only ever grated on the nerves of the people around him, and he had been shocked to find that people could enjoy that part of his personality.
“You’re drunk.” Andrew’s face was blank, but there was something in his tone that Neil didn’t recognize.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, face growing warm. He was drunk .
“Don’t use words you don’t know the meaning of,” Andrew quipped, tone sharp. “You smell like a distillery.”
Neil dropped his gaze and considered that. Andrew took a step closer, and Neil looked back up at him, one hand instinctively curled protectively around the bandages on his ribs. Neil squinted at him and wondered if Andrew could read his mind. He couldn’t think of a way to translate the static in his brain into words, so he settled on the simplest response possible. “I’m drunk,” he parroted obediently.
“You don’t drink.”
“No,” Neil agreed, smiling up at Andrew’s expressionless face. He suppressed a wince - his body was comfortably numb, but craning his neck tugged uncomfortably at his bandages. Andrew closed the distance between them at that, and crouched in front of Neil, his hand finding its way to Neil’s neck. Neil found the smooth movement amusing, and a tiny giggle escaped his lips. A look of disbelief flashed across Andrew’s face so quickly that Neil almost missed it, but he was always looking for something in Andrew’s face. He leaned forward, so close that their noses almost touched. “I saw that.”
Andrew didn’t move back, and his hand tightened ever so slightly on Neil’s neck. “What happened.” It was barely a question, the intonation of it colored it as a threat, but Neil was unbothered by the thinly veiled aggression in his voice. A pleased hum escaped Neil, chest warm at the proximity to Andrew. His hand was warm against the back of Neil’s neck, and his sturdy presence was a balm to the panic that had colored Neil’s day. It took him a moment to remember that he had to respond to Andrew’s question, the darkness in Andrew’s eyes dragging Neil unpleasantly closer to lucidity.
“Nothing happened. It was an accident. I didn’t even see him clearly. He’s gone now,” Neil couldn’t form better words to communicate what happened, and Andrew’s stare felt heavier than usual. He frowned, trying to think of something to say to lighten the situation. “I took care of it. It’s all better now.” He didn’t like the fury that was burning in Andrew’s gaze - he knew it wasn’t directed at him, but he didn’t want to be the reason for Andrew to be upset in any way. His drunk brain muddled through the situation, coming up short on a solution. Frustrated, he slouched against the cool stone with something that he would never admit to sober, but was absolutely a pout.
“Show me.” Andrew gritted the words out through clenched teeth, his tone leaving no room for argument. Neil huffed in pretense of protest, but was already shuffling to comply. He lifted up the loose edge of the sweatshirt, exposing the tight bandage around his ribs. The world swam as he moved, and he focused on Andrew as he shifted, the only stable thing in his vision. Andrew’s hand clenched so tightly that his knuckles went white, the only indication of just how tenuous his grip on his temper remained.
Andrew shifted from his crouched position, dropping to his knees and moved slowly, purposefully, his hand gentle on the bandages in a way that directly contradicted the rage swirling in his hazel eyes. Neil hummed again, happy to have Andrew’s hand on him in any way, the hand on his neck tightening as Andrew peeled back the bandage. Neil was too drunk to feel any pain, or much of anything at all for that matter, but still did his best to hold still as Andrew assessed the damage. Neil was not patient by nature, and the liquor burning through his system made it that much harder to focus. He was hanging on by a thread as Andrew pressed the bandages back into place, and let out something resembling a whine when Andrew’s hands pulled away from his abdomen and his neck, his body leaning away from Neil’s slumped form. Neil reached out, snagging the edge of Andrew’s sleeve and tugging as gently as his alcohol weighed limbs would allow. Andrew’s eyes flashed up to Neil’s face, something akin to surprise blotting out some of the anger in his expression.
Neil couldn’t bring himself to care at this point, the only thing he had any ability to focus on was Andrew and the furrow in his brow. Neil furrowed his own brow and squinted up at the blonde, a crude imitation of the fierce expression. He gives the sleeve another tug and Andrew’s expression shuttered, sliding into its customary flat affect. Neil’s inebriated brain decided all at once that he had been entirely too quiet and accommodating, and the urge to open his mouth became too great to overcome.
He wanted to tell Andrew that he really was okay. That he was better than okay, now that Andrew was in front of him. That bad days happen, and this was just one of them. That he felt like nothing truly awful could happen when he was looking into those hazel eyes. He wanted to tell Andrew that it was just one scar in a patchwork of many others, and that it would heal before they knew it. He wanted to tell Andrew that he only felt warmth now, and that all he wanted was to lean into Andrew’s steadfast frame and close his eyes.
Instead of all of that, Neil blurted out the first thing his broken brain to mouth filter offered him: “Wait-“
The word sounded aborted even to Neil’s impaired judgment, and somehow Andrew managed to look like he froze at the sound of Neil’s voice, even though he had been entirely still before Neil had spoken up.
“Wait,” Neil tried again, the word mumbled this time. He trusted Andrew not to leave him, but something throbbing in his chest begged for reassurance. “I want…”
Andrew waited, gaze steady, his hands carefully placed on his lap. The position was startlingly demure for the goalie, if you couldn’t pick up the tension lining his shoulders and jaw, and Neil let a giggle escape his mouth on his next exhale.
“Are you deliberately running into the worst possible situations, or is this just another one of your natural talents?” Andrew didn’t wait for Neil to finish his thought, his tone cutting, but Neil didn’t flinch. He knew Andrew’s anger wouldn’t hurt him. He shifted and tried to shuffle closer to Andrew, grimacing at his own unsteadiness.
“…’Sokay. ‘m safe now.” Neil murmured, catching the scent of cigarettes that clung Andrew and inhaling deeply. Andrew’s lips twisted into a snarl, but the tension bled out of his body in a rush. Neil smiled. “You’re here.”
“You’re an idiot.” Andrew spoke like he was pointing out that the sky was blue or the ocean was deep.
“I’m. ‘m your idiot.” Were words always this hard? “Your. Mmm. You’re here. You’re always here. Stay.” Neil tugged at Andrew’s sleeve for emphasis at the end of each poorly constructed sentence.
Andrew exhaled sharply. “You aren’t real.”
Neil frowned in protest. “That’s not right. I’m real. Really here. Really me. Really drunk.” He finished with a nod, proud of himself for the double meaning.
“Really you.” Andrew was not impressed.
“You asked me to be. So here I am,” Neil didn’t understand why those words seemed to punch another exhale out of Andrew, this one sharp and almost painful. “I’m a real boy now.” He would never admit it, but he had looked up Pinocchio after their Jackals game. Even in his medicated haze, Andrew could tell that he was a sham, but the striker didn’t want to be a lie anymore. For as long as he could be, he would be Neil. He had broken every promise he ever made, but this one somehow still felt important. He suddenly needed Andrew to understand that, in this moment, nothing had ever mattered to Neil more.
The static clinging to the edges of his vision was growing worse, but Andrew remained unmoved, unaffected. Neil tugged on the sleeve one last time, then released the fabric and held out his hand in front of Andrew in a silent request. He wasn’t sure what he was asking for, wasn’t sure that he was asking for anything more than any sort of reaction from Andrew, and wasn’t sure if his request would even be acknowledged. They had been some level of intimate, but Neil wasn’t stupid enough to assume that Andrew would want anything to do with in him in his inebriated state.
Neil’s hand wavered between the two of them for a few minutes that felt like centuries in Neil’s mind, but he stubbornly refused to drop it, waiting Andrew out for any sort of response, even if it was a vehement no . Something in Andrew finally came to a decision, and he leaned in all at once, loosely gathering up both of Neil’s wrists and raising Neil’s hands to place his forearms on Andrew’s shoulders. “Above the shoulders,” Andrew grit out, the low tone only audible due to their proximity. Neil sighed in relief, eyes sliding shut, then tensed in surprise as he felt hands snaking around his waist, tugging him closer. Andrew felt the tension and paused immediately. “Yes or no?”
“Yes,” the word slipped out as an exhale, heavy with relief. He wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to, but all his mind could focus on was how he could feel the warmth rolling off of Andrew’s skin into the cool night air. “Yes. I want this. I want you.” Nothing, everything, Neil would take whatever Andrew gave him.
“Funny to see you let liquor speak for you. I can see why you paid someone to knock you out the last time this happened,” Andrew growled, but there was no bite to his words. He wrapped one arm around Neil’s waist and pressed his open palm against Neil’s back. His other hand curled around Neil’s neck again, and pulled Neil’s head into the crook of his own neck and Neil’s slender frame against his sturdy chest. Neil’s arms draped loosely over Andrew’s shoulders, and their chests were pressed lightly together. Neil was careful not to graze against Andrew anywhere else as his body melted into the embrace. Neil thought he might be able to stay there forever, in Andrew’s steadfast hold.
Being held was not something he realized he needed until he had it. It was a new feeling, and just as horrifyingly addictive as the rest of them. Andrew was so warm, an anchor in the sea of Neil’s anxiety and pain. Andrew kept a tight grip on Neil, holding him like the striker would slip away with the tide if he loosened his hold. Neil had no such intentions - he had gone running today, but had not run away. No more running .
Andrew’s grip tightening into something painful for half a second made Neil realize that he had spoken out loud, and he nuzzled into Andrew’s neck, looking for the sharp intake of breath that he knew he could get from the sensitive area. Andrew allowed the attention for a few moments, then said “Don’t squeeze.”
It was the only warning Neil got before Andrew was repositioning, the hand on the small of Neil’s back shifting slightly higher, and the hand that had been on his neck slipping underneath his knees. Neil gasped as he was lifted bodily, but refused to remove his head or arms from their delicate balance on Andrew’s shoulders, careful to heed Andrew’s warning. He squeezed his eyes shut as the liquor that was sitting in his empty stomach made its presence uncomfortably known.
“Don’t throw up on me,” Andrew ordered. Neil hiccuped, then groaned.
“Mmm… ‘ndrew,” Neil tried, but was heartily ignored. Andrew trudged towards the stairs, abandoning the nearly empty bottle of liquor to the edge of the roof. The side of his body slotted against Andrew’s chest, and it was all he could do not to try to nestle in closer. He remained lax and pliant, letting Andrew cradle him like he weighed nothing. As they descended the stairs from the roof, trajectory obvious, Neil remembered what he was trying to say. “Can’t be in the room. Matt,” Neil tried to explain, but liquor took any helpful language from his mind. “Shit,” he swore lowly, in German.
“Matt is out with Dan for the night, remember?” Neil hadn’t remembered. Neil couldn’t think straight right now. All he could focus on was Andrew’s warm chest, closer than it had ever been. They were in front of Neil’s room, and Neil braced to be dropped to the ground, but the door swung open at Andrew’s push. Neil hadn’t locked it in his drunken rush to evacuate - his body flushed as he realized just how careless he had been.
“I am an idiot,” he agreed, still in German.
“How many times do you have to get stabbed to learn your lesson? Maybe I should try next, see if a knife to the jugular teaches you anything useful. Seems like a practice in futility so far,” Andrew’s tone was flat, as if he were asking what to order for breakfast in the morning. He strode towards the bedroom, ignoring the slight mess Neil had made patching himself up.
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” Neil murmured in sloppy German. “You wouldn’t,” he emphasized in English. “I’m your idiot. You keep me safe.” He finished in French, remembering too late that Andrew wouldn’t understand, then finding bravery in the realization. “Yours. Your nothing.” He added in quiet French.
Andrew deposited Neil gently on the bed, the care in his body eternally at odds with the apathetic expression on his face. He gave no indication that he heard Neil’s drunken admissions, but Neil knew his tone was eternally telling, even if Andrew didn’t speak the language. Neil continued to babble, mixing the three languages in an unjust butchering of any rules of grammar, as Andrew pulled Neil’s shoes off and discarded them with no regard for where they fell. He snagged Andrew’s sleeve once more as the blonde turned away, and Andrew halted, but didn’t turn back.
“Thank you,” Neil whispered in German. He wanted to ask Andrew to stay, but his inebriated brain was telling him that he had already asked for far too much that night.
Andrew didn’t respond at first, and Neil’s eyes shut, weighed down by exhaustion and liquor.
“Get some sleep, rabbit.” The German words were barely a whisper, and bled into Neil’s subconscious as his world finally, benevolently faded to black.