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Andrew sits on the locker room bench without even the energy to scowl. He hates this; he can't remember why he willingly signed up for this godawful life. "Hey good game, Minyard!" one of his new teammates yells. Andrew doesn't bother lifting his arm to wave him off. It's his rookie season, he's not planning to stay here any longer than he has to.
He shucks his uniform off with steady movements before moving to the shower, no stalls, not like the Foxes'. It doesn't bother him, not like it would for a certain red-haired pain in his ass. His hand tightens around the knob before he turns it as hot as it can go.
Neil, Andrew hasn't let himself think about him, about all the weaknesses the last month of his life has revealed. He looks for Neil on the court even when he knows he's not there, his first instinct always to aim for the spot only Neil could reach. He lays in bed at night counting his breaths, trying and failing not to listen for Neil's own.
They talk, well, Neil talks. He must be on his phone more than Andrew has ever seen himself. It's almost impossible to imagine a world where Neil avidly remembers to charge his phone and carry it on him, but Andrew is living in it. He limits himself to calling three times a week, too weak to adhere to his original goal of once per. It's a balm to his senses, hearing Neil's voice in his ear, listening to him rant about the new freshman, answering the questions Neil asks with genuine curiosity and care in his voice. He wonders if Neil notices, or if he realizes that Andrew picks up every time he calls, no matter the time.
Andrew is sick with want for him. It might be easier if it was as simple as need. Andrew knows need, the need for food in his stomach, a roof over his head, a bed that is his own. Neil Josten had started out as a need. A need to know more, a threat that needed to be contained, a runner that needed to stay. It was only a problem when he'd weaseled his way into being Andrew's one debilitating desire.
Suddenly, Andrew wanted him around, wanted to hear his voice, touch his skin, feel his pulse beneath his palms. Want is a beast Andrew still doesn't know how to tame. The court isn't empty, but it is. His apartment isn't empty, but it is. His life isn't empty, but Neil Josten is in Palmetto, South Carolina. It's an absence that stings, and Andrew hates that it hurts, hates that Neil Josten could do this to him, hates himself for letting it happen.
His skin is pink when he gets out of the shower, long after the rest of the team has left. He dresses robotically, in a sweatshirt he pilfered from Neil halfway through university, and what might be a pair of his brother's sweatpants. He drives back to the apartment robotically too, in the Maserati Neil gave him. He could go scorched Earth; he'd even brought it up to Bee once, but they both knew there was no getting rid of the traces Neil left under his skin.
He takes the stairs up to his apartment out of habit, too many years living with exy junkies, and the elevator seems a little too old anyway. Somehow it all seems a little harder without Neil, in ways Andrew doesn't know how to quantify: getting himself out of bed, the pile of dishes that's been laying in his sink, the clothes strewn about on his bedroom floor. Neil didn't help with any of that, in fact, he was the primary contributor to half of those problems, but Andrew thinks it'd be just a bit easier to breathe in his presence.
There's a light on when he unlocks the door. Andrew drops his bag mindlessly by the entrance, already reaching for his knives when the rest of his senses kick in. It smells good, like someone is cooking, and now that Andrew's looking for it, he can hear the clank and clutter of someone moving around the small kitchen. Andrew leaves his knives in their holders, he walks in with his jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.
Neil has his back to him, wearing what looks like nothing but Andrew's old PSU hoodie and his socks, and he's bent over what looks to be the only pot Andrew owns. He walks closer on quiet feet, stunned that Neil seems so comfortable in this space he's never lived in, to the point that he doesn't even turn around. Andrew waits until he's not next to the boiling pot of water to speak.
"Neil," his voice rasps like he hasn't spoken in days. Maybe he hasn't.
Neil jumps two feet in the air like the rabbit he is, "FUCking-" Neil presses a hand to his chest, a long kitchen knife clattering onto the counter that had miraculously appeared in his other hand, "Jesus christ, Andrew. You couldn't give a guy a little warning?"
Andrew says nothing, just takes in the sight of Neil in his apartment. He looks- he looks bad actually. His hair is unwashed, there are huge bags under his eyes, and he looks a shade paler than he should be. He's the most beautiful thing Andrew's seen in weeks.
Andrew pulls him into his arms in a blink of the eye, and he feels Neil's laugh reverberate against his lips and through his chest where it's pressed against his own. They can't kiss for long, because Neil keeps smiling too much, so Andrew gives up on it, running his hands up and down Neil's sides and burying his face in his neck. They're not ones for hugs, but Andrew gives this to himself, Bee would be proud. When he finally pulls away, Neil's eyes are beaming down at him like he can't bare to look away.
"Hi," he says, like an idiot.
"You're in my kitchen," Andrew says, also like an idiot.
Neil shrugs like it doesn't matter, like he didn't fly up just to see Andrew for two precious days, "I'm making pasta. Abby gave me her recipe, did you know you're supposed to salt the water?"
"No," Andrew says, still dazed in the face of Neil's presence.
Neil hums, leaving Andrew's arms to flit around the kitchen, rambling about groceries he brought and a new flavor of ice cream he thinks Andrew might like. Andrew's hands squeeze the air he just occupied.
Neil looks back at him with a smile, "Hey, sit. This should be done in just a second." Andrew looks around the empty space where he hadn't bothered to put a dinner table, then back to Neil.
Neil just shrugs, "The couch is fine." Andrew sits on the couch.
The food is good when Neil brings it out, not better than Abby's objectively, but Andrew still goes back for seconds. Neil spends the entire meal talking about Andrew's exy game earlier, some amazing save he'd made in the third quarter. Andrew lets it wash over him, paying more attention to the shape of Neil's vowels and the plushness of his lips than the actual words he's saying.
When they finish, Neil is blinking long and slow like he does when he's run on too little energy for too long. Andrew drags him up by the hair, pleased at Neil's easy acceptance, the way he sways into Andrew's body.
"Go shower." Neil nods, pressing a kiss to Andrew's forehead before he slips away.
Andrew takes their dishes to the sink, and then washes the pot as well for good measure. He doesn't have any tupper ware, so the leftovers go in the trash, but he makes a mental note to stop at a Walmart when he gets the chance. Neil is still in the shower when he finishes, and he's quick to head there himself. He pauses only for a second in his bedroom, taking in the now clean floor and Neil's duffel on his bed, before knocking.
"It's open!" Neil calls out. Andrew strips himself efficiently, turning the heat up as he joins him. Neil's eyes are closed, the water running over his face and down his body.
"You didn't wash," Andrew says.
Neil peeks a single eye open, running it lazily over Andrew's body before closing it once more, "You like that part." Andrew glares, running his tongue over his teeth, but he says nothing.
He does pick up his shampoo, squeezing out a good amount to run through Neil's hair. Neil sighs as soon as Andrew touches him, melting into it like there's nowhere else he'd rather be. He's practically falling asleep on him when Andrew finally finishes with his body. He reaches for the knob with Neil sprawled across his chest, face tucked into his shoulder.
"I'm not drying you off," Andrew says quietly, running a hand through Neil's soaked hair, "You're not a toddler."
Neil's response is closer to gibberish than words, but he pulls himself up unsteadily. Andrew watches him long enough to make sure he won't fall and brain himself on the tub, before drying himself quickly and heading into the bedroom to grab their clothes. He lays out a pair of his own clothes for Neil, before grabbing the softest pair in Neil's duffel bag for himself.
It's suspiciously soft for something Neil is carrying actually, but he's distracted by Neil's nude body making its way across his bedroom floor. There's a soft smile on his face when he notices what Andrew's wearing, and the pair of pajamas clearly set out for him.
Andrew rolls them into bed once they're both dressed, watching Neil sigh contentedly once he gets as close as he can without touching. Andrew rolls his eyes before pulling him even closer, until they're plastered together. Neil hums lowly, succumbing to sleep.
It's pathetic how much Andrew appreciates the view, enough that he's nearly upset when Neil pops up with a disgruntled look, "I was 'sposed to give you a blowjob. You distracted me with your- your stupid magic hands."
Andrew snorts, "You can give me a blowjob tomorrow, when you're actually awake enough to give it."
Neil grumbles something in response, but it's muffled against his chest. Andrew watches as his breaths even out, feels it where their lungs expand as one. Suddenly, his life doesn't feel so empty after all.