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Andrew learned from a young age that his hands were the only barrier between himself and the world. Growing up in the foster system — and later in juvie — he soon understood that children were vicious and adults were not to be trusted; his safety was his responsibility and his alone. Learning to throw a punch was more prescient than learning how to write, especially for someone as small as him. It took him a few years to realize that his height meant he would always be seen as prey unless he showed aggression from the start. After that, he made sure to approach every new situation with a pair of fists instead of open arms.
At an equally young age, Andrew learned that the same hands that protected him from other kids during the day were useless against adults during the night. Powerlessness was a terrifying and familiar thing, and Andrew would spend years trying to brute-force his way out of it, even when he knew there was little physical strength could do against social hierarchy.
Andrew and his hands were alone in the world. His hands got a companion before he did: an Exy racquet, placed between them as a last resort to control his violence. He only accepted it out of boredom — fistfights could only be so interesting after months locked in the same place. He didn't like Exy, but he liked that it gave him a new way to use force, a way to make his arms hurt that wouldn't get him in even more trouble with the system. He specially didn't like that he was good at it, because it seemed to give hope to some of the people who had to supervise him — hope that at least one of the fucked-in-the-head kids that burdened them might have a future. Andrew knew it was bullshit. Kids like him didn't have futures; they didn't even have presents.
Andrew's companion came a few years later, though maybe came back would be more appropriate. A twin brother, separated at birth like a fucking fairytale. He didn't believe it when he was told it, and continued not to believe it for the first minute of facing him. It would make more sense if it were a mirror, not a boy, in front of him, except for the fact that Andrew would never allow himself to be so visibly nervous.
The boy — Aaron, because of course their names matched — didn't fidget or even look away from him, and Andrew considered that maybe only he could see his uncertainty, because it was what uncertainty looked like on his own face. He might have laughed at it, if laughing were something he ever did, that Aaron was the one who seemed to be placing the most importance on their meeting. Aaron, who already had a family, who had no reason to be eager for another person in his life.
Aaron reached a hand for Andrew to shake. How much easier was that boy's life compared to his? How much more rest did those hands get? Andrew saw a hand that was identical to his and was sure that if he touched its skin it would be softer. He didn't touch it.
He eventually learned that Aaron's home life wasn't as easy as he had imagined. He didn't know if he should feel vindicated or hopeless that the fucked-up dynamics he was used to with foster families could also flourish among people who were tied together by blood, but at least he could kill for good a line of thought common in kids like him — if only I could have a biological family…
Maybe he shouldn't care that Aaron was abused — he saw kids in the same circumstances every day, and he didn't move a finger to help them, because he had his own problems. He had no reason to like Aaron, because he had long ago given up on the concept of family. He had no reason, other than the fact that Aaron had been eager to meet him, had reached out a hand to him, had continuously tried to let him in when no one else in Andrew's life had ever gotten close without the intention of hurting. No reason but the fact that Aaron was as small as him, and Tilda was an adult, and Andrew could never defend himself against adults, but maybe he could defend a better version of him.
It shouldn't have been so easy to take a life. During fights, he could keep going and going and his arms would get sore before the other person even lost consciousness. It would have been more satisfying to take Tilda in a fight, and he had no doubt that he would win, because what she was used to doing wasn't fighting, it was having a punching bag that could cry. But he couldn't fight her and walk free, so he had to find another way. Another way that was way too easy.
He waited until the car was going fast enough and reached for the steering wheel. The only thing he saw on Tilda's face was confusion before the car got completely smashed on its left side. He wished it had lasted long enough for the confusion to pass. He wished she could have died thinking Aaron had finally had enough.
Aaron met him at the hospital, looking desolate. That wasn't Andrew's problem; he only cared for his brother's physical safety, so Aaron could be depressed and hate him all he wanted. Now that their mother was gone, Andrew wanted to make sure that no marks of her lasted on Aaron. He felt the impulse to reach out to him and check if there were bruises covered by makeup on his face, to touch his ribs and see that they were still whole. But Aaron wouldn't want to be touched by the hands that killed his mother, so Andrew didn't.
Andrew only had two people in his life, and it was weird how just one year got him so used to them that he could think only when previously two people would have been more than he could ever imagine. He didn't like Nicky, but he didn't exactly like Aaron either. Liking was irrelevant — Andrew had them, and they had him, and what was his was his to defend.
He had gone longer without a fight than he ever remembered going. Maybe it was a result of frequenting a slightly less shitty school than he was used to, maybe it was because he finally shared a home with two people with no interest in hurting him. Either way, he was happy to see that the hiatus hadn't taken his edge off.
To go from hearing the word faggot to throwing a punch was a no-brainer. He had heard the word so many times in his life it had started to just sound like noise to him, and he couldn't afford to pick a fight every time someone around him used it, because revealing why he disliked it would have made him an even better target than his height. In that case, however, it was directed at someone under his protection, so no amount of consciousness about his sexuality would have stopped him from intervening.
It felt good to beat them up. There always came a rush of adrenaline from getting in a fight, but usually it was followed by either anger or apathy. That time, though, he let himself really enjoy the punches. He knew he had all of them down, and that they probably weren't getting up, but that did nothing to stop him. Those men were ready to hurt one of his own, and there was no offense bigger than that. Not only that, but it gave him a twisted satisfaction that the reason for their attack was homophobia. How does it feel to have your skull cracked by a faggot?
He was pulled away, eventually. At first he thought it was the police, but the pigs would only arrive later. It was Aaron who pulled him back, and noticing the familiarity of the hands that held him was the only thing that kept him from swinging at him too. He didn't want to stop — there was a lifetime of anger behind his fists, and he felt like he had only gotten started. But his brother held him back and didn't let go until he could be sure Andrew wouldn't be a murderer again. Even after Aaron's hold was replaced by a pair of cuffs, Andrew's hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Few things in Andrew's life had felt as good as saying no to Kevin Day. He and that brother of his had barged in his high school like they owned the place and demanded to talk to him — well, Kevin demanded; Riko just stood in a corner looking impatient. Andrew had already refused Castle Evermore's invitation when he received it as a letter, but Kevin hadn't believed in his answer, apparently. He went on and on about how much potential Andrew had and how he needed to play for the Ravens. Andrew didn't care. All that unannounced visitation did was prove to him that Exy players were insufferable and celebrities were delusional.
Kevin demanded fifteen minutes on the court with him, to prove that "he was worth it". Andrew was forced by his coach to accept, but he planned on staying still under the goal for the entirety of it. After four minutes, however, he began to really get irritated. Kevin wouldn't quit, regardless of Andrew's apathy, and Kevin was good. Andrew couldn't help but wonder: could he block one of his shots, if he tried? He waited for the next one and — there. He hit the ball back right on Kevin's head, but, instead of irritation, a grin took over his face. It angered Andrew further that he had given Kevin just what he wanted, and he blocked as many other shots as he could in retaliation. He had never had to focus so much to defend the goal, never heard his blood thrum in his ears like that outside of a fight. Through the filter of numbness his medication provided, he felt mildly interested.
The fifteen minutes ended and he still refused to join the Ravens. Kevin was disbelieving. "Didn't you have fun?", he asked, and he really seemed to believe that the only possible answer was yes. It didn't matter — Andrew would never sell himself to those arrogant rich fucks.
He told him no, over and over again. Andrew hadn't had many opportunities to say a no that mattered to a powerful man, though "man" might have been pushing it in that case — Kevin couldn't be more than one or two years older than him. Nevertheless, he was twice his size, famous, and clearly used to getting what he wanted. Saying his refusal and having him walk away sulking gave him a satisfaction that stuck to his teeth like chewing gum for the rest of the day.
The next time Andrew saw Kevin, he was impossibly small, curled in on himself over the bus seats. Wymack told them that was Kevin Day, national champion, now with a broken hand. The first thing Andrew thought was I can't believe I have to deal with this bitch again.
Andrew and Kevin were at each other's throats for two months before Andrew figured out Kevin had something no one else on the team could offer him: hope. Not like the wardens at juvie, dreaming that one of the kids might make it out and stop being a problem for them — Kevin's hope wasn't a self-serving illusion, it was a certainty. He stated it as a fact, as an order: you will be something. Andrew hated it and didn't believe in it one bit, but it was something no one else in his life had ever told him, and he wasn't strong enough to let go of it.
He knew that, just as him, Kevin wanted something impossible — Andrew wanted a future, Kevin wanted safety. Andrew didn't know how he could protect him from the fucking Yakuza, but he was also sure that his part of the deal was infinitely easier than Kevin's. He made the deal, not once believing Kevin would be able to give him a purpose in life. It didn't matter — just being close to his unwavering faith in his potential made Andrew feel more alive than he thought possible with all those drugs, even if the "feeling alive" was often fueled by irritation.
They shook on it, which was also the first time Andrew ever touched Kevin. He reached a hand first, and doing so with an open palm instead of a fist was disconcerting. Kevin held him with his right hand, and Andrew thought his grip was way to weak for his liking.
One thing he soon learned about Kevin was that he was horrible with boundaries. It took him a month of being pushed back, slapped and punched to stop grabbing people by whatever body part was closest and forcing them to listen to his scolding on the court. Personal space was as alien to him as the notion that he didn't have the power to control how everyone lived their lives just to better optimize their game. It didn't shock Andrew, who already expected him to be self-centered and selfish, a celebrity that thought he should get everything he wanted.
What unsettled Andrew was that Kevin's lack of boundaries seemed to extend to himself. When they first started spending more time together, Andrew couldn't resist pushing back on everything just to see how much Kevin was willing to put up with him. That often came with being bossy, because he thought that someone that controlling on the court wouldn't take orders in anything else in his life. But when they went out to eat and Andrew ordered something for Kevin without consulting him first, Kevin showed no reaction. When they went shopping for clothes and Andrew picked what he wanted Kevin to wear, he didn't even bat an eye. Kevin seemed to accept as natural the idea that someone else could decide his life for him.
That lack of boundaries really became a problem when Kevin moved to the dorms with them, because, it turned out, it also applied to Kevin's own body. The first time Kevin decided to change clothes by stripping completely naked in the middle of the dorm room had Nicky and Aaron letting out groans for two very different reasons and Andrew feeling like he might have an aneurysm. It took a week of yelling at him to make him remember that bathroom doors should stay closed if you're going to take a shower. Closed doors, actually, seemed to be Kevin's biggest problem. Andrew wasn't completely sure of what went on with the Ravens, but he managed to piece enough together from Kevin's occasional comments to know that they weren't a normal college team. At one point, he was sure there weren't any doors in the Nest, until the first time he was alone with Kevin in the dorm.
Andrew liked locked doors, especially in his own room. They were a luxury he hadn't been allowed for most of his life, so, now that he could, he locked himself in the room at any opportunity he got. In their first week of sharing the dorm with Kevin, since they were four people, there was always someone coming or going, so he didn't have many chances to keep the door locked. Once they settled back in their routine, however, he returned to the habit. One afternoon, when Aaron and Nicky left to do whatever while Kevin and Andrew stayed in the room, he went to lock the door.
He didn't think much of it, so he wasn't paying active attention to Kevin while he did it. Still, it hadn't taken long for him to develop the habit of always keeping him on his peripheral vision, so he caught the way he tensed up at the lock's click. Andrew walked back to his place, pretending not to notice, and saw that Kevin leaned his body minutely away from him the closer he got. Kevin hadn't told him much about the Nest, but he told him who broke his hand, and Andrew knew enough about familial violence to know that nothing was ever an isolated event. He also knew what often happened behind closed doors.
He didn't want to say anything, but he looked down at his own hands, then looked up at Kevin, who was barely breathing and pretending not to watch him from the corner of his eyes, and thought that he couldn't blame him. That should be a serious conversation, because Andrew would never want to me mistaken for the kind of people who have hurt him (have hurt Kevin?), but he couldn't do seriousness in his drugged-up state. What he felt was that their situation, as everything else those days, was very funny, albeit in a sad way.
"Kevin, Kevin, Kevin," he began in a sing-songy affect and saw the way Kevin almost jumped in his place on the couch. "You offend me. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't wait for a locked door!"
Kevin's jaw clenched and his hand gripped the cushions, but, after a few seconds, he relaxed. He didn't acknowledge Andrew's words in any other way, but he didn't flinch the next time Andrew moved around the room, so he was satisfied.
It became very important to Andrew that Kevin not be afraid of him. They fought frequently, screaming and pushing and pointing fingers at each other's faces, but Andrew never let it escalate in aggression. He could pull a knife against Kevin during a fight, but he wouldn't actually use it — more importantly, he would only do it if they were already fighting. Violence between them was always expected and reciprocal, because Andrew would never touch Kevin without a warning. One thing not even his medication could keep him from being serious about was his role as a protector. He would not allow Kevin to feel unsafe.
Andrew's hands were meant for fighting — fighting for himself and for what was his. His responsibility was keeping his people safe, but it didn't extend to keeping them happy or even comfortable. He told himself he didn't care about how any of them felt, and that his urge to pat them down every day to check for bruises was only a part of watching over their physical integrity. With Kevin, the urge was too great to resist. He got in so many fights with nearly everyone on the team, and Andrew was the only one who ever pulled his punches. He needed to see that Kevin was whole, that he would never go back to that broken mess he had been after the winter banquet. It became routine for them, Kevin leaning down so Andrew could look closely where he wanted, sometimes reaching lightly to bend his head or his arms this way and that. It gave him peace to do it, and he would continue doing it every day if he could.
He knew Kevin felt pain, and he knew that pain was to be expected as consequence of his injury — Abby had said that it would take a while for his hand to stop aching, if it ever stopped completely. So he knew that Kevin's pain didn't denote immediate danger and, therefore, shouldn't be his problem. Still, he wished there was something he could do about it. It was a completely foreign feeling, to want to give comfort. It wasn't what he was made for.
He couldn't focus on his book when he knew what the twitch of Kevin's hand by his side meant. He couldn't avoid looking up to face the frown on Kevin's face. He really didn't think he could be of any use in this, but he remembered the stretching exercises Kevin did in physiotherapy, and he decided to go against his instincts and try.
He reached out a hand to him, palm open and facing up, and waited for him to understand. Kevin didn't hesitate — he never did when it came to Andrew's requests. The weight of Kevin's left hand on his made Andrew's mind blank for a second. How had he convinced himself he would be able to make him feel better?
Kevin kept his hand there, and eventually Andrew snapped into action. He turned the hand around, checking for what, he didn't know. His stitches had come out a while ago, but the scars were still more red than white, raised over his skin. Andrew wanted to trace them with his fingers, to feel that they really had healed, but he couldn't. With hands like Andrew's, Kevin's skin ought to split open just from the touch.
He repeated the stretches he had seen, pulling his fingers back while he held his palm in place, rotating his wrist carefully to check for pain, folding the hand into a fist and then open again. Kevin let him without even a comment, just staring down at their joined hands. Andrew watched his face as he looked down, thinking that there was way too much trust there for Kevin's own good.
Neil Josten was going to drive Andrew crazy. Well, crazier.
That boy was hiding something, that much was obvious. Andrew had way too many problems to deal with and people to watch over to have to derail his routine to break into rooms and rummage through drawers until he found an answer, but he couldn't afford to let Neil keep his secrets. He needed to know what he was working with, because threat assessment was the first step when meeting anyone. Why couldn't Kevin have chosen someone who didn't act like a mafia spy?
Neil was like no one Andrew had ever known, and he kept telling himself his efforts to figure him out were just to see if he was a threat and not out of genuine interest in him, but it was getting harder to believe that by the day. Andrew knew he was fucked when he saw Neil without his contacts and his first thought wasn't that it proved he was a duplicitous little shit, but that he needed to figure out a way to keep watching those blue eyes.
Neil told him a truth, eventually, but he knew it wasn't the truth — not all of it, at least. Still, Andrew couldn't bring himself to push him away. Something about Neil made he want to trust him even when he knew he was lying and touch him even when he knew he was dangerous. He put a key in Neil's hand and told him to stay, and the way Neil stared at it made him feel like he was looking into a part of Andrew himself. Shouldn't his drugs make fluttering in his stomach impossible?
He knew his soft spot for Neil would cause him problems. He shouldn't agree to anything just because a pretty boy asked him, let alone if the request involved breathing the same air as his asshole uncle and his pushover of a wife, but he still said yes to going with Nicky to see his parents. He really didn't want do go, but at least he expected that trip to convince Nicky for good that his parents were worthless. Worst case scenario would be Andrew having the cops called on him for reacting appropriately to their evangelical bullshit.
Andrew's nightmares were many, both in variety and in frequency. They often woke him up in the quiet of the night, which remained undisturbed apart from his slightly heavier breathing — he had learned in childhood to be silent in his fear, because calling for help had never done him any good. He saw Drake in his dreams, sometimes. Other times, he didn't need to see him to know he was there, a looming presence over his unconsciousness.
It had to be a nightmare. At any moment, he would wake up in his bed, hitch a breath and look around the room to check that he was safe and so was his family. He had to.
At the hospital, the thought came to him that it was unfair how receiving medical care was the only unfamiliar thing about all that had happened to him in the last few hours. Andrew didn't like to think of anything in his life in terms of fairness, since the concept was completely useless for someone like him, but through the fog of his medication the notion that nagged him was that this was too much even for him. Surely he could afford himself a little self-pity before facing the world again.
Abby wanted to take him off his drugs. A part of him wanted to resist, to cling to the only chance he had to ignore what had happened to him, but he knew it would do him no good. He was afraid of going back to the person he was, but the thought of being unable to react properly even to something so traumatic scared him even more. He wouldn't admit it even to himself, but he wished he could cry at least once.
Still, he had his duties. He couldn't go away and leave Kevin unsupervised, regardless of his own personal needs. Neil offered to take his place and watch over Kevin, which was so ridiculous Andrew could believe it was a joke — how could Neil, who was in as dire a need for protection as Kevin, make anyone safer?
But Neil pulled him closer and gave him a name he could trust. He held Andrew's arms with the same hands that had rushed to cover his body when he had found him on the bed, and Andrew let him guide his own hands under his shirt. He had no reason to feel the ache in his chest when he traced countless scars over Neil's stomach, just as he had had no reason to hope that he could have at least one person in his life who hadn't known so much pain. He shouldn't trust Neil any more than he already did, much less with something so precious to him, but Neil trusted him enough to let him touch him. He didn't waver even when he knew how easy it would be for Andrew's hands to add one more scar to his collection.
Trust never came easily to Andrew, but he was beginning to fear that giving it to Neil would become as natural as breathing.
Being in control was important. After having so much agency over his body and his life taken from him while growing up, Andrew was determined to never let anyone make him powerless again. It felt like a betrayal, then, that loss of control could come not from outside interference, but from letting his own emotions spiral.
Neil was gone, and Kevin had known this would happen and hadn't told Andrew. Something sharp and ugly swelled up in his chest at that knowledge. It made him want to scream his throat raw and pull his hair out, but Andrew had spent too long aiming his aggression away from himself and toward the world to stop now. It felt heartbreakingly easy to let his anger and hurt guide his hands around Kevin's throat; it took no thought at all to press down.
If he were to lose Neil, he'd make sure to lose Kevin too. He'd make sure to lose everything that had ever made his life worth living. That's where comfort and affection took him, and it was his fault for thinking things would turn out any differently. Andrew wasn't meant for warmth and trust.
This was easier, this felt better: to lash out and cause pain. He looked at his hands around Kevin's throat and felt the bitter taste of a broken promise. So that was how it felt like, being the one to walk away first. He didn't look up at Kevin's face, afraid to see in his eyes a realization Andrew himself had had to face many times. You were supposed to protect me. You're just another monster.
Safer to keep his eyes on the skin turning red under his fingers — fingers he had one day deluded himself into believing could touch Kevin's with care. No, this was all Andrew was good for, and he better remember it.
He got pulled away from Kevin, eventually. He was glad that the three pairs of hands holding him back gave him something to struggle against that wasn't himself. Before him, Kevin sank to the ground and choked on gulps of air. Andrew stared at the bruised skin around his neck and felt his palms still hot from the contact. He thought of Tilda. He thought of Riko. He thought of Neil, who had no one to pull danger away from him like Kevin just had, and let his hands curl closed.
If he tightened his fists with so much force his nails pierced his palms, all the better.
Neil shouldn't let Andrew touch him like this. He had been hurt beyond anything even Andrew could imagine, his body so battered and bruised it seemed like a miracle that he could even walk. From the moment he saw him in Baltimore, Andrew was torn between being afraid that touching him would hurt him more and wanting to hold him tight and never let go. But, despite his wounds, Neil didn't once act like Andrew's hands on him might cause him pain.
Andrew trusted Neil too much for his own good, but it also worked the other way around. Neil let him cover his bandages and undress him and even get in the shower with him, all while Andrew thought he must be crazy to put so much faith on someone like him. Still, he couldn't keep his hands away, not when Neil gave him permission so easily.
He ran his hands through Neil's hair and pressed wet kisses against his mouth, thinking it couldn't be healthy to want someone that much. Maybe that was how he died: with his mouth on Neil's skin and his heart beating so fast it gave out. His need to touch Neil went beyond desiring him; it was a desperation to feel for himself that he was alive, he was hot flesh and twitching muscles under his hands. Andrew hadn't lost him.
The Foxes wanted to go on a trip for the week, which Andrew wouldn't normally even entertain giving an answer to, considering that his unwillingness to spend time with the whole team was obvious. But their time in Baltimore drew them closer, and he had to admit that seeing how all of them worried for Neil increased minutely his respect for them. Besides, after all they had gone through, they deserved some time off, Andrew included.
Kevin, of course, complained. That was to be expected, and Andrew understood perfectly why he didn't want them to go. Kevin was a creature of habit, more than any of them, and even in a good week he wouldn't be eager to drop everything for a relaxing trip to the mountains. After going through so much stress those last few days, Kevin needed a routine to fall back on so he could keep some sense of control. Andrew knew that because he knew Kevin almost as well as he knew himself. What Andrew didn't know was why he couldn't stop himself from hurting him.
He pointed a knife at him under the table, which felt so easy it brought back that bitter taste to his mouth. He was angry at Kevin, still angry that he hid Neil's secret and now angry that he couldn't get over himself and see that Neil needed the rest. He was angry at himself, because he knew Kevin also thought of Neil, and that he probably imagined that he could help Neil through his problems on the court. It was infuriating to know someone well enough that your blind rage against them could never actually be blind. Andrew would always consider what Kevin was thinking, which just made it worse that he couldn't make his hand turn the blade away.
After hurting Kevin once, it felt like the only natural course of action would be to continue to hurt him. Andrew didn't know how to de-escalate; he had never walked back on anything in his life — he only knew how to push through and refuse to look behind. It was like finding a hole in his favorite hoodie and facing the fact that he didn't know how to sew, so all that was left to do was pick at the fabric until it unraveled enough to convince him to throw it away.
The knife quieted Kevin, and for once Andrew wasn't happy to see his mouth closed.
He didn't talk to Kevin during the trip, but he couldn't keep his distance all the time. He had grown so used to having him by his side it was now upsetting to look around the room and not find him. He didn't know who was avoiding whom more intensely, but he also didn't know whose shoulders sagged with more relief when their eyes finally met across the room, only for a second, before they turned away.
He stayed up late some nights, telling Neil he would watch over Kevin to keep him from drinking himself to death, but he didn't think Neil believed that he was just being utilitarian. Andrew would watch Kevin from a distance, knowing he could feel his gaze on him and was choosing to ignore him, and he would hope for a reaction. Come at me, he would think, Scream, make a scene. Hit me. For once in your life don't let abuse go unpunished.
But Kevin never reacted, though he sometimes met Andrew's expectant gaze. Andrew knew what he wanted, but he wouldn't give it to him — he didn't know how.
The first time since Baltimore that Andrew touched Kevin was the night he changed his tattoo.
A light sleeper as he was, he woke up as soon as he heard the dorm's door open. He knew it was Kevin even before he heard his voice, because he had gone to sleep thinking of him. It had hurt when Kevin told Neil, not him, that he would skip that night's team practice; it had hurt even worse when Kevin didn't call Andrew to go with him wherever it was he had decided to go. Andrew knew he deserved that pain, so he didn't let it turn into anger. What did manage to piss him off was the fact his hurt was accompanied by worry for Kevin — the thought of him out alone and probably drunk enough to pass out had made it nearly impossible to fall asleep.
Having his hard-earned sleep interrupted, he was ready to cuss Kevin out for being so irresponsible. He was also ready to check if he had drunk too much and help him change out and go to bed, but that was beside the point. When he stepped out of bed, however, he caught Kevin and Neil staring at each other.
The coiled-up energy in the room was as striking as the smell of alcohol. Neil looked like he was ready to jump Kevin right then and there, but, though Andrew couldn't see his eyes, it wasn't violence that he read on his body. Kevin was, as he had imagined, so drunk he could barely stand, and Andrew was so concerned with checking that he wasn't hurt that it took him a second to find the reason for the tension permeating the air.
When he caught Kevin's tattoo, Andrew forgot everything about the complicated feelings they might have for each other. He could only see that chess piece, standing proud over the biggest lie Kevin had ever told himself. If Kevin had a fixation on Andrew's potential as a player, Andrew was hungry for the day Kevin would finally learn to stand up for himself. He never let it turn into an obsession like Kevin did, but he craved it nonetheless. Andrew had met enough cowards in his life to know Kevin wasn't one, but it could be infuriatingly difficult to find the man who had survived the Nest under so many bottles of vodka and wavering words. Trepidation rested over Kevin like an ill-fitting suit, but one he still refused to shed. Seeing that change, Andrew could swear he felt his mouth water.
Kevin and Neil looked at each other like nothing else existed in the world. Andrew was sure that, if he reached between them, he would feel some invisible string tying them together. He could spend the rest of the night just watching them lost in each other, but Kevin's drunken raving convinced him to speak up.
He called him Queen and Kevin turned to him immediately. Having his full attention, eager even through the fog of alcohol, emboldened Andrew like nothing else could. He walked up to Kevin and reached a hand to his chin, needing to see more closely the ink on his face. Kevin's eyes fluttered shut at the contact, and Andrew felt him rest the weight of his head on his hand. How could he surrender to his touch so easily after what Andrew had done? How could Andrew see that and only want to touch him more?
To keep himself from running his thumb over Kevin's cheek, he said "He is going to be furious."
Kevin looked tired, but not defeated. He said "They should be afraid" and Andrew felt the urge to lick over his tattoo, to check if the ink would taste as good as the boldness of his words.
Their energy immersed him. He could hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, or maybe it was Neil's heart, or it was both of them, perfectly synced in the understanding that in that moment there was nothing in the world more beautiful than Kevin Day. He wanted to swallow Kevin whole, and when he opened his first smile in months — the first real one in so many years — he didn't know if it showed satisfaction or more hunger than he'd ever felt.
They guided Kevin to bed, Neil practically buzzing in place in a way Andrew would have found equal parts ridiculous and cute if he himself didn't feel just as affected. Neil's excitement just fed the fire inside him, and he thought to himself this must be how Neil feels during a game. Fucking junkie.
They made Kevin lie down, at that point more than halfway to sleep. When Andrew stepped back to let him rest, Kevin's hand darted out to grab his wrist. Even nearly unconscious, his left-handed grip was firm, and his silent plea was unmistakable. Don't go.
Andrew's heart clenched in an unpleasant way that reminded him it existed. Kevin couldn't know what he was asking for — he probably thought it was Neil he was holding. The thought of Kevin only touching him because he was too drunk to remember he shouldn't made Andrew freeze. Neil saw him tensing up, as he always did, and gently pried Kevin's fingers from him. When Kevin settled back under the covers, Neil brushed his own hand over his forehead, tucking away a stray lock of hair.
Andrew pulled himself together when they left the room, but couldn't resist pushing Neil against the wall and calling him a junkie for having the same addiction as him. They kissed until his lips felt numb and he touched every part of Neil he could reach without pulling back, desperate for a way to occupy his hands.
They won against the Ravens. Even after years insisting he didn't care about Exy, Andrew couldn't stop the rush of adrenaline that flooded him. It wasn't about the sport, it was about making sure that the Foxes couldn't be ignored — everyone in that stadium would have to look at that group of misfits and know they were worth something. It was about beating the people who hurt Kevin and Neil, and it was about seeing the incredulous look on Riko's face slowly turn to horror. For once in Andrew's life, he could have a victory that mattered.
Neil collapsed from exhaustion on the field, and Andrew noticed with alarm his proximity to Riko. That bastard was still staring at the scoreboard, but Andrew knew it was a matter of seconds until he turned his attention elsewhere. When he saw Neil's mouth open, Andrew started to run.
Neil said something, because of course he would, but Andrew didn't hear it through the wind hitting his ears as he ran. He knew what was going to happen even before Riko lifted his hands. There was no way he could make it in time, he was too far away and his gear hindered his movements, but he still raced across the court like his life depended on it, because it did.
Andrew closed the gap. He wouldn't let Riko hurt Neil. He wouldn't let him touch any of his people ever again. Riko's racquet swung down and Andrew's swung up, a millisecond before his, hitting Riko's arm with all the strength he had. Andrew waited for the urge to keep going and beat the other man to pulp, but it didn't come — all of his instincts screamed at him to focus on Neil. He pushed Riko away and watched as he yelled in agony, just long enough to be sure he wouldn't come at them again, then turned to Neil.
He let go of his racquet even when he knew it would be smarter to keep it pointed at Riko. For once, his main drive wasn't to cause pain. He knelt down to look at Neil, who was breathless and still processing what had happened. His gaze met Andrew's and he smiled, fierce and dangerous and alive. Andrew reached for him, wanting to feel the pulse under his skin, but he was still wearing his gloves. He pulled Neil closer to run gloved hands over sweat-soaked fabric, and he marveled at the man before him as if they were touching skin to skin.
Riko's death wrecked Kevin. Andrew knew that would happen as soon as Neil told him what he had watched Ichirou do, but expecting it didn't make it easier to see Kevin wake up depressed and go to sleep drunk every day. His teammates were running out of patience with him, but Andrew knew Kevin too well to expect him to get over Riko in just a few weeks. He tried to watch over Kevin when he wasn't pushing Andrew away, but he just isolated himself further as the days passed.
The three of them were supposed to spend the summer in Abby's house, but Kevin decided instead to go to Wymack's place, saying he needed time alone. Andrew let him go, pretending that living apart from him for three months wouldn't tear a hole in his chest.
Maybe Andrew should feel frustrated with Neil for not even trying to tone down his happiness at Riko's death, even if he sometimes tried to talk to Kevin about it. Andrew knew that Kevin didn't want to be by his side anymore, but he should still have Neil, if only they managed to stay in the same room without screaming over a dead man. Still, he couldn't be angry at Neil for his joy any more than he could be at Kevin for his grief. Again, it was infuriating to know someone so intimately.
Even if he missed Kevin like a lost limb, he couldn't deny that he liked the time he got to spend alone with Neil. They had gotten so used to life-crushing pressure that having the summer for themselves without worrying about championships or mafias was like getting to know each other all over again. Unfortunately, that meant Andrew was forced to concede that, beyond needing him to be safe and wanting him like a drug, he also just genuinely enjoyed Neil's company.
No one had ever respected his boundaries like Neil did, but Andrew still couldn't help feeling ridiculously exposed when they were together. Neil never touched him without his permission or pushed for something Andrew didn't mention first, but one second of those blue eyes on his already had Andrew feeling like he could see inside his heart. It was unfamiliar and at times uncomfortable, but also exciting, in a juvenile way. He hated that he didn't hate it.
Physical intimacy between them became less tentative over time. There was still much Andrew couldn't stand when it came to sex, but he discovered other ways of touching that didn't hurt. Resting his chin over Neil's shoulder while he made coffee in the morning, putting his hands on Neil's legs when he slung them over his lap during a movie night, being kissed on the temple before he left for his sessions with Bee… it was startling how quickly he got used to all of it. How could just a few weeks have turned him into someone who didn't like having breakfast alone, because that meant not having Neil's knee knock against his while he sat by his side?
They sat on the couch, not cuddling, because Andrew refused to call it that, while their conversation went from classes to the book he was currently reading to the videogame he had been trying to teach Neil to play that week. Andrew didn't like talking, but he liked talking to Neil, and he particularly liked it when they could do it that close together (not cuddling).
He had his hand on Neil's hair, which was becoming a fixation of his, because how could it have been bleached and dyed so many times over the years and still remain so soft? While they talked, he let his thumb wander down to run over Neil's cheek, idly circling the jagged skin.
He didn't know exactly how it happened — a gesture too sharp while speaking, his fingernails having gone too long without trimming —, but the second Andrew's nail scratched the skin under his eye, Neil practically jumped away from him. Andrew froze when he saw Neil shut his eyes and flinch, backing off to the other end of the couch. His own hand hung dumbly in the air before he pulled it sharply to his side.
He should apologize. He almost wanted to, but he couldn't force words he hadn't spoken since childhood past his throat.
Neil came back to himself, but Andrew didn't miss the way he tried to shrink against the cushions. Finally, he met Andrew's gaze.
"It's fine, I'm-" he shook his head, aborting the sentence. "Lola had sharp nails."
Andrew's hands tightened against his side, but there was no one to strike but Neil's ghosts. His impulse was to get close to Neil and ground him to the present, but he couldn't do it when he had been the one he pulled away from. Silence stretched between them before Neil spoke again.
"I think I just need a shower." Andrew nodded, trying not to let his anger at himself and everyone who had ever touched Neil show. It was useless: Neil could always see through him. He reached a hand to Andrew and added "Come with me?"
Andrew stepped under the shower in his jeans, but he took his shirt off, thinking that Neil had already felt exposed enough that day without having to shower with someone fully clothed. He washed Neil's hair, still awed that he let him do it so easily, and took care not to touch his face.
Later, Neil cut Andrew's nails, running a thumb over the tip of each finger as if to prove to him they couldn't hurt him.
They were together in bed. They didn't always sleep together, and, when they did, they usually kept their distance, since Andrew found it hard to fall asleep while being touched. Still, he loved having Neil in his arms while they were awake, because that's where he could make sure no one would take Neil from. He hugged him tight and thought about the other man he wished he could keep safe in his hold.
"He can't be alone," he said against Neil's hair.
"Who?"
"You know who."
Neil turned in his arms to face him. He had a frown on his face and his tone was mildly accusatory. "Kevin isn't alone." He has us, was the obvious unsaid part.
"He's not here." He fisted his hand around the back on Neil's shirt. "He can't be here." He can't have me. He and Neil were getting good at hearing the words they couldn't make themselves say.
Neil's scowl deepened. "You still haven't talked about it?"
"If we talk about it, he'll just want to accept an apology I'm not offering."
"You don't regret it?" Despite his face, there was no judgment in Neil's voice. Andrew could have resisted his attraction to Neil all he wanted, but that was what would always have done him in, sooner or later — Neil's refusal to back off from any part of him, no matter how ugly. He could show him the feelings that got him called a monster his whole life and all Neil would do was take it in and offer a part of himself in exchange.
"I can't afford regrets."
Neil just hummed, his frown becoming more pensive. "I'm not letting him push me away anymore." Andrew was about to say that good, he shouldn't, Kevin needed Neil in his life, but the other man wasn't done speaking. "And you're obviously not getting away from me. So the two of you will have to sort yourselves out, eventually. You wouldn't want to make me chose, right?"
Andrew was staring at the most annoying man in the world. He sighed. "I hate you."
Neil leaned closer to brush his nose against Andrew's. "You hate him too."
Andrew kissed him to avoid saying that he really did.
Kevin shouldn't forgive him, and Andrew shouldn't let him, but Kevin wanted to, and, god, did Andrew want it too. Whenever one of them tried pulling away, it didn't take long to be reeled back in by the other, neither able to live apart for too long. Neil told him over and over that that was getting ridiculous, but Andrew kept refusing to let Kevin make the mistake of trusting him again.
In the end, it was Kevin who imposed his will. He told Andrew he didn't care what Andrew thought was best for him, he only cared about what he wanted, and he wanted him. Andrew looked at him, angry and standing up for himself, and thought that maybe he should trust Kevin to know what he was doing. He had come a long way since the days when he let Andrew make every decision for him.
Maybe it wasn't fair that he should get to kiss Kevin after what he had done, but Andrew didn't believe in fairness anyway.
It didn't take long for the three of them to get used to… whatever it was they had. Andrew refused to call it a relationship, because it sounded too good — too lasting — to be true. Once, during one of Kevin's episodes, he said, between attempts to fill his lungs, "I can't believe I'm dating two men. If anyone finds out-"
"We're not dating," Andrew corrected him sharply, while he kept a hand on Kevin's back to prove to him that yes, he was breathing, his body wasn't breaking down.
His comment seemed to offend Kevin enough to snap him out of some of his anxiety. He narrowed his eyes at Andrew and fired back "Find a more press-friendly term, then."
Neil commended Andrew on his new strategy of annoying Kevin out of a panic attack, and Andrew told him to go fuck himself.
What took them a while — took Andrew a while, really — to get right was sex. He had gotten comfortable enough to sometimes let Neil touch him, before they added Kevin in the equation, but having two people in the room made him feel too exposed. He could still get off alone with Neil, but not alone with Kevin, because Andrew needed to be in control during sex, and the thought of having control over Kevin's body brought back the memory of him going limp under his hands.
It took months of trial and error for him to stop freaking out at the idea of touching Kevin anywhere but his face, but it started with the realization that he liked to watch Kevin and Neil.
It made him feel creepy, at first, even when he knew he was wanted in the room, but the two of them quickly caught on to his insecurity — when had Andrew allowed himself to be known so well? — and started being more vocal about enjoying having him close. One day, after a couple of weeks watching from a safe distance, his not-boyfriends were already naked in bed when Kevin turned to him.
"Andrew." Hearing the name, Neil lifted up from where he was trailing kisses down Kevin's stomach to watch him too. "Can you…" he took a steadying breath. Andrew didn't know if he was too distracted from having Neil on him or if he was flustered about what he was going to ask, but that had him leaning forward where he sat. "Can you hold me?"
His voice was soft and unguarded in a way only being kissed by Neil could make him. Andrew was still getting used to hearing Kevin begin sentences with "can you" instead of just spitting out orders. He considered their positions. "The bed is too small for three people."
Kevin opened a small smile that was so rare on his face Andrew already knew he was going to say yes to whatever he asked of him. "You can sit here," he pushed his pillow to the floor and patted the space under his head to illustrate. "I just want you close."
Feeling like his heart might burst out of his chest, he did as Kevin asked. Andrew was still fully dressed, but he took his shoes off to sit cross-legged as Kevin's new pillow. As soon as his head rested on Andrew's lap, he closed his eyes and sighed like all tension left his body. Further down the bed, Neil's gaze met Andrew's with a mix of affection and amazement. It sometimes scared him how soothed Kevin felt by his presence, like a single touch from Andrew could unwind him completely.
Kevin's eyes opened to stare up at him. "Can you touch me? It can be just above the waist."
Andrew felt a knot in his throat. He was still uncertain about having Kevin give up control so easily when it came to sex. He placed his hand by Kevin's side and told him "Show me what you want."
Neil went back down Kevin's body, progressing to kissing and nibbling at his thighs while Kevin held Andrew's hand gently and placed it flat over his stomach. Andrew felt his abdomen flutter faintly as Neil's mouth worked on him, and Kevin guided his hand up, letting it rest over his accelerating heart. Andrew's eyes traveled lazily between the two of them, and, when he caught Neil's stare, that little shit winked at him before swallowing Kevin whole.
Kevin threw his head back and groaned, tightening his hold on Andrew's hand. He continued moving it over his chest until he guided it up. When Kevin placed his hand on his neck, Andrew snapped it back like he had been burned.
Sensing the sharp movement, Neil pulled away. Andrew must have been staring down at Kevin like he was from another planet, because Kevin turned red and rushed to say "It's not like that."
It felt like a twisted joke was being played on him. He could almost feel his stomach churn and had to force himself not to look away from Kevin. "How is it not like that?"
He didn't know how it was possible, but Kevin flushed even more deeply. "I'm sensitive around my neck. It feels nice to be touched here. Just touched," he added quickly.
Neil rested his head on Kevin's hip and placed a soothing kiss on the skin there. Andrew could still feel a bad taste in his mouth. "Ask Neil, then."
"No," Kevin began reaching up to him but stopped halfway through the movement, seeming to remember himself. He tucked his hand back close to his own body and looked more firmly into Andrew's eyes instead. "I want it to be you."
Andrew studied him, trying to decide if this was really just a sex thing or one more fucked-up way to deal with trauma. He looked to Neil, and his eyes were encouraging. If Neil didn't think it would harm Kevin, Andrew had to trust him — he was the only other person in the world he could trust when it came to him.
He rested his hand over Kevin's clavicle and guided Kevin's own hand to wrap around his wrist. "Pull me away when you don't like it."
"If I don't like it," Kevin reminded him, then placed Andrew's palm over the hollow of his throat.
Neil went back to business, and Kevin didn't take long to melt into a moaning mess in Andrew's hold. The hand on his neck let Andrew feel every heavy beat of his heart and every groan he tried to bite back. Despite himself, Andrew craved more. He wanted to keep Kevin under his hands forever, safe and pleased for as long as Andrew could make him. He glanced forward to see that Neil had his eyes open and fixed on his face with a wicked glint. Andrew could already hear the following days' teasing about his possessiveness.
When they were done, Kevin kept Andrew's hand in place even as Neil plopped down over him to hum contently against his chest. Kevin was almost dozing off, but Neil glanced up at Andrew with something so tender he refused to think about its name. Neil's breath was close enough to Kevin's neck to tickle Andrew's fingers, and Andrew really should do something about his need to hold each of them with one hand and never let go.
Aaron's trial took its toll on Andrew. He knew it would, so did Bee and Neil and Kevin and everyone else on the team, but it still pissed him off that he was so affected. Drake was dead, for fuck's sake, that was what that whole trial was about, so why had the thought of him kept Andrew awake at night for almost two weeks now?
He thought the trial would make his relationship — yes, he was using that word now — with Aaron worse, but it turned out they had already hit the rock bottom of sibling relations years back, so anything post-Bee technically still counted as improvement. To his credit, beyond what was legally necessary, Aaron never talked about it unless Andrew mentioned it first, which was never. They went to their sessions with Bee and discussed other things, but, despite their attempts at ignoring the fact one of them committed murder for the other, they gave themselves away with the little things.
The mornings before court hearings, Andrew had Aaron's coffee ready for him. The afternoons after, Aaron fucked off to town for a while before returning with some absurdly caloric dessert, from a different place each time. They mastered the art of questioning glances and sharp nods — Are you okay? Yes, are you? Me neither. They were slowly building up to reassuring squeezes of shoulders and saying good night.
It was nice finding out that Neil and Kevin were capable of patience, but less fun that what it took to bring that out on them was his head telling him it wasn't worth it to leave his room in the morning.
Sometimes Andrew just wanted to be alone; other times, he wanted anything but. There were days when he could stand one of them and not the other for no rational motive, but his partners never complained. He made a note to better appreciate their presences in his life in the future, when his mental state went back to something resembling baseline.
Andrew sat on the couch between them. He usually didn't like being bracketed between two people, but that day was turning out to be a clingy one. They were watching a movie — The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which meant it was entirely for Andrew's sake —, but he had lost focus minutes ago. Bee had told him some level of dissociation was to be expected from having to relive so much trauma, but not being able to stay present always freaked him out more than losing a night of sleep.
His gaze wandered off the screen and down to his legs, where he rested his hands. Even all those years later, they were still identical to Aaron's. How could these hands have failed him so thoroughly when their equals killed Drake withing seconds? What did Aaron have that he lacked?
He was so immersed in his thoughts that he almost jumped when Kevin leaned down to ask "Andrew?"
He snapped his head to his right and saw that Kevin was looking at his hands, not his face.
"Can I take your hand?"
It took him a few seconds to process the words, and when he did they still didn't make sense, but neither did Kevin speaking softly to him and being gentle, so Andrew accepted that his life hadn't been guided by logic lately and lifted his right hand for Kevin to hold.
Kevin cradled his hand with both of his in a strange mirror of their old routine. Andrew almost expected him to start a stretching exercise, but Kevin just looked at the hand he was holding like it held the answer to some profound secret of the universe. Eventually, he folded Andrew's fingers over his and lifted them to his lips, slowly enough to give him time to pull away if he wanted. Andrew didn't know what he wanted, so he just watched as Kevin kissed his knuckles, then brought his hand back down, still holding it.
Kevin didn't even look at him while he did it, seeming content to just gaze fondly at his hand after he was done. Inexplicably, after everything he had been through those last weeks, that was what made him feel like crying. He wanted to ask him what that was about, but he wasn't sure he could speak without his voice cracking.
From his other side, Neil leaned in to whisper in German "I'm starting to think he has a fixation." He brushed the side of Andrew's left hand with his pinkie. "Not that I blame him."
He should have told Neil to shut up, but all he did was tilt his head until it rested on Neil's shoulder. He knew he wouldn't manage to sleep that night, but in that moment, with Kevin still holding him, he might.
Andrew and Neil developed the habit of meeting up after their morning classes to walk to lunch together. Detouring to whichever building Neil was having classes in each day took some free time from his routine, but it wasn't like Andrew would use it to study anyway. Besides, he would cross the whole campus if that meant getting to see the way Neil's eyes lit up every time he caught Andrew in the crowd waiting for him.
They sometimes talked during their walks, Neil more than him, commenting on whatever had happened earlier in his classes or what he expected from practice later that day. Andrew was glad to just hear him speak when he didn't feel like making conversation, just as Neil didn't complain when they strolled in silence. They had been walking quietly for the last few minutes when Neil moved closer until their sides almost touched.
He poked the back of Andrew's hand and said "Can I?"
Andrew sent him a questioning look.
"Hold your hand."
He didn't understand where Neil was trying to get with that, but he was in a good enough mood that he turned his palm to let Neil slot theirs together. When he didn't say anything else or move to guide him anywhere through their joined hands, Andrew asked:
"What are you trying to do?"
"Getting to lunch before I pass out?" He kept a straight face at Andrew's glare for just a second before rolling his eyes. "I'm holding your hand."
"I thought having brain damage from getting hit too much on the court was Kevin's thing. Why are you holding my hand?"
"Because I want to," Neil shrugged.
Andrew sighed, because there was little one could do against Neil when that was his motive for anything. He looked down at their now intertwined fingers and imagined the gross image of a happy couple they must be for any bystanders. "This is ridiculous."
"Should I stop?"
Andrew would never admit to the way his hand twitched at the thought of losing Neil's. He knew Neil could feel that he held him just a bit tighter, but thankfully he didn't comment on it. He tried to sound as annoyed as he could when he said "Stop stalling and walk faster, I'm hungry too."
It was Kevin's last year at PSU. It seemed impossible that the following year the three of them would become just two, that Andrew wouldn't hear Kevin's bitchy voice every early morning or his soft whispers every late night. Andrew knew that the three of them were all secretly and individually freaking out over the notion of Kevin living alone for the first time in his life, but, despite his worry, Kevin wasn't the same man from three years ago, desperate for another shadow to hide behind. It would be hard, but Kevin would find his footing on his own.
At each month that passed, the three of them drew closer and closer, anticipating the moment when they would have to let go. They shared every meal they could carve the time in their schedules for, they went on long drives out of town just for the comfort of being in a closed space together, Kevin and Neil even agreed to sacrifice some nightly practices in favor of staying tangled up on the couch with Andrew. Their trips to Columbia became more and more frequent, sometimes even without Nicky and Aaron, because their house there actually had a bed that could fit the three of them.
Kevin and Neil always slept pressed so tight together it was hard to tell whose limbs belonged to whom, while Andrew, though still preferring not to be touched while he slept, lay close enough to hear their breaths and be warmed by their bodies. With all of their combined traumas, sleeping so close together meant that they rarely got an uninterrupted night of sleep, because when one of them woke up from a nightmare the other two were bound to follow. Still, Andrew wouldn't change it for anything in the world.
He was a light sleeper, even lighter than Neil, so he was almost always the first to wake up from any commotion. He liked that he would be the first to assess any danger or pull his partner out of panic, not only because that meant the other one could fall back asleep if he wanted, but also for the relief he felt whenever he saw proof that Neil and Kevin could be soothed by his voice and touch.
Being a light sleeper, he was confused when he woke up to both of his partners' voices in the middle of the night. How had one of them woken the other up without immediately stirring him? Their tones were soft and they seemed to be in the middle of a conversation, so at least there was no danger to snap him completely awake, but Andrew was getting way too comfortable around them if their voices were now pulling him out of sleep so slowly.
His mind took a while to clear up enough for him to understand the words, but his body still didn't want to move. They were talking about Exy, which made him even less willing to open his eyes. He decided to remain in place and let the boring subject pull him back towards unconsciousness.
"-last chance to beat the Trojans again," Neil said like he had already repeated it enough times in that conversation.
"If we couldn't do it last year, what makes you think we can now?"
"Jeremy graduated! You know our attack line is stronger than theirs."
"But our defense isn't even half of what they have."
"I can get past Jean," Neil argued almost petulantly.
"No, I can get past Jean. You can sometimes annoy him so much he loses his focus, but that isn't nearly as consistent."
"It's a valid enough strategy!" Andrew heard the humor in his voice. Though his eyes were closed, he could imagine clearly their positions: both facing him, with Kevin behind Neil and hugging his torso, face buried in his hair and legs tangled together. He knew that he would only need to unfold his arm to touch them both, and he was almost tempted to do it, but what he wanted most was to bury his head in his pillow and breathe in the smell of both of them mixed with sleep.
Kevin didn't reply to Neil's idiotic statement, which proved that he was still in that rare sleepy state when hugging his boyfriend was more important than being right about Exy. Andrew was almost drifting back to sleep when he heard Neil's voice say his name.
"Andrew can block any of their strikers easily."
"You're planning on putting him on the goal for the whole game?"
There was some shuffling noise that Andrew imagined was one of them stretching, or maybe scooting closer, like there would be any more space to be crossed between their bodies.
"He's done it before."
"And if you make him do it again you'll be sleeping on the couch for the rest of the year."
Neil made a noise that was maybe supposed to be a chuckle but stopped as a happy hum in his throat. "He likes me way too much for that."
Andrew considered that maybe he was eavesdropping. After all, they, like him, would assume that Andrew wasn't capable of waking up without startling. But if they really wanted to have a private conversation they wouldn't be doing it in bed, or at least not in English, so he decided that any embarrassing information they let scape was on them.
There was a silence long enough for him to think they were going back to sleep, but then Kevin spoke up.
"He looks so cute when he's asleep."
It took all of Andrew's self control not to scowl. Neil huffed.
"Don't ever let him find out."
"What, will he put in more effort to look menacing while he sleeps?"
"He'll probably make you wear a blindfold to bed."
Andrew was, of course, deeply offended, but he also felt warm from how obviously their smiles could be heard in their voices. He heard more shuffling, followed by a deep breath — Kevin's. He was probably sniffing Neil's hair, which was simultaneously pervert behavior and completely understandable, considering Andrew's own obsession with his curls. He was going to open his eyes and tell them they were being stupid when he heard Kevin speak again.
"I love him so much it scares me most of the time."
Ice spread down Andrew's spine. He didn't use that word — ever. Love was a promise he had seen broken too many times. It was what Cass said she felt for him, what Tilda was supposed to feel for Aaron. It was, though no one else but Andrew believed it when Kevin said it, what Kevin and Riko felt for each other. Love wasn't like loyalty or partnership, it didn't stop you from hurting the person for whom you felt it. Neil knew that, because he had never doubted that his mother had loved him. Kevin should know it too, but he insisted that Riko was an outlier. Andrew should call him stupid, but he knew that what he really was — always had been — was hopeful.
Neil's breathing stilled. "Don't use that word."
"But it's the truth. I love you, too."
"I know. Don't say it again."
Kevin sighed, tired, but not hurt. "Okay."
Though Andrew had no audible indication of it, he could feel that Neil relaxed back into Kevin's arms. Another moment of silence followed, this time broken by Neil.
"I think I want to spend the rest of my life with him."
The two of them wouldn't allow him to survive the night, Andrew was sure. He should shut them down and say that their romantic notions weren't cute, but, again, they were only having that conversation at night because they knew he wouldn't want to hear it.
"You should," Kevin answered. "You two deserve it."
"And not you?"
"Neil," Kevin started, and Andrew knew that tone of voice. Before he had any of them, Kevin had Exy, and that continued to be his priority. They had told him repeatedly that they didn't care that he was more committed to the sport than he was to them, because he wouldn't be Kevin if he weren't, would he? Still, Kevin seemed to believe that, because they came second to Exy in his life, he should come second to each of them in theirs.
Kevin continued. "I'll go where the game takes me. You can't build a life around me when you can never know how long I'll stay."
"Will we lose you when you move out?" Neil's voice was tense, but quiet, like he was too afraid to even put any volume behind the words.
"No," the muffled sound of a kiss, a deep breath. "I'll wait for you. It's you two who shouldn't wait for me."
"I've waited for you since the day my mother ran away with me. What's a few more years?"
Andrew didn't know if Kevin was convinced, but the next minute was filled by sighs and the soft sounds of lips against skin. Eventually, Kevin spoke again.
"How hard will he kick me out of bed if I wake him up to ask if I can hug him?"
As ridiculous as the request was, Andrew understood him. Lately, it had been difficult to look at Kevin without wanting to keep him in his arms, hoping that time would have the decency of stopping just to keep him from slipping away. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that someone as demanding as Kevin could also be so clingy.
Neil scoffed. "If you woke me up for that I would put you full time on court against the Trojans again."
Kevin chuckled and Andrew decided that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now anyway.
"I applaud you on your delusion," he started, "saying if I wake him up like you haven't been barking in my head for the last ten minutes."
He opened his eyes to find the two of them exactly how he had imagined, though his mind could never replicate the affection shining in their eyes.
"Am I grounded?" Kevin asked.
"Yes, the two of you. Not leaving the room for the rest of the week."
"Thank god," Neil stretched until his toes almost touched Andrew's leg under the covers. "I have an exam I haven't even begun studying for."
"Can I hug you, then?" Kevin continued.
Andrew thought about it. "I still have hopes of getting more sleep tonight, so don't hold me in any way that will put weight on me." He scooted closer until it was hard to see both of their faces at the same time. "But you can touch me."
Neil and Kevin reached out their hands across the small space between them, Kevin's on his hip, Neil's on his chest. They were warm and, though calloused by racquets and scarred by knives, soft. Kevin's thumb ran small circles over his hipbone while Neil's palm pressed against his heartbeat, and Andrew closed his eyes again. His own hands stayed on the bed between them, resting.