Chapter Text
When Andrew woke up on Saturday morning he was pretty sure he was still asleep and just having the strangest fucking dream.
Last night, after the whole drama caused by Shitstain McFuckerton himself Mr. Jack “The Asshat” Keppler, Andrew’s family had collectively decided to stay together. They had scattered themselves about Abby’s living room, forgoing even the separation of guest rooms. There had been no actual discussion about it, Andrew hadn’t had to issue any orders, they’d just wordlessly sunk into couches and chairs for the night with a clear lack of intention to relocate anywhere else. Somewhere in the shuffle, Kevin and Aaron had divided the responsibility of checking on Neil throughout the night, making sure he didn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time due to the concussion - and Andrew hadn’t argued it.
Instead, Andrew settled into his favorite overstuffed reading chair and glared at Neil until his own exhaustion won and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He woke periodically throughout the night when Kevin or Aaron moved about, but quickly drifted off again - never really staying conscious for more than just long enough to look around and make sure nothing was wrong.
Until, that was, he woke to early morning light filtering through the slatted shades that covered Abby’s living room windows and was greeted by the sight of Aaron and Neil apparently mid-conversation. After the last couple of months, this on its own wasn’t all that strange. The part that made Andrew close his eyes and open them again several times thinking he was still dreaming was the language.
Both Aaron and Neil were using ASL.
“They raise them every year,” Aaron was saying, his hands moving in quick, confident lifts and turns. “Debbi could show you, if you want.”
“You don’t think she’d mind?” Neil asked, his hands still moving slowly - but far more precisely than they had the night before. He was sitting halfway up on the couch, propped up on so many pillows that someone must have raided every bed in the house to construct the support. His knees were also propped up, leaving space for where Aaron was taking up the other end of the couch.
Aaron shook his head. “Not at all. Debbi loves all converts. But if you’re a dick to her I’ll bury you under the squash. No one will ever find you.”
Neil snorted, then winced, one hand pressing lightly to his head.
“Dumbass. Will you take some painkillers now?” Aaron chided, and there was a fluency in his facial expressions, hand motions, and the sheer attitude in his posture that had Andrew realizing quite suddenly that whenever Aaron had started learning ASL, it wasn’t recent.
Neil’s only response was the lifting of a single finger.
By this point, Andrew had absorbed enough to be sure that he was fully awake. Without moving at all in his chair or attempting to keep his voice down, he said, “The fuck?”
Both the other men jumped slightly at the intrusion of his voice. Then they looked at him and Neil got that stupid fond look on his face while Aaron’s shifted into something more like resignation. Probably because he knew he’d been caught.
“What?” Aaron eventually said in English. “Half of my girlfriend’s family is Deaf, you really think I haven’t started to learn ASL?”
No, no he hadn’t. It honestly had never occurred to Andrew at all that Aaron might learn ASL to better communicate with his girlfriend’s family. To be fair, he really tried not to think about Aaron’s relationship at all. That, at least, was something the twins typically agreed on – neither of them really wanted to be all that concerned with the other’s… romantic entanglements.
Instead of admitting this, because it would sound far too close to whining, Andrew said, “I thought language barriers were a natural part of heterosexual courtship.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. Then he pushed himself to his feet before taking a moment to roll his shoulders and stretch, pulling one arm and then the other in front of his chest as he responded. “No, that’s just a general human thing, not a straight people thing. Which you should know, considering how much you suck at communicating.” He dropped his arms and stared at Andrew. “I’m serious about Katelyn, and I like her family. I want to be able to communicate with them.”
There was a knowing look in Aaron’s eyes that Andrew didn’t like. It was one that said ‘you know, like how you decided to learn ASL to help Neil communicate when he goes nonverbal – because you care, because you have all those feelings’.
What a fucking brat.
Before Andrew could distract Aaron from verbalizing this horribl(y accurate) accusation, Aaron had turned one pointed look to Neil before striding for the kitchen. This look was apparently less for Andrew and more for Neil, because the concussed menace sighed heavily and waved a dismissive hand at him as Aaron trudged off.
Then, when Aaron was gone, Neil looked to Andrew and signed, “Your brother is a nag.”
Clever attempt, but Andrew wasn’t distracted. Switching to ASL, Andrew said in clear, definite gestures, “You knew he could sign.”
Neil raised a brow at him and nodded his fist in a, “Yes.” He paused, then sighed. “I thought you didn’t want to know about it?” Only the slightest quirk of his eyebrows made that a question, but Andrew knew Neil’s face well enough to read it. Then Neil narrowed his eyes and Andrew absolutely did not like the little curve of a smirk that tugged up at the edge of his mouth. “Drew, are you jealous?” He made the sign with an extra emphasis in the twist of his hand as he pulled it away from the corner of his mouth, that little smirk growing as he did so.
Brats, the both of them. The lot of them. He was surrounded by insufferable brats.
Offended, Andrew snagged his pillow and almost threw it at Neil before he remembered the idiot was still concussed, so he just shook it threateningly at him instead before letting it drop to the ground.
“No,” he responded after a moment, and even to him the snap of his hand seemed petulant.
Neil was actually smiling now, the way he did when it was just the two of them - a softness around his eyes and an ease around his mouth that Andrew knew would taste like home were their lips to meet.
Maybe it was the residual panic from last night, or maybe it was his own damn weakening heart - but at that expression Andrew couldn’t keep himself at an arm’s length any longer, even if he was so annoyed he wanted to throttle the little jerk. He was already moving to stand as his hands flurried an almost too-quick “yes or no?” Neil’s responding “always” was just as quick, one hand lifting to make the sign even as he sat up and used the other hand to try and disassemble his pillow mountain to make room for Andrew.
Then the pillows were on the floor and Andrew was there instead, pulling Neil against his chest and wrapping his arms around him. It was a struggle, to temper the remembrance of panic that bubbled up in his chest as if someone had just carbonated him against his will and given him a too-violent shake. Andrew was afraid if he let it take hold he might never be able to let go of Neil again – which was ridiculous because he knew that, in most cases, Neil was more than capable of handling himself.
But only two months after being struck by a goddamn car, Neil had been concussed by a psychopath-in-training – all of this less than a year after being hunted down and fucking carved up by the real thing. It was just… too much.
With some less than careful finagling, Andrew got himself wrapped around Neil, his face buried against the side of his neck. There was something reassuring about the gentle throb of Neil’s pulse against his lips that Andrew couldn’t get enough of. He pressed his lips firmly against that quiet beat, closed his eyes, and breathed in slowly, deeply, through his nose. At the soft touch of fingers against his hair a few moments later, Andrew let himself release some of the tension built up in his shoulders so that he could more comfortably melt around his partner.
How long they stayed like that, Andrew wasn’t exactly sure. He didn’t raise his head when he heard the shuffling of Aaron’s footsteps return from the kitchen, nor when he felt Neil’s hands move in what he could assume was conversation with his twin. Instead, he held tight and focused on the solid weight of Neil against him, the heat of his body, the sureness of his pulse, until the scent of brewing coffee finally lured him into lifting his head.
Aaron and Neil had gone back to whatever conversation they had been having before Andrew woke up (which seemed to be about gardening?), and the siren song of caffeine appeared to have roused more than just Andrew. Nicky was making grumbling noises from under the blanket he’d unconsciously dragged up to cover his face as protection from the dawn, and even Kevin was shifting about. The latter had somehow managed to condense himself onto the floral loveseat positioned just under the windows, all his unnecessarily long limbs folded in on themselves so that he was only slightly overflowing the plush cushions.
A tripping set of quiet beeps from the kitchen announced that the coffee was done. It was the movement of Aaron standing up again that pulled Andrew’s attention back to his twin. For just a moment their eyes met, and Andrew wasn’t sure what to make of the understanding he found there. His twin seemed determined to be particularly annoying today, apparently.
“Oh my God you two!” Nicky’s delighted squeal broke the moment before it had a chance to fester. While Aaron took the opportunity to make his escape, Andrew turned the full effect of his glare on his cousin. Unfortunately, he was still quite unwilling to separate himself from Neil, and apparently the Andrew Minyard Stare of Death was less than effective around the curve of a smug little menace’s neck. Nicky’s eyes widened and then he - ugh - he simpered.
At least, he did until Neil swiped a pillow off the floor and hurled it at him with a surprising amount of force considering his concussed state. Nicky yelped as the pillow hit him in the face, and a moment later Kevin outgrew the loveseat, his unfurling limbs causing him to unbalance and fall to the floor with a dull thump.
Pleased, Andrew kissed Neil on the neck. He could feel the buzz of Neil’s hum against his lips and knew his partner felt better from the act of friendly violence. Neil, he knew, hated concussions more than other injuries (perhaps with the generous exception of the one that had kept him off the court for the last six weeks) because of how they limited his reactions and made him sensitive to both movement and noise. They made him feel vulnerable and, like Andrew, Neil wasn’t really a fan of that particular tightrope of a sensation.
“Mean,” Nicky grumbled as he righted himself.
“Coffee,” Kevin added. Or at least that’s what Andrew thought he said as the incongruously tall human got himself vertical again and started shuffling zombie-like toward the kitchen. The sound that had emanated from the man was more like a mumbled growl with consonants in the right places to imply the word “coffee” rather than genuine speech.
Either way, Andrew agreed. “Yes,” he said aloud and pinned Nicky with a stare. “Coffee.”
The impact from the pillow must have caused a few of Nicky’s rogue brain cells to rub together, because he didn’t protest the staccato order. Instead he pushed himself to his feet with a gusty sigh and trailed after Kevin, already narrating what they could do for breakfast.
Neil waited until they were gone, then twisted in Andrew’s hold to be able to look at him. This close, it was impossible not to notice the dark circles under those blue-of-the-world eyes, nor the way they were rimmed with red. Neil’s normally tanned skin looked on the ashy side of pale, which made the starburst of burns and the ragged slashes of his scars stand out like new and angry wounds.
“You should rest more,” Andrew heard himself say, using his words because his hands were already busy - one tightening its grip around Neil’s waist and the other somehow already lifted to brush against Neil’s cheek, fingertips grazing just under the crosshatch.
Breath puffed against Andrew’s wrist with Neil’s offended snort.
“You look like shit,” Andrew elaborated. He tried to make his tone severe, antagonistic. Instead, it came out quiet, worried, and the touch of his thumb against the shadows beneath Neil’s eye probably didn’t help.
Either the touch or Andrew’s terrible acting had Neil softening, and when Neil tilted his head Andrew twisted his wrist just enough, fingers uncurling to be able to catch his partner’s face against his palm.
“Let Abby look at you after breakfast.” This he made an order, not a question. He was not willing to put up with Neil’s bullshit today. Neither of them got much rest last night, after all, and now that he was looking at him - he could still see blood in Neil’s hair. The sight made his stomach clench slightly and he forced himself to focus only on the sullen look in his rabbit’s eyes. “Then you will shower and go to bed. If she still wants you to wake up every hour, I will do it.”
Neil gave a small frown, and Andrew could sense the argument coming - but for some reason it never did. Instead, after a tense moment of visible annoyance, Neil sighed and turned his face more into Andrew’s hand, brushing his nose against the palm before bestowing the smallest kiss right above his wrist. It would be more than a lie to deny the effect such a gesture had on him, so Andrew allowed himself to quietly bask in the moment instead. He rubbed his thumb firmly over Neil’s cheek, the topography of Neil’s scars a familiar shift in altitude against his fingerprint, then tugged him in with just enough pressure to suggest the query without voicing it aloud.
Yes?
There wasn’t a sound, but Andrew felt the curve of Neil’s smile and the motion of his answer when their lips met.
Yes.
*
The official verdict from Abby was that Neil needed to go right to bed after breakfast, especially since he almost fell out of his chair not once but twice while they were all trying to eat. She had looked at his head wound and deemed it “fine for now” but had also said she was reserving judgment for later. If she felt Neil needed to go to the hospital after she looked at him again this afternoon, they were supposed to abide by her professional opinion.
Neil was the only one who got grumbly about that, and he’d swallowed his complaints quickly enough when he saw no one else was going to back him up - not even Andrew.
So Andrew had tugged him off to one of the guest rooms and put him to bed, crawling in with him to catch up on some of the sleep he’d lost last night as well. There would be time for showers later, when Neil could be trusted to keep his feet long enough to wash his goddamn hair.
Contrary to what his occasional bouts of depression might attempt to insist, though, there was only so long Andrew could stay in bed. After several hours of on-and-off napping and shameless cuddling, Andrew’s stomach demanded something a bit more in the way of sustenance than the cup of sugary coffee, toast, and eggs he’d had that morning.
There was little point in trying not to disturb Neil as he got out of bed, considering the trouble-magnet was about as light of a sleeper as Andrew was, but he did his best anyway - keeping his weight evenly distributed and his movements slow as he eased up and scooted toward the end of the bed. He almost made it when a heavy sigh and the pull of the sheets drew his attention up to a now-conscious Neil, sleepy blue eyes trained on him from the head of the bed.
One hand made an appearance from under the covers, all but the index finger curled in, which Neil then shifted sluggishly from side to side, his eyebrows furrowed to convey the question as he asked, “Where?”
Andrew didn’t even mentally chide or attempt to defend himself as he rounded the bed and perched at Neil’s side, one hand coming up to brush some of Neil’s hair away from the fresh bandages Abby had applied after breakfast. He had no excuse and he was beginning to think maybe he didn’t need one. Neil was his partner, and after all this shit the two of them deserved some tenderness, at least between the two of them - didn’t they?
“Food,” was Andrew’s single-handed reply. He followed this with a stern look as he pointed to Neil then brought his hand back to his own face to drag down from forehead to chin in a clear order of, “You, sleep.” Had Neil not been recovering from a concussion, Andrew might have used his other hand to take a solid fistful of those curls and shove his face into the pillow for emphasis. As it were, Andrew just stroked his hair gently instead - sure Neil would get the point.
Neil huffed softly as a show of petulance but didn’t protest more than that. Instead, his eyes closed and his body relaxed, already beginning to drift off again. Because apparently this was a morning for shameless lack of impulse control, Andrew brushed Neil’s hair away from his forehead and leaned down, pressing his lips briefly to his skin before pulling back. He pretended not to see the curve of a smile that had taken up residence at the corner of Neil’s mouth as he stood up. By the time he’d pulled on a shirt and his armbands, Neil was fully asleep again.
Somehow, Andrew wasn’t surprised to find Wymack waiting for him in the kitchen - but since the coach didn’t immediately address him upon entry, Andrew was content to ignore him for the moment. Coffee and food came first. After that, Andrew would deal with whatever else this day had planned for him.
Perhaps Wymack realized this, or maybe he really was just here to chill in Abby’s kitchen, because he didn’t attempt to instigate conversation at all as Andrew waited for his coffee and waffles. It was almost noon at this point, but it was always the right time for waffles. While the toaster and coffee maker did their jobs, Andrew checked in with the rest of his family via text message. All three of them had unnecessarily texted him to let him know they’d headed back to the dorms as a group to clean up and would be back soon.
Well, Aaron’s had said he would be by later with Katelyn as well as something utterly ridiculous about remembering to eat that Andrew was considering addressing later. He did not need his foolish twin to suddenly think that Andrew needed, ugh, taking care of.
Coffee brewed and waffles sufficiently syruped, Andrew took his preferred seat at the table and continued to ignore Wymack as he dove into his second and far more satisfying breakfast.
Having at least some modicum of self-preservation, Wymack waited until Andrew was done before he spoke. He also had the sense to cut right to the chase.
“Jack’s got several fractures and a badly dislocated knee. He’s out for the rest of the season. Now, tell me why the fuck you and Aaron should still be on this team.”
Andrew raised a brow at him. “I thought you had long since realized that threatening me with not having to exy is about as effective as threatening Nicky with a Pride parade,” he said blankly, a little disappointed that neither Neil nor Kevin were here to be horrified at his use of ‘exy’ as a verb.
“Cut the crap, Minyard. You and I both know that’s a load of shit. Maybe you don’t need the actual exy to do whatever it is you plan to do with your misbegotten little life, but your brother has big med school dreams and needs this team to get there. Fucking talk to me because I have goddamn decisions to make.”
All the humor left in him iced over at the threat to Aaron and there was a knife in his hand before Andrew made the conscious decision to pull it. “I do not know what you think you know, but Aaron didn’t do shit, Coach. If that spineless little fuckweasel is saying anything different he’s a liar.”
Wymack stood up, his hands flat on the table as he leaned forward - his expression hard and unyielding, his gaze not breaking from Andrew’s for an instant. “Jack isn’t saying anything, Andrew. In fact, no one seems quite willing to give specifics on the fight, only that it started with Neil and Jack and ended with you and Aaron. Neil has a concussion that Abby still thinks he should go to the hospital for and Jack is benched on medical for at least the next three months. I’ve got reporters and the school board crawling up my goddamn ass wanting to know why my players keep getting injured off the court!”
Andrew could feel the way his own lip curled back in a snarl, teeth bared. His fingers tightened around the slender hilt of the knife, but he kept it pressed to the table despite the very strong urge to shove it into one of Wymack’s accusing eyes.
“We’re a bunch of unstable degenerates, didn’t you hear?” he hissed instead. “It isn’t like fights between our players are unheard of, Coach. Kevin socked Seth in the jaw so hard last year he had to keep his left hand in a brace again for a week, and that was mid-fucking-game. A fight in the locker room can’t be that much higher of a step.”
“This fight put one of my players in the hospital, Minyard. I need to fucking know that he isn’t going to turn up dead.”
And that… well, that drew Andrew up short - almost confused at the implication. He blinked, then sighed and leaned back in his chair, slipping the knife back into his armband. “Really, Coach? Accusations of murder plots? In front of my salad?”
Wymack frowned, apparently thrown off his temper by Andrew’s unbothered response. He looked from Andrew’s face down to the table in front of him like he was looking for this apparently offended salad and back again, “What?”
Andrew waved a dismissive hand and stood, taking his dishes with him as he crossed over to the sink. “If I felt Jack needed to be dead, he’d be dead by now,” he said as he rinsed the plate and slipped it into the dishwasher before turning to refill his coffee. “You think I didn’t have my knives with me in the locker room last night? If my homicidal urges were truly a threat to your team, Jack wouldn’t be pissing and moaning about a knee ouchie. He’d have choked to death on his own blood two seconds after Neil went down and if you stopped to think for more than six seconds, you would know that.”
He paused as he carefully measured in enough creamer to turn the dark roast coffee to a soft caramel color, then stirred and added three tablespoons of sugar. Satisfied, he lifted his mug and turned, leaning back against the counter to observe Wymack screwing his brain back into place.
“Look, if you are really worried about the school board, then play into it. Take a page out of your son’s book. The Foxes get more media attention than just about any other team in the league, in part due to our, for lack of a better term, drama.” He scowled around the term, hating having to use it, but there really wasn’t a better way to say it. “Add it in as a clause in our contracts if you want, that we won’t sue the school for injury that may result from internal team conflict or some shit like that. Not that anyone you would recruit would bother pursuing legal repercussions, but it will soothe the egos of the board members - and then they get to benefit from us bringing in all those viewers and donations and whatever.”
Despite this being a very reasonable suggestion, Coach looked at him like he’d just grown a third head.
“What?” Andrew asked after a heavy beat of silence, during which he took a sip of his coffee.
“That’s shady as fuck, Minyard.” Andrew couldn’t tell if Coach was impressed or disturbed, but he was honestly flattered by either.
“And?”
Wymack let out a gusty sigh and collapsed back into his seat. “‘Give a bunch of assholes a chance,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fucking fulfilling,’ they said.” The man was grumbling to himself as he rubbed one hand over his eyes, done in by one short conversation with one vertically challenged goalkeeper.
“Who’s ‘they’?” Andrew asked, genuinely curious. He’d wondered about Wymack’s decision to build the Foxes the way he did - just had never really cared enough to ask him about it.
“My goddamn conscience, Minyard,” sighed the coach from under the weight of his own virtue.
“Ah.” That pegged. “Nonbinary or a counsel of elders?”
“What?”
Andrew shrugged, sipping his coffee again, but didn’t bother to elaborate.
The next few minutes were spent in a fairly companionable silence. Well, companionable to Andrew. Wymack looked a little bit stressed, but the man was getting up there in years. It was probably time for him to enlist another coach. Preferably one that wasn’t his long-lost son who’d randomly showed up seeking asylum from a creepy exy cult.
When Coach finally spoke again, his voice was tired - but more in a resigned “this is my life now and I agreed to it” way rather than the more tense “I’m at the end of my wits and am probably about to crumble” sort of way, so Andrew was not particularly concerned.
“Alright, fine,” Coach said with a sigh. “I’ll figure this shit out with the board but I swear to fuck if this continues to spiral I will throw your ass right under the goddamn bus, you hear me Minyard?”
“Loud and clear, Coach,” Andrew appeased with a salute of his coffee, feeling generous enough this morning not to call the man on his bluff. Wymack would make it work, he always did.
After all, David Wymack was a lot of things, many of them unflattering, but he was also one of the only adults in Andrew’s life that was genuinely reliable. Not that Andrew ever had the intention of telling him that. He’d already done enough personal growth for this year, thank you very fucking much.
*
Three hours and two minor arguments later, Neil was finally given leave to wash off the grime from the night before. Per Abby, this was on the condition that he either did so by taking a bath or had someone sit in the bathroom with him in case he lost his balance while showering. Neil made a valiant effort to argue he was perfectly fine to shower by himself, but an oddly efficient team-up of Kevin and Aaron managed to corral him into an agreement where (at least in this) he wouldn’t take any stupid risks.
“Pouting is not any more attractive when you’re greasy and have dried blood in your hair than it is when you are clean, Josten,” Andrew chided as he followed Neil into the bedroom so the junkie could grab a change of clothes.
Neil huffed and shot him a dark look but didn’t deign to respond as he dug through the bag Aaron and Nicky had brought back for them last night. Andrew let him have his irritation and didn’t take it personally. He knew Neil did not like to be smothered, it made him feel helpless - and Andrew could relate to how helplessness could raise the hackles.
Instead he waited near the door until Neil had gathered what he needed, then he asked, “Bath or shower?”
The question came out empty, apathetic; a tone that he knew would have bothered most of the others. But Neil… Neil reacted as if a sharp thorn had just been removed from between his shoulder blades. A small, quick breath, then his entire posture relaxed with the release of extra pressure, and when Neil tilted his head to look over at him again Andrew could see that the tightness of his irritation was gone, replaced by a different expression. It was a steady, heavy warmth rooted in those blue eyes that Andrew was beginning to learn the name of.
“You don’t have to sit in with me,” Neil said, his voice a little rough, but otherwise steady. “I can just take the bath.”
“Not what I asked.” Andrew raised an eyebrow and stared his partner down, waiting. If Neil said bath again he wouldn’t push - it was his decision. But Andrew knew his rabbit well enough by now to figure what was going on in that dumbass brain of his. Unlike Andrew, who did in fact enjoy a good long soak when he could get one - Neil preferred the agency, motion, and efficiency of a shower. Not only that, but it would help him prove to himself that he could stand on his own feet and take care of himself.
Despite his general progress, though, asking anyone for anything was still a bit of a ‘thing’. That, and he could understand Neil wanting some space. With the exception of being unconscious, he hadn’t been left alone since the fight last night.
So Andrew waited, and when Neil said, “I’ll just take a bath,” Andrew let it go with a shrug.
“Abby keeps epsom salts under the sink,” he offered as he pushed off the doorframe. At Neil’s baffled look he actively rolled his eyes. “They’ll be good for your stupid jock muscles in addition to any soreness left over from being tossed around like a ragdoll by Limpdick McGee.”
“Right…” Neil said slowly, clearly skeptical.
Andrew waved a hand in dismissal and turned to leave the room. Now wasn’t the time to lecture this particular idiot about self-care. “Do what you want, rabbit. Just try not to reopen your damn head wound.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Andrew heard Neil grumble as he started down the hall. He heard the affection in his partner’s voice and didn’t bother to lie to himself about how that made him feel. After all, there was only so much self-delusion a man could subject himself to before it just got very, very sad.
Aaron and Katelyn were sitting on the floor on either side of the coffee table, a fresh game of Scrabble ready for the wording. As Andrew entered the room Katelyn looked over and smiled. “Did you want to join us?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Aaron answered before Andrew had a chance to say (or not say) anything, not looking up from where he was studying his letters.
Really now. Aaron should know better. Had he said nothing, Andrew would have settled into his chair to watch cat videos on Youtube from his phone. Instead, they would apparently be doing some fucking wholesome family bonding. Idly, Andrew wondered how far into the game they would get before one of them overturned the tile board - Aaron out of rage and Andrew just to fuck with Aaron. Katelyn was a bit of a wildcard, but he liked to think she had board-flipping capacity as well.
Only one way to find out.
“Sure,” Andrew said as he redirected his route to take him to the open spot at the short end of the table closest to where Katelyn and Aaron had set up the Scrabble board. He ignored his twin’s scowl and reached in front of him to grab the bag of letters and one of the remaining tile racks. He also ignored the brightening of Katelyn’s smile. It looked offensively like delight, and Andrew did not condone any sort of correlation between his doing anything and something as insufferable as delight.
Letters chosen and arranged on their individual tile racks, the game began.
Playing Scrabble with Aaron and Katelyn was surprisingly challenging, and weirdly enjoyable (not that Andrew ever admitted to enjoying anything, ever ((other than ice cream)) because he had a reputation to protect). Katelyn kept pulling obscure words out of the woodwork and Aaron was either on a lucky streak or was somehow cosmically manipulating the fall of the letters because he kept getting all the bonus tiles. Andrew, however, was enjoying watching the color rise in his twin’s face every time he laid tiles to spell out a different lewd term.
“Oh come on!” Aaron snapped as Andrew’s recent addition to an existing word earned him forty-four points thanks to the double word score square he’d snagged in the process. “That isn’t even a word!”
“Clearly, your vocabulary is woefully lacking. ‘Dickcheese’ is absolutely a word. Spellcheck says so.”
“I hate you.”
“Gross,” Andrew said, making a face.
Aaron gave him a look that was part exasperated, part bewildered. “How is that… oh.” Now Aaron’s face contorted in disgust. “Oh gross. That’s what you say to your boyfriend. Jesus you guys are fucked up.”
A soft, squeaking snort of a sound came from the other side of the table, where Kately had the back of one hand pressed to her mouth, her shoulders shaking offensively with mirth.
“Katelyn!” Aaron whined in betrayal, but before she could attempt to defend herself several loud knocks punctuated the atmosphere, announcing a visitor.
As one, Aaron and Andrew sobered and looked toward the door - then were on their feet a moment later. Andrew shot his brother a bland look, mildly annoyed by the other’s actions, but didn’t protest when his twin flipped him off and followed him toward the door. They were both probably thinking the same thing: that Jack had changed his mind and this unexpected guest came with a badge in hand. If it were any of the other Foxes, they would have just come in - no need to knock. Especially when they knew Andrew’s crew was in house.
It was not the cops.
Standing on the front step were three people that Andrew regularly forgot existed. Rowan, Caleb, and Hayley; three of the six freshmen Foxes.
Rowan and Hayley weren’t that surprising on their own. Andrew had noticed that of the freshmen, those two were generally the most willing to fall in line. They socialized with the others the most and were in regular communication with Neil both about exy and their lives off the court. Caleb was another matter. At the beginning of the year he was almost as vile as Jack and certainly hadn’t seemed to soften as the months went on. Then again, Andrew didn’t really pay attention to the freshmen unless he absolutely had to - so it was entirely possible that more had gone on behind the scenes that he didn’t know about.
“We came to see Neil.” To her credit, Hayley’s voice was steady and sure, neither a demand nor a question. She must be taking lessons from Renee.
“Did you.” Andrew stared her down, then tilted his head, letting the silence swell between them.
After only a few moments, Caleb made an irritated sound. “Well, are you going to move aside or not?”
“Caleb, don’t,” Rowan hissed - but like Hayley, his tone was steady. And weirdly, Caleb listened. He grumbled a little, but fell into line. Andrew didn’t regret anything, and he certainly didn’t wish he’d paid more attention to the freshmen - but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t curious about the dynamics here. Something had happened between June, when Caleb had spent half his time tormenting Rowan and the other half in a toxic faux-friendly powerplay with Jack, to now - where Caleb was listening to the quieter man’s orders.
Andrew’s first impulse was to tell them to fuck off, but as a man with generally good impulse control he managed to resist. Instead, he studied the taller, younger degenerates taking up space on Abby’s front porch and allowed his curiosity to fester. Caleb was the only one to visibly balk at the scrutiny, his jaw tensing and his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he held his tongue for the moment. Rowan and Hayley both met his eyes evenly and waited.
Tilting his head, Andrew glanced over at his brother and cocked an eyebrow in question. Aaron’s answering shrug had him sighing and he looked back to the freshmen before wordlessly stepping back and holding the door open to grant them entry.
Rowan offered a small smile. “Thank you.”
“Neil is a big boy, he can decide for himself if he wants to put up with your presence.”
Aaron’s snort suggested that he knew as well as Andrew did that Neil wasn’t about to turn the freshmen away. Perhaps if it were that bitch Sheena, or even Caleb on his own - but Neil had taken Rowan and Hayley under his wing, in his own way. He felt responsible for them.
“Oh, hey Hayley, Rowan, Caleb. You guys here to see Neil?” Katelyn was still sitting by the coffee table, leaning back on her hands as she watched them file back into the living room.
“Yeah, is he still resting?” Hayley offered a small smile of her own, but her gaze never fully landed on the other woman, instead skipping right over her to aim for the hall where every Fox, new and old, knew the guest rooms were.
“Not unless it’s his final rest because he drowned in the tub,” Andrew drawled, stepping around them to park himself in the armchair that was closest to the hall.
“What?”
Andrew sighed. “He’s taking a bath. If you want to talk to him you can wait like good little girls and boys until he’s done.”
Rowan and Hayley exchanged a look, then the three of them squished onto the couch as Aaron sat down on the floor beside Katelyn.
“He’s okay then?” Hayley asked after several long beats of heavily awkward silence. “Last night… it didn’t look good. We’ve all been really worried…”
“Worried about Neil, but not Jack?” Aaron didn’t bother to attempt nonchalance. There was a question in his gaze and he pinned each freshman with it individually. Not for the first time, Andrew wondered when the fuck this had happened - Aaron taking this… this active role. Aaron acting like he had a stake in this. Aaron acting like he had some kind of kinship or relationship with Neil. It was weird as fuck but not wholly unwelcome, and that was something he realized he might have to talk to Bee about. Did he… did he like that Aaron and Neil seemed to have become friends when he wasn’t looking?
Caleb snorted, leaning back into his corner of the couch, one arm stretched along the back of it and his knees spread wide like he was the only person in the world allowed to take up space. “Why would we give a shit about Jack? He deserved what he got.”
Both Hayley and Rowan nodded in agreement, but then Hayley glanced around the room before lowering her voice, her gaze flicking from Aaron to Andrew. “Are we alone?” she asked.
Aaron’s eyebrows raised, conveying the interest Andrew felt but didn’t show. When Andrew responded, his voice was as empty as his expression. “Nicky and Abby are grocery shopping. Kevin is with Coach.” He looked over at Aaron and Katelyn briefly before tilting his head back to nod down the hall. “Other than Neil, it is only us.” He met Hayley’s gaze and held it. “Why?”
Hayley took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders. Then she said, “We convinced Jack not to press charges. We’ve also already talked to Matt and the fifth-year girls about the story if he forgets his agreement.”
Huh. Andrew was not accustomed to unexpected allies.
“And how did you manage that?” Aaron asked, his tone deeply skeptical.
“Does it fucking matter?” snapped Caleb, his lip curled back in a snarl. “You two aren’t going to be jailed for fucking assault. You should be thanking us.”
Undaunted, Aaron leaned forward, the whole of his focus landing on the angsty backliner. “I don’t fucking trust you. You’re pissed at Jack now so you’re taking our side, but what about later - when your collective shittiness realigns? You seemed to get along just fine at the beginning of the year.”
Rage brightened Caleb’s eyes for a brief moment and his body shifted as he prepared to push to his feet - but before he could do so Hayley landed one hand on his knee and Rowan a hand on his shoulder. From Andrew’s vantage, they didn’t look like firm grips, it was just the presence of the hands that stayed him, that kept Caleb back and censored his violent impulses.
It was Rowan who said, “Yeah, well. Caleb knows better now.” The words were simple enough but there was clearly a story behind them, one that Andrew might have known more about if he’d decided earlier on that the freshmen were worth paying attention to. Something had happened between June and January to bond the two of them, an event or series of events that had brought them from combative to allies. Part of that was just the way of being a Fox, but Andrew sensed this was more than that.
Or maybe they were just fucking. Caleb’s antagonism had always reeked of internalized homophobia, and Nicky wasn’t the only one who had caught the man staring at Neil in a less-than-murder kind of way.
“Right. And we should believe that because…?” Aaron cut in, tone still dry with disbelief.
“What other choice do you have?” asked Hayley, a bit of temper slipping into her own voice. “Look, we didn’t come here to negotiate with you. We came to see how Neil is doing, and to let you guys know what the story is and that Jack won’t squeal. If he does, it’s all of us against him.”
Rowan nodded and pulled his hand back from Caleb, leaning forward to brace his forearms on his knees. “Jack knows that if he turns, he’s done. No team, no chance to dig himself out of the shithole of his life.” He looked from Aaron to Andrew and held his gaze, showing a surprising amount of spine for the two-dimensional side character that Andrew had initially clocked him as. “I’m not saying he won’t try to pull something shitty, because he probably will at some point or another, but he isn’t going to go to the cops and I doubt he’s going to bring up the fight again anytime soon.”
“What about Sheena?” Katelyn asked, her voice dark. Andrew looked over at her, mildly surprised to hear her speak, but she ignored him, talking to the three freshmen. “Sheena was the one talking to the press about Neil not being able to play anymore. I’m not a Fox, but I’ve also seen enough of you guys to know that she’s almost as… unfriendly… as Jack.”
“Sheena will just look like an idiot if Jack doesn’t back her up,” Hayley said with a shake of her head. “She wasn’t even in the room when the fight happened. In fact, her bullshit ‘rumors’ she was dishing on to the press only fucks up her credibility. Here she is, talking out her ass to the cameras about how Neil is out and Jack is in - then there’s a violent altercation in the locker room where both Neil and Jack are hurt. Sure seems like Jack was trying to take Neil out for good, and it just went wrong.”
“Is that the story, then?” Andrew asked. “Jack attacked Neil in the locker room and, what, took a tumble?”
Hayley nodded. “More or less. He went after Neil, and the rest of the team jumped in to pull him off, but he went down, tripping over the benches, and that overbalanced everyone else. No one is really sure what happened in the tangle and then Jack was hurt at the bottom of the pile.”
Andrew wasn’t sure that would hold up in a court of law, but considering that the idea was that this would never meet the legal process, he supposed it worked fine.
The sound of a door opening down the hall had his attention diverting and he tilted his head back, the angle allowing him to see just enough of the hallway to catch sight of a shadow crossing from the bathroom to a room on the other side. He was not the only one who heard the door, though, and sudden movement snapped his focus back to the freshmen. Hayley had stood up.
Well, that would not do.
“Don’t,” Andrew warned, standing as well. There was no point reaching for a knife when he didn’t intend to stab anyone, so he just pinned her with a hard look instead.
Hayley froze. She swallowed. Then, after a glance at the freshmen guys, she slowly sat back down. “We just want–”
Andrew was already turning to head down the hall and didn’t look back to see why she had aborted her sentence. Probably Rowan reminding her how easy it was to get stabbed; for some reason he didn’t see Caleb having the sense to counsel anyone into restraint.
Two knocks on the door, and at a consenting sound from Neil, Andrew slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him. Neil had put on a clean t-shirt and boxers while in the bathroom and now appeared to be debating whether or not to put on sweatpants. He looked tired, his shoulders heavy and his head bowed, eyes slightly unfocused. It was a very real impulse that Andrew had to fight, to just shove Neil back into the bed and tuck him the fuck in.
Neil blinked at the sweatpants in his hands, then looked over at Andrew and tilted his head, a small tug of affection visiting the corner of his mouth before it morphed into a similarly familiar scowl. “I feel like shit,” he announced as he tossed the sweatpants onto the bed.
“Good, you will be less likely to do something stupid and athletic while your brain is soft.”
Neil gave a snort of disdain. “Asshole.”
Completely unperturbed by this accurate label, Andrew shrugged. “Should I tell your visitors to fuck off or do you want to do it yourself?”
“Visitors?” Neil glanced toward the bedroom door then back to Andrew. “Matt and the girls?”
“Your freshmen groupies,” Andrew corrected. At Neil’s frown, Andrew clarified, “Hayley, Rowan, and Caleb.”
“Huh. Guess they worked it out, then.”
“You know what’s going on with them?” Andrew asked skeptically, because as much as Neil had taken an interest in the freshmen, it still seemed wildly out of character for him to actually know or care what was going on with their interpersonal drama. He wanted to make sure they were operational on the court - and maybe he cared a little bit about them as people too, because personal growth was like a goddamn cancer, or a mold… Difficult to get rid of and regularly mutating to cling to any nearby source of sustenance.
But Neil was shaking his head. “No, not really. But I heard Hayley yelling at Caleb the other day. Didn’t catch what it was about but she told him to get his head out of his ass or keep his distance. If he’s here with her now, he must have pulled his head out of his ass.”
“Not necessarily, it could just be a temporary truce.”
“Why?” Neil raised a brow. “Caleb isn’t as much of a dick as Jack and Sheena, but there’s no reason why he’d actually want to come visit me. If he’s here, it’s because he’s hanging out with the other two and this was just a stop on their way to do whatever else they’re doing today.”
Andrew shook his head. “I’ll let the children explain, if you want to go see them.” He gave Neil another once-over. “If you think you can even make it to the living room.”
Neil scowled at him. “I can make it to the damn living room.” He sighed, then grabbed the sweats off the bed and almost toppled over in his first attempt to balance. Quick reflexes on Andrew’s part saved him the tumble, Andrew’s hand wrapping around his idiot’s elbow.
“Sure you can,” Andrew muttered under his breath, holding Neil steady as he pulled the sweats on. The proximity also had him catching the scent of Neil’s recent bath and he felt a rebellious bubble of amusement rise between his lungs. He leaned in a little closer and sniffed. “Eucalyptus? I thought you were a skeptic.”
Neil shrugged. “I liked the smell. It was relaxing.”
“Don’t tell Nicky or the only thing you’re getting from him for the next ten years will be aromatherapy everything.”
“Aromatherapy?”
“Smells that help you feel things, usually calming but not always,” Andrew said as he released Neil’s elbow and stepped back, giving him his space again now that he was done dressing and could balance on his own.
“Huh.” Neil seemed to study him for a moment, then the brightness of understanding lightened his eyes and lifted his eyebrows. “Is that why you have that box back at the house? For aromatherapy?”
Andrew shrugged. “Something like that.” It didn’t bother him that Neil knew about his little stash of soaps and lotions back at the house. The only reason they were hidden at all was because Nicky had zero self control and would use it all up in a heartbeat. Self-care was nothing to be ashamed of.
“So if I… used certain scents,” Neil said slowly, his tone suddenly thoughtful, “on a more regular basis… would that help you out if you were stressed? Since it isn’t like you can soak in a bath at the dorms and coming out to Abby’s in the middle of the day isn’t really practical.”
Something in Andrew’s brain short-circuited and he just stared at Neil for a moment before giving a slow blink and asking, “What?”
“Does it work if it’s on someone else?” Neil asked.
“What?” repeated Andrew, genuinely dumbstruck.
“I mean, if I was wearing eucalyptus or whatever it is you use at home - and you were stressed - and we hugged maybe, would that still have the same effect as if you were to add the scents to a bath? I imagine it wouldn’t be as effective, but would it help at all?”
Yes, Andrew’s dumb brain answered immediately. Yes, holding you when you smell calming would calm me down and make my day better. Out loud, he said, “I don’t know.” In his defense, he was still trying to catch up to wherever the fuck this conversation had turned.
Seemingly oblivious to Andrew’s inner turmoil, Neil nodded. “Do you want to try?” he asked, then opened his arms in offering.
Andrew stared at him, then almost without making the active decision to do so he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Neil’s ribs. As Neil’s arms settled about his shoulders, Andrew bowed his head against his partner’s shoulder, then turned his face in toward his neck and inhaled. He breathed in deeply through his nose; once, twice, then again. As he did so, he allowed some of the extra tension he’d been carrying around with him seep from his muscles and fall away. Neil hummed and Andrew felt the vibration of the sound against his forehead and his nose.
Damn the stupid rabbit, it worked.
Or maybe that was just the effect of having Neil in his arms. It wouldn’t be like this every day, he knew the both of them better than that. But on some days… days that, if he were being honest, were more and more frequent the longer this thing... this relationship went on. On some days, it was fucking reassuring to touch Neil. It was comforting, on a level that Andrew actively found more than a little bit terrifying. But there was a thrill in that fear as well, a thrill that Andrew just could not help but to chase.
“Does it work?” Neil asked quietly, and Andrew felt the words as much as heard them, both from the hum in the other man’s throat as well as the brush of his lips against Andrew’s hair.
“Hn,” Andrew grunted softly in response, tightening his arms slightly around Neil.
Cheeky little fucker was smiling now, smug as a bitch in heels. It occurred to Andrew then that Neil abso-fucking-lutely knew what he was doing. Mr. “Do you want to try?” Fucking brat.
Instead of calling him out on it, though, Andrew sighed against Neil’s neck, enjoying the way it made him shiver, and asked, “Are you going to go talk with the freshmen or not?”
Neil hummed again, and when he spoke his voice was low and amused. “We could just stay in here, lay down for a while and see how long it takes someone to come check on us.”
“You are an absolute menace,” Andrew accused, not without affection.
“Eh, you like it.”
Andrew did, in fact, like it. He would not validate that very dangerous bit of intel, though. Instead he said, “They come here to check on you and instead you torment them. If only they knew your true colors.”
A chuckle warmed Neil’s throat and Andrew couldn’t quite shove down the little flutters of approval as Neil nuzzled against his hair. “I’ve been up their asses since June, if they don’t know my true colors by now they’re too dumb to make it and deserve what they get. Is that a ‘no’, Drew?” The last bit was quieter but no less warm.
“It’s not a ‘no’,” Andrew said, then sighed and pulled back to look at him - meeting Neil’s eyes. He still looked a little too pale, a little too tired, and Andrew had to swallow back the flash of rage that bubbled up. Jack was off the court for three months, and would probably be unable to walk for at least a third of that - but damnit if Andrew didn’t want to go to the hospital and make it so the little fuckweasel couldn’t ever walk again.
Maybe Neil could see some of that in his eyes, or maybe he just knew Andrew that well by now, because he leaned forward to rest their foreheads together and when he spoke his voice was private, quiet, just for the two of them - the promise in it creating a universe for them and them alone. “I’m alright,” he said. “No permanent damage. Not enough brain cells left to rupture, anyway.”
Andrew snorted softly, just a huff of breath only vaguely tinged with amusement. “Shut up and get in the bed, Josten,” he grumbled, offended at the tenderness that had leaked into his voice without his permission. Still didn’t stop him from leaning up and stealing a quick kiss before he pulled back, though. As Neil moved to the bed, Andrew went to the bedroom door and turned the lock - because eventually, someone would come looking for them, and he preferred to choose whether or not they actually found them.
In all, it was far too easy to lay down on the bed and pull Neil close. They slotted together instinctively now, curves and edges matching up like pieces of a broken mirror - something dangerous and filled with far too much truth. Eventually, someone was going to approach the door and disrupt their peace. Neil would answer the call, because of course he would, and Andrew would follow - because of course he would. There were still going to be trials, probably even regarding this shit with Jack. After all, they were Foxes, and life was never easy for a Fox.
But life didn’t have to be easy, either. It didn’t even have to be good. Maybe that was really the point of this.
Of this something.
Of this everything.
Most of life could be absolute shit, but the parts that weren’t made the rest of the world disappear, even for a little bit. And that made it all bearable. Sometimes, it even made it worth it.
With that thought in mind and his partner in his arms, Andrew closed his eyes, took several deep eucalyptus-tinted breaths, and decided he was due for a bit of a rest.