Work Text:
"Andrew Minyard?"
Neil blinks in confusion at the name written across the piece of paper in front of him. He always asks his clients for detailed descriptions of the people they're targeting, just in case Neil doesn't know them. He's pretty sure everyone has heard of Andrew Minyard, though.
Description: has a twin, blond, wears all black, the one with the armbands.
Good enough. Neil probably knew all of that already.
That being said, Neil has never had an actual interaction with the man. He just knows his reputation around school as being incredibly unapproachable, and not someone you want to piss off.
Neil shrugs as he looks down at the notecard, unimpressed. Hell, people say the same thing about him all the time. He's not afraid of Andrew Minyard, but it's very clear his client is.
"Don't say it so loud!" The other student—John? Jack? whatever—shushes him violently. It looks as if he almost wants to reach over and slap his hands over Neil's mouth, but Neil's glare is powerful enough to melt through to the earth's core. Rightfully, JohnJackWhatever retreats. He seems to be close to vomiting still, shaking, and the light sheen of sweat over him is enough to make Neil want to throw the notecard away. It looks clean but...hm.
JohnJim is wearing a hood in the middle of the summer, constantly checking his surroundings like Andrew Minyard will appear like the boogeyman at the mere mention of his name. Now, Neil may not know that much about Andrew Minyard, but he'd be willing to bet that the blond doesn't know this guy's name any more than Neil does. Which means—
"Listen, Joe?" Neil begins, already beginning to tear the edges of the notecard to shreds. "I'm pretty sure Andrew doesn't give a fuck about you, so you should probably not think so highly of yourself."
I mean...you're cowardly enough to come to me.
"My name is Rob."
Neil stops, blinks, and decides he doesn't care. He's beginning to feel antsy. He has his job, so... "Isn't that what I said?"
Rob stares at him for a few seconds too long, before he waves it off. "You know what, it's okay. You being an asshole just proves you're good for this."
Rob wipes the remaining sweat onto his jeans and Neil grimaces openly.
He is good for it. Better than good, if he can be arrogant for a moment.
Since his second semester of college, Neil's been running his business, and it's taken off at a rate not even he was expecting. Who knew people would actually pay good money for someone to cuss out their annoying roommates and fellow students?
Thus, Neil's Roasting Service was born. He's got a review page and everything, and it almost offends him that Robert here isn't confident in Neil's skills.
Neil's certainly never been one to shy away from confrontation. He had his own reputation long before anyone knew his name or his website, mostly pertaining to his temper. From long arguments in the hallways or heated blows traded with professors during debates, he's created a sturdy bubble around himself. It probably rivals Andrew Minyard's.
No one messes with him, because they know what'll happen if they do.
He's creative with his insults, cutting, and ruthless.
But, there's no reason for him to be anymore. There's not really any anger left in him for anyone he personally dislikes. Most of them are dead.
It's weird to say, but he's largely at peace, apart from the occasional nightmare and paranoia. He's still...feisty, but it's been a long time since he's been genuinely angry.
Neil's finding that he likes that.
It doesn't mean he can't rip people to shreds. So, he figured he might as well direct the talent and tempestuousness towards other people's petty grudges.
And it works. He can afford a nice one bedroom, his tuition, and all his textbooks, and has enough left over. All he has to do is cuss people out for having loud parties on school nights, or not cleaning up after themselves after using the common room.
As expected, his biggest client base is freshman, but it can vary.
Rob here, for example, is a junior, and has the unfortunate circumstance of sharing Bio 2A with Andrew Minyard.
"You paid for the deluxe package," Neil says as he scrolls through his payment history. His system is simple:
Basic Package: Fuck you. A general statement of displeasure and a brief description of the wrongdoing.
Intermediate Package: Fuck you, with passion. Everything in the basic package, but with additional insults. Customizable for an extra fee.
Deluxe Package: Fuck you to hell. Everything from the first two packages, for an extended period of time, and with extra viciousness.
Rob had chosen to write a partly custom speech too, because apparently some things are impossible to let go. Neil did warn him to make it vague if he didn't want Andrew to track him down though, and Neil is allowed to make his creative adjustments.
Neil scoffs. "All that just because he's a bad lab partner?"
Rob scowls into the distance, lip curling. "It's more than that! I can't believe I'm the only person who's come to you about him. It's about time someone told that bastard off."
"But not you," Neil says, smiling slightly. He gets the job done, but otherwise his customer service is exactly how he wants it to be: nonexistent. He likes seeing the way Rob deflates, all bravado bleeding out into a pool of shame and spinelessness on the floor.
"Not...me."
"Right," Neil chimes in. Not surprising; his business caters to these kinds of people, those too afraid to actually speak their mind. It's easy for Neil, he has no actual connection to the real conflict, or fear, since most people don't actually hold it against him. The only time they threaten him is when he tells them that the names of his clients are confidential.
With that, it's all in a day's work. Neil powers down his phone and pockets it, eager to wrap this up before lunch. He can get something fancy today. "I received your payment, I'll handle it."
Rob noticeably relaxes, sighing in relief until another thought crosses his mind.
"Thanks...um," he starts, wincing to himself. Neil guesses there's no nice way to put it, but he's done this enough times to know what Rob is about to ask. "So if he kills you, I'm not liable...right?"
Neil smiles, too polite and void of any kindness. "What did you think the waiver was for?"
Rob nods, and if he looks a touch scared, then good.
Shouldn't this be proof enough?
Neil's not dead yet.
--
It's not hard to find Andrew.
Neil is a ghost on campus, going from class to class and not staying longer than he has to before returning to the library basement or his apartment. Still, he's observant. It's been drilled into him too harshly for him to ever be rid of it, and he knows the faces of everyone he passes on a regular basis.
This is especially true when it comes to the main courtyard, where Andrew and his gang hang out every afternoon. It doesn't take much to separate him from his brother Aaron.
Aaron sits with his textbook open, pouring over notes and fending off comments from two other boys, Kevin Day and Nicky Hemmick. Kevin is campus royalty, for reasons Neil still doesn't understand, and Nicky TA-ed for one of Neil's Spanish classes freshman year.
Apart from that, they're strangers. They're also normal students, and Andrew is not. Neil doesn't mean that he's abnormal in the typical sense, or inhuman. Despite his reputation and demeanor, Neil knows he is the same as anyone else. He has feelings, pet peeves, a past.
What he means is that Andrew Minyard has an aura to him that makes him stand out regardless of how much he tries to blend in. It's a mixture of power, of security. Andrew Minyard feels like a pillar or a column sweeping over campus. He could crush and overpower without hesitation, or he could bear the weight of anything without getting tired. Realistically, Neil knows that isn't true, but Andrew Minyard feels like a wall to him.
He never understood it, how he could glean so much from sight alone, from passing him in dark corridors or hearing hushed mumblings in the library. But it's Neil's nature to identify threats, or potential ones. Andrew doesn't feel dangerous, but he's formidable. Sturdy. It would be intimidating, if Neil weren't...well, Neil.
Nodding to himself, he stuffs his notecard into his jacket pocket and begins his stretches. He knows he's only using his voice, but he likes the illusion that this is more taxing than it is. He has to stay limber.
He bounces around Rob's notes in his head, the necessary talking points, and doesn't bother with the rest. He's at his best when he wings it.
Neil gives himself a once over; it's not that he cares what he looks like, or has a brand he's trying to maintain, but he'd rather make sure there's no major identifying information on him, or loose articles of clothing Andrew could lunge for.
When he's all set, he takes a deep breath, readies his business card, and calmly approaches.
Andrew sits slightly apart from the rest of his group, carving a piece of wood with his pocket knife. It looks kind of like a duck. Neil refrains from rolling his eyes, and it’s not jealousy, or because the duck is cute. Nope.
He keeps his smile professional. Andrew doesn't look up at his approach like the rest of them do, but the conversation tappers and fades into an awkwardness that can’t be ignored. Neil knows Andrew’s aware, and takes that as his cue.
"Are you Andrew Minyard?" He asks, and half expects Andrew to ignore him. The blond must be in a good mood though, soon to be corrected, and his eyes lazily travel over to Neil's face. There's a moment where Neil swears he sees Andrew hesitate, eyes widening only a fraction, the barest amount of emotion he'll allow.
It's not usually the reaction Neil gets, but he can't identify it. Andrew's eyes flick down Neil's body, then back up lightning fast. Neil has never been sized up as if he's a threat, but maybe Andrew is as paranoid as he is.
Neil powers on when Andrew doesn't answer, the stillness in his body off-putting.
Neil shrugs. "I'll take that as a yes," he says sweetly, clearing his throat. "It has been brought to my attention recently that you're so far up your own ass that you need to wipe the shit from your eyes and wake the fuck up."
Neil says it cheerily and with no hesitation, and the noise that comes from the back of Aaron's throat is worrisome. Neil pays it no mind, even as he briefly catches the look of horror on Nicky's face, or Kevin's inability to pick his jaw off the floor.
He's in his element at this point, and he doesn't look away from Andrew for the rest of his rant. If Andrew was still before, he's practically a statue now. His honey gaze is locked onto him, almost like a missile, and Neil wonders if he should step out of firing range before it's too late.
Thing is, he doesn't want to. These jobs are typically void of excitement, the same old thing over and over. But for the first time, he feels a tingle travel down his spine. Maybe it's Andrew's demeanor, or the way the aura from before swirls around him, or the way everyone acts like he's unmovable.
Neil's not sure, and he doesn't care.
He taps his chin in mock confusion, assessing Andrew up and down. "I don't think I've ever seen someone give less of a damn, and no, that's not a complement. If the work you put into your courses is in any way indicative of your drive and motivation in any other aspects of your life, consider me sincerely shocked that you were even able to drag your sorry ass out of bed this morning."
There's a wheeze that probably comes from Aaron again, and the noise of scrambling, like someone who stopped themselves from intervening. Good. Neil's not finished.
"And what's even your deal anyways? Did someone come along one day and tell you that wearing all black and crushing the dreams of others in your wake was the way to go? If so, I have to tell you I'm unimpressed with how bad of a job you're doing. I can’t tell if you’re legitimately vindictive or if you’re actually just self-sabotaging, but either way, I might've picked a more dignified battleground than a GE science class.
"I can’t tell what's worse, your attitude or the one you're trying to give off. I can tell that either way, you’re a nightmare of a human being and perhaps you should consider some intensive personal reflection—I mean a pocket knife? For real? Maybe you're not a student at all and you climbed out of some B movie from the 80s. Even that seems like it would require more effort than you're willing to expend—at least you have the wardrobe down! Though maybe you should work on being more dimensional than a one ply piece of toilet paper."
Andrew's mouth does something strange Neil can't help but fixate on. It's not a smile by any means, but it's not a frown neither. It's the slightest tilt of intrigue, but otherwise Andrew remains expressionless, focused with an intensity that may rival Neil's temper any day. Andrew blinks at him in what Neil assumes is disbelief, and who knows, maybe that's just how Andrew expresses anger. Maybe Neil's words haven't caught up with him enough for him to be rage-filled yet, and once he realizes, he'll be taking as many swings at Neil as he can manage.
If that's the case, Neil's ready to finish strong.
He smiles sweetly again, hands behind his back. He rocks back and forth on his heels childishly, as if he's not insulting the most feared man on campus. "If you really want to be edgy though, I'll give you something to work with. You’re the metaphorical iceberg capsizing the Titanic of the hopes and dreams of the students around you, and I sincerely hope that one day you can find it in your heart to write more than your goddamn name on a sheet of paper. Fuck you to hell, and don't bother showing up to any of your classes tomorrow if you're going to spend the entire time acting like an arrogant, played out thirteen year old."
With that, Neil exhales, and does his best not to bow.
He wonders for a moment if Andrew really is a shitty lab partner, but Neil wouldn’t blame him. He hated Bio 2A.
Regardless, that was some of his best work in a long time.
Andrew stays planted to the ground, unmoving, and blinks at Neil again. Neil spares a reckless glance at Andrew's group, and catches the way their horrified gazes travel from him and back to Andrew, as if wondering how long Neil has, because surely Andrew can only kill him now, right?
Right? Neil hums to himself.
Neil would assume that as well, or at least some reaction other than whatever processor in Andrew's brain is spitting out. He's not necessarily unsettled, just taken aback. Surely, he'd see some redness or tears by now. No violence? No drama?
Neil smiles again, and this time, it's genuine. Who are you, Andrew Minyard?
He can respect someone who can stay calm, because Neil never could.
There's no answer to the unspoken question, but he does note the way Andrew's throat bobs when he swallows thickly.
Whatever.
Neil huffs in relief, satisfied with his work. Swiftly, he whips out his business card and holds it up to Andrew, who takes it from him without a word. That's not strange, people are often left confused after one of his deluxe rants. It's how he knows he's good, and his card isn't usually refused. Smiling, Neil tilts his head when Andrew stares back up at him. "That message was brought to you by one of your fellow students. My name is Neil Josten, and you've been served. My client names shall remain confidential, however should you like to respond, my rates and availability can be found on my website. I will call and cuss out anyone for a number of reasons, petty or otherwise. I have no code or morals, but I do retain the right to refuse any requests that make me uncomfortable. If there's nothing else, thanks for being a giant fucking asshole and making me lots of money."
He turns to Andrew's group to see if they have anything to say, but they mostly stare back like fish out of water, baffled Neil is somehow still alive. He gets that a lot too. They again pancake back and forth between Neil and Andrew, waiting for something, anything from the blond.
Andrew only seems to care about staring at Neil, and a shiver goes down Neil's spine that he can't place or explain. It's not fear, or a warning. At least...not one he's used to.
He waves it off and shrugs once he realizes that Andrew really isn't going to do or say anything, and turns on his heel with a dainty wave. “Bye—”
“Here,” Andrew says out of nowhere, and it’s so sharp and sudden Neil falters. Nicky screams a little at Aaron’s side before he’s elbowed, but Aaron doesn’t look like he understands any more than Nicky does.
The swift movement of Andrew’s arm shooting out in front of him makes Neil jump. He can’t be blamed, he always expects a punch or a grab. But the grip doesn’t come, and neither does pain.
Instead, his gaze travels down to Andrew’s hand, where his carving sits neatly in his palm. It is indeed, a duck. It’s…it’s actually really good. Not cute. No.
Neil’s never been good at lying to himself.
He bites his lip as he reaches out impulsively, hesitating for only a moment to find out how this could possibly be a trap. Wooden ducks don’t explode, right?
It might be worth it.
Wait, no! But—
The duck stares up at him, unblinking and oddly childish considering its maker, and Neil’s rifling through his business model in his head to find out where this situation falls. He never receives gifts, it’s not typical. Is the duck a sign of violence?
No, that’s geese.
But he likes ducks. He likes this one in particular, the feathers oddly detailed with Andrew’s initials hidden within. He’s…missing something, he knows this. But he’s never been one to question his instincts or make good decisions.
He glances up at Andrew to see if there’s any maliciousness there, but Andrew just looks expectant…holding his breath. Neil doesn’t know how to read that either.
So instead, he swipes it, holding the duck close to his chest with a barely concealed smile. He probably looks like a giddy idiot but whatever.
The duck belongs to him now.
Satisfied, and without explanation, Andrew nods calmly before stuffing his hands back into his jacket pockets. “I guess that means I’ll see you around, Neil.”
Neil clutches his duck harder, and blinks. “It does?”
“It does?” Aaron parrots, and Kevin seems to be the only one unsurprised. He’s gone back to sighing over his textbook, shaking his head like he’s seen it all before. Neil would love the opportunity to pick his brain, not one for surprises, but he has a feeling he’s shit out of luck on this one.
“You’ll see,” Andrew sighs, and he pulls out a cigarette before plopping down next to his brother, and the first inhale looks like it brings him way too much relief. “Can’t believe this.”
“Can’t…can’t believe what?” Nicky asks, and is promptly ignored. He throws up his hands at Andrew’s silence as Neil stares, turning the words over and over in his head.
“So is it—is that a threat?” Neil asks, and he almost hopes Andrew says yes. Threats, threats Neil can do. Threats make sense.
But for the first time, Andrew’s lips tilt up in a slight smirk, and Neil knows he’s missed the mark by a mile.
Andrew doesn’t answer, but it’s as good as one. Instead he waves Neil off, and only asks: “Do you like frogs too?”
Dumbly, defeated at a game with rules he’s not privy to, Neil nods. “And—and sheep.”
Andrew nods back, like it all makes perfect sense.
“So be it,” he sighs, and salutes Neil smoothly. It’s cliché, it’s obnoxious, but Neil finds something about the nonsensical promise almost exciting.
Sometimes, the job can still surprise him.
He looks to Aaron and Nicky one last time for any explanation, and finds that their brains are effectively non-functional from whatever the hell just happened. Neil lets it go, because it’s hard to argue with the certainty in Andrew’s voice.
‘You’ll see.’
In that moment, he skips away, and tries not to feel Andrew’s gaze on the back of his neck for hours to come.
Later that night, his friend Matt, hungover but attentive, listens to Neil’s story and says: ‘Bro, I think that was Andrew’s courtship declaration. Some historical shit.’
He’d been unable to elaborate on account of running to the bathroom shortly after, but Neil doubts he would’ve made any more sense with further explanation.
He’s also not sure that’s how it worked, but what does he know about history?
A declaration huh?
Neil stares down at the duck in his palms before placing it gently on his nightstand, and finds that he’s not as intimidated as he maybe should be. He lives some room next to his duck, which he’s appropriately named Andrew, and hopes he gets some friends soon.
Next time Rob comes to him with complaints about Andrew, he’ll have to let him down easy.
After all, Andrew’s not so bad.