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Contrary to popular belief, Neil was fine. Actually, legitimately, no-need-to-glare-when-he-said-it fine. Truly. That was why, standing in Andrew’s front halfway at three twenty-six in the morning, he was telling Andrew not to worry about him.
Andrew was not impressed in the slightest by Neil’s show.
“Really, Andrew. I just need to sleep on your couch,” Neil says, and it’s an entirely reasonable request.
“You walked to my apartment at three in the morning,” Andrew says slowly, even though he’s usually not one to verbalize the obvious, “To sleep on my couch.”
Andrew’s cat winds its way through Neil’s legs, and Neil bends down to scritch between her ears. “Yeah,” he says, and now he’s worried, because Andrew doesn’t usually take this long to get the point, and scoops Sir up. “Are you okay?”
“Am I— Neil, very sincerely, are you drunk? Is this what you look like drunk?” Andrew asks, a slight pinch between his eyebrows.
“I’m not drunk ,” Neil says, because he isn’t. He’s vaguely buzzed at most. He tells Andrew as much while Andrew closes the door behind him. “I was just out with Kevin and Allison, and I usually just pace myself with you, so I didn’t have my usual guide, that’s all. And, I mean, compared to them, I am comparatively sober.”
“Comparatively sober next to Kevin and Allison is still drunk,” Andrew says, walking down the hall to his bedroom. Neil follows and stops at the door. There are rules about Andrew’s bedroom, and he’s too mildly buzzed to remember the specifics. He stays outside, Sir still bundled in his arms. He presses his face into the fur at the back of her neck. She’s very soft. And fluffy. And warm. Too bad she’ll probably sleep with Andrew, but to be fair, so would Neil given the chance. Andrew is all of those things, too, with the added benefit of being Andrew.
Neil looks up when Andrew re-emerges from his room with a pillow and the blanket Nicky had gifted all of them when he learned how to crochet. Neil still sleeps with his.
Together, they manage to get Andrew’s pull-out couch to pull out, although Neil is not much help in his comparatively sober state. Andrew makes the bed while Neil struggles out of his shoes by the front door. Andrew likes having all his shoes on the shoe rack, and Neil forgot on his way in. He’ll remember better next time. After, Andrew sends him to the bathroom with clothes and instructions to use the spare toothbrush that Neil leaves here. When Neil returns, Andrew is seated at the edge of the pull-out bed typing on his phone.
“Who are you texting?” Neil asks, dumping his clothes on the coffee table before climbing into bed behind him.
“Renee. She said she dropped you back home an hour before you got here. She also said she offered to drop you off here to begin with, and that you said no.” Andrew shuffles around to face him. It’s a question, even if it’s not phrased like one. Neil shrugs as best he can laying down.
“I thought I could handle it,” He says, face half buried in the pillow.
“Handle what?” Andrew asks.
“Being alone. I don’t like the after part of being drunk, I don’t think.”
“The hangover?”
Neil shakes his head and brings his hands up to his face to study them. No blood under his fingernails. “The part where I forget things, and no one’s there to remind me.”
Andrew takes Neil’s hands away from his face and brings them to his lap. “Do you…” Andrew hesitates. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
Neil shakes his head again. “You have rules. About beds. And also drunk people. And also touching. You can’t stay without me breaking them, and I won’t break them.”
Andrew brushes his thumbs over the tops of Neil’s hands, and Neil feels warm. “I trust you not to break them. Do you want me to stay?”
Neil inhales deeply, then nods. Andrew nods back at him, then deposits Neil’s hands on the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
Neil watches him walk to the kitchen and fill a glass of water and grab the bottle of Ibuprofen, before turning the lights off and walking back over, placing both gently on the coffee table. Neil lifts the blanket, and Andrew slides in next to him.
Neil is considering asking if he can touch when Sir jumps onto the bed and curls into Andrew’s side. Neil glares at her.
“What?” Andrew asks when he notices the staring contest between Neil and his cat.
“She took the spot I was going to take,” Neil says, still glaring. Andrew huffs a laugh at him.
Neil finally looks up at him, and they stare for a minute before Andrew says quietly, “Are you going to ask?”
“ Can I ask?” Neil asks, just as quietly. He doesn’t want to break the moment.
“You can always ask, ” Andrew says back, shifting to face him entirely, dislodging Sir. She resettles herself at their feet in protest.
Neil thinks they might be having a bigger moment then he currently has the wits for. He doesn’t quite know what Andrew wants him to ask for, so he asks for what he wants and hopes it’s the right answer. “Can I hug you?” Neil won’t say cuddle.
“Yes,” Andrew says, and Neil presses his face into the crook of his neck, hooking his arms under Andrew’s and over his shoulders, pressing their chests together. Andrew wraps his arms around Neil’s shoulders.
“Was that what you wanted me to ask for?” Neil mumbles into his neck, and Andrew tenses ever so slightly. Neil only notices because of how close they’re pressed together.
“I want you to ask for what you want,” Andrew whispers, and Neil tries to nuzzle closer. It doesn’t work, but it’s worth a shot.
“You’re not gonna kiss me if you think I’m drunk,” Neil says, and Andrew inhales sharply.
“What?” He asks, and Neil lifts his head to look at him.
“It’s true,” Neil says. He doesn’t know what Andrew seems unsure about.
To be fair, they don’t really… do that. Kissing. Sex. They’re not together together, but…
There’s a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence. Neil’s pretty sure. And he thinks Andrew agrees. He doesn’t correct their friends when they assume, at any rate. Renee actually thought Neil had moved in, when she was making her rounds to drop them off.
Even this is something they do. It’s out of the ordinary, for sure, reserved mostly for nights when Andrew needs proof he’s in the present, and vacations where Allison books houses with less beds than necessary, and when Neil needs to stay in a shitty motel two hundred miles away because the thought of staying in one place makes his heart race and his breath escape him, and movie nights where Neil can't be assed to walk back home and Andrew won't drive him. But it’s not unheard of for them.
“It’s true,” Andrew repeats, and Neil settles back in against him. “Neil?” Neil hums but doesn’t look back up. The night is catching up to him. “Ask me tomorrow. If you want to.”
Neil nods against Andrew’s neck, and then he’s out.
Neil drifts slowly in and out of consciousness, before a headache he’s pretty sure is his brain trying to drill out of his skull hits him like a sack of bricks, abruptly dragging him all the way into ‘awake’ territory. He groans, rolling onto his back and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“He lives,” Andrew calls from the kitchen, and Neil raises a middle finger in response. He knows Andrew’s laughing at him. He can sense it. He rolls back over and grabs the water and the painkiller that Andrew generously took out of the bottle, saving Neil the trouble of figuring out the child lock first thing in the morning. He sits there, taking shallow sips and squinting at the apartment-beige wall, trying to think un-nauseous thoughts.
“Don’t puke on my couch,” Andrew says, unsympathetic to Neil’s efforts. He sits down next to him, a mug of coffee in each hand.
“I won’t,” Neil says, voice scratchy, determined to make it the truth, and takes one of the cups from Andrew. Andrew takes the now-empty water glass and sets it on the table. They sip in silence, Neil growing more confident that his stomach will remain inside him as the time drags on. When Neil is certain walking won't kill him, he goes to the bathroom and brushes his teeth while Andrew washes their cups in the sink and heats up the breakfast Neil slept through. Sir sits patiently at the floor beneath their feet at the kitchen counter while Neil eats, because she knows that they're pushovers, the both of them. Neil totally accidentally drops a piece of scrambled egg, and Andrew glares, like he doesn't do the same. Neil clears his throat.
"We don't have to talk about it."
Andrew tilts his head. “I told you that you can ask,” He says, like the act of asking in and of itself isn’t an admission of its own.
“And if you don’t want me to?” Neil asks, even though he’s pretty sure Andrew does. He just… needs to know. That things won’t go to shit if Neil read the room wrong. Andrew shrugs.
“Then I say no. And you’ll come back on Tuesday for movie night.” Neil nods, then nods again.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and the corner of Andrew’s mouth twitches.
“Yes,” He says, and Neil leans in carefully, slotting their lips together, fingers clenched in the sweatpants Andrew gave him. Andrew has rules. Neil won’t break them.
Andrew’s hands slide up his neck, brushing the sensitive skin behind his ears and combing through the hair at his nape, and Neil has to fight back a shudder. He’s not quite sure he manages it.
After a while, he has to lean away. They both elect to ignore mentioning how Andrew followed him for a moment.
“Sorry,” Neil says, far more breathlessly than he expected to be. “I don’t… do that much. It was a lot.” Andrew shakes his head.
“Don’t apologize.” Andrew sits back and gestures to Neil’s plate, and Neil picks his fork back up to finish eating. When he shoves another bite into his mouth, Andrew asks, “Is that something you want to do regularly?” Neil’s eyes snap up to his before looking down quickly.
Neil shrugs. “If you want to. Yes.”
“It is,” Andrew says, and it’s his turn to shrug. “Among other things.”
Neil’s dry throat is entirely due to the hangover, thank you very much. “We can do that regularly. Among other things,” Neil says, and Andrew nods. He finishes eating, and they wash dishes and put up the couch, and when Andrew drops him back off at his apartment, He walks Neil to the door and kisses him goodbye.
Neil is actually, legitimately, fine.