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It’s eleven in the evening and there’s something on Neil’s mind. It’s obvious in the way his eyes flit back and forth, landing on everything in the dorm besides Andrew. In the way his hands clench and unclench like he’s preparing for a fight. In the way he bites his lip and ticks his jaw.
It would be unnerving for most. For Andrew, it’s amusing.
He’s not going to instigate the conversation—that’s for Neil to work up to—but he sure as hell isn’t not going to make the most out of the tension rising in the room. He categorizes every detail of Neil’s posture for later, for when they look back and think about how much unnecessary silence and stiffness there was for a probably pointless conversation. Neil will blush at his overthinking and Andrew will remember how Neil’s legs were on perfect display against the brown cabinets.
They’re situated in the kitchen; Andrew on a very uncomfortable stool, Neil leaning by the stove. The redhead’s hair catches the lighting just so and Andrew wants to bite him. Tear his muscles to shreds and lavish in his groans. But that’s for later. For now, Neil’s anxiety is reaching its peak.
If it wasn’t clear before, Andrew is now fully aware of the effects of not having sex with his boyfriend for two weeks. Which is definitely a part of whatever is running, zipping, zapping back and forth in Neil’s head.
“What is it?” Andrew curls his fingers around his mug of hot chocolate. Hint number two that there was an important conversation brewing: Neil had made him an extravagant mug of hot chocolate, topped with egregious amounts of whipped cream and almost too many marshmallows—which should’ve been impossible.
Neil’s piercing eyes slam into Andrew’s and then immediately dart away. He hums. “Nothing. Why?”
It’s not convincing. For a runaway, he’s terrible at being nonchalant.
A mighty sip of the warm cocoa is taken to strengthen Andrew’s response. “Lying doesn’t suit you, Josten.” But now he’s lying too, because it does. Neil’s cheeks have a pretty blush and his fingers tap against the counter, bringing attention to the veins in his arms. It’s unfairly attractive.
Neil glances down at his feet. He has slippers on, pink ones that match his easter egg pajama pants and Andrew’s beige crew neck he’d stolen weeks ago. It drowns his lean frame.
Someone might call it cute and Andrew is that someone.
Neil’s finger tapping speeds up. “I’m not lying, nothing’s wrong.”
Tap tap tap tap. That was too easy.
“I didn’t say something was wrong.” Andrew’s amusement peaks as Neil closes his eyes and lets out a sigh at being caught. It would be sinful if there wasn’t something bothering Neil, weighing down his shoulders and words.
“I just–” Neil grimaces. “I was reading.”
Andrew snorts, somewhat accidentally; he blames the late hour. “That’s promising, and here I thought you still didn’t know the alphabet.”
Neil continues, unbothered by the jab. “I was reading about asexuality, actually.”
And that. Well, that pierces Andrew right in the chest. He’s known all about the ace spectrum since diving into his own sexuality. He knows what it is. He knows it’s something along the lines of sex averse. And if Neil was reading about it–
“You said yes,” Andrew grits out, pulse quickening because Neil had always consented but maybe he’d lied, or maybe felt– “We agreed no more lying, Rabbit.”
Neil squints in confusion. “And I meant those yeses, Drew. But I was talking to Nicky the other day–”
“That was your first mistake.”
“ –And he was asking me about this guy in our Spanish class and about if I thought he was hot and,” —Neil pauses and pushes himself off the counter to lean on his elbows across from Andrew— “He got really confused when I said I’ve never really looked at anyone like that but you. And then after class, Nicky sent me this link about asexuality and now I’m fucking confused because I guess I’m ace? Or, at least I fit the criteria? And then Nicky said I needed to tell you because apparently that’s what people do? They tell their people who they’re attracted to?”
Neil’s breath is quick now and his eyes hadn’t left the dirty countertop in minutes.
Andrew reaches out a hand to intrude on Neil’s gaze. “What quiz did you take, Neil?”
Neil winces at that and finally looks up at Andrew. “Buzzfood? Beefeed?”
“Idiot.”
“Well, it’s not like I know a whole lot about this, Andrew,” Neil fires back, standing back to cross his arms as his frustration grows. “The one time I kissed a girl, I got hit, and the only reason I realized this ,” —he nods between Andrew and himself—,“Was a thing, was because you told me you wanted to suck me off.”
Andrew wants to point out that that wasn’t quite what he had said, but controls himself enough to only grimace. “And it worked out, didn’t it?” He sips his cooling drink.
“That’s not the point!” Neil shouts in exasperation, arms flying everywhere as he begins to pace. “You’re avoiding, Andrew, and I’m trying to fucking communicate, okay? Can you maybe try too?”
Andrew pauses and puts his mug down. “What do you want me to communicate?” He raises an eyebrow pointedly.
Neil lets out a sigh and finally stops moving around the room jerkingly. “Fuck you.”
Andrew blinks and waits for the air to settle.
“I–” Neil starts and pauses. “I just–” He groans and hands his head. “What if my mum–”
“She didn’t break you, Abram.” Andrew interrupts. He pushes his mug away and stands, making his way around to Neil. “This isn’t something she did to you, or that you did to yourself, and it’s not something that ruins you. It’s just you.”
Neil turns his head to meet Andrew’s gaze and not for the first time Andrew wonders how this man decided that he wants Andrew of all people. This strong, resilient, incredible man.
Silence envelopes the pair until Neil replies, twisting his fingers. “What if there’s something wrong with me then? I mean, I know I’m fucked up.” He takes a shaky breath and Andrew grips the back of his neck. “I know I can’t go to a beach, or use knives, or go to a farm because all I can remember is being six and dismembering a chicken, or go to a pool because it’s like being waterboarded all over again. But why can’t I get one normal fucking thing?”
“Who likes normal?” Andrew counters, remembering a foster sister from House Nine who repeated the sentiment everytime they had to eat the compost. He says it less jokingly.
Neil makes a noise akin to a growl and tugs himself out of Andrew’s grip. “This isn’t a joke, Drew.”
Andrew straightens. “It’s not a joke, Neil. You’re fucked up. I’m fucked up. Who cares about normal. Normal doesn’t get you night practice with Kevin, Eden’s with Nicky, movie night with Matt. Normal doesn’t get–” He takes a breath, every word feeling costly, but it’s easy to pay this for Neil. “Normal doesn’t get you this ” —He gestures between them, prodding Neil in the chest— “Normal is pointless ; this isn’t . This matters. We know how much this is worth and we know what we’ve paid for it.
Neil takes a step forward, feet brushing Andrews. “This matters, huh?”
Andrew scoffs. “Never said that.”
Neil laughs and the sound is like a rush in Andrew’s veins. “Liar.”
For you, anything, Andrew thinks.