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It’s an unseasonably hot spring in South Carolina—Neil has lived all over the world but still dislikes the way the heat and humidity lingers here, even inside air-conditioned buildings. The Foxes are in the middle of the spring championships, and between practice, finals prep, and the blazing sun, Neil isn’t sure he’s cooled down in weeks.
That would be enough to make anyone irritable, but the anniversary of Neil’s kidnapping and torture in Baltimore is three days away. He can’t remember the last time he’s been able to stomach looking into a mirror, and he’s barely been sleeping. If the other Foxes notice, they haven’t said anything, but Andrew clearly knows what date is approaching. Neil has been sticking even closer to his side than he normally does, and Andrew has let him lean on him for support without comment.
After practice on this particular Wednesday evening, Neil’s phone rings in the middle of dinner, the vibration against his leg cutting through the noise of the athlete’s dining hall. It surprises him more than it usually does, since every person he would want to talk to is sitting at the table with him. Dread instantly pools in his stomach; memories of a countdown push to the forefront of his mind even as he tries to shove them away. He digs his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen, and his pulse quickens further as he sees Incoming Call - Jean Moreau. It’s not the nightmare he was imagining, but that doesn’t mean it’s good news.
They text sparingly but Jean never calls him, nor would he unless something bad was happening. Neil stands and pushes his chair back, flipping the phone open to answer. “Jean?” He tries to step away, but Andrew catches his wrist before he can move. Neil tilts his head towards the door, and Andrew wordlessly gets up to follow him, neither of them sparing a look to any of the other Foxes at the table.
He can’t hear much until he steps out the doors of the dining hall, and then he can only hear labored breathing. “Jean, hey,” he says again, sharper this time.
Jean mumbles something, but before Neil can ask for clarification, he tries again. “How do you stand it?” He asks in French, and Neil wonders who he doesn’t want overhearing.
“More specific,” Neil requests, matching his language choice, and finds an empty bench on the sidewalk leading to the dining hall. He sits down and glances over his shoulder towards the direction he came. Andrew is hanging back by the door, probably waiting to catch Kevin if he comes bolting out, and watches Neil with the same attentiveness as ever from 30 feet away. Neil watches the flicker of flame as Andrew lights up a cigarette, and his eyes track the movement of the lighter until Jean responds.
“Your tattoo. You will be court; it’s your rank. How can you manage without it?”
Neil wasn’t expecting that, and he digs his fingers into the meat of his thigh to keep himself present. “I didn’t ask for it and didn’t want it.”
“It is still yours.”
“It’s not,” Neil snaps, forcing himself to control his volume. “I can be court without it. Watch me.”
Jean wheezes on the other line, a sound of desperation that Neil has never heard him make before. “You have no idea what I went through for you to have that number. And now it’s all for nothing.”
Neil doesn’t know what to say to that—he doesn’t even remember getting the tattoo, only the faint registration of a different kind of pain after weeks of torment.
“I can’t remember Evermore very well,” he finally offers, a sort of agreement, and his eyes find Andrew again, needing something to keep him present. He’s still watching Neil, and the reassurance of his presence uncoils some of the panic in Neil’s chest.
“For the best,” Jean agrees, voice ragged.
Neil decides to divert them away from the Nest: “You’re a free agent now, remember? You don’t have to keep it. You’re the only one left with one, Jean, it’s kind of pointless now anyway.”
“It would not be if Kevin wasn’t an egotistical idiot.”
“He’s better than second, and we both know it.” Neil pauses to give Jean a chance to argue with him, and when he doesn’t, he presses on. “Look, I didn’t exactly have a choice in losing mine. I was a little busy almost getting murdered. But I’m glad it’s gone, and if it hadn’t been burned off, I would have still gotten rid of it. I don’t need Riko’s mark on me.”
“You were his property, it was his choice to make.”
“And now he’s six feet under and we’re both still here. The boss doesn’t care about a stupid fucking tattoo.”
Jean groans, and Neil finally figures out what background noise he’s been hearing, as Jeremy Knox mumbles something before he picks the phone out of Jean’s hand. “Hey, Neil, it’s Jeremy. I’m keeping Jean company right now, he’s having a hard time. I don’t speak French though, so I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
Neil thinks about trying to put on some niceties with Jeremy, but if he can handle being around Jean, Neil knows he doesn’t need to. “He doesn’t need the number to be court, which I told him, and I mean it.”
“Oh, I know. Cat was talking a little too seriously about tattoo removals and I think he just got freaked out. Sorry, I assumed he would call Kevin about it or something, I didn’t mean to bother you.”
Neil doesn’t even need to think about why Jean called him to know. “Kevin and Jean were never on the same level, not to the Ravens. I’m the closest Jean has, even though I never officially was on their roster.” Neil swallows his guilt as best he can, simultaneously knowing it would have killed him to be Jean’s partner but also knowing that Jean suffered without him. “For something like this, it’s usually going to be me.”
Jeremy hums, considering. “Okay. Well thanks for picking up. Uh, I’m actually not sure if what you said made things better or worse.” He must pull the phone away from his ear, but Neil still hears him say “Do you want to say anything else to Neil, or should I say goodbye for you?”
Neil waits, and eventually hears more rustling on the other end before Jean speaks again, in English this time. “My number is proof. It is proof that I will keep playing. Removing it would mean not believing in my rank any longer.”
“It doesn’t matter what you do with the tattoo, as long as you get signed after graduation. That’s the only part that actually means anything. Get it covered up, get it removed, I don’t care. Kevin and I are both still alive without ours.”
Neil thinks that Jean is going to hang up on him, but instead he just says “Your father’s people overstepped.”
Neil exhales hard through his nose, clenching his hand into a fist a few times, reminding himself that he still can. “They’re dead too, and I’m not. Stop letting ghosts decide your future for you.” He doesn’t wait to hear Jean’s response, because he hangs up the phone before he has to hear another word about Nathan or his lackeys. Jean probably doesn’t realize the anniversary of Neil’s abduction is right around the corner—it’s just an unlucky coincidence—but it doesn’t make it easier to swallow.
He sits on the bench for a minute, forcing himself to take even and steady breaths and feeling himself sweat in the muggy evening air. He doesn’t want to go back inside, but he doesn’t really want to stay here either, exposed to the whole campus. Jean managed to unintentionally drag him too close to the memories of a dashboard lighter against his face, and the world closes in on him in a heartbeat. Suddenly panicked, Neil has to stand from the bench before his brain tries to tell him he can’t anymore.
Andrew is right in front of him the next time Neil opens his eyes, but his silent approach doesn’t startle Neil. “Jean is having an existential crisis about his tattoo,” Neil explains, and hates that he can hear the fear in his own voice.
“How is that your problem?”
“He’s still stuck in his Ravens mindset, that he and I are both property of theirs, and it wasn’t my right to remove Riko’s number. Well, it wasn’t Lola’s right.”
Andrew’s lip curls in disgust. “It’s a little too late for his opinion to be relevant.”
“I know,” Neil breathes, focusing his eyes on Andrew’s. “I told him. I told him I didn’t exactly remove mine by choice, but I would have. He didn’t like that, either.”
“I could not care less what Jean likes,” Andrew says. “Next time you are not answering his phone call.”
Neil reaches for Andrew, waiting for Andrew to give him permission, and after he nods Neil circles his fingers around his wrist, a mirror of the touch that Andrew had caught him with inside. “I want to go home,” he says.
“Then let’s go.”
“All my stuff is inside.”
Andrew levels him with an unimpressed look. “Boyd would be honored to carry your bag back to the dorm for you.”
Neil exhales, as close to a laugh as he can manage right now, and nods. He keeps hold of Andrew’s wrist but flips his phone open in his free hand to text Matt— Can you bring my bag back to the dorm for me? I’ll come get it from your room later.
Matt’s response is almost immediate. Yeah, of course. Are you okay?
Not really, Neil replies, letting Andrew drag him towards the parking lot.
———
The roof of Fox Tower finally catches enough of a breeze to be comfortable, now that the sun has set, and Neil runs a hand through his hair as he looks out across the campus, pushing his hair back out of his eyes where the wind had swept it.
“Thanks,” he says to Andrew, and Andrew looks at him like he knows Neil isn’t just thanking him for the cigarette he passes over.
“You have too many of your own issues to also try and solve Moreau’s.”
“I don’t think anyone can solve his problems, for what it’s worth,” Neil says, holding his cigarette between his fingers.
“Big words coming from someone who doesn’t talk to therapists.”
Neil shrugs off that comment—it’s a conversation they’ve had too many times, and they don’t need to rehash it now. He stares down at Perimeter Road, watching a few cars drive by and tracking them until they disappear around the bend.
Andrew blows an exhale of smoke in Neil’s direction, and Neil looks his way with a small grin, amused by Andrew’s transparent request for his attention.
“Can I help you?” Neil teases.
“Not sure why you would start now,” Andrew shoots back, but he reaches to brush a curl of hair back from Neil’s forehead, and his touch is as gentle as it ever gets.
Neil leans into it, letting Andrew’s entire palm cradle his head. “Well you help me plenty, so I’d be happy to return the favor.”
The flat look Andrew levels him with only makes him smile wider—Neil can read the set of his mouth and the intensity of his stare like an open book, and he likes what he sees.
“I’m serious, Andrew. Being up here with you,” Neil motions to the roof, “it helps. Being with you helps.”
On another day, Andrew might dismiss the comment as Neil being a sap, but Andrew knows Neil as well as Neil knows himself. He spends a second searching his face, watching Neil watch him, and then stubs out his cigarette so he can bring his other hand up to cup Neil’s cheek. His thumb brushes against the burn scars under Neil’s eye, and Neil shivers.
“This is not enough to stave off your nightmares,” Andrew reminds him after a quiet moment. A thrill goes up Neil’s spine, the same way it does every time Andrew acknowledges their relationship, even though it’s been over a year.
“I don't expect it to. I can’t control what my subconscious does. But this is enough while I’m awake. You make me feel safe,” Neil says. His honesty used to be so hard-won, and he almost can’t believe how easily he wields it with Andrew now. He can barely contain his words—they spill out of him with the urgent desire for Andrew to know how much he’s changed Neil’s life for the better. Maybe it’s the anniversary of his almost-death approaching that brings about such urgency, but maybe Neil is just getting better at putting words to the warmth that floods through his chest every time Andrew so much as looks at him.
Andrew’s jaw clenches, as if he can read every thought flitting through Neil’s mind. “Yes or no?”
“Of course, yes.”
Andrew uses his grip on Neil to drag him into a firm kiss, the heat of his mouth erasing any and all of Neil’s thoughts in an instant. All he can do is try to keep up, burying his hands in Andrew’s hair to hold him close. It doesn’t take long for Andrew to push Neil back down against the rooftop, climbing on top of him without letting go of Neil. Neil just hums against Andrew’s mouth, content, as he settles against the concrete beneath him.
After an unknowable number of minutes, Andrew pulls back just enough to tilt Neil’s head to the side, kissing the corner of his mouth before trailing a line of kisses up his cheek to the burn scars under his eye. These kisses are much more gentle, partially out of necessity for the tender scar tissue, and Neil shudders under his touch.
“Andrew,” he breathes, feeling unmoored and desperately grateful for the way Andrew is pinning him down, sure he would have been carried away by the cool breeze without him.
Andrew looks at him, his expression blazing, which only contrasts a little with the flush on his face. “You’re not going anywhere, Neil.” It’s a promise and a demand all in one, and Neil nods.
“I know. I don’t want to, trust me. I just want to be here.”
“So be here,” Andrew challenges, leaning back down to kiss Neil’s burns one last time before capturing his mouth again.
———
Much later, Neil knocks on the door to Matt’s dorm, Andrew waiting and watching him in the doorway of their room.
Matt opens the door a second later, Neil’s backpack already in his hand. “Hey man, how’s it going?”
“I’m a little better,” Neil promises, taking his bag when Matt hands it over. “Thank you again.”
Matt gives him a once-over, and Neil knows he doesn’t miss the new hickey peeking out from under the collar of Neil’s shirt. He’s a good friend though and doesn’t comment on it, just claps Neil on the shoulder. “I’m glad. Let me know if there’s anything we can do to help you out, okay?”
Neil nods. “I will.” He says his goodbyes to Matt and turns back down the hall to Andrew, who steps out of the doorway to their dorm and brushes his fingers against the small of Neil’s back to usher him inside.