Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Over 15 long years on Earth, Andrew had learned it was best to let curiosity die on his tongue. Curiosity led to expectations, then to hope, and ultimately to disappointment. It always ended in disappointment. So he tried his best to push down that spark when his eyes met the unfamiliar boy sitting in his seat.

The stranger’s arms rested on the lab table’s matte surface, hands locked together hard enough to cut the circulation from his fingertips. His eyes flitted from student to student as they trickled in, then from the door, to the window, and back to assessing the unfamiliar faces around him. His eyes peered through brown curls, as if he could sink into it and hide away.

It only took him a few moments to recognize that Andrew was lurking, standing in front of him, really, and he was not budging. Hazel met a boring brown, and Andrew cocked an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” the boy said flatly after a few seconds of an impromptu staring contest.

“You’re in my seat.” The late bell sounded, and Andrew didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. His eyebrows drew together as he watched the kid, from his shoulders to his eyes and the way his lips pressed together tightly.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound it. Andrew’s eyes narrowed when he didn’t move from the chair.

Andrew wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t expecting the boy to give under his intense stare. The rest of his classmates did, even most of his teachers and foster parents wavered when met with his blank eyes and emotionless face. He rarely needed to reach for his left arm band anymore to invoke a reaction - he’d long perfected the predatory gaze.

So when all the stranger did was lazily point to the seat beside him, he couldn’t help but let that spark of curiosity grow just a little.

“Andrew, let’s take our seats, please.” He had to refrain from cringing at the word. His gaze flicked to the front of the room where Mr. Richardson leaned idly against the front wall. So that’s what he did. Humoring the new kid, he took the seat to his left, dropping his bag with a sharp clang beside his new chair.

His stare on the side of the stranger's head was unwavering, but the brunette did nothing more than flick him an annoyed glance every few minutes. Either the kid had no sort of survival instincts, or Andrew was the least of the kid’s demons. Maybe a mix of both. But Andrew didn’t resign, if anything, he hardened his eyes and leaned in closer, baring his elbows on the table's cool surface.

They were thirty minutes into biology when Mr. Richardson stepped out to take a phone call, and finally the stranger took the bait. He turned, cool stare meeting Andrew’s own.

“Is there something I can do for you?” He asked with a too-sweet smile, voice dripping with sarcasm. He didn’t move in his chair, but his leg began bouncing up and down either in annoyance or anxiety.

“Get out of my seat, for starters.”

“I don’t see your name on it.”

“I assure you it’s there.” The boy released a heavy sigh, shutting his eyes for just a moment as if reminding himself not to care.

“If you’re this upset about a chair then I truly worry about how you’ll fare in the real world.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at that. He’d seen the real world, more than most could say. But gauging the stranger’s frame, from the way his eyes flew towards the source of every small noise to his too-big clothes, to his calculated routine of checking every exit, something told him he knew a thing or two as well.

“What do you know about the real world?” Andrew asked anyway, the thought of egging him on too enticing to resist.

A laugh fell from the boys lips - dry and sarcastic, as if it escaped from the darkest part of his subconscious. He was quick to push it away, to smooth out his expression to it's previous blank gaze as if reminding himself where and who he was. Or who he was supposed to be. “More than I want to.”

And there was that damn spark again.

The boy got there before him the next day, and the day after that, sitting stubbornly in the seat that once was Andrew’s. It effectively pissed him off, which he thought might have pleased the boy - Alex, as he’d come to learn.

It was during lunch a week later when he found Alex on the bleachers overlooking the empty field behind the school. It was currently set up for the Exy season, although their school had never made it past the first game of the championship season. They were a sad excuse for a team, Andrew wondered why they kept it up and running at all. But Andrew didn't care about any of that, he only ever came back here when he was seriously craving a cigarette. He trusted Aaron could go five minutes alone without finding trouble before he returned.

He took a seat a few feet away from Alex, who’s eyes didn’t stray from where they were aimed at the goal. It wasn’t until Andrew pulled out a box of cigarettes that the boy finally turned to look at him. He put out an expectant hand that normally would make Andrew scoff. But this was different - he didn’t know why it was different, but he couldn’t deny the fact. He couldn’t push down the curiosity, a well-practiced feat that was failing him now for reasons he couldn’t yet pinpoint. But he couldn't ignore the alarms blaring in his head for much longer.

He narrowed his eyes before handing the lit cigarette over and pulling out another one for himself.

Alex’s shoulders seemed to relax as he watched the curl of smoke dancing off the lit end, taking a deep inhale through his nose, eyes more distant than he’d ever seen them. Which was saying a lot.

“Truth for a truth?”

Out of every dig he’d taken at Alex over the last week, petty insults and immature comments he’d made just to see that annoyed glint in his eyes, this was the only time he’d seen him any degree of shocked. Scared, even. As if the idea of telling the truth was a deeply offensive thing.

“What?” Andrew asked, eyes glinting mischievously. He’d finally found a way to get under his skin. “Scared of a little honesty?”

Alex didn’t say anything for a long moment, opting to take a drag from his cigarette and savor the toxins swirling around his lungs.

“Okay.” Andrew took this as his indication to begin. He weighed his options, before deciding no one question would satisfy more than an inch of his curiosity. He would start small.

“Where are you from?” He watched as Alex swallowed thickly. A question so simple and somehow so damning.

“Baltimore.” Andrew’s eyes twitched at the way that spark only grew and grew and grew, having expected to settle it once he started getting his answers. He hated how familiar it was becoming at the sight of the stranger.

“What are you doing all the way in Oakland?”

“It’s not your turn.” Andrew huffed but didn’t argue.

“Why do you carry knives?” Alex avoided his eyes as Andrew’s stare intensified. He was almost at a loss for words - almost. He’d never pulled the knife on or near Alex, never made reference to the weight in his armbands, yet somehow he’d known.

“Self defense.” Alex lifted an eyebrow, prompting for more. He supposed it was a shitty answer, but he’d hoped he could get away with that much. It was his game though, his idea. If he wanted more from the kid he had to give him something first. “Foster kids are used to being taken advantage of.”

Alex nodded. Andrew couldn’t read his expression, but there was no sign of pity or fear or disgust.

“Where are your parents?” The kid’s knee began bouncing up and down once more, an absent minded tell of his growing anxieties. So, parental issues. That much he figured.

“My mom’s at work.”

“And your dad?”

The mention of his father prompted him to tilt his head down, to hide his face from Andrew. “Still in Baltimore, hopefully.” He swallowed. “Do you even know how to use them?”

Andrew didn’t understand why he seemed so caught up on the knives, but he humored the boy anyway. “I mean, point and stab. Does all the work for you.”

Alex scoffed at that, a bitter pool in his eyes. But he saw the entertainment floating around in there as well. “If that’s what you think then the biggest threat you face is yourself.”

Andrew’s face narrowed into a pointed look, eyes flitting around from feature to feature, like he was trying to read a book in a language he didn’t know. “And you know how to use them?” The boy nodded. Andrew felt a tug at the corner of his mouth against his will. “Teach me.”

Alex’s eyes went wide at that, immediately opting to shake his head as if he was trying to turn his brain the consistency of scrambled eggs. There was the slightest trembles in his fingers as he gripped his knees.

“Why not? If your concerned i'm going to accidentally kill myself, then teach me.”

“I’m not concerned,” Alex snapped, head whipping around so Andrew could see his full face. “I’m just warning you not to mess with things you don’t understand.”

“But I’m going to anyway, so why not humor me?”

“I don’t care what you do, it's your funeral.” Against his better judgment, Andrew pushed. He couldn’t remember that last time he’d felt this, or if he ever had before. That curiosity piquing his interest, making him want to peek inside the boy’s brain to get a glimpse of the life he lived, the way he thought. He wanted to understand.

“Let’s make a deal.”

Alex released a shaky sigh, but lifted his hand as if prompting him to continue. “You teach me how to use knives, and i’ll play Exy with you.”

His lips parted in surprise, and there was a faint glimpse of desire in his eyes as his brows furrowed. “How did you-”

“Oh come on, you’re staring at the field like a lost puppy.”

“Do you know how to play exy?”

“No.”

“So I’d be stuck teaching you two things? How is that a deal.”

“Someone to play with. I’m a fast learner.” Andrew insisted, flashing his teeth briefly.

Alex swallowed, returning his gaze to the grass in front of them. A silent moment passed, Andrew could see the gears turning in his head. He wanted to say yes, he could see it in the way he took in the field, how his posture stiffened as he thought the offer over.

“Okay.” Alex stood after a long beat or silence. His eyes travelled the length of the field once more from beneath his brown curls, before he stood shakily. “I should go.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you.” Andrew could help but say out loud. There was no hint of admiration or curiosity in his voice, just an observation that was buzzing at the end of his tongue.

“I’m not a math problem.” Alex growled.

“But I'll still solve you.” He didn’t reply as he began stepping away with an urgency he took some fault in. “Meet here tomorrow? After school?”

Alex stopped long enough to turn around and direct a nod in Andrew’s direction, before making his way back toward the school.

______

Abram hated how much he grew to enjoy Andrew’s presence over the next two weeks. Andrew hadn’t lied, he was a quick learner, and eerily so. Abram corrected his grip on his knife only once and Andrew never made the mistake again, and it only took him three days to get down the basics of his (granted, rather limited) footwork from where he stubbornly stood in the goalie box. A few days after they began practicing, he was already getting the hang of Abram’s movements, memorizing his technique and adjusting accordingly.

Abram couldn’t remember the last time the aching in his legs and the sweat accumulating on his forehead made him feel good, brought a smile to his face. Four years on the run had made him dread the feeling, had made him associate it with risking glances over his shoulder to seek out the shadows trailing him and hotwiring cars to make a quick getaway - pushing down his guilt by reminding himself it truly was life or death.

But now there was a racquet in his hand, the familiar weight reminding him why the game was so dangerous. So compelling. He couldn’t stay, but he wanted to more than ever because he was playing Exy, and that desire had the capacity to kill him.

And then there was Andrew, who, through his cryptic games and witty deflecting remarks, was slowly building up to be a person in Abram’s mind. Every day he had a little more anticipation regarding his biology class, and even more to their after school meetings on the field and under the bleachers with their knives drawn.

On their first day of sparring, Andrew was quick to take note of his apprehension. He watched as Abram drew the knife Lola had “gifted” him from his backpack, how he cautiously bounced it in his hand. Watched as he blinked forcibly, trying to keep his breath from catching in his throat.

“What’s so bad about them?” Andrew had said, opting to wait a little longer to draw his own. There wasn’t any hint of judgment or humor in his voice, just that bland glint that Abram was learning was not the apathy he’d first thought it to be. The mask Andrew wore wasn’t hard to see through when you knew how to look at it, or maybe it was because Abram too had so much to hide. They were both liars in their own right.

Abram made it clear this was part of their game before pulling just the slightest at the hem of his shirt to expose a few puffy scars before saying, “My father is a determined man.” Andrew only nodded, comforting Abram more than any ‘i’m sorry’ ever could.

A few days later Andrew pulled at the end of his arm band to reveal a few inches of skin. Abram nodded, too, at the torn flesh revealed to him.

Somehow, Andrew was beginning to turn the knives into something entirely different. Wielding his weapon right now, they were on equal footing; Abram’s hands weren’t bound, he wasn’t eight with his fingers barely stretching around the hilt. Andrew, though he had a different build, was similar to Abram in height. Although he was stronger, Abram was faster and more desperate.

Andrew’s skill level was nowhere near Abram’s, and he refused to go easy on him. He hated to admit it but that was the fastest way to learn - it’s how he was taught by Lola, and the only way he knew how to teach as a result. He had to remind himself constantly of the differences between them: Abram refused to dish unnecessary attacks, wouldn’t leave more than surface level scratches and bruises if he could help it, and he wouldn’t beat a dead horse into oblivion like Lola loved to. He refused to cross the boundaries Andrew set; wouldn’t grip his wrists or pin him down any longer than necessary to disarm him.

Gripping his knife was beginning to feel safe. He felt in control, level - he thought of Andrew.

He realized three weeks after they struck their deal, walking into biology class and glimpsing Andrew already there, in his self proclaimed seat, that Andrew was safe.

The thought should have rattled him, should have scared him away, but it only encouraged him more to take the steps between them and fix him a playful glare.

“You stole it first,” Andrew said, keeping his eyes glued on his open book. The corner of Abram’s mouth twisted up in a concealed smile. He knew Andrew would have still seen it if he was looking up. In reality he didn’t care about something as trivial as a make believe seating arrangement, and he doubted Andrew did either, but it was the principle of the matter. They put their energy on verbal assaults that held no weight so they didn’t have to think about the fights that really did.

They wrapped up their sparring for the night, which they did after Exy so their newest bruises and scrapes didn’t get irritated by the gear. It had been a few days since they’d played their game, and they were overdue for another round. Andrew handed him his water bottle and he took a few drawn out sips before sitting beside Andrew, making sure to leave a few feet between them.

“You don’t look like an Alex.” Andrew observed flatly. Despite his bored tone, Abram knew it was accusatory. “It’s almost like you don’t even know your own name, sometimes, y’know. Takes you a second to respond.”

Abram watched his profile, which didn’t turn in his direction while he addressed him. “Funny thing, huh.”

“Sure is.” Abram looked away. His hands betrayed him with a slight tremble. He opted to fixate on a blade of overgrown grass in front of him, watching it whip around, back and forth in the breeze's grip. Chewing on his bottom lip, he tried his best to push away the guilt nagging at him. Not an unfamiliar feeling, but he wasn’t used to the way it affected him now. For whatever reason, the thought of lying to Andrew tore him up from the inside.

He hated himself for even considering it, but he couldn't stop it from tumbling from his lips. “Abram.”

Andrew stilled. “Is that your real name.”

“It’s the closest I have to one.” Andrew finally turned toward him, eyes assessing his face as if it had shifted a little, before moving to meet his hidden eyes. There was a slight draw in his brows, his lips were pressed together in a thin line either in curiosity or understanding. Both. He leaned in slightly as if trying to get a closer look.

“Can I call you Abram, then?” It was weird, hearing that name come from Andrew’s lips. It was calculated, practiced, and despite the tone of voice, it was warm. Instead of his mother’s scolding, it was heavy with something other than fear and anger urgency, it was sincere and unwavering. It sent an unfamiliar flip through his chest.

“Can I call you Drew?” It was meant to be more of a joke than anything, a stupid bargain, but he couldn’t make it sound lighthearted no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t keep the slight tremble from his voice. Andrew’s eyes flicked over his face one final time before he returned his head to stare in front of him.

“Yes.” That one word sent Abram’s eyebrows skyrocketing. He watched as Andrew’s form grew smaller with distance.

______

Andrew watched the path that led down the Exy field from the safety of the doorway. Grass drowned in the heavy rain that had been assaulting it since the morning, the last of the students fled to their cars with quick feet, kicking up water with their rainboots, until the only car in the sophomore’s parking lot was Andrew’s GS.

“Hey, Drew,” Abram called from behind him, before settling himself on the other side of the open doorway.

“Abram,” he replied, confident the sound of the beating rain would cover their voices in the off chance anyone was within earshot.

“It’s raining.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Andrew said. He knew Abram could hear the teasing undertones so well hidden in his voice. “Let’s find out how much of a junkie you really are.”

Abram sighed, the disappointment evidence enough of his next words. “We’d just get sick if we played today. And I know how much you’d love to get back on the court ASAP.”

It only took about a week of their friendship for him to uncover the real, sarcastic and arguably insufferable side of Abram that lived underneath the facade he put on for his peers. It was foreign now to see him interact any differently with everyone else in the school. He put on a show for even Aaron, whom he’d only met a handful of times on the rare occasion that he stopped by their usual table at lunch. Andrew wished he would come around more often, but he knew Abram didn’t like being in the cafeteria any longer than it took to get his lunch. Plenty of witnesses, sure, but high school is different from the real world. Students were curious, and stupid, and bold. Whatever questions were on their minds would be asked. Also, Andrew would hate to inflect Abram on his brother.

Plus, the girls would be like vultures when they finally noticed him.

“We could still spar.”

Abram raised an eyebrow at Andrew’s words and lifted a hand to gesture at the pouring rain. “I hardly doubt the bleachers offer much coverage.”

“We could go to my house.” Abram stilled, eyes still placed on Andrew’s. His expression didn’t give anything away, he didn’t look like he was gearing up to deliver rejection, or happy about the invite. He just looked curious.

Andrew was preparing for the no that he assumed would follow, he always expected rejection, but it never came. Abram nodded once, before finally allowing the corners of his lips to twitch up into a smile.

They were nearing three months of their deal, and Abram had never been to his house. Never even in his car. They didn’t know a thing about each other in that regard, nothing about the simple things that other people might consider the basics. Andrew didn’t know if he’d ever had a pet, but he did know of a woman named Lola who made him break a man’s fingers at the age of seven. Abram didn’t know Andrew’s favorite movie, but he knew he’d only met his twin brother at 14, knew about his foster families. Knew enough that he might suspect what kind of abuse Drake had put him through, though he’d never said it out loud.

Andrew guided him to the GS in a brisk walk, Abram matched his pace silently, eyes traveling the length of the sleek black exterior. He paused just long enough to turn and address Abram. “Get mud in my car and I'll slit your throat.” For some reason, the bastard laughed.

The drive began silently, aside from the faint lull of rock music from the car’s speakers and the gum of the engine that Andrew loved so much. He knew it was stupid, to be comforted by something so trivial as a car, but with his hands gripping the wheel and his vision fixed on the road in front of him it was impossible to bite down the feeling. He was free, he had the ability to go anywhere he wanted as fast as he wanted. He wasn’t held down or boxed in, he was moving. He was real.

“Is Aaron not home?” Abram sounded somewhat nervous at the idea. He was sat with his eyes peering out the side window and his hands wringing together in his lap. But his shoulders were relaxed, and his gaze placid.

“He has physics club,” He said with an abundance of fake enthusiasm, “meetings on thursdays. Nicky picks him up after work. You won’t see them.”

“What fun,” Abram laughed.The sound settled something in Andrew’s chest. “Don’t tell me he’s also on the chess team. What about mathletes?”

“You think Exy is any better?”

“Yes, actually, I do.” He said almost immediately. “You play Exy too.”

“Not willingly.”

“It was your idea.”

“I think I’m starting to believe in regret.” Andrew said, despite the excitement he felt at the thought of meeting Abram on the field every day.

“You’re too good to hate Exy.” He pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pocket and handed them to Abram, who in turn lit one for each of them. Windows cracked, they each found solace in the smoke. At first, he hadn’t understood Abram’s devotion to the sport, until he watched him play. He didn’t think he’d ever know how it felt or exactly why Exy was the escape Abram chose, but it was plain to see how much it meant to the other boy when he played. When he was on the field, it was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that was. He played like his life depended on it, ran as if every single one of his demons was on his tail. It was just them: Abram and ‘Drew.’

Andrew wished it could last forever, that feeling. He didn’t like Exy, but he did like Abram more than he cared to admit, and watching Abram bask in the contentment he never saw anywhere else was enough to settle his annoyance on the field. He didn’t like the sport, not one bit, but he liked playing it with his friend.

He pulled into his driveway and didn’t waste any time before climbing out of the car, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and waiting for Abram to do the same before stocking off toward the door.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was enough. More than enough, really. Andrew had spent countless years jumping from house to house, each and every one sporting vaulted ceilings and enough rooms to get lost in, but none of them had felt quite like the home he had now. Two bedrooms and a converted room above the single-car garage, two bathrooms, a small kitchen - it was plenty. More than enough.

Abram helped him push the couch and the love seat against the wall, casing the room seemingly for anything breakable, before nodding in hesitant approval and moving to draw a knife from the front pocket of his bag.

Andrew wasn’t really one for sneak attacks, silent advances that someone so quick and quiet like Abram was made for. But he watched the moves Abram showed him intently, following the movements with played down motions as he did and committing them to memory as if downloading them to the growing file that was knife-wielding. He hated to admit how wrong he’d been, there really was a shit ton more than point and stab as he’d previously claimed. Knives were deadly in anyone’s hands, yes, but it was a matter of to whom that Andrew had disregarded.

You had to know where to stab, at what angle, at what time, how to draw without slicing yourself open; how to injure rather than simply anger your opponent. Gripping a knife does not give you the advantage if you do not know what to do with it, not if something as simple as your form can surrender the weapon to the enemy.

And so began the sparring: Andrew and his impatience threw the first jab, a simple blow to the stomach that Abram easily blocked. He tried to use the distraction to take a swipe at his shoulder, but he slipped out of reach at the perfect time. Abram was a slippery bastard, but Andrew used this time to commit him to memory: his movements, the way his eyes flit around to assess both Andrew and his surroundings, the way he occasionally moved to brush an overgrown curl out of his face. He moved with such a grace that Andrew was almost intimidated, such a beauty that it drew him in and tried to knock his focus from the knife swiping at him.

He moved just in time, though he thought he might feel the slightest sting on his uncovered shoulder.

They continued this way, Andrew inwardly scolding himself for getting so lost in his thoughts and successfully refraining from them for the remainder of the fight. Andrew took the attacks Abram showed him and adjusted them to match the brutality he preferred, the rapt furiosty he was best at.

And somehow, for the first time in their three months of friendship, Andrew ended up on top of him, with one of Abram’s arms trapped under Andrew’s knee and the other with a hand gripping his wrist above Abram’s head.

Abram shot him a ferocious smile, eyes glinting with an emotion he couldn’t pin down. Pride, amusement, determination? Either way, it tugged at Andrew’s chest stubbornly. “Look at that,” He drawled teasingly.

Andrew gave himself a moment to stare victoriously down at the boy, lips twitching slightly, before coming back to himself. “Would I have beat your four years ago?”

Abram laughed mockingly, playfully. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then it’s not good enough.”

Abram didn’t respond, residing to asses the look on Andrew’s face. They flew from his eyes to his cheeks, to his lips and then back up. They stayed like that for maybe longer than they should have, Abram still pinned to the floor, eyes locked together in matching assessive gazes, before Andrew finally realized how close they were and stood, offering an assistive hand before turning away so Abram wouldn’t notice the flush engulfing his cheeks.

“Again?” The boy asked. Andrew nodded.

They got in two more rounds, Andrew’s victory short lived, before calling it a night.

The ride to Abram’s was spent in a comfortable silence, he couldn’t help but glance every few minutes to the boy in the passenger seat who was taking in the setting sun with deep steady breaths and a look in his eyes that settled something inside of Andrew.

He couldn’t bring himself to hate that he cared. He told himself he hated Abram, for making him feel this way, for tugging at his heart, but he didn’t. He could never hate him, never hate the way he felt. It was a treasure to want something so much. Even if he couldn’t have it, he was reminded for the first time in years that he was human.

He let Abram off at the front of the neighborhood as he requested, though a flicker of doubt echoed through him. He’d heard stories of the boys mother, short and never sweet, but over the weeks he’d been able to piece it together. He knew how much Abram’s mother meant to him, but he couldn’t help but feel a refueled anger whenever he came into class hiding a limp or pulling down his sleeves to hide a new bruise. He wanted to hurt her for hurting him, for every laying a hand on him, for allowing his father to hurt him for so long, but he knew there was nothing he could do.

Andrew knew he didn’t have the full story, that he might never have it, and that there were some things it was better for him to keep his nose out of.

He waited a few moments, watching Abram’s retreating form, before pulling off and returning to his home.

_______

“Abram,” Andrew whispered, moving quickly to sit on the edge of his bed to peer over at the boy. “Yes or no?”

Abram managed a ‘yes’ through his shaky breathing and pounding heart, immeditatedly melted into the touch when his friend’s fingers began carding through his hair. Andrew didn’t say anything else, didn’t ask about the nightmare or say anything to distract him, knowing that if Abram needed something he would say so. Andrew had fought long and hard to instill that thought into him, to remind him that with Andrew, he wouldn’t be berated or punished for expressing something as simple as his necessities.

Abram was more grateful for that then he could ever put into words.

He’d only slept on Andrew’s floor once before, but his mother was once again out retrieving money from a safe house a few states over. Most of the time they’d go together, but recently she’d been drawing away ever so slightly, pushing her anxiety to the limits. Her hand was impossibly heavier, her anxious eyes turned to those holding to a constant terror. Abram was beginning to wonder about her mental stability.

And now, apparently, she was too paranoid to travel to a safe house as a pair, saying it was indiscreet. Dangerous.

Living on the run with Mary, he was never alone longer than two hours at a time. She was there when he left for school, and home within an hour of his return. They slept in the same bed, guns tucked under their pillows. He wasn’t sure if he could spend a whole night alone - such a stupid thing, really. He was embarrassed the first time he’d asked Andrew for a favor, hands trembling at the thought of sleeping in an otherwise empty house a little over a month ago. But this time, when he’d mentioned Mary’s absence in passing, Andrew had been the one to suggest an impromptu sleepover. Abram gladly accepted.

Somehow, sleeping on Andrew’s floor, he was more comfortable than he’d ever been.

He paid attention to the movement of Andrew’s fingers brushing through his curls gently, letting the heat of his body slow his heart rate and return his mind to the present. He wasn’t in Baltimore, in that godforsaken basement. He was safe, he was with his… friend. His Andrew.

Abram silently moved to sit with his back propped up against the side of the bed, patting at the spot beside him. Andrew obliged, slipping to fill the spot beside him, their sides pressing together.

After a series of whispered ‘yes or no’s’ Abram’s head ended up on the blonde’s shoulder, an arm laid over his waste with one of Andrew’s arms around his shoulder, the other cupping his cheek like a ghost.

Despite the early hour, Abram felt very awake. His eyes rested on Andrew’s face as he gently gripped his chin and redirected Abram’s head so that they were facing each other.

One last yes or no, a first hesitant kiss. Abram never wanted to have to say goodbye.

______

Andrew was awoken by the sound of tires screeching and the slam of a car door.

He would have gone back to sleep, if only the brief commotion wasn’t closely followed by the not-so-quiet picking of the front door’s locks, and then near-silent footsteps making their way up the stairs. He drew a knife and stepped slowly toward his bedroom door, trying to mimick Abram's silent feet. He'd taken a few of their lessons to teach Andrew tricks like that, brief tips on lock picking and sleight of hand, taught him how to blend into his surroundings. He gave Andrew all he could in what little time they had together, and Andrew held it close to his heart like a treasure. He wasn't good at being sneaky, but he was improving with keeping his footfalls quiet. He noted this as he crept forward.

Andrew had already memorized where every creaky floorboard in the floor was, when the one nearest his door gabe he flung it open, launching forward blindly and slamming the intruder messily into the wall, his knife held close to their neck.

"Drew," They whispered. Andrew withdrew immediately, stepping back to piece together Abram's feature before him. Nervous eyes - no, panicked - disheveled hair, trembling shoulders.

"Abram? What the fuck are you doing?" Which translated more to, what the fuck is wrong, what can I do, in Andrew speak.

"I- They-" His breath picked up, more shallow and shaken than Andrew had ever heard it. He subconsciously snaked a hand through Abram's curls, a gesture he'd learned helped to ground his friend. It didn't calm him entirely, didn't stop the trembling, but subdued his panic attack enough for him to get the words pushed out of his mouth. "My father."

Andrew stilled. He swore his heart stopped for a moment as he watched the boy breaking in front of his eyes, watched a shattered heart held together by tape and glue lose the last of its integrity, fall to pieces again along the same fractures that had been sliced far before Abram could remember. Andrew would hold it together with his bare hands if he could, but it wasn't that simple. Nothing was that simple for them.

"What about him, Abram?" He prompted. Forcing his fingers to continue once more in Abram's hair.

"He- he found us." Andrew wanted to scream. He wanted to pull Abram into his room and board up the window, move his dresser in front of his locked door and press Abram against him under the covers. To hold him and let the world go on without them forever.

But that was impossible.

"I just had to- I couldn't- can't leave without.." Andrew moved one hand to the back of his neck and used the other to cup his cheek, encouraging Abram to keep their eyes locked together, to remind him that Andrew was right in front of him. It was enough to steady his breathing once more, just barely, but Andrew could feel his hammering pulse and urged his own not to match. "Don't make me say it."

"Say what, Abram?" Andrew swallowed as he watched unshed tears well in his friends eyes.

"Goodbye." That single word was enough to jump start Andrew's heart again. He pulled Abram into a crashing, desperate kiss that said all of the words he couldn't bring himself to over the past six months. Every thank you, every I want you, I need you. As if he were trying to make up for every time he'd wanted to pull Abram close but didn't.

He savored the taste of Abram's lips, the feel of his skin and the smell of his hair, boundaries that Abram treated as promises, an unyielding trust that Andrew hadn't meant to place on anyone but found himself falling deeper into every day.

They were both breathless when he finally pulled away. Abram smiled. Andrew took it all in.

"Then don't say it." Andrew whispered. "It doesn't have to be goodbye."

There was a flash of doubt in Abram's eyes, but Andrew tightened his hold on his neck just slightly, and Abram's shoulders relaxed a little more.

"Okay." He pulled Andrew in for one more quick and bruising kiss. "Thank you," Abram said as he stepped away. "You were amazing."

Chapter Text

“Good afternoon, Andrew.”

“Bee.”

“Is there anything you’d like to start us off with today?” He hoped his shrugged response would communicate the thoughts swarming his head well enough: there is a lot bothering me but I don’t want to verbally admit that something managed to get under my skin, nor do I particularly want to talk about it even though I know it would help. But even Bee didn’t know him that well.

Andrew clutched at his mug of hot chocolate, running his finger over the cow print design before burying his expression - or lack thereof - in the sweet drink. Not even five minutes had passed, but his gaze was already lingering on the analog clock perched between glass figurines on the bookshelf.

He normally liked these sessions. Walking into Bee’s office, it was like everything else stopped existing for just an hour. It beat Exy any day, and in the grand scheme of things that was pretty much all he ever did. Talking to Betsy was a reprieve.

But today he couldn’t wait for it to be over, so he could go back to his room and eat ice cream on the couch, try his best to scare everyone away so he could have a moment of peace between himself and the TV. It was just one of those days, where his head had been working on overdrive for so long that he could feel it rearing to short circuit.

His fingers patted incessantly on his thigh, a habit he couldn’t shake even after Bee managed to get him off of his medication following freshman year.

Betsy Dobson was a rock in Andrew’s utter whirlwind of a life - a solid, sturdy post to cling to when nothing else was guaranteed. Her sweet smile was nothing short of genuine, her affection as true as a mother’s, but even she couldn’t get information out of Andrew that easily. Verbalizing his ghosts and articulating his thoughts was a task he thought nearly impossible. For more than a year now Betsy had been teaching him how to trust her, they’d begun crafting their own secret language of gestures and single-word replies. They’d only just recently begun scratching the surface of his demons.

But it was when he was with Betsy that he missed Abram most. Her gentle reassurance reminded him of the boy, of his easy touches and understanding eyes. He never judged, he never pried or tried to cross any boundaries the same way Betsy did. But with Abram he didn’t have to say much at all - Abram just knew. He looked at him with eyes that held the same weight and didn’t once blink.

They’d exchanged their truths, and fit their understanding of the other accordingly like it was breathing.

He shook his head once to attempt to physically remove the memories, which didn’t go unnoticed by the psychiatrist. She scribbled something in her notebook without taking her eyes off Andrew for more than a second.

“Something particular bothering you today?”

He debated his answer before giving a sharp nod. Betsy wasn’t offended or surprised by his non-answer. She gave a returning nod and glanced from Andrew down to her own drink, stirring it softly. She let a comfortable silence float around them until she’d finished her first sip of hot chocolate. It was patience, time to let Andrew think of what he was willing to reveal and how he wanted to articulate it.

“Is it memories?” She asked when he didn’t make a move to speak. Her eyes were never cautious or pitying when she took in the man before her. There was nothing judgemental about her stance, nothing scared, nothing threatening. Everyone regarded him with something of the sort - and then there was Bee. And since it was Bee, he answered.

“Yes.”

She smiled, a subtle ‘thank you for answering, I’m proud of you.’ “Good or bad?”

“Depends.”

“On what? if you don’t mind me asking.”

He moved his eyes back to his mug and took a long pensive sip. “When.”

Her gaze didn’t stutter despite the fact that she wasn’t fully comprehending. Andrew made a show out of complexities and puzzles, but he was tired, and it was more trouble than it was worth. He might regret what he gave away tomorrow, but he’d be grateful for it later in life. At least, that’s what he told himself. “Good while it was happening, bad because it’s not anymore.”

Her lips parted in her understanding - something flashed in her gaze. Abram had been mentioned, once, twice, three times, and even more in passing. To Bee he was nothing but a name and the shadow of stories Andrew tried not to tell; he never dwelled on the subject, playing mental hopscotch to avoid going into depth about him, avoid the details that his cursed memory would never let him erase. But there was no doubt Bee could feel the depth of significance Abram really had on him, with the way the name was constantly floating around the room, betraying his mind as his heart spoke it aloud. And that was fucking scary.

What he thought should be the logical part of his brain told him he was being dramatic, that he'd only known him for a few months, that it was a stupid high school crush and it all would have come crashing down one way or another. He told himself this every time he thought of Abram, but he still couldn't bring himself to believe it no matter how much he wanted to.

But Abram probably never thought of him in return. If he was even still alive.

He shut down the flood of emotions that could follow the latter thought before they hit him, schooling his expression into practiced nothing and returning his gaze to the woman in front of him with renewed apathy. She scribbled something briefly in her notebook, whatever she’d gathered from the mental rabbit hole he’d just returned from. “Good things are good because we risk losing them. Right? If that wasn’t a possibility to begin with then those events wouldn’t have been good to begin with.”

“I want to forget them.”

“But you can’t.” She took a second to let her pointed look sink in. “So there’s no use in wishing you could. It’s a waste of time. What’s the next best thing, then?”

He hated it when she was right. He was tempted to just say Ignore them, but he was getting tired of deflecting. Recently he’d been more often opting to say nothing instead. So that’s what he did.

Bee sighed - not in impatience, in solidarity, in recognition of the impulse he was denying. “We acknowledge them and work through them so they feel like good ones again.”

“That seems like a lot of work.” He took a defensive sip.

“I will admit, it is. You know that better than a lot of people. Getting better is a long and hard process, but it is worth it. And I know you may not be here of your own volition, but in front of me, I can see a person who is worthy of improving. Someone that wants, even if subciousnly, to put effort into getting better.” Her tone was sharp enough to cut through brick, but so was the compassion. “You could come in here for an hour every week and say absolutely nothing, the courts wouldn’t give a damn. But you don’t. You recognize that you don’t deserve to stew in whatever toxins your mind is producing for you. So listen to yourself, trust your instincts.”

Andrew hated her for a moment, hated the way she always knew exactly what to say. It would feel cheap and manipulative coming from anyone else, he wished it was the same for Bee so he could shrug off her words and walk away, continue refusing to let anyone in, and push everything down until he exploded.

Instead, he took her in his gaze for a long moment. “I hate him.”

She nodded slowly. “And why’s that?”

“Because he’s gone.” His left hand balled into a fist, painted black nail polish digging into the skin of his palm, rivaling the apparent steadiness in his gaze. “He should have stayed.”

I should have made him stay.

“You’re mad at him for leaving?”

The truth was, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he was mad at Abram for making such a mess of his life and then leaving him behind to clean it up, for making such an abrupt exit, for not trusting him enough to let Andrew protect him, for making him feel things he’d long sworn away - or if he was mad at himself for not doing more, not tracking down his demons and picking them off one by one. If he’d only held Abram a little tighter, gotten the truth out of him sooner…

“It doesn’t matter now. Because he’s not here and he’s not coming back.”

“In a sense, I can agree that the present can’t change the past. However, the past affects the present quite a lot, as I’m sure you’re aware. And It’s obvious that this has effected you, and the only way I can help you work through it is for you to acknowledge these experiences, and acknowledge how they’re impacting you now. First by yourself, and then to me whenever you’re comfortable.” She gave him a smile when he simply nodded his response in her general direction. As much as he wanted to den, deny, deny, there was no use in lying to someone that could see right through him more often than not. “Now, would you like to talk about something else?”

He glanced at the clock - fifteen minutes down, forty-five to go. He suppressed a sigh, left leg now bouncing ferociously below him. “There was more vandalism Monday.”

“That’s three times in just one week since you announced Kevin on your lineup. That must be scary, having people intrude on your campus like that.”

“Kevin is dicking out about it,” he said, ignoring the implication that he was scared of a few petty criminals. Though, he didn’t like them stomping all over his territory. He tilted back his cup even though he’d run out two sips ago. It was a way to keep his hands busy. “Dragging me to practice every night.”

They’d known announcing Kevin as their new starting striker would cause some backlash, and they never should have expected Raven’s fans, of all people, to be civil about it. When Wymack called them at half past two Friday night to summon their group to the court, Andrew was ashamed that the spraypainted message took him even slightly aback. Since then, messages began appearing around campus, all variations of the same boring phrases in the same black and red: ‘Raven’s forever,’ and, ‘Foxes suck.” It was petty, immature, and so on brand.

“Yes, I imagine that would be stressful for him. What are you doing to help him out?”

“Making sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit, for the most part.” Her lip twitched in a silent laugh.

“I know you like watching out for him, but are you keeping any time for yourself? Being helpful and being sacrificial are two different things.” Like was definitely the wrong word.

Andrew just shrugged. He’d spent countless nights smoking on Abby’s back porch before moving into the dorms for his second go around, nothing but him and that South Carolina brand of wind that made you shiver and sweat at the same time. It was a tradition he followed when he was haunted by nightmares or just couldn’t sleep, which was quite often. He finally had the roof again, as of two weeks ago - the start of pre-season conditioning. Fox Tower was annoying and loud, and the rest of the team was constantly lurking about, but at least he could wrangle open the door and watch the PSU campus stretch out before him, feel the familiar wavering of his stomach when he peeked over the edge mix with cigarette smoke to remind himself he was alive.

“Have you been back to Columbia at all recently? I know that can relieve some of your stress.” It did - getting buzzed at Eden’s, letting the rest of his motley crew run amock without him for a few hours (it was like dropping his children off at a playground, really), and returning to the closest thing to home he’d ever had could do a number for his psychological performance. Despite the drugs and the alcohol, it cleared his mind, brought him to the present. He’d yet to tell her the nitty gritty details of their trips, but from the few stories he told and what she’d managed to get out of him about his adventure with Matt, he figured she got the gist of it.

“This Friday.”

“Ah, that’s good.” She smiled.

He imagined what it’d be like with Abram sitting in the stool next to him, clutching a can of soda, sharing a glance with Andrew every time someone Aaron said something stupid or Kevin something embarrassing. Watching Nicky dance like a fool, Abram trying to suppress a laugh while Andrew’s eyes gleamed with amusement-

He set down his mug on Bee’s desk with a loud thud, a silent request for more hot chocolate as well as a subtle attempt to clear his head of painful and impossible thoughts. Thoughts that got him nowhere and nothing but hurt. Thoughts that he wished both the treasure and destroy every last trace of it.

If she noticed his sudden shift in demeanor, the switch from apathy to anger, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she pulled the cow-print mug closer to her and shifted her attention to the kettle that sat pointedly on the corner of her desk.

A buzz from his pocket returned his expression to its schooled apathy. His first reaction was mild confusion - everyone knew that Wednesdays were his mandated sessions, sessions that he did not like to be interrupted during. Looking at Nicky’s name on the screen, it did make the most sense for him to be the cause of the interruption, but even he wouldn’t be that dumb. He glanced at the clock even though he already knew it was too soon for practice to be over. So either, Nicky had a death wish, or something was seriously wrong.

His head milled around all the possibilities - was it Riko? Was Kevin alright, did Aaron-?

He accepted the call, gripping the hard plastic of his phone tightly, and pressed it to his ear.

“This better be important, Nicky.” He ground out.

“It is! I swear. I’m really sorry to call you during your session, but I figured there’s a higher chance of you punching me if I didn’t call you immediately.” He laughed nervously. “Although I’d prefer if you didn’t punch me at all. I’m too cute, my face-”

“The point, Nicky?”

“Yeah, right, sorry. Uh- do you remember that kid you went to high school with? The one that used to come around from time to time?”

Andrew’s heart stopped.

His eyes bulged and he turned his stare to Bee, before thinking better of it. Whatever was on his face right now was too vulnerable. He switched through anger, grief, fear, and emotions he couldn’t name, faster than he could process. His jaw was already hurting from the way his teeth pressed together.

“What about him?” He demanded. His grip on the phone was now white-knuckled, a fragile attempt to stop the shaking of his hands. Nicky took a short breath, tension spilling between them even through the phone. “Nicky.”

“I don’t know why, but he’s here. He came into the court all bloody and just passed out. He’s covered in it, Andrew, he looks-”

Andrew flicked his phone shut almost hard enough to break it. This had to be some sort of sick joke. Some sick fucking ploy to get his guard down, to break him, make him snap once and for all.

But if Abram was really here…

He couldn’t let himself feel anything else but anger - if he let in the grief, the hope, the fear, he wouldn’t be able to stomach facing him again. If it was really him, bloody on the floor of the Foxhole Court, he couldn’t get distracted by useless and petty emotions.

He gave Bee one last hardened look before sprinting out of her office.

Chapter Text

When Nathaniel’s eyes flew open again, he could feel several stares boring into him. Of course, the first thing he felt was the unmistakable pain of a gunshot wound pusling through his right calf and radiating up the length of his leg like a shock wave. His head pounded along in the blare of fluorescent lights blaring from above, but he tried his best to push down the hurt and take in his surroundings.

The most obvious stare came from the left - glowing green in the shadow of trembling brows, armed by rigid posture and ground teeth. Kevin stared at him like he had two heads, like the mere sight of Nathaniel was enough to turn him to stone - paralyzed in fear or shock.

He turned his attention next to the right, and to the woman kneeling beside the lounge bench someone had so kindly laid him down on. She worked at whatever was in front of her, a pile of gauze it seemed, set beside an open and almost entirely disassembled first aid kit. A tight ponytail held her blonde hair, it was a wonder she hadn’t gone bald yet if she always wore her it that tight. She expertly digusuised her shaking hands, but Nathaniel had a knack for seeing the invisible.

Her eyes flew up at his acknowledgment, lips parting in surprise that he’d managed to wake and maneover into a sitting position without her noticing.

Thank god he was wearing shorts, he thought. His leg was already wrapped in gauze, which he assumed had only been effective for two or three minutes - a temporary addition while the woman readied her equipment. Fucking Riko Moriyama - at least he was a terrible shot, after all.

After Kevin’s appearance as assistant coach last year, Nathaniel knew the foxes. Riko and Tetsuji made sure of it. And each of them were right there, staring at him in a mix of disgust, horror, and disdain; all of them except from their coach David Wymack, Nicky, and Andrew.

These were all expressions he was fairly used to. It took him longer to recognize those of concern and pity. Rarely was anyone ever afraid for him, or horrified by the acts of whomever hzd done the damage rather than simply the result. He wasn’t really sure he liked it. He knew judgement, how to deal with it. This was unfamiliar, and it set him on edge.

The room was shrouded in a brand of silence particular to not having the right words. He looked to Kevin, eyes narrowing. “No hospital?”

He remembered mumbling something of the sort as gravity took its toll on his weakened body, but he couldn’t remember for sure if the words had actually managed their way past his lips. He didn’t know how long he’d been out, it felt like both hours and seconds. He breathed a small relief when Kevin shook his head, but neither of their expressions softened, and whatever words they had for each other sat in their mouths for a long moment.

Nathaniel didn’t know where to start, which was good, because he didn’t want to start. He wasn’t here for Kevin, to fall into his arms or vice versa. He wasn’t here to settle the score, to make things some sick and twisted idea of ‘right’ between them. He wasn’t here for Kevin at all, the seeing the striker was a nasty pice to pay for completing his true goal.

He looked around again like this time he’d see the one person he wanted to. The absence of Andrew was as noticeable as the missing flesh in his leg.

Aaron was there, though - he stood off to the side, leaning against the wall as if he wanted it to swallow him whole. His arms wrapped around his front tightly, eyes playing with something assessing and suspicious. Recognition. He could work with that. He remembered spotting Nicky upon his initial entry. He considered the possibility that he’d left to retrieve Andrew, the thought settling his nerves slightly and then lighting them ablaze all over again.

Nathaniel tried to stand, only to collapse right back onto the bench when the pain caught up to him. He didn’t mean to recoil as much as he did. He’d been shot before, he’d been bruised and bloody beyond recognition, but damn. For once, he’d underestimated the extent of his injuries.

He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. Teeth gritting together, unable to contain a small whimper.

“Stop that!” The team nurse, he’d expertly deducted, yelled at him. He couldn’t meet her eyes, so instead he took to seyveyingt the state of the room and the faces around him. Blood - his blood - was gathered in a few large puddles around the lounge, especially below the bench where it had dripped down the gaps of the wood. “Just sit still, you’ve been shot!”

His eyes flew to the captain first, Danielle Wildes. In her interviews she’d always seemed so structured, rigid, the perfect mix of commanding and gentle. That image was torn in half now, with her lips parted in concern and confusion and eyes blinking away unshed tears. Kevin must have told them something to justify not calling an ambulence immediately, must have told them at least of this time at the Nest. He hoped that whatever it was wasn’t some sort of horror story. Not that any of it would be a lie, he did what he had to to survive, but most of that meant taking beating after beating, slash after slash.

“You don’t say.” He managed to spit out between his teeth, hissing in pain with every slight movement.

“I need to get my things ready and then go back to applying pressure, but there’s still a bullet in your leg that I need to get out. You shouldn’t be moving so much, or at all, really. I-”

“I’m fine,” He pressed out, failing in his attempt to school his expression and reign in the way his voice sounded like a scared wild horse.

“Nathaniel,” Kevin finally chipped in. It was a demand and a question all the same, a hard reprimand, a plead. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Kevin,” Someone called - a soft voice, Renee Walker. She took one, two gentle steps closer. “He’s hurt, can’t the interrogation wait until-”

“No,” Kevin growled, taking a step closer to the bench as if he expected the redhead to flinch. Just like every other time, he didn’t. He wasn’t scared of Kevin, he wasn’t scared of Riko or Tetsuji. But maybe it was just because he had nothing to lose anymore. “This can’t wait. What. Are. You. Do-”

“Relax, Day. Don’t pretend you’ve suddenly grown a backbone.” Nathaniel urged. His words slurred slightly because of the blood loss and, possibly a concussion now that he thought about it. His vision was suddenly swimming, he couldnt tell up from down and left from right. He tried to blink it correct a few times, eyelids groggily obeying, but it did no good. “I’m not here to bring you back or anything.”

“What the fuck are you playing at?”

“I’m not here for you, Kevin!” He yelled, as loud as he could when it felt like his vocal chords were being squeezed. He shooed off the nurse again when she tried insisting on replacing the wrap and check on the rate of his blood loss. It had certainly slowed, he was sure it was nothing. He rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead on his palms, experimentally blinking his eyes a few more times and trying to wiggle his toes and fingers, anything he could to get a sense that he was still in his body, to even just feel his body.

He was just barely aware of the other foxes attempting to call Kevin off as he took a threatening step forward, spitting out useless pleas of ‘he’s hurt,’ ‘stop being a dick,’ and ‘wait until he isn’t bleeding out all over the goddamn floor.’ But Kevin was nothing if not persistent. And an asshole.

He stepped closer. “Then who the fuck-”

Even Nathaniel’s half-in-shock brain immediately registered the slamming of a door echo down the hallway.

“Wait,” A semi-familiar voice called. “Maybe we should-”

“Shut up, Nicky.” The words echoed from the far end of the hallway leading to the lounge. Andrew’s voice alone was enough to pull Nathaniel halfway back to reality, back into his limbs, including the aching of his wound, but it was worth it the feel that presence close again.

The door opened.

“Where the fuck is he.” Footsteps pounded into the room, and suddenly halted. He lifted his head heavily, a smile betraying his entire body when he laid eyes on the man before him.

Blonde hair, hazel eyes, straight posture - an older version of the boy that gave him a reason to live in his darkest moments. Though he didn’t know that.

He didn’t know if Andrew hated him, if he even remembered him, if he ever wanted to see him again. But Nathaniel needed this. He needed to be selfish, to let himself indulge. No matter the outcome, he wouldn’t let himself regret trying.

Andrew stopped abruptly, his lips parted and his eyes tavelled up and down Nathaniel’s broken body as if he were searching for some sign that he wasn’t real. He categorized the differences, his red hair, and then on the shocking blue of his naked eyes.

And then, Andrew stormed forward. His hand fisted at the fabric of Nathaniel’s bloody shirt as he leaned close, eye to eye, as if reading them for whatever lay in his mind.

“You fucking idiot.” He growled. Where others would see pure, unbridled rage, Nathaniel saw concern, relief, fear, bundled up into one tiny man. He tightened his grip, neither of them daring to break the eye contact.

Immediately a chorus of complaints broke out across the room.

“Andrew, don’t-”

“He’s hurt-”

“What the fuck is your-”

But it all came to a shocking halt when he pulled Nathaniel into a fierce hug. It was breif, if you blinked you would have missed it, but it said everything Nathaniel needed to know. Andrew didn't hate him. “I thought you were dead.” He growled, voice still raised.

Nathaniel couldn’t help the way his lips twitched up, relief and joy.

“I’m sorry, Drew.”

“Say that again,” He tugged at his shirt in an empty threat to get his statement across before letting go, but refusing to let any more distance come between them.

“Where have you been?” He said it quietly enough that no one else in the now shock-silent room would be able to make it out, aside from maybe Kevin, who had been inching forward every few seconds to bridge the gap between them. He couldn’t tell if it was threat, but he was too preoccupied to care.

Nathaniel’s gaze shifted to the taller boy then, before flicking back to Andrew. Andrew didn’t know - Nathaniel supposed that would be the case. He’d never given Andrew his birth name, the one his father called him. If Kevin mentioned him it would have gone straight over the Andrew’s head. And he hadn’t been announced on the lineup, the media hadn’t yet caught wind of their number four.

His hand instinctively floated up to the bandage he’d hastily pressed to his face in his escape, which didn’t go unnoticed, and soon Andrew’s fingernails were picking at the adhesive. He waited for a belated, but decisive nod from Nathaniel, before peeling back the patch to reveal what he knew Andrew feared it to be.

Everyone in the room got a glimpse at the stark 4 the decorated his cheekbone, the inked brand Riko had inflicted upon him one of his first nights in the Nest. Of all the things he could ignore, he really, truly hated this.

He’d long before learned to avoid his reflection, but the four, and his hair and shocking blue eyes was the nail in the coffin, it solidified his fear of himself.

There was something of a collective gasp that rang through the room like a gunshot. Andrew’s eyes flew from the tattoo to Nathaniel’s eyes. The latter swallowed thickly. “Three years.” He whispered.

Andrew sprang up in a rage that was as brazen as it was sudden. He flung himself toward Kevin, letting his weight heave the taller man’s body into the wall with a hard thud that Nathaniel felt in is bones. He couldn’t help the swell of childlike nostalgia that filled him at the sight of a knife in Andrew’s hand (what a funny thing, his treasured childhood memories.)

Apparently whatever tales he’d heard about Nathaniel Wesninski hadn’t been good. There really wasn’t anything good to tell, if his new array of scars was enough to go by. Kevin seemed to fold in on himself. There was the Kevin he knew.

“So this is your number four, huh?” He seethed, anger leaking out of his every pore. So potent and intentional. The room burst into complaints once again, though he couldn’t imagine they hadn’t seen a display like this before. “Your Nathaniel.”

He flinched - he hated hearing that name falling from Andrew’s mouth -but didn’t look away.

“What the fuck, Andr-” He pressed the knife closer to Day’s throat.

It was then that Aaron decided to chip in, for the first time since Nathaniel’s arrival. He stepped forward impassively, releasing his arms to hang by his side, and split a glance between Kevin and Andrew, and Nathaniel. He felt the weight of Aaron’s stare like an anvil.

“Alex, huh.” He said, seemingly uncaring. An accusation. Though his poker face wasn’t nearly as good as Andrew’s. Anyone could see, looking beyond a passing glance, the unsteadiness of his posture and the waver in his voice. Nathaniel let him take the dig, but his eyes didn’t shy away.

“Andrew,” Aaron called. Nathaniel wasn’t sure what strides the twins had taken in their relationship, but he seriously doubted it would be enough to handle the situation. Something told Nathaniel that wasn’t Aaron’s intention at all. “Are you going to explain why your ex-boyfriend has a 4 tattooed on his face?”

The title wasn’t said with any sincerity. Andrew and him never labeled whatever it was they were doing, the word ‘boyfriend’ always put something vile in his stomach. It felt so permanent, so official, so exciting - but it was something he couldn’t have. He leveled a glare at Aaron.

As far as he knew, Aaron was oblivious to their non-realtionship, unknowing about the kisses or their game of truths. He spoke it like the prospect of them being together was an insult. Angry heat swelled in Nathaniel’s chest.

Andrew only used this to propel him further, pulling Kevin from the wall only to slam him back with twice the force. “Yeah, Day. Mind to share with the class?”

“Andrew, fuck-” Kevin swore, moving to grab the blonde’s arms but thinking better of it at the last minute. “I don’t- I don’t know what you want me to say!”

Andrew opened his mouth to shout something back. “Drew,” Nathaniel cut in. His voice was as steady as he could make it, despite the way he could feel the pull of unconsciousness nagging at the edges of his brain. “Just, let me explain. This isn’t about him.”

Andrew’s stare moved between the two of them a few times, before he pulled away from the taller striker with one last cutting glare and turned his body to face Nathaniel, where he was still bleeding heavily on the bench.

“After you left. What happened?” If the rest of the foxes could hear, Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to care. He let Andrew’s words echo through his mind, debating his own words. There was a lot that Andrew didn’t know, new and old secrets that he’d have to explain to tell his story. But even he wanted too, he didn’t have enough time; his eyelids grew heavier by the second.

“He caught us.”

Something flashed in Andrew’s eyes. He stepped closer until he was right in front of Nathaniel, kneeling down on the floor so he was looking up into cold blue eyes. A hand extended, landing on the back of his neck. Nathaniel melted into the familiar touch, it took him back to California, to nights spent on the floor beside Andrew’s bed, the shared cigarettes overlooking the Exy field.

"What did he do." Andrew's voice was filled with something Nathaniel had never heard so potent. It was nearly enough to scare him.

He couldn't help the laugh that followed the question, humorless and hurt. He could feel the way the people around him stiffened in unease. "Well first," he said after the moment of seeming insanity passed. "He killed my mom."

"And then he took me back to-" His voice cracked violently enough to stop the words. He swallowed thickly, Andrew tightened his grip, reminding Nathaniel to breathe. Understanding of the forgotten words flashed in his eyes. He took me back to Baltimore. "And after that he returned the Moriyama's long lost property."

He pointed to his cheek with a shaking hand, inhumane smile threatening to split his lips.

The rest of the room broke out into disarray, but Nathaniel didn't hear anything. He focused on the sound of Andrew's steady breathing instead, trying to match his own.

Most of the shouts were directed at Kevin. Variations 'you never told us.' What, that the Moriyamas dabbled in human trafficking? Nathanial wasn't sure why they were surprised.

Andrew's eyes flicked finally to his leg. "What happened?"

"Riko shot me." The finally quieting voices stirred up again. Kevin dropped his head into his hands. Nathanial laughed as he continued. "Like he always wanted to, huh, Kev? Too bad his aim doesn't extend to hand guns. Or maybe he's just as much of a coward as you."

He lost control of his upper body briefly. He felt gravity take his limbs, pulling him forward toward the ground. Then Andrew was beside him on the bench, holding Nathaniel's nearly-limp body in his arms.

Abby yelped, and her useless words started up.

"Abram," Andrew leaned over closer to him so that no one else could hear. Something swelled in his chest, hearing that name for the first time in three years. Hearing Andrew say it again. "Let Abby help."

Nathanial swallowed thickly, nodding after a nervous second. If Andrew trusted her, then Nathaniel could too.

"Okay," He whispered, only because he couldn't get his volume any higher.

Andrew lowered him so that Nathaniel's head was in his lap, after he nodded an okay at the offer. He kept his eyes trained on Andrew's face, clinging to his sleeve, assuring himself that he was real. He watched the same hazel eyes that made him feel safe all those years ago, the same pale blonde hair he loved to run his fingers through. He wondered if it was still just as soft. The same Drew, only his features were sharpened from the progression of his age, his form filled out. His height was the same though, while Nathaniel had surpassed him.

"No hospital." He whispered as his vision began to blur, a fervent remind. "I can't- not again-"

He felt a hand tighten on his shoulder in reassurance.

"Thanks… Drew."

And everything went dark.

______

Andrew’s eyes stayed on Abram’s unconscious form for a long moment as Abby got to work removing the bullet from his leg with a pair of medical scissors. She muttered to herself about how she really wasn’t qualified to do this, told Kevin they should take him to the hospital anyway, but for once Andrew and Kevin formed a wall against the idea. Plus, if Abby didn’t do it, he knew Abram would just do it himself.

Finally he turned to acknowledge the stares trained on him. His voice was flat in a way that could easily be mistaken for aggression. “Where’s Wymack?”

“He was called to the other side of campus, like, ten minutes before this kid showed up.” Dan’s voice was steady, her uneasy eyes betraying her. “I called him three times but he only picked up around the same time you did. He said he’d be here ASAP but apparently he’s got something to sort out with ERC so it might be a while.” Andrew nodded.

The blonde turned his stare to Kevin.

“You…” Kevin swallowed, attempting to make eye contact with the shorter man and ultimately failing miserably time and time again. “You know him.”

“Yeah, Kevin. I know him.” If Andrew could turn someone to stone with just his tone of voice, Kevin would never move again.

“Know him? Andrew, he’s the only friend you’ve ever had.” He ignored Aaron.

“Is someone going to fill us in, or…” Andrew decided it was easiest to ignore Allison’s prodding. He rested a finger on the pulse point of Abrams’s neck and felt his heartbeat, slow and weak, but still there. He was alive, real, and he was right here. Nicky had other plans, and Andrew didn’t stop him. All that Nicky knew was surface level.

“Uh- he went to Andrew and Aaron’s school their sophomore year. They hung out together after school and stuff. He slept over a few times.” Nicky’s arms were crossed over his chest, most likely to hide the shaking of his limbs. His face twitched as he held back unshed tears. “He taught you to play Exy, right, Andrew?”

Being directly addressed surprised him briefly. He nodded once.

“Wait, wait- Nathaniel taught Andrew to play?”

“Yes, Day.” Andrew growled out, quietly on the off chance the Abram could be stirred awake. He reached for his armband, a threat in itself to those who’d seen him draw his knives before. “He also taught me three ways to make a person drown in their own blood.”

“Of course he fucking did.” He muttered mostly to himself.

“It’s my turn to ask questions. When did he show up at the Nest?”

“I’m guessing not long after.. you.” His voice was small, it looked like he was trying to shrink in on himself. “It was near the end of his freshman year. He was… he wasn’t okay. No matter how many times he said he was fine. He came in hurt pretty bad.”

That sounded about right. Kevin let out a hollow laugh, eyes drifting between timelines, living through his memories as he recalled them. The rest of the room had fallen eerily silent, Andrew hadn’t known they could be that quiet. He didn’t answer or urge Kevin to continue - he’d probably get less out of him that way. Instead he waited for the taller boy’s mind to catch up to his mouth. The foxes watched in anticipating, captivated silence.

“He didn’t talk for a whole month. Not a word. Really pissed Tetsuji off, Riko even more. But he’s a stubborn son of a bitch. They beat him for it, a lot. And the knives… Riko said he’s stop if he called him ‘King.’”

“That sick bastard,” Seth hissed. Kevin hummed in agreement.

“And then one day, Riko’s being a dick during practice. More than usual, I mean. He gets all up in my face, tells me how worthless I am, how I can’t play for shit, how my… mother would be disappointed in me.” Kevin swallowed hard, like he hadn’t had water for days. “And then Nathaniel just… he goes off. A whole, like, two paragraphs about how Riko’s always projecting his daddy issues on everyone else. He smiles and laughs and completely rips into him for like a solid two minutes. And the freshmen are trying not to laugh. After that not one could shut him up, I think Riko preferred it the first way.”

Andrew bitterly remembered how Abram had been hard to get to know, overprotective of his secrets like they were prized possessions. But as he managed to gain his trust, as Abram loosened up, he unfolded into someone with a big personality and a sharp tongue.

He’s always been a little taken aback by the fact that Abram wasn’t scared of him. If anything, he seemed to find Andrew less threatening than everyone they went to school with. He scanned the body language of everyone around him, filtered his words, checked the exits, glanced behind his back constantly - unless they were together. When Andrew walked into their biology class, he could see the tension release from his shoulders, and eventually his own petty insults were met with witty remarks, pulled out of thin air. It was like he’d been saving up all of the words he wanted to say, everything that would get him in trouble or, God forbid, noticed, and kept them stored in a lockbox for later. And once he found a place he thought was safe enough to, he unloaded it like it was his life’s mission. It was always entertaining, watching Abram mouth off. Especially when it was directed at Aaron.

“So, he defended you.” Aaron grumbled out. He returned to his spot on the wall as the story unfolded. “Cool. But he didn’t exactly seem happy to see you.”

Kevin’s gaze shifted to the ground below his feet, he trapped his lower lip between his teeth to hide a hitch in his breath. But Andrew heard it. “I guess sometimes people you survive with just aren’t people you can live with.”

“Poetic,” Andrew said. His voice was flat and aimed like a knife. Something had happened between the two of them. Andrew intended to figure out what it was. “Think of that in the shower?”

“He just looks so… small.” Leave it to Matt to make the dumbest comment. "Like he couldn't hurt a fly."

“Well, Andrew’s small too.” Nicky said. It sounded like he was pushing the words up a hill. Out of all the Foxes, Nicky was the only one that truly wore his emotions out on his sleeve. He was the physical embodiment of what he assumed most of the team was feeling locked inside. Regardless, the comment earned a laugh from nearly everyone until Andrew shut it down with a threatening glare.

Abby finished up wrapping a thick roll of gauze around Abram’s leg, stepping back and removing her gloves. She had to take a few calming breaths before moving further, and then she turned to face Andrew. The panic he’d seen in her face earlier had dissolved into a fine mix of exhaustion and focus.

“It’s going to hurt like a bitch for a while. Give him these to take when he wakes up. Twice a day, 8 hours apart.” He handed him a small orange pill bottle, and he nodded in confirmation of her words. “And I will say just one last time that he really should go to a hospital, but something tells me that neither of you are going to listen. But for the record, you’ve been advised. I’m going to go call David and see when he can get here. After that, though, would you help me get him back to my house?”

Andrew nodded. Abby discarded her gloves and stepped out of the room.

He knew Abram’s father was some sort of crime boss, one with a lot of blood on his hands that seemed to be contagious. He was barely containing himself from throwing Kevin against the wall again and getting the answers out of him, interrogating him to figure out how Abram’s father tied into all of this, how Nathaniel did. The word ‘property’ rounded his head like it was a race track. But he didn’t want to hear any of it from Kevin, he wanted the boy trusting him enough to sleep cradled against him to tell him he’d earned the truths, and for the rest of the Foxes to learn it on his watch.

He looked so skinny, like he lived off one meal a day that consisted of mainly cardboard. Bags darkened his eyes, his follow cheeks pale. Like he hadn’t seen the sun in years. He clutched tighter to Abram - he was never letting him go again.

Chapter Text

Whatever medication Abram took during his brief few minutes of consciousness upon arriving at Abby’s, it had to have been some strong shit. That, mixed with the apparent blood loss and exhaustion evident below Abram’s eyes, had him knocked on his ass for the foreseeable future.

Andrew barely moved in the twelve hours Abram slept, and still, there was no sign he’d be waking any time soon. The guest bedrooms at Abby’s house all reminded him somewhat of a doctor’s office; both had a chair or two hugging the neutral-toned wall, where Andrew was sprawled now watching the steady rise of Abram’s chest, and there was a constant rotation of fresh flowers on the nightstands in a cheap attempt to lighten the space – right now, yellow daffodils decorated the surface.

He didn’t want to take his eyes off Abram’s, where he could see the evidence of his steady breathing, but he couldn’t ignore the rumbling of his stomach for much longer and the strain in his muscles from sitting in the same position for so long. He could always make Kevin bring him something to eat, but there was something about the way Abram regarded the taller boy earlier that made Andrew want to keep the two as far away from each other as possible. At least until he could get answers from the one he trusted more out of the pair. He couldn’t tell if that look in Abram’s eyes had been anger or fear, or both, but Kevin was not so good at masking his emotions. When he looked at ‘Nathaniel,’ his eyes held enough guilt to drown in.

Of course, he still had his promises to keep, so Kevin was somewhere downstairs diluting his concerns with a seemingly bottomless supply of vodka.

Andrew let out a frustrated huff, let his eyes scan Abram’s body for signs of life once more, and then flick up to his face to confirm it was still the same one from his memories before he exited the room as quietly as possible.

It didn’t take long to spot Kevin. He was a mess of limbs hanging over the edge of the couch, with a white-knuckled grip on a bottle of vodka. He was too busy whispering a jumble of French and Japanese to notice Andrew until the shorter man stood at the edge of the couch to take in the truly pitiful sight.

He jumped when Andrew came into view, a few drops leaping out of the bottle and landing on his face and some of his shirt. He groaned as he sat up, clumsily raising a hand to wipe the liquid away. If he missed most of it, Andrew wouldn’t tell him.

“When are you going to be done moping?” Andrew asked, knowing the most likely answer was not anytime soon. Kevin didn’t answer with anything more than a weak glare. “We’re making dinner.”

Never mind the fact that it was nearly three in the morning, Kevin followed him to the kitchen with no complaints. Figures the man couldn’t even cook for himself.

Andrew scanned the contents of the fridge as Kevin sat at the table. He pulled out a pack of cheese and turned in search of the white bread. There weren’t many recipes in Andrew’s arsenal – that he could make well, at least – but he’d be damned if he couldn’t make a mean grilled cheese.

“I didn’t…” Kevin slurred. Andrew didn't tune in for a moment, not quickly realizing that Kevin was talking to him rather than still mumbling to himself. “He mentioned you, once or twice.”

Andrew hoped Kevin was too drunk to notice the stutter in his movements. Thankfully, he was turned away, buttering the pan and cranking up the heat, so Kevin couldn’t see how his eyes shot wide.

“Did’n know it was you. Swear.” Kevin’s voice was now muffled, a glance back confirmed that his face was now buried in his sleeves on the table. “Never said your name.”

“Then how do you know it was me.” His voice was strained, his grip on the pan’s handle stronger than necessary.

“Nathaniel does’n get along with anyone. Thea was too nice, Jean was too… French? Riko – pfft. And I was…” Kevin swallowed. Andrew wanted to push. Kevin was what. There was something there, some tension that went deeper than Abram’s constant instigation. Kevin was a coward and a pushover that always crumbled in the presence of Riko Moriyama. It pained Andrew to think of all the shit Abram had been put through and survived, but compared to all the monsters in Abram’s life Kevin should be no more than an annoyance, an inconvenience, someone to roll your eyes at rather than cower from. There was no reason Abram should look at Kevin – the side of Kevin that Andrew knew – like that, like one wrong move would send Abram running.

Unless the Kevin that had lived in the Nest had been something a lot closer to Riko.

Andrew wanted to demand answers, but Kevin was unreliable, or whatever he said would end in Andrew would end up being the one that broke their promise. His emotions were too out of check, too unpredictable, and his impulse control was right there with them.

“He hugged you back.”

“Hm.” Andrew buttered four slices of bread much too intently. “Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look.”

What did Abram say? The question burned beneath his skin similar to the blood thrumming harshly in his veins – insistent and ruthless, aching to climb to the surface. Asking felt like an invasion of privacy.

Despite the fact that Andrew always claimed ‘there is no this,’ Andrew hadn’t been able to get the boy out of his head since they parted ways. Only once he had left, once he’d thought Abram was gone forever, was he able to accept the fact that it was never nothing, that he oh so desperately wanted it to be something more.

And then, just like everything he’d ever wanted, he was gone.

It was also then that he promptly shut down, worse then he ever had before. It was almost a physical thing, realizing that Abram was gone and he wasn’t coming back. He was angry at whatever fucked up divine force was betting on his misery, he was angry at himself for playing into their hands again. He told himself ‘you knew better, and yet…’

Good things never fucking lasted. Nothing gold ever fucking stayed.

So Andrew stopped feeling. Entirely. Stopped wanting, stopped giving and taking, and forced himself to live like a ghost.

But now Abram was back. And he was beginning to realize that he never stopped wanting.

He hated himself for it, because all he was doing was setting himself up for faliure yet again. When he saw him in the locker room, hugging Abram – holding him – was like an undeniable instinct. It was partially to make sure that Abram was real and tangible in his hands, that he wouldn’t wake up to an empty room, but also because he’d so badly missed touching without the intending to bruise.

He had to see if Abram’s touch was still safe.

It was. Andrew didn’t know how to feel about that. He didn’t know he’d missed it so badly.

Part of him wanted to push Abram away before he had to chance to hurt again, but Andrew was already in too deep. He’d already burrowed into Andrew’s heart like a parasite that, for whatever reason, he didn’t want to remove. Seeing Abram wasn’t like meeting him again, it was like clicking unpause – coming up for air.

“Never woulda’ guessed it was you. You are not pleasant.” Kevin hiccupped, a sign it was probably time to cut him off for the night. “Makes sense though, I guess. He isn’t either.”

“How kind of you.” Andrew flipped their sandwiches and turned toward Kevin. He stepped toward the man with assessing eyes, taking in his blown-out pupils and discheveled hair, before taking advantage of the Striker’s dulled reflexes and snatching the bottle from his grip. He turned back to the stove before he could see whatever pathetic look crossed Kevin’s face. “You really say the sweetest things.”

“What can I say?” His voice was once again muffled by his sleeves. “Nathaniel brings it out in me.”

Andrew pushed back against the anger bubbling in his gut. He wanted to say that that wasn’t his name – Abram's first name was the same as his father's, and he’d guarded that name with his life for the duration of the time Andrew knew him. But 'Abram' was a secret name too, given to Andrew out of a trust he'd worked to earn, and that Kevin obviously did not have.

Knowing the name 'Nathaniel' felt like a betrayal, it felt like taking something that didn’t belong to him and crossing a boundary drawn so many times over. Even if this knowledge was procured at no fault of his, it still made something hiss angrily beneath his skull.

“I jus’… I miss him.”

“Why? He’s right upstairs.” Kevin was too drunk to note the sarcasm.

“That’s not what I mean, Andrew.” He sounded like a child throwing a fit, like he didn’t have a big enough vocabulary to get his thoughts across so he opted to whine until someone figured it out. “We used to talk, about, you know, just a bunch of stuff. And then he wouldn’t ev’n look at me off the court, and…”

It took Andrew a moment to notice his words had been choked off by a sob. He didn’t try to hold back his grimace. After removing the grilled cheese from the stove and shutting off the heat, he took the stool directly opposite Kevin. “And?”

He feigned nonchalance, though he was sure to be unsuccessful.

Kevin sniffled again, raising his tear-ridden face to look at Andrew, eyes dull and cheeks tinted red. When the striker replied, it was in Japanese, and Andrew was officially done.

He shoved a plate toward Kevin and tore his own sandwich to shreds, eating quickly before more or less carrying Kevin to the couch and making his way back upstairs.

______

Andrew didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he was woken by the sound of harsh breathing on the other side of the room.

All the lights were off aside from a lamp standing in the corner, just bright enough to cast the room in shadows, and peaking between the blinds were the first rays of the rising sun. He blinked, willing his eyes to come into focus and pushing away the panic that came when another person woke him up.

He was suddenly back in California, with Abram bundled up on the ground next to him, and soon pulling him into a kiss he didn’t realize would change everything.

After all these years, his first instinct upon hearing Abram’s unsteady breathing, almost instantly recognizable, Andrew’s first instinct was to protect and comfort rather than lash out.

“Abram,” He said just above a whisper. There was nothing more than a stutter in his breathing. Andrew stretched as he stood from his chair and lowered himself against the wall directly in Abram’s line of sight. He called a little louder. “Abram.”

The boy’s eyes snapped open. At first, his eyelids were held wide like he was staring through Andrew and directly at whatever image his mind conjured for him. It took a few more tries for his pupils to shift into focus. Though his body was still tense and his breath still erratic, his pained expression morphed into one of exhaustion.

“Hey,” Andrew spoke, as gently as he knew how. He was not a gentle person, and neither was Abram. Both of them knew this. But there was no harm in trying, in being cautious. A small part of Andrew’s head said that this was not the same boy he once knew; this boy bore a myriad of new scars, both physical and mental, and had more truths to give and traumas to uncover than when they’d first met. “Yes or no?”

Abram swallowed. It wasn’t nervous or hesitant, it was as if he were trying to swallow down the memories like bile. Of course, he failed. He only managed a nod in answer.

Andrew stepped forward toward the bed, moving his hand slowly enough that Abram could see where it was going and predict where he would make contact. His eyes flew shut briefly as Andrew’s fingers made a home in his hair, slowly carding through the strands like he always used to in California. It was simple gesture that he knew was more than enough for the both of them.

There were some days that the idea of merely talking was too much for Abram to handle – when they were together in California, he’d at first forced words out through the block in his throat even though it made him crack and crack until he could no longer take it. Something to blame his mother for, Andrew assumed. Eventually, though, he explained this to Andrew, and got a simple ‘then don’t talk’ in return.

Although it may have seemed dismissive and bored to anyone else, Abram knew him well enough to see how genuine it really was. Abram knew he meant that he understood and that he didn’t have to do anything that made him uncomfortable or crossed any lines regardless of the context when he was with Andrew. The blonde took it in stride. He found ways for them to communicate that felt almost natural when Abram’s mind and body simply shut down, the result of which was almost instantaneous; the good days were better, and the bad ones not so harsh.

It almost felt like that now, like no time had passed and they were back in that dingy bedroom decked out in posters for bands Andrew didn’t listen to anymore. It felt like their first kiss, like holding Abram after a nightmare, like tracing Abram’s scars with no hesitance.

He didn’t know if things would ever be like that again. But Abram had come all the way from Evermore with a bullet in his leg to see Andrew. Even when he held such animosity towards Kevin, he’d still thought the trip important enough to brave the pain. That had to count for something.

Abram kept his eyes open, tracing Andrew’s features, and he reached out a hand to tug on Andrew’s sleeve lightly. When he nodded, Abram gripped the fabric in his fist like it was the only thing tethering him to the Earth. Andrew ignored the warmth blooming in his chest, just like the last time he’d felt it all those years ago.

Abram didn’t fall back asleep. Andrew ended up sitting on his knees at the bedside fingers still tugging through the other’s hair and his own head resting sideways on the mattress. Abram still gripped his sleeve, and their eyes stayed locked together until the sun’s beams were clearly illuminating the deep blue of Abram’s eyes.

______

It was a knock on the door that forced them apart some hours later.

The sun was up in full force now, illuminating Abram’s hair like fire. Andrew forced himself to stand on viciously tingling legs to prod over to the door.

Abby’s smile was friendly as always, but it was forced the same way it was when she tended to injuries as a result of infighting, or when she saw Andrew’s scars during his physical. Something sick twisted in his stomach at the thought of Abby having seen Abram’s own scars, even if she’d needed to stitch up the rest of the wounds on his upper body and check for any more injuries that needed tending to.

Still, after a hesitant breath, he stepped aside to let the woman in.

Her blond hair was falling out of her ponytail, the intense morning sun highlighting the grays that weren’t so obvious most of the time. A testament to her age – it was easy to forget how old she really was when she stood next to Wymack.

Andrew gave the broken boy a curt nod when he noticed the hesitancy he regarded the woman with. She was annoying, sure – sunshine on a day that did not require it, scorching the Earth and drying up the grass – but she was good at her job, even if

“Good morning. How’d you sleep?” He didn’t take his eyes off the woman for a second, even as Andrew moved to stand closer to him.

“Fine.” Oh, Andrew hated that word.

Andrew tuned out most of their conversation, instead observing Abram’s demeanor while he spoke with the nurse. His every word was strangled like he had to force them kicking and screaming out of his throat, and as much as Andrew wanted to tell him to take it easy he knew Abram would never exercise that kind of vulnerability with a stranger.

Abby was at least aware enough to notice the tension in the air and make her visit short and simple, exiting after asking what they wanted for breakfast. Andrew leaned with his back against the wall and watched as Abram slipped back into his mind. He was propped up on the headboard with his hands in his lap, picking at the skin around his nails absentmindedly.

As much as he hated seeing Abram so checked out, breaking down silently, something warm sparked in his chest at the trust he was being given to watch over him while his awareness slipped away from him.

All that Andrew knew about the Nest came from Kevin, mostly drunk ramblings that Andrew’s cursed memory stitched into a hefty file of random information and stories.

Andrew knew of a mythical Nathaniel, a number 4 who was considered property, sold to the Moriyamas. He knew of a boy that Riko didn’t think of as any more than an asset, a stepping stool, someone to spit on.

The words he’d hissed in the locker room reverberated in his head – “So this is your number four, huh? Your ‘Nathaniel?’ He’d pieced together snippets of a person in his head based on what little information Kevin offered. Nathaniel was a faceless victim, a statistic on a spreadsheet that Andrew didn’t have the mental capacity to care for. Because if he cared, if he allowed himself to feel for every traumatized little bird, every broken child, he himself would break. He’d learned long ago to care only for him and his, and that would have to do.

Andrew knew of a spitfire that was injured more often than not, who was more familiar when he was bruised and bloody. A tortured soul and body.

This boy had been his the whole time. Every horrible image of Nathaniel suddenly shifted into one of his Abram, and it was like twenty waves of grief hitting him all at once. Andrew didn’t cry, he couldn’t, so he lashed out. He targeted Kevin, the coward who left Abram there to fend for himself.

And then he saw the way Abram shrunk away from said coward, and he couldn’t take it.

His promise wasn’t broken, Kevin was still in once peace, but it was a dangerously close call.

He didn’t let himself imagine what could’ve happened if he’d taken up Kevin on his offer to join the perfect court. He hadn’t, that train of thought was dangerously close to regret and he was already dealing with enough foreign feelings at the moment.

And in the end, it didn’t matter, because Abram was here now. His head was so far away, his psyche riddled with numerous new scars that Andrew would have killed to protect him from, but he was still here. He came back. And Andrew could protect him now.

Andrew could protect him now.

Chapter Text

Awareness came back to Nathaniel in waves.

After Abby left, he’d lost all willpower to remain in his body, instead allowing himself to drift further into his thoughts. It wasn’t a pleasant place to be, but it was unavoidable – he’d rather zone out in Andrew’s company than risk breaking down in anyone else’s.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but the stiffness in his joints when he snapped back into reality the final time was evidence enough that it was more than just a few minutes. The sun was still assaulting the curtains, and Nathaniel’s hands were still shaking, but there was a newfound clarity in his mind.

Maybe it was lost blood restoring itself, the water Andrew pushed in his hands, but the pounding in his head was beginning to subside.

He finally looked up, gaze immediately drawn to the blonde sat in the corner chair.

“Hi,” he croaked, for lack of better words. He knew Andrew would want answers, but he didn’t know where to start or what Kevin had already disclosed.

Andrew cocked an unimpressed eyebrow, but Nathaniel could see the way some of the tension in his shoulders melted. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you.”

Despite the harsh words, Nathaniel heard the relief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, hinting to an expression that had become a stranger the past four years.

“Because you’d hate for all of Abby’s hard work to go to waste?” His voice grew stronger with each word, but it was still strained and coated in the gruffness of sleep and unshed tears.

“I’m sure she’d understand.” Nathaniel shifted. He was sitting up on the bed with his back pressed to the headboard and knees pulled up to his chest. When he realized the white-knuckled fists his hands formed, he forced his fingers to loosen. They were stiff and tingling from dissuse, so he flexed them a few times until the blood flow returned.

He straightned out his knees and, with a hiss of pain he couldn’t bite back in time, moved himself to the edge of the bed. He sat their, hunched back, feet dangling off the edge, but eyes still on the other boy.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” Andrew’s head fell slightly to one side, raking his cold and analytical gaze over Nathaniel’s form and back up to his face.

“No, Abram. This is real.” A lump formed in Nathaniel – Abram’s – throat. He hadn’t heard that name spoken aloud in four years, and he hadn’t let it past his own lips since then too. He never thought he’d hear it again, even making a break through the woods with Riko and two guards on his tail, he never expected to make it out alive. He gambled with his life and somehow, miraculously, made it out alive. For now.

As if to prove his words, Andrew stepped forward slowly, giving Abram time to object. When he didn’t, Andrew sat down, leaving a few scant inches between them on the bed. Blue met hazel and Abram’s breath caught in a way it only did around the blonde.

“Yes or no?” It was spoken quietly, for a moment Abram thought he was imagining it. He whispered an equally quiet, but sure yes, and soon Andrew’s hand lifted onto the back of his neck. Andrew was a warm, sturdy presence. His calloused fingers proved as much, Abram felt himself melting into the touch, felt the way his walls began to crumble as they always did around Andrew. “You’re here, in Palmetto, with me. This is real.”

He nodded. This was Andrew’s way of being gentle, he didn’t utter hopeless platitudes and unnecessary praise, and he didn’t hand out false hope like candy on Halloween. He was firm and factual and real, Andrew grounded him in a way no one else ever managed.

But he knew he couldn’t have this, not for long.

“I don’t-” He swallowed thickly, but the lump in his throat remained. “What do I do now?”

He avoided meeting Andrew’s eyes, opting instead to examine his hands and check for traces of blood beneath his fingernails. When he found none, he began picking at the skin around his cuticles.

Andrew answered one question with another. “Why did you come here?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory or bitter. It was genuine, curiosity and concern coated with a thick, but not opaque, layer of apathy. Why did you come back?

“I had nowhere else to go.” His thumb began to bleed ever so slightly. Slowly, Andrew’s hands lifted to his own wadded-up ones and pulled them away to dissuade his bad habit. He was forced to look up, to meet those intense hazel eyes he’d dreamed of for years. “And I wanted to see you.”

“Then you stay.” Nathaniel’s mouth dropped open, just slightly.

He’d already made it farther than he ever thought he’d get. He thought he’d die before he left Edgar Allen, and then before he reached South Carolina, before he reached the school or the court and before he saw Andrew. He thought for sure that Andrew would turn him away, would shame him for disappearing, or reveal that it had never meant anything in the first place, that he regarded their time together as something past and insignificant.

But here Andrew was, telling him to stay. It was like a dream – but the warmth of Andrew’s calloused hands was radiating like a furnace, his eyes the same shades of amber and flakes of green, exactly as he remembered them, and Nathaniel knew it was real.

“Andrew–” His voice cracked. “Andrew, I can’t.”

Something flashed in his eyes, anger – no, frustration, hurt. Nathaniel looked away. “They’re going to be after me. I don’t want to put you and your team in danger. It’s better if they don’t know I have anything to lose by leaving.”

The blonde’s eyebrows furrowed, something akin to rage flickering to life in his pupils. “I don’t care.”

“Think about your family.”

“You are my family, dipshit.”

Nathaniel fell silent. He was so used to nothing, nothing, nothing. Andrew’s inherent denial, his uncanny ability to block everything out. Never had he admitted that Nathaniel – Abram – had meant something to him. Even if he had known anyways, felt it in the passion of his kisses and the way he held him after a nightmare, hearing him form the words was different. His heart stuttered with emotion not quite forgotten, that he thought he’d buried deep enough.

Coming here was a mistake, he thought. He didn’t know if he had the heart to run anymore, not when Andrew was looking him like that, with such honesty dripping from his tongue.

“You’re not leaving again.” Again, again, again.

He nodded before he made the conscious decision to.

Some of the heat left Andrew’s eyes, the tension left his shoulders once more, and he nodded his silent reply as well.

“What happened?” Nathaniel knew what he meant without any clarification.

He released an unsteady breath, leaning more of his weight onto the headboard and lifting a hand to card through his unwashed hair.

“We drove up the coast after we left Oakland. Tried our best to lose them without also drawing the attention of the cops. Romero was a fugitive at the time, though, and he’d been spotted in the area, maybe on purpose, so the authorities were all on high alert. It was a mess, we had to move fast, but not too fast. Had to shake them off, but not hard enough to cause any fallout.

“We weren’t fast enough to lose them. We were trying to get to a contact in Seattle, but we were only about halfway there when they caught up to us. My mom was killed in the firefight, I caught a bullet in the shoulder and passed out after running for about a mile. Next thing I knew, I was on a private jet to Baltimore.”

He gave Andrew a moment to let it sink in, saw the gears turning in his head, the way his eyes narrowed and brows scrunched ever so slightly.

“Your father is involved with the Moriyamas.”

“Yeah.” He breathed out. “I didn’t know, I always thought… he was always the monster under the bed. I never thought there could be something bigger than him.” He laughed without any trace of humor, tugging on his hair.

“He works for them, then?” Nathaniel swallowed.

“In a way. But he answers to Kengo directly, he’s his right hand. I told you about the night we ran?”

Andrew nodded.

“He… It was just after I’d met Riko and Kevin, after my father cut someone to pieces in the tower right in front of them. We left that night, I was… I was so upset because all I wanted was to play Exy and finally have friends. I know now, though, what it’s like at the Nest. What it would have been like if I’d stayed.

“I also know that my father- he sold me to Testuji.” Anger bubbled in his gut, a feeling verging on repressed hysteria. “Like fucking cattle.”

His breathing sped despite his attempts at keeping up a calm facade – but there was something about Andrew, something so familiar and comfortable that keeping his cool wasn’t necessary, even if he wanted to put up a front. He was just so tired.

Andrew’s hand landed once again on the back of his neck, an anchor back to the real world. “Breathe, Idiot.”

Despite himself, the next huff and air was one of amusement at Andrew’s unconventional antics. Andrew’s eyes showed the same anger, his free hand clenched hard enough to turn his knuckles white, but the way he looked at Nathaniel was so firm and steady that he was finally able to suck in a proper breath.

When he spoke again, it was quieter. “If I stay, that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I’m already dealing with Kevin.” Nathaniel barely repressed a flinch at the reminder that the man was in such close proximity.

“That’s different. He’s not property.”

Andrew leaned forward ever so slightly, jaw clenched. He hissed through gritted teeth, anger unmasked more than it had been all day. “Neither are you. No one owns you, do you understand?”

“Andrew-”

“Do you understand?”

Nathaniel swallowed. He stared into Andrew’s eyes, their intensity causing him to look away and be drawn right back. He nodded. “Yeah.”

“So if you want to stay, then stay.”

It wasn’t optimism, it was the same old stubborn Andrew taking a wrecking ball to fate.

Nathaniel nodded. It wasn’t a yes, they both knew he wasn’t agreeing yet, it was him trying to understand.

Chapter Text

The process of Nathaniel’s recovery was bound to be a long one.

Days in such pain felt like weeks, and nights stretched on with endless nightmares, which was not unusual. But instead of the typical shadows, of his father and Riko and blood under his fingernails, a switch had been flipped. Now, when he woke up in a cold sweat with an anvil sitting on his chest, it was because the images were of Andrew. Andrew under Riko’s knife, under his father’s cleaver. Andrew in the Nest, broken and bloody as Nathaniel had been for years.It made him sick to his stomach.

For the first few nights, Andrew slept on the floor beside the bed. It helped, somewhat, to see Andrew’s unharmed form. Breathing steadily, face masked in sleep. Deceptively soft. But nothing could tame the horrors in his mind, not entirely. He didn’t dare voice this aloud.

Andrew was there with him every step of the way, bringing him water and food, sitting in the bathroom with him while he bathed. Talking to him when he panicked, telling stories about his life at Palmetto, about how Nicky decorated for Christmas, how Aaron kept eating all of his ice cream. He didn’t leave his side for four days, foregoing practice and his classes to simply sit with Neil in silence, hold his hand, swap pieces of themselves as if nothing had changed.

The relief of it all terrified him. The want. Wanting to stay, wanting this comfortable life in Palmetto. Wanting Andrew.

Nathaniel knew he shouldn’t. He knew he’d never be able to forgive himself if something were to happen to his friend, if he brought the wrath of the Ravens down on his family, his team. And yet…

Andrew had returned to practice three days after Nathaniel’s arrival, and slowly returned to sleeping at Fox tower. Nathaniel understood, he was a protector at heart, and he had so many people to look out for. It still didn’t stop the pain he felt with Andrew’s absence. He’d gone four years without the man, but now that he had him back it felt impossible to let Andrew out of his sight.

There was a quiet knock on the door, two gentle raps of Andrew’s knuckles, before he eased it open. He held a bowl of cereal in one hand, Cheerios, Nathaniel’s favorite, and had a plastic water bottle tucked in his elbow. Nathaniel couldn’t help but smile, to which Andrew scoffed. He’d only been at practice for two and a half hours, but it was like the world was finally slotting into place.

The blonde lowered himself onto the bed beside Nathaniel, handing him the items, which Nathaniel accepted greedily. He distracted himself in the repetitive motion of bringing the spoon up to his face, avoiding Andrew’s eyes.

When the bowl was finally done, he set it down on the nightstand and stared down at his fingers.

He’d had a lot of time to think over the past few days, cooped up in this room. He’d spent countless hours weighing the pros and cons, conjuring every possibility. Every worst scenario had played over and over in his head, along with every possibility of a happy life. The decision he’d come too was not the easiest, but it may be the bravest. It was all risk, all reward. But if it worked out the way he hoped, it would be worth it.

“I don’t know If I can stay. Not forever, at least.” Andrew’s jaw clenched, but Nathaniel continued before he had the chance to interject. “But I’ve decided that I want to try. To… I don’t know, restart. I want a life here. With you. Maybe with the foxes.”

He paused, glancing nervously at his friend. Andrew nodded, encouraging Nathaniel to say more.

“I’ve decided to get in contact with my uncle. He’s the head of a big crime ring in England. They don’t explicitly work with the Moriyama’s but they’ve been known to do each other favors from time to time. I want to see if maybe he can make one for me. For my freedom, or at least a little more than I have now.”

Andrew… Andrew seemed relieved. There was no other word to describe the way his eyes softened, the way his gaze held Nathaniel’s. It was strange, the feeling of being wanted. It was too much.

He could no longer handle it, Andrew’s eyes. He looked away, eyes finding his hands once more, checking for blood beneath his fingernails, a nasty habit he’d never been able to shake. It couldn’t be real. Nathaniel was supposed to die in the Nest, it was his fate. He knew it was. Riko was meant to kill him before he ever had the chance to go Pro. He would never be real, he would never be free, he would never-

“Abram.” He hadn’t noticed the way his breath had picked up. It hitched, and he forced his shallow breathing to deepen. It didn’t quell the rage of thoughts in his mind.

Andrew’s hand landed on the back of his neck, and slowly travelled toward his face. He cupped his cheek, turning his head to once more catch his eyes. Nathaniel swallowed, a new warmth forming in his chest, face tingling in every place Andrew touched. He couldn’t help but glance down at the other man’s lips. If Andrew saw this, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Drew…” He breathed. “There’s one more thing. Just in case. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll need to run. And I need to be ready. My mother hid stashes across the country. Money and supplies and contacts. I know where a few of them are. I need to find them. I’d like you to help me.”

Nathaniel expected to see Andrew to hesitate, deny the possibility of an unhappy ending, will the world away with sheer stubbornness. But he did none of those things, instead, he resigned.

Andrew nodded, moving his thumb to stroke along Nathaniel’s cheek. Nathaniel leaned into it.

“I will help you, but it will work.”

Nathaniel believed him.

______

It wasn’t until a week later that Nathaniel felt the strength appropriate to leave the house. He was growing undeniably stir crazy in Abby’s house, tired of staring at the delicate wallpaper and watching the street through the open window.

He still felt wary of the woman. She was kind, gentle, clinical when addressing his wounds and never asked questions she knew Nathaniel wouldn’t answer. But he couldn’t trust her, he wasn’t the type. She was nothing like his mother, but Nathaniel could not control the hesitation. Still, Andrew seemed to trust her, and that was enough for him.

When Nathaniel asked Abby if he could come and observe practice, she was quick to oblige. He was too excited to feel the anxiety bubbling in his chest at facing Kevin along with the rest of the Foxes. They were a curious bunch, Andrew had told him about their tendency to make bets about one another. There would be questions about the Raven’s, him and Kevin, him and Andrew. Question he would not answer, but did not care to hear.

Soon enough, they were in Abby’s car. Nathaniel’s uninjured leg bounced uncontrollably, shaking the car up and down. Abby didn’t seem to mind.

“What position do you play?” This was a line of questioning he could handle. Despite his past with the Raven’s, Exy remained a comfortable talking point. An outlet.

“Backliner.”

“Really?” Nathaniel nodded, though he wasn’t sure if Abby saw with her eyes still on the road. “You’re so small.”

“But I’m fast. And annoying.” She smiled slightly.

“You do look like a runner.”

If only she knew how true that was. “I suppose.”

The conversation dwindled from there, and his body loosened once the court was in sight.

He hadn’t told Andrew he was coming, but it had been quite the last minute decision. He simply couldn’t stay still any longer, catching Abby right as she was walking for the door.

He hobbled slightly on the way inside, the pain still burning, but not nearly as unbearable. He’d learned to tune it out. He followed Abby into her office, standing awkwardly by the doorway.

“They should begin soon.” She set down her bag and pulled a few papers from inside, walking to the filing cabinet on the back wall and sorting through it. “Let me put these up, and then we’ll head to the court.”

He nodded.

The walk to the court felt like an entire lifetime. The color scheme in the small hallway burned his eyes, along with the fluorescent lights screaming overhead. It was only then that he acknowledged the anxiety swimming beneath his skin. Kevin’s face appeared in his mind, he knew the look of disapproval that often showed like the back of his hand.

He refused to let it deter him, however, and eventually sat himself on the home bench. Kevin was there, yes, but so was Andrew.

The Foxhole Court was… unbearably orange, as were the jerseys the team dawned as they began their warm up drills on the inner court. It smelled like sweat and chemicals poorly concealed by the sweet scent of lemons, the sound of landing feet echoing off each wall.

It was everything Edgar Allen wasn’t. And it was beautiful.

He found himself enthralled in the way the Foxes interacted. It was unprofessional, they laughed together and spewed insults at one another, always on the verge of reeling back their fists. They weren’t coherent by any means, truly living up to their reputation as one of the worst teams in the league. But the way they all played, like they had nothing to lose, like it was the last day on earth.

Nathaniel felt a spark of something. The Foxes had the potential to be incredible. He wanted to see them be incredible. He wanted to be there to watch.

It wasn’t until their first water break that anyone noticed him. Andrew was the first, ever observant, and he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny before grabbing his water bottle and sauntering over. He stood in front of Nathaniel, almost between his knees, and stared down at him.

“You should be resting.” Nathaniel scoffed.

“I am resting. Just not in bed. I’m sick of being on house arrest.”

Andrew brought a hand to Nathaniel’s hair and pulled, enough to shake his head but not enough to hurt. “Once a rabbit, always a rabbit, I suppose.”

Nathaniel’s mouth quirked. “So sorry to disappoint you.”

“I will find a way to get over it.” Andrew's hand smoothed out, running through Nathaniel’s curls once before he lowered it back to his side. Nathaniel missed the warmth instantly. Andrew opened his mouth to speak once more, until he was cut off by a shrill squeak to the side.

“Hi there!” Nicky squawked, as Nathaniel resisted the urge to cover his ears. Some people never changed. But he liked Nicky, despite the annoyance. “I didn’t even notice you! We must seem pathetic, huh? Compared to the Raven’s, at least.”

All of the softness Andrew’s presence brought vanished in an instant. He straightened his back and narrowed his eyes at the man.

“I suppose. But there’s potential.”

“Aww. You’re so much nicer than Kevin.” Andrew snorted. Nathaniel glared.

“Shut up, Nicky.” Kevin grumbled from somewhere out of Nathaniel’s eyesight. Andrew stepped slightly closer, as if it were instinct to shield the man. Nathaniel hadn’t noticed the way he clammed up at the sound of the ex-Raven’s voice, but Andrew always noticed. It was like they spoke the same language, some silent intermingling of thoughts that only they could decipher. He lifted a hand to tug at the hem of Andrew's shirt briefly, a silent thank you. Andrew hummed his acknowledgement.

“If you don’t want to talk to him,” Andrew murmured, now that Nicky occupied himself with teasing Kevin. “I will keep him away.”

Nathaniel considered this. How much did Andrew know? He hadn’t told him anything about it, about why he tried his best to avoid Kevin, why he tensed when the man was near. But Andrew noticed, of course he did.

Nathaniel was a runner at heart, but he was not a coward. He shook his head.

Practice continued with little fuss, and as the seconds ticked by, Nathaniel felt more and more like the court was drawing him in. It was a physical ache, to be on the sidelines. He wanted to play with Andrew again, like those many nights spent on the deserted field.

But for now, this was good enough. To watch Andrew bat away each and every attempt, standing at his post like an unshakable wall. Catching his eye every few minutes, feeling a smile unbidden creep on his face.

Yeah, it was enough.

______

Abram was no longer on the bench when practice came to a close. It shouldn’t have worried him so much, the man was more than capable of taking care of himself. But with his newest battle scars, and the winces he tried so hard to hide, he felt his chest tighten.

Andrew changed out and showered quickly, not waiting for the rest of his crew before heading outside. Sure enough, there he was.

Abram was leaning on the hood of his GS, hands stuffed in the pocket of his oversized hoodie. A smile lit up his face when he caught sight of Andrew. He picked up the pace, just a little.

“Hey,” Abram said, unwilling to break the quiet of the new night. Andrew slid beside him, allowing their bodies to press together from thigh to shoulder. Abram relaxed against him.

“We were that bad?” Andrew reached for the carton in his pocket and shook out a cigarette, along with a bright red lighter.

Abram huffed. “I got too worked up. Wanted to play too bad.”

“Junkie.”

Abram smirked. “Yeah.”

It was only then that Andrew allowed himself to characterize Abram’s exhaustion. He was pale, with deep bags distorting the skin under his eyes. He was smaller too, all skin and both despite the wiry muscles hidden beneath the hoodie. He reached over without and word and tugged the boy’s head down to his shoulder when he saw the way his eyelids drooped.

Abram melted against him, eyes closing immediately as he chased the comfort of Andrew’s warm body beside his. Andrew couldn’t help but stare.

Only two minutes had passed before Abram blinked up owlishly at Andrew. Even in the lighting of the yellow street lamps, with those tired eyes. Andrew could not deny just how beautiful the man before him was. He’d always been pretty, even with his fried hair and brown eyes. But now, with the fiery auburn and the stark, ice blue boring holes into him, it was undeniable.

Andrew thought he might just burn the world down for him.

“Take me back to Abby’s?” He whispered, breath lingering in the small space between their faces.

Who was Andrew to deny him?