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Neil liked to observe.
He would say, at least by now, that it ran in his blood, whirled through his veins, coded itself inside of his brain to quietly watch and become aware of all the little details in his surroundings. It gave him something to do, something to crank and twist the inner workings of his thoughts and curiosities.
Back then, it was to stay alert, focused, mindful of every small (and big) thing going on around him to not stir trouble and become a shadow behind his mother’s own.
To allow his mind to pinpoint any and every single possible way anything could go wrong, and to do everything in his strength to avoid such a blip. Knowing when people were whispering on purpose. Knowing when bodies got too close. Knowing when people stared too long and he needed to run, run, run.
Nowadays, it was to study which ice creams Andrew liked to specifically pick out from the freezers at the grocery store, or which days Andrew actually wanted to go to Eden’s, and which days Andrew went to Eden’s simply to get Kevin, Nicky, and Aaron off of his back, noted by the type of grip Andrew held on the steering wheel of the Maserati. Loose with one hand for calm. Tight with both hands for bristling annoyance.
It was easy with Andrew. Neil wouldn’t mind observing him for as long as the universe would let him.
He knew which fruits Kevin liked to precisely use for their breakfast smoothies, and which fruits Kevin spared for post-practice energizers. He knew the different kinds of voices Allison liked to use depending on who she was talking to, and which days Aaron tended to stay in the dorms to study, and which nights Aaron preferred to flee towards the library. The library was code for also meeting up with Katelyn, and Aaron didn’t announce it to anyone, but Neil knew by the way Aaron always sprayed a little much extra cologne before flying out of the door.
He knew that Wymack and Abby always stayed two hours later than usual at the Foxhole Court after Tuesday practices, and that Nicky almost always accompanied them. Nicky liked to video call Erik while walking around the stadium here and there, but Neil knew it was a partial excuse so Erik could see him in his uniform real-time.
Renee always brought the team a variety of warm homemade cookies on official ‘cheat’ days that no one named except for her, termed on every second and fourth Thursday of each month.
Everyone loved them.
Andrew was exceptionally pleased, showing his appreciation by grabbing a handful and leaving with a nod in Renee’s direction.
Neil could say that it warmed his sick little heart to see that even Kevin knew to keep his mouth shut, only grabbing one before stomping off to another room.
Neil’s observations had suddenly transformed into mentally jotting down the very little details about those who surrounded his daily life, about the people that he really cared about. The ones who gave him a home and wouldn’t settle for less.
It gave him something to do, something to tuck inside the back of his head. The Foxes were his family, after all.
So, it was almost to his surprise one day when he found himself somewhat captivated by the way that Matt and Dan held hands.
Or more so, on the many reasons why Matt and Dan liked to hold hands.
Before it all, he had barely noticed, never having had much experience with it, much less in the form that Matt and Dan liked to do it, linking fingers without a second of hesitation, with the smallest smiles upon each other before walking to classes or towards the Court.
And now, suddenly with a rapturous explosion, it had become everything Neil could perceive. He would sometimes flex his fingers, itching against a dull scar with his thumb, feeling the weight of his outstretched palm. He would subtly glance at how effortlessly Matt caught Dan’s hand in the parking lot, and how Dan wouldn’t say anything. She would just smile that smile and squeeze their palms together.
Neil only really remembered the rough grip that his mother constantly held their hands in when traversing through crowded swarms of bodies or through thin alleyways in sprawling cities, dragging him as fast as their legs could take them without a breath to stop. It was uneven, almost stony, but his mother had done it to keep him alive in those early years of being runaways, before he learned how to truly observe from a distance, and before he had learned to become a mere shadow of his own.
He compared it to the way Matt liked to cup Dan’s knuckles and sometimes rub his thumb over her skin, casually laughing amidst a private conversation. Or even the time Neil accidentally caught Matt bringing his and Dan’s joined hands towards his lips for a soft kiss that made Dan blush harder than any time opposing coaches and players applauded her leadership on the Court.
They were disgustingly in love, and even Neil could point it out.
Still, it didn’t make it any better when Andrew almost caught Neil getting caught in watching the two lovebirds, tapping on the wall to get his attention to go inside before Neil diverted his attention away and followed right behind him.
Andrew would plop himself onto one of the black beanbags and grab for one of the console controllers, thumbing around with his fingers to turn on the TV and get a game going.
Neil would throw himself onto the other beanbag, fumbling around for the other controller, but struggling because he couldn’t really find it in himself to drag his gaze away from Andrew’s own hands that were deftly handling the buttons with slick ease. He furrowed his brows. He didn’t understand.
Granted, Neil really liked Andrew’s hands.
He liked the way that they held onto his waist, strong and steady. He liked how gentle one would wrap around the nape of his neck, softly thrumming through his spare curls that had grown over the past few months. He liked the way they explored every part of him, and they were still sailing. He liked the way Andrew sometimes wore a ring or two on them, and just how warm and stable they were on colder nights. Andrew’s hands were a constellation of their own, warped with every celestial star and comet.
It was then that Neil realized he wouldn’t mind seeing it collide with his own.
—
The morning had passed slower than usual. Almost everyone was still asleep, except for Neil who went out for an early run and Matt who wanted to make a special breakfast now that the weekend came along. Matt had been in the hallway when Neil returned, waving him over excitedly until it would have been a Level Ten Hazard to ignore the invite.
Thoughts had been swirling in Neil’s mind more than usual since the simple realization, and he wasn’t often the type to like living inside of his own headspace. And now, as he sat at the dining table, he believed it to be the best possible time to potentially ask his question.
Besides, the urge to hold Andrew’s hand only grew and grew in heightened interest. Neil had almost tripped over his own laces at their last practice when his and Andrew’s hands accidentally brushed against each other while walking back to the Maserati, and he wanted to hit himself up the head for acting so juvenile.
Andrew had given him The Look, but didn’t press. He hadn’t even pressed when they were up on the rooftop later that night, certainly preoccupied with other things and the familiar press of each other’s mouths.
Neil wondered, and wondered, so badly on what it would feel like to hold Andrew Minyard’s hand.
“Matt.”
He mumbled it through a mouthful of oatmeal mixed with berries, soft and chewy just as he liked it. He swallowed, aware of the radio’s volume that had suddenly dimmed down, and of a few cabinets being closed shut.
Matt poked his head out from the kitchen, a few flour flakes scattered throughout his hair. “Yeah, man?”
“Can I ask you something?”
Neil didn’t need to finish the actual question before Matt dropped whatever he was doing in the kitchen and nearly sprinted towards where Neil was sitting. He pulled out a chair, uncaring of the messy nature of his apron as he sat down and leaned his elbows on the hardwood.
“Ask me anything.”
Neil eyed him warily. He twirled his spoon in the mush sporadically, not really sure if he’d like to subject himself to another pair of eyes peering into the thoughts he’d been having lately. He wasn’t sure why he was saying this at all.
“You like to hold hands with Dan.”
It was a real statement. Not exactly a question. A fact.
But he had said with such seriousness that Matt only bellowed out a loud laugh, realizing his mistake as he looked back at the closed bedroom doors and then back at Neil with a warm smile.
“I do, yeah.”
“Why?”
Matt shrugged, folding his hands over one another. “Well, it feels nice. I like knowing she’s with me and especially in crowds, I know that I won’t lose her if we’re holding hands.”
Neil nodded.
Matt grinned to himself, leaning back against the chair. “The first time I asked to do it was on our second date. Since then, we’ve never really stopped.”
“But.” Neil stopped himself, frowning. He realized he was digging a bit harder into his oatmeal, smushing the little amount of berries he had left.
“Is there any other reason why? When do you say to yourself that you’re going to hold her hand?”
Matt creased his face into a thoughtful ponder, taking a bit of time to actually answer. “It’s not really something I say to myself anymore. It’s second nature in my brain to just do it whenever I want to feel closer. The same goes for her. It’s one way we show affection, and that we like being close to each other. Sometimes it’s lazily comforting, sometimes it makes us feel safe. We like to do it, but I mean, not every couple likes to hold hands, Neil. It’s different for everyone.”
Neil hummed. “Okay. Thanks.”
Yet Matt continued to stare at him, a brow raised. The shadow of a smile wanting to break out.
It quite literally made Neil want to sink into the floor.
“Any reason…why…” Matt slowed his words, wiggling said brow. “…you’re specifically asking?”
Neil shrugged, picking up another spoonful and shoving it into his mouth.
“Really, thanks for telling me.”
Matt nodded with another warm smile, sparing a glance behind him towards the kitchen before looking back. “No problem, Neil. You know I’m your man on anything you need help with.” He scratched the nape of his neck, pausing. “Well. Andrew’s your man, but—“
Neil coughed loudly, and purposefully, swallowing the last of his breakfast before his cheeks turned red out of embarrassment and out of a choking hazard too.
“If you ever need hand-holding tips—”
“Matt.”
Neil glared his utmost expression of it, always meaning that the conversation was over. No ifs or buts.
Matt sighed, throwing his head back before running back to the kitchen.
Neil was alone again, listening to the rhythmic ticking of the clock hung high on the wall, and so continuing to churn over all of the words his friend just offered him, trying to make sense of it all.
He rather believed he was getting close to popping the question.
—
Two weeks since the conversation with Matt had passed by.
It was a little in Neil’s gut to delay his efforts by quickly noticing how much more often the backliner tended to look in his and Andrew’s direction whenever they were together.
A simple glare was enough to steer Matt away. He would also ignore Andrew’s curious glances, even more so when he attempted to keep a safe distance between their hands at all times.
One night, Neil had been walking so far away from Andrew that he passed the Maserati by accident, forcing Andrew to whistle and follow him, tugging on his hoodie before Neil realized what he was doing.
Andrew thought something was wrong. Neil had to tell him multiple times that it was okay. It was fine.
Since that night, Neil knew that it was enough. He had been torturing himself for much too long over the mere idea of holding someone else’s hand and driving himself slightly delirious. Whatever Andrew would say on it, Neil would respect it, no matter what. At least he would have an answer instead of mindlessly running through his thoughts and imagination.
As they stood in the bustling away locker room for the game against the Jackals, Neil couldn’t believe how much he was ready to burst out of the seams to get any sort of reply. He was staring at Andrew, and any other day anyone would catch him on it, but now, it wasn’t technically Neil’s own heart and conscience that led him to do it, because Kevin and Aaron and Allison were all doing it too, albeit with more horrified expressions.
Andrew was currently sticking his portable spoon into a small tub of ice cream, already aiming for the next bite. He had been ignoring the protests and the veins nearly bulging out of Kevin’s silent rage for the past five minutes.
Wymack, battling a wobbly fever, had miraculously yelled inside of the bus earlier that if he heard so much as one scream from anyone in the locker room that didn’t have to do with Exy, he’d make everyone run so many laps at their next practice that nobody’s legs would be functioning by the end.
Kevin, apparently, had drilled that inside of himself.
Neil tapped his foot against the floor, already prepped and ready for the signal to head out. He watched the way Andrew’s mouth closed around the spoon, savoring the flavor before dipping it back again. He gazed at how alert Andrew’s own eyes were despite how sullen they looked on the outside, making note of everyone in the room whose attention had diverged to their phones once the officials' footsteps out in the hallways approached closer.
Neil took the opportunity.
“Andrew?”
Andrew looked up at Neil’s voice, raising a brow. He still didn’t stop his PreGame Ice Cream Demolition, popping the sweet confection in his mouth once more. Neil took a glance at the label. Today’s flavor was Haagen-Dazs Supreme Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, a more recent pick above anything else.
Neil leaned himself against the lockers by Andrew, far enough to create space, but close enough so that only they could hear each other. He was slightly entranced by the pregame fever of any Exy game, adrenaline already spiking through his veins.
“What is it.”
Andrew’s voice rooted him back into reality.
“Hm?”
“You called my name.”
“Oh.” Neil said, clearing his throat. It was as if the thought had attempted to fly out of a cage, but he caught it last minute with a forceful grip. He locked eyes with Andrew, steady and so familiar. It was enough to slow down his racing heart, exact source unknown.
“I want to hold hands with you.”
He said it as normally as he could, never breaking eye contact. As soon as the words came out, he paused, quietly adding on. “One day, you know. If you want.”
Andrew stilled. He stopped his spoon midway into his mouth, staring with the most undefinable, incredulous expression back at Neil.
Neil furrowed his brows, trying to take any meaning out of it, but it was a look almost foreign to him. It surprised him, really, to find another expression belonging to Andrew Minyard that he didn’t already know like the back of his hand.
Andrew didn’t say a single thing.
Neil furrowed his brows in even more when Andrew only turned around, grabbed his racquet, and began walking towards the door to leave, dropping whatever else was left of the ice cream into the nearby trash can. He was calm in his step, almost as if the conversation had never happened in the first place.
Neil stared far after him. He bit his tongue. Maybe his cheeks reddened just a bit too.
He avoided everyone else’s stares despite no one knowing what he actually said, a whole flurry of commotion just as one of the officials entered the locker room and ordered everyone to start heading out towards the Court.
Except Matt, who slowly ambled over towards Neil with a sympathetic smile and a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“It’s alright, whatever just happened. Focus on the game. Andrew probably has that post ice cream haze.”
“Uh, alright.” Neil said, still slightly befuddled at the turn of events.
Nicky looked between Neil and the door, eyes genuinely pinched in worry. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Move, Nicky.” Aaron grumbled under his breath, which earned him an accidental push by Allison from behind as they all strolled out, voices jumbling together in messy notes of high and low.
As Neil picked up his racquet and tucked it underneath his shoulder, he put on his helmet and slowly fitted it to his liking, adjusting the straps in a familiar pattern.
Only Kevin and Matt waited for him to finish, grabbing all of their racquets as they joined the rest of the Foxes out.
Maybe it just wasn’t the proper time. Neil wouldn’t ask again. Andrew had given him a clear answer.
For the meantime, he was going to focus on the actual situation on hand and not the utter confusion piling inside of his brain on just why Andrew reacted in such a way, willing his feet to move and win the match, listening to Kevin reiterate the game plan over and over as they neared the roars of the crowd already seated.
Neil allowed the noise to dull the buzzing inside of his own head, tapping his feet twice against the ground and moving closer.
His head needed to be clear for this.
It needed to be very clear.
—
The problem with observation was that it was much harder to do when bodies were constantly throwing themselves at you, all with one goal in mind. Literally and figuratively.
It was much harder to observe the little details and everything about your surroundings when your feet moved faster than your brain, pacing up and down the Court with such ferocity and agile speed, throwing passes and cursing low beneath your breath whenever you were checked, avoiding unnecessary tackles, zooming past blurry shots of silhouettes until one’s eyes hyper focused on swinging the racquet so hard enough that it bounced into goal with a resounding pop .
The thrill was utterly deafening. It would never get tiring.
Neil was currently finishing up the last of his post-game routine, wincing here and there as he poked a little at the small bruises that were beginning to form over his skin. He grimaced, wanting to get another mouthful at the Jackals’ #4 for shoving him against the plexiglass a record of five times for the entire time they were on at the same intervals. It hadn't hurt to see #4 slightly limp off in the third quarter, unsure of the exact reason as he had been on the bench for a rest and returning from a bathroom break when he caught the sight.
It had been a good game, winning no matter what with an extra two points over Breckenridge, coming out with the usual scruff and roughened edges that came with facing such a lousy team that liked to resort to imposing physicality to try and reach the top.
By winning the game, even Wymack didn’t need to strain his voice like usual. He simply congratulated everyone on their joint efforts and to meet him as soon as possible on the bus, draining another mug of hot tea mixed with cough syrup. He looked like he needed to sleep for the next two weeks.
Neil didn't argue with that. He finished up the last of his packing, listening as the loud hoard of multiple conversations and the delighted buzz of voices from his teammates faded as they left the locker room to start heading outside.
He zipped the final pocket of his duffel bag and swung the strap onto his shoulder, making sure he hadn’t missed anything before shutting the small compartment door and turning around.
It was almost a stake to his heart to find out that he wasn’t alone, nearly jumping out of his skin before realizing it was just Andrew sitting cross-legged on the bench across from him, unfolding his legs and getting up to go when he noticed Neil was ready.
“Oh.” Neil smiled, walking closer. “Hey. I thought you left already.”
Andrew stopped midway, staring, not moving away even when Neil got as close as he could without touching.
They looked at each other quietly. Neil knew that Andrew was calculating every inch and new swelling of color blooming onto his skin. Right as Neil wanted to break the silence again, Andrew lifted his fingers slowly, pausing them mid-air.
Neil nodded. “Yes.”
Andrew warmly wrapped them along Neil’s nape, the solid weight and familiarity making Neil flutter his eyes closed. He kept them shut even upon the soft sensation of Andrew running a finger over the small patch of bandages Abby had fixed onto the side of his cheek. It ran a shiver up and down his spine, stumbling forward at the sudden drowsiness.
An apology was ready to leave his mouth before Andrew closed the space further and allowed Neil to lean his weight against him. Neil froze for a second before humming, not needing to say anything else as he drooped his head on Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew was now too focused on sliding a hand down Neil’s back, gently slipping it underneath the soft fabric of his PSU hoodie.
“I always stay, Neil.”
It was a murmur, a whisper, but the meaning roared like an engine revving back to life.
Neil smiled again, more tiredly this time around as he sagged a little harder against Andrew. He was in desperate need of a bus nap.
He yawned, covering his mouth with one hand. “Sorry.”
Andrew shook his head. Whether it was out of annoyance or something else, Neil wasn’t able to observe it in enough time to decipher the meaning. He wanted his feet to somehow float him along the halls, through the doors, up the small set of stairs, and right onto his usual seat on the team bus.
Neil’s sleepy state almost didn’t allow him to register the second that Andrew’s hand curled by his own, slowly tracing, moving. It made Neil still. He twitched his fingers, unsure, relishing in the emotions it rippled through his entire body, all until Andrew’s fingers entwined ever so intricately between his, squeezing.
Neil widened his eyes, only a slight.
It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t look down to stare at where their hands were joined, clutching tightly by Andrew’s own regard. It was enough to stir something else inside of Neil, something so beautifully bright that he might have mistaken it as the sun posing for his heart.
Andrew huffed a little under his breath when he noticed Neil’s gaze, pulling him alongside himself as they walked together through the doors and out onto the parking lot where the bus stood waiting.
“Do you need me to also hold your hand when you’re crossing the street?”
“Shut up.”
They didn’t say anything else. Andrew didn’t loosen his hold, and Neil felt like he really was floating on his way to the bus.
It was entirely too windy too, their oversized PSU hoodies barely enough to withstand the gusts, but Andrew only tugged his and Neil’s hands closer to his side until he and Neil were basically shoulder-to-shoulder, braving the sudden force of nature.
Once they got inside, Andrew made it a mission to get to their usual seats in the back in a record time. He was a master at ignoring the rushed whispers and hums of delight of all those around them. Something about bets and paying up and record time .
Neil purposely did not look at Matt, smirking to himself.
When the cool of the night (and a short thunderstorm) poured over their bus as they began the journey back to Palmetto, Neil finally closed his eyes and dreamt of palmy fields and a bright light and amber eyes. He dreamt of things he couldn’t ever possibly observe just all on his own, rooted in the base of a steady connection to the real world.
Andrew didn’t let go of their hands either, letting them fall onto his lap as the bus rolled over concrete and asphalt, a somewhat soothing roll of normality.
He, too, dreamt of things wild beyond his imagination, rooted in his connection to the ground with the clasp of a fire and blue eyes that he would forever entangle himself in.
A fire that, according to him, would never blow out.