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andrew watches neil bend over and scoop up his cigarette and his insides burn.
he watches neil salute with a little grin and forces himself away from the edge before he can upheave the white chrysanthemums that have begun to taste like fire in his throat. it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.
vomiting has never been this painful, he thinks. nothing has ever been this painful maybe, because andrew can’t remember the last time he felt anything at all.
but there he was, feeling so much so quickly because of neil fucking josten.
something's alive in his chest and it's desperate to get out, clawing and clawing until it separates his ribs from his lungs.
being invincible was never the goal but maybe andrew tried too hard to flirt with death without ever wanting to be his groom. perhaps this is how icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun and plummeted to his death.
but andrew's never been dumb enough to want until neil.
he's dying and he doesn't regret it.
he plants his hands and knees on the cold concrete floor and lets the spasms roll over him in waves, watches bleary eyed as tears drip into the floral mess piling up between his hands. he hears himself laugh between the disgusting noise of a body trying to uproot its internal organs.
every breath brings with it the scent of flowers and blood and bile. it takes a while, but andrew figures out how to block out the smell. he figures out that breathing through his mouth and shutting his eyes keep the flowers at bay, manages to keep his organs from spilling out of his mouth.
and finally, finally he allows himself to roll onto his side and breathe through death's iron grip on his heart.
by the time andrew collects himself off the ground the pain in his lungs is nothing more than a dull ache.
he can no longer taste fire in his mouth, just the bitter aftertaste that has made itself a home between his teeth.
the taste of flowers never leaves his tongue; it works its way deep into the back of andrew's throat lest he forget how it feels to be in love.
-
he stops driving kevin to practice after hours, shoves his car keys at neil and chases away the nausea that threatens to shred his lungs to pieces.
the petals pile up in his toilet, tinted pink and refusing to flush.
the first time he coughs up blood, aaron is there to hold him up. it's also the first time andrew lets his brother drive him to the ER.
"you'll die," and it's no surprise.
they offer him drugs to ease the pain but sobriety is hard to come by nowadays.
andrew deserves to have his organs held hostage by thick vines, torn and punctured to hell and back.
aaron knows, looks at his mirror-image in barely concealed pity and maybe concern.
in another life, andrew would notice the way aaron's fingers twitch every time he turns away to uproot the chrysanthemums that burst out of his throat dyed the colour of love.
but he can't breathe, can't think. he can't feel beyond the death that grows at neil's command. and andrew knows he's at fault. he's hurting himself for no good reason other than to feel something.
aaron tries to shake it into him (you're dying, you're dying) but andrew doesn't care.
he’s chasing the bitter taste of desire down a long, winding road to his death.
he sits on the windowsill, sucking in black smoke that'll materialise later as charred petals and watches neil step out of his car. the smoke filling his lungs is not enough to settle the vines that are clawing up his throat.
blood pools into his palms, spilling bright red over his wrists.
it doesn't look so bad diluted with salt water.
he's dying, but it's fine.
-
andrew’s not ready for neil to take kevin’s seat in the car unannounced, but it’s almost enough to set him on fire.
he can feel it grow, can imagine the budding flowers bloom inside him from the intensity of neil’s stare on the side of his face. andrew feels like throwing up. he considers upturning the entire car.
it’s a decision andrew tries to regret when neil sits too close to him on the couch and deliberately presses their thighs together until andrew has to focus on swallowing the petals down.
“what’s your issue, minyard?” andrew relishes in the feeling of vines squeezing around his heart.
“what’s yours, josten?” he smiles, a warning for neil to leave him be, a dare for him to continue.
maybe if andrew pushes hard enough neil will learn how to love him too. hopefully he’ll figure it out after nature has run its course through andrew’s immune system.
the thought of neil suffering sends another fit of coughs wracking through his body.
-
andrew’s bones ache like they've carried the weight of the world. the death that lives in his chest is becoming too heavy a burden to bear.
he is atlas and niel is the celestial heavens, weighing heavy on his back.
“you’re bleeding,” renee is crouched beside him while he coughs up petal after petal, whole flowers struggling to crawl out of his chest and falling apart on the way. “is that--?”
he barely has time to nod, can’t speak around the mouthfuls of blood and petals. it is, he wants to say, it hurts, but he doesn't. he doesn’t because he wants so much more.
“are you taking medication, andrew?” renee asks later when andrew is sipping on hot coffee and smoking his third cigarette. she already knows the answer; she knows what he’s like, but she asks anyway.
“no.” and that’s that. it’s painful and the scent of flowers is sickening, but the inability to love neil would feel worse.
-
he feels sick watching neil dance at eden’s twilight and almost laughs. he’s being eaten alive by heartbreak over a boy who was taught to feel fear above anything else. he drinks a little to much, stares a little too long at the curve of neil’s hips in flashing neon lights.
roland’s long, meaningful stares are not lost on andrew as he struggles to keep his liquor down and watches neil throw his head back and laugh at something nicky says. he pukes in the club bathroom and watches the mess inside his body disappear down the toilet.
by the time andrew makes it back to their table, neil is waiting for him.
“hey,” neil pushes a glass of whiskey over to him, andrew takes it but doesn’t drink. he lets the condensation soak into his palms and stares out into the sweaty sea of bodies, looking back at neil only when he sees kevin and aaron melting against one another. andrew takes a long sip of his whiskey, internally willing neil to look away and says, “stop.”
“i haven’t said anything yet.” the little upturn of his lips makes andrew want to gouge his own eyes out.
“yet.” he downs the whiskey and slams the empty cup into the centre of the table.
“andrew,” neil’s fingers twitch but he knows better than to reach out. “have you been avoiding me?”
andrew has to swallow down bile. he slides his eyes away from neil and back out to the dancefloor, scanning for nicky. neil keeps staring in that way he always does, his big blue eyes trying to draw something out of andrew’s soul.
“don’t you get tired of shutting me out all the time?” andrew forces his eyes slowly back to neil’s face, watches him rest his cheek in his palm with a lopsided smile. andrew takes a deep breath, feels the flowers bloom in his chest and creep up his oesophagus.
“don’t you get tired of pestering me?” andrew stands and stalks out of eden’s twilight, pulling a cigarette out with shaking fingers. he can hear nicky’s giggles fade behind him and pretends he didn’t see neil’s face drop.
-
“it’s important that you start taking this medication immediately. the disease is eating through your organs, and this is the only way to help.”
it is a pointless visit because andrew knows. he can feel the way his body protests the most simple of tasks, can feel the way his lungs ache with every breath.
renee slides in behind the wheel, wordlessly holding her hand out for andrew’s keys. she doesn’t try to talk to him, knows the outcome will not change, but andrew can feel her glance at the pill bottle that rattles in his hands.
he dreams that night of eyes the colour of the ocean, windswept hair and a smile reserved just for him. he dreams of a scarred hand tangling with his own and the swell of soft, pink lips drawing his breath out of his lungs. the moment is sweet, a moment of pure bliss before neil is pulling away and offering him a single white flower.
andrew almost falls out of his bed, the sheets tangling around his legs as he stumbles to the bathroom. the door is locked as soon as it falls shut behind him, and andrew sinks to the ground with his fingers clenched tight around the toilet bowl.
he tries to keep quiet, the silence of the dorm ringing loud in his ears and the wet echoes making him feel even more sick. it takes a while, but the chrysanthemums finally settle and he slumps against the bathtub.
crawling forward on shaking arms and legs, andrew pulls open the cupboard beneath the sink to find the full pill bottle he’d hidden behind bottles of bleach the day the doctors had prescribed them to him. he sits back against the cupboard and stares at his name printed on the label, listens to the tiny white capsules shift inside.
he takes one out and swallows it dry.
-
the team gets caught in a fight and neil's gone. andrew wants to claw at his own throat, so he latches onto kevin instead. he demands answers, digs his fingers into kevin's strong neck and almost begs for them.
kevin’s hands grasp andrew’s wrists, and his mouth opens on a strangled grunt. andrew has him trapped against the window and his seat, he can see the other foxes stand from their seats but he doesn’t care.
he grips tighter, tells kevin he’ll kill him. give him back to me. he wants the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth. kevin starts from the beginning, tells andrew everything he knows between shaking breaths.
when andrew finally lets go of him and climbs off, kevin slumps back in his seat and stares out of the window with andrew’s fingers blooming across his neck.
andrew is left with nothing but a hollow feeling in his throat.
he swallows two pills at once when the flowers attempt to force their way out of his chest cavity, but they do nothing to quell the itching of his palms. they itch for the entire day it takes for neil to come back to him.
only the person that comes back to him is not neil. it’s nathaniel wesninski, doubled over in pain. the bandages covering his body send a wave of nausea crashing over andrew, but he holds it in, shoves his hand to the back of neil’s neck and holds him there.
touching him feels like bliss, like walking into the arms of a hot shower.
sitting there, with his hands on neil’s face makes the vines twist and grow in andrew’s body. he imagines them weaving through his organs, squeezing tight in an attempt to slice them in half. so andrew stares, and he ignores everything else in favour of tracing every new bruise and cut and bandage that covers neil’s skin.
he is not prepared for what lies beneath neil’s eye, and he has to fight the sharp taste of bloody bile that threatens to bring flowers spilling onto the ground between them.
“what happened to your face?” he doesn’t want to know. he wants to know so badly that it makes him ache.
“a dashboard lighter.” neil looks as sick as andrew feels, and he wants to regret peeling the bandages off of his face.
andrew can’t bear the thought of another person touching neil, not even abby. he’s hyper focused on neil; neil’s eyes, neil’s face, neil’s scent. nothing matters but the fact that neil is here and the people that hurt him are dead. he wishes he could have killed them himself.
“if you tell me to leave, i’ll go.” andrew wants to murder him, wants to tear the flowers from his chest. he tugs neil closer to himself instead. stay, he wants to say, don’t leave again.
“you aren’t going anywhere,” because neil is a fox, and he belongs by andrew’s side. nobody can take him away. andrew will not allow it again.
sitting beside neil makes andrew’s insides burn. he spends hours feeling like he wants to uproot his entire central nervous system, his skin itching every time he brushes against neil. and andrew thinks he could get used to this feeling. this ache. he might be dying, but at least it’s a slow death at the hands of neil josten.
-
“there’s a way to stop this.” aaron’s concern is like a thorn in andrew’s side. he slowly slides his eyes over to his twin, unblinking.
“i am aware.” he says, but it sounds more like i don’t care. aaron stares at him, and andrew stares back until aaron’s shoulders slump and he shoves a book at andrew. it’s got hanahaki disease written on the front, and a page about cures is dog-eared. he tosses it into a drawer and doesn’t look at it again.
his doctor ups the dosage of his pills and tries to push for surgery. andrew takes the pills and leaves. he decides not to let her live if she mentions tearing away his feelings for neil again.
between dying and being unable to feel, andrew chooses to die.
nicky is waiting for him when he gets back, and his eyes are red-rimmed and andrew decides he wants to drown. he ignores his cousin, moving around his bedroom to put his things away. leave now, it’s a clear instruction and he knows nicky knows this too.
“aaron told me,” andrew tries not to flinch, resists the urge to look around to make sure neil isn’t hiding somewhere. and when he looks at nicky again, he sees his bottom lip wobble and forces himself to look away. andrew perches on his desk and lights a cigarette, breathing in the smoke and trying to picture the flowers that live around his heart. “he’s worried about you, andrew.”
“what do you want, nicky?” he doesn’t want to give up the white chrysanthemums that make him feel whole, tries to imagine looking at neil and feeling nothing. he drops the cigarette from between his fingers, leaves it to plummet to the ground as he reaches beneath the desk for the trash can.
nicky hovers close, his hands raised as if wanting to pat andrews back while he retches into the bin. andrew knows he’s staring at the floral, bloody mess that coats the cheap plastic, but he doesn’t care.
“you’re killing yourself,” it’s a choked admission, as if nicky hadn’t believed the extent of andrew’s self-destruction. andrew can do nothing more than gurgle and shove his face further into the bin. “why won’t you just tell him.”
it hadn’t occurred to andrew that he could.
-
neil comes to him that night, while kevin is fast asleep in his own bed, back turned to them. he kneels beside andrew’s bed and stares at him, chin tilted up in the whisper of a question. andrew thinks back to their first kiss, wonders if this one will feel any different.
when neil whispers, yes, into the dark, andrew closes the gap to lick into his mouth. he helps neil into his bed and decidedly doesn’t think of the vines that are twisting tighter around his organs.
andrew takes his time mapping out neil’s skin with his fingers until his hand closes around his cock, hot and heavy between their bodies. he listens to the rush of breath that leaves neil’s lips, feels the velvet beneath his palm and the careful fingers that curl in his hair and decides that the taste of flowers isn’t so bad.
he allows neil’s face to fit into the crook of his neck, relishes in the feel of his tongue licking a hot stripe up towards his earlobe. andrew rubs his thumb over the tip of neil’s cock, smears his precome over it and listens to neil keen. neil’s hips twitch up and he bites down on andrew’s skin to leave a constellation of bruises that’ll haunt him even after they fade.
he squeezes his hand tighter around neil and strokes him just right, letting his other hand wander across neil’s back beneath his shirt. the goosebumps he raises there are accompanied by a sweet shudder and a soft sigh.
when neil tenses beneath his hands, andrew tugs him away, wants to see his face as he comes undone with a whispered andrew. he watches neil’s mouth fall open and his head tilt back, his spine arching like a bow. thick streams of come coat andrew’s fingers and the front of his sleep shirt.
neil presses in to kiss andrew, slow and sweet as he comes down from his high with a sated smile. but andrew doesn’t let it last. he nudges neil away from him and slides out of the bed, ignores neil’s eyes that track him to the bathroom and locks himself in there to shower.
he swallows two pills with water from the sink.
neil’s in the bunk above his own when andrew comes out of the bathroom freshly showered, and it’s a relief. he pulls on a hoodie and leaves the dorm because he knows he’ll be able to smell neil on his sheets.
the air on the roof feels like a tall glass of water and andrew drinks it all in like a man on the brink of dehydration. he lets his legs dangle off the side of the roof and lights a cigarette, sucking the cancer deep into his lungs to mingle with the disease that’s already festering in his body.
telling neil that the most vivid emotion he’s felt in years is killing him was never an option, but he entertains the idea as he sits alone in the dark. he wonders if neil would confess his undying love for him and almost laughs.
the prospect of being rejected by neil shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. and it doesn’t, not really, save for the monster it awakens that andrew’s pills should have laid to rest for the night.
-
“you have a month, andrew. maybe two if you’re lucky.” you should consider getting surgery, is left unsaid.
nicky is with him this time; nicky and aaron and renee, his own personal cavalry. except nicky has to leave the room because he can’t hold in his sobs. andrew just accepts it like he does every time they visit.
when renee and andrew get to the car, nicky pushes away from aaron’s side and barrels towards andrew. his arms twitch as though he wants to latch on and shake andrew like a ragdoll but he stops a foot away. andrew watches nicky’s bottom lip wobble and then still. nicky’s mouth opens as if to shout, and it’s what andrew is expecting but the deep breath and sad head shake are almost worse.
he wants to tell himself that he doesn’t care, wants to pretend the weight on his chest isn’t from the pain he sees behind nicky’s eyes. wishes he could just walk past like nothing’s wrong but he’s rooted to the spot by nicky’s big, brown eyes.
“i won’t do the surgery,” andrew says, forcing himself to stare into nicky’s eyes. and part of him wishes he could allow himself to have his feelings removed.
“i know.” nicky sounds tired, resigned to the fate that dictates he watch andrew allow himself to die at the hands of a man that has never known what it means to love.
“don’t worry,” is what comes out, but what andrew really means is i’m sorry. he steps around nicky, doesn’t wait to see his composure crumble and climbs into the passenger side of his car.
the look renee gives him feels like a gentle pat on the back.
-
when neil finds him on the roof and plucks the cigarette out of his hand, andrew doesn’t look away from the campus below them.
“did i do something wrong?” andrew can see neil sit down beside him, legs dangling off the side of the building.
“no,” because telling neil that his existence is painful is too much. he lights another cigarette and drops to a crouch beside neil, finds himself wanting to lean against neil’s frame. he knows he could, and it makes his heart ache.
it almost makes andrew want to smile, and it’s interesting to be able to feel so much for just one person. neil still feels like a pipe dream and it makes andrew wonder if his fingers would pass right through neil’s arm if he tried to reach for him.
“neil,” he waits for neil to turn his big baby blues on him, tries not to drown in them, and the words get stuck somewhere in his oesophagus. andrew brings his cigarette up and inhales long and deep, staring straight into neil’s eyes until he can breathe a cloud straight into his face.
the worst part is, neil doesn’t even blink. he just sits there and takes it, waits patiently as if he can see the words that are stuck in andrew’s throat. and god does it hurt so much more.
“yes or no, neil?” andrew flicks his cigarette off the side of the building and waits.
“yes, andrew. yeah.” and neil is already leaning in, like he’s been starving, and andrew almost turns away. he pushes past the thing clawing at his chest and kisses neil, holds the back of neil’s neck and pulls him a little too close.
andrew kisses neil like he’s been in a desert for a year and neil is the only water source he can find. the tentative hands that neil presses to his shoulders are like brands, and somewhere in the back of his mind, andrew wonders what would happen if chrysanthemum petals were to erupt from his lips now.
he pulls back just enough to watch neil’s eyelids flutter, the way he cranes forward a little chasing andrew’s lips before his eyes open fully.
and then andrew is staring into neil’s eyes again and it feels like home.
“andrew, i want more. yes or no?” the question makes andrew want to shove his palm in neil’s face. he presses in for another kiss instead. neil’s fingers tangle in his hair this time, his blunt nails gently scrape over andrew’s scalp and he can’t help but sigh into neil’s mouth.
later, andrew wonders how he ended up laying neil out on the concrete of the roof, body crushed beneath his own. he can’t think of anything but the way neil tastes in the moment, though. andrew takes in the tiny sounds that spill over neil’s kiss-swollen lips, drinks them in and tries to press deeper.
he wants to crush neil’s body under his own until they meld into one.
eventually, andrew has to roll onto his back and swallow around the flowers that threaten to crawl out of his mouth. he wills the monster behind his ribs to calm down while he basks in the possibility of neil’s mouth being his for real. the possibility of this being real.
permanence is frightening, but andrew isn’t afraid of neil being a fixture in his life.
-
“andrew,” neil’s voice comes from the bathroom and andrew feels heat trickle down his spine. he eyes the bathroom door from his perch on the desk, ash falls from the end of his cigarette. “andrew, what is this?”
“i can’t see through walls, neil.” andrew makes sure he sounds disinterested, pretends he can’t hear the sound of pills rattling in a plastic bottle. when neil comes into view, he has the medicine held up in front of him as if it’s made of red hot lava.
“why do you have these?” he steps closer until he can put the pill bottle on the desk by andrew’s knee, and he picks it up to inspect it like he’s never seen it before. replying to neil seems pointless; he already knows what they’re for. “how long, ‘drew?”
“i don’t know,” it’s not entirely a lie, andrew hasn’t been counting the days. what does it matter when he’ll die anyway. “a few months.”
“who is it?” neil’s voice shakes, and andrew when looks up at him he can already taste bile in the back of his throat. he clenches his fingers around the bottle until it’s painful.
andrew thinks about the way nicky and aaron and renee have looked at him after finding out, the barely masked worry and pain. he can’t count how many times aaron has called him stupid, nicky has told him to stop hurting yourself and maybe this is his chance.
it's not the first time andrew has felt fear when he looks into neil's eyes, but this time he can feel it deep in his gut and it makes his hands shake. the cigarette falls from between his fingers out of the open window. neil waits patiently, expectantly. and if andrew told him not now he might give him more time.
"it's you." it's always been you he swallows down bile and blood and feels sweat beading on his forehead. the pills rattle in his grip.
neil doesn’t react at first, just continues to stare at andrew as if waiting for him to take it back. perhaps andrew would have laughed and told neil he’s joking had circumstances been different but they aren’t, and he doesn’t. every second that passes weighs heavily on andrew’s chest and makes him wonder why he feels so surprised when he’d always known neil wouldn’t love him back.
andrew feels the familiar burn of acid coming up his throat, tears springing to his eyes. he barely has time to set the bottle on the desk, hears it roll away and fall to the carpeted ground as he heaves into his sweaty palms. fire blooms behind his chest cavity, his heart squeezing painfully; he swears he can almost feel the thorns rupturing the muscle.
there’s blood dripping to the desk, his floral demise overflowing from between his fingers and the only coherent thought andrew’s brain can form is how free he feels now that he knows they could never be anything more than friends. he feels free and yet it hurts so much, a searing brand on his heart.
and then there’s a hand pressed firmly between his shoulder blades and breathing becomes a little bit easier. andrew coughs and he coughs until his throat is raw, digs his nails into the chipping paint of the windowsill and dry heaves until finally finally something dislodges itself from his thorax.
neil’s hand stays firm against his back, rubbing gently as if he hadn’t witnessed the loss of andrew’s wilting chrysanthemum forest. the final bud sits pretty in a bed of lost hope, pretty with its pink petals that mimic the way blood dyes the white.
“i didn’t know.” neil’s voice sounds raw, as if he’d been the one to vomit all over the desk. he sounds wrecked like he’d swallowed a thousand knives and the ache blooms in andrew’s chest again.
“i didn’t tell you.” the hand on his back trails up until it can cradle the back of andrew’s head, raking through his hair, a silent apology. painfully slowly, andrew forces himself to sit up and inhale deep, trying to focus on the scent of the wind and the fingers that gather the hair behind his ears.
“why?” sweat-slick strands are gathered away from his forehead, replaced by a cool palm.
“nothing would’ve changed.” he can hear neil's body tense behind him, feels his fingers twitch against his forehead and closes his eyes. and then neil is pulling away and the serenity andrew had felt leaves with him.
“look at me,” neil tilts andrews chin up, swipes blood from the corner of his mouth. the look in neil’s eyes makes andrew feel winded. in them, he sees the promise of a life that no drug-induced haze could bring him. of course, he knows now that the neil standing in front of him with his dishonest eyes is painfully real.
andrew tells himself that this is fine, the rejection neil will make him face head-on will only be a reminder that the way he feels was never just a manifestation of his innermost desires. besides, he always knew that neil josten would be the death of him, he just never knew it would be this painful. it feels like hours go by with neil’s calloused fingertips pressing into andrew’s cheeks, keeping him still so that neil can take in everything that lives beyond his eyes.
andrew feels seen for the first time in his life. it’s like neil has stripped him down to his bare bones until he can see the thorns inside of him that grow and curl around his organs, thorns digging into his heart like a thousand knives. even now, andrew can feel it growing, can feel the pressure inside himself and he can barely breathe. what can he do when neil is holding the reigns?
neil is the forbidden fruit that andrew continues to consume without a thought for the consequences it may bring. the juice of the pomegranate seed tastes so sweet on his tongue that he can hardly feel it burning a hole into his stomach. andrew is hades, chained to his own self-imposed rules and he is persephone chasing a desire that will bring him nothing more than destruction.
“andrew.” the sweet poison dripping from neil’s lips makes andrew’s head spin, but all he can do is allow the haze to consume him. it’s okay, he thinks, because the inability to love neil would be unbearable.
“andrew,” neil says again, louder this time, more firm. “i am not a pipe dream.”