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Andrew Minyard thought he would never experience happiness. Most days, he wakes up to hazy smokescreen memories of a life too painful. Today, he opens his eyes and blinks out the sunlight.
The left side of the bed is still warm but empty, and he stretches out, mumbling nothings to himself before sitting up. He can hear Neil making noise in the kitchen. He stands, following the faint sounds. He leans against the doorframe of their bedroom, watching Neil at the stove. He’s humming to himself, sunlight dappled across his back.
Neil is mismatched puzzle pieces shoved together haphazardly and Andrew has been spending stolen seconds sorting them out.
It went like this: He went to a bullshit small town in Arizona and one month later, he was borderline obsessed with brown hair and fake contacts. He wanted to peel back the layers, see all of the raw skin underneath. Three months later, he promised to protect a moniker. Three months after that, he went to the hospital, and when he came out, Neil Josten was nothing more than raw skin.
It went like this: Andrew liked the sharpened edges of Neil Josten. The Auburn hair. The blue eyes. The desperation. The idiocy. And then he almost lost him.
It goes like this: Every morning, Andrew wakes up to Neil already buzzing. He lazes around until he has practice, and he gives it his all if for no other reason than the adoring kisses Neil gives him each night.
“Staring,” Neil says, a sly smile spreading across his face. Andrew rolls his eyes, pushing off the wall.
“Whatever,” he says, moving slowly, looking over at the omelets currently in the pan, “smells good,” he says, basking in Neil’s pleased demeanor.
“Yes or no?” Neil asks then, and Andrew nods, his body relaxing when Neil leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “Mmm. Good morning, Mr. Minyard.”
“Don’t call me that,” Andrew murmurs, but there’s no heat behind the words.
“What do you want me to call you?” Neil asks, and Andrew raises his eyebrows, leaning back into the counter.
“My name is fine.”
Neil doesn’t respond for a minute, considering that. He leans in to press a kiss to the corner of Andrew’s lips.
“Hmm. Sure, Drew,” the words are barely above a whisper, and Andrew shivers, cursing himself for being so obvious.
“You’re going to burn my omelet,” he says, feigning boredom. Neil turns away, focusing his attention on their breakfast, “fucking junkie.”
Andrew can’t help but soften at the sound of Neil’s chuckle.
When they get home from practice, both sweaty, their air plastered across their foreheads, Neil opens the door to their apartment and smiles down at King who has found herself a patch of sun.
“Lazy cat,” Andrew murmurs, and Neil just smiles over at him.
“She’s doing her job,” he argues, and Andrew rolls his eyes, stalking off towards the bathroom.
When Neil knocks on the door, Andrew is already dressed down to his boxers.
“I’m showering with you, yes or no?” Neil asks, and Andrew walks over, opening the door and stepping aside.
Andrew has never seen anything as beautiful as Neil Josten. He’s smooth skin and sculpted muscle and raised skin. Some nights, when Andrew wakes from particularly gut-wrenching nightmares, he traces Neil’s scars until he calms down.
Neil strips quickly, getting in the shower without so much as looking at Andrew.
Andrew follows, his eyes trailing down Neil’s back.
“Yes or no?” Andrew asks, and Neil looks over his shoulder, smiling softly.
“Yes.”
Andrew moves forward then, resting his hands on Neil’s hips, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the back of his neck.
“You smell like sweat,” he says against Neil’s warm skin.
“Huh, really? I wonder why!” he says, turning to face Andrew. He reaches a hand up, letting it hover in front of Andrew’s face until he nods. Then Neil pushes Andrew’s hair from his eyes, leaning in to pepper kisses across his jaw.
“Yes or no?” Neil whispers, and suddenly Andrew’s throat is tight. He jerks away, eyes wide.
Neil looks just as shocked, his hands raised in front of himself. He takes a step away from Andrew.
“I’m-”
“Don’t you fucking dare, Josten.”
They stand there in silence for a few minutes before some of the tension thaws out of Andrew’s shoulders. He moves back, a few inches from Neil who eyes him apprehensively.
“Yes,” Andrew says then, and Neil doesn't move, continuing to stare at him warily, “Junkie,” Andrew prompts, and Neil shakes his head.
“We’re having a good day. I don’t want to ruin this,” he says quietly, and Andrew huffs, moving under the spray of water.
He moves quickly, washing his hair before moving on to the body wash.
“This is nothing, Junkie,” Andrew responds a few minutes later, and Neil bites the inside of his lip so hard that it bleeds.
“And I’m nothing. And you want nothing. I get it, Drew. That’s why I’m done,” Neil snaps, and Andrew immediately tenses, hands frozen in their place on his stomach, “talking. Not with you,” Neil clarifies.
“Well, that’s a relief.” Andrew practically spits, finishing up and exiting the shower, leaving Neil alone in the bathroom and walking to their balcony.
He had given up smoking two years before when Neil had graduated from Palmetto State. He stares out at the bustling city, watching people walk their dogs and chat with each other. They seemed so happy down there.
Andrew doesn’t look up when the door opens.
Neil settles about a foot away from Andrew, following his gaze.
“Drew… I know you hate it when I apologize.”
“Jos-”
“But I need you to shut the fuck up and listen to me for a minute. I will never ask you to do something that makes you uncomfortable. I will never ask you to change or be different. When I picked you five and a half years ago, I knew what I was getting into. I didn’t do it with the hopes of you changing. I picked you because I love you.” Neil says, still staring ahead.
“And I don’t need you to say it back. Not now. Not ever. I don’t need you to change at all. But I do need you to know that I know. I know that this isn’t nothing. I know that it’s special and important. I know that I mean a hell of a lot to you, at least as much as you mean to me. I’m never going to be done with you. I will be here next to you every day until you tell me to leave, okay?”
Neil’s voice is thin at the end, emotion threatening to overtake him. Andrew is staring at him, trying desperately to keep his expression impassive. Neil turns to look at him then.
“Fuck you,” Andrew says through clenched teeth, and Neil chuckles.
“Yes or no?” he whispers, and Andrew shakes his head before speaking.
“Yes,” he says, and Neil is there pressing a bruising kiss to his lips, hands still hovering. Andrew takes his hands, setting them against his own neck. As soon as Neil knows touching is okay, his left hand slides to the nape of Andrew’s neck, cradling him there.
When Neil pulls back, pressing his forehead against Andrew’s, he sighs.
“I hate you,” Andrew says, and Neil smiles, pecking Andrew’s lips before pulling back.
“I love you too, Drew,” he says, pulling away and going inside. Andrew watches him go to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to begin their dinner.
Andrew Minyard never thought he would experience happiness. And he stands there in the cool Denver air, watching the love of his life move around their kitchen.
It went like this: Andrew Minyard fell in love when he was 20 years old, pressing a key into the hand of a stranger.
It goes like this: words had never been Andrew’s strong suit, and honesty had never been Neil’s. But here in their home, Andrew woke every morning with the ghost of a smile on his lips. He went to sleep every night with his junkie pressed to his side. And he spent every hour between the two gravitating towards a man who was nothing but sharp edges.
And he loves it.