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Neil runs his fingers over the fabric softness of the plush jellyfish Andrew had given him what felt like ages ago but what must have been only a few months back, the blond merely holding it out to him and saying, "It's you." When he'd come to wrap his hands around it, he heard when Andrew muttered under his breath, "Nettle."
When he'd first come to Palmetto and been met with a wide smile and dead eyes, he hadn't understood what the nickname meant. It certainly hadn't been flattering, but it wasn't until they played the truth game that he found out just what it meant. And it wasn't until after that first year of wanting to stay but knowing he couldn't, of a type of fear that made him want to run to it rather than away - after all of that, Andrew let him even closer. Close enough that he was allowed to sit by the other on the couch late at night as they watched ocean documentaries in near complete darkness. Another truth, freely offered, even if he could tell by the clench of Andrew's jaw and the tension in his shoulders that it wasn't easy.
So Neil looked away and watched in silence, content and warm at being given this, at getting to be here with Andrew at all.
Nettle. He'd been mistaken in thinking it'd meant something like 'thorn' at first, or maybe that was just a happy accident to Andrew and he meant it that way as well. But first and foremost, whenever he said it he was calling Neil a jellyfish, a sea nettle. He was pulling Neil little by little into his world until eventually, the two of them had been underwater, floating side by side.
He'd never been a big fan of the beach or the ocean. But the way Andrew stares and watches across from a tiny screen, the way he leans forward even if he's seen all these documentaries before, the way he'll talk and talk and talk about it all after Neil wakes shaking and scared from nightmares, eyes steady and voice unshakable, well. It's hard not to find some sort of wonder in it, the same way that Andrew does.
The Foxes had wanted to go to a beach for summer vacation, and he knows that they wouldn't have even suggested it if they knew or if he'd told them. But he still can't bring himself to tell truths like that to anyone but Andrew, and even then he can't go into the details. The smell of the salty ocean spray, the feel of her bones on his hands, the hot metal he couldn't bring himself to get out of, the scars it left and the way he still can't stand grainy textures. But Andrew had taken one look at him and then said to them all, "No. Pick somewhere else."
Even though Neil knew that he would have loved to go to the beach, to see the ocean in person for the first time. And how Neil wanted that too, but he felt the yawning canyon in his head and he knew the consequences of falling off. He was uneasy and uncomfortable at the thought of going, and yet he was angry and frustrated that he couldn't. That his mother had managed to take this from him too. And then he'd felt guilty and anxious and he'd had to go back to their room, hiding under the covers and squeezing his jellyfish tight, closing his eyes and trying to breathe under the weight of it all.
He hated her. His mother took, took, took until it felt like he was empty. Even now, after her death, she still held him back, her hand hard on his shoulder. She told him how stupid he was being, how the Foxes would betray him, how Andrew would leave him. How he would die under the boot of the Moriyamas, and how she wouldn't be around to save him. She was there some nights and some mornings, sometimes when he wanted to kiss Andrew and what caused him to turn away and say no, sometimes when he was inhaling the scent of smoke, some moments she had no business being in. She was dead and he was alive. She would have hated the path he'd taken to get here. She'd have slapped him and told him what he needed to do. She'd have wanted him to run until he died just like her.
He wasn't her boy anymore. It hurt. It clawed at him in his heart and lungs that he was abandoning her, forgetting everything she'd ever taught him, that if she could see how soft he was now that she'd be disgusted. He felt guilty missing her. He was angry that he still loved her - but he was selfishly relieved, too.
In some rare dreams he had, they were sitting at a small wooden table, flowers in a vase and a polka dot tablecloth mere decoration as he stared at her, her blonde curls and her sharp grey eyes. Her nose that had clearly been broken a few times too many. The mole by the side of her mouth. Her bare ears and bare face, free of any of the masks she'd worn in life. She'd probably been more than the twenty two people he'd lived as. She'd run away from her family and then from Nathan, but she'd never run from him. In those dreams, all he ever saw was his mother.
And they'd talk. He never remembered about what when he woke up, but it didn't really matter. In a strange way, it was freeing to remember her like this, calm and listening. Sitting there beside him and talking about things that didn't matter at all. Maybe he told her about Palmetto or exy or how he still hadn't grown any taller since he'd last seen her. Maybe he said he loved her or how he still couldn't forgive her for leaving him. How she was still one of his favorite people, right next to Andrew.
Maybe they argued or she apologized or hugged him close to her and held on tight enough to hurt - but he doubted it. That wasn't who she was, Mary Hatford. She'd been quick and bitter and sharp, never softening her edges for anyone. She'd been hurt by the world too, or maybe just herself, he thinks. Paranoid and possessive and controlling, never trusting anyone and too proud to ask for help. A fierce girl who'd been loved by her family but who had been too wild to want to stay, a jaded woman who'd taken him and the money without ever looking back. He didn't know the whys or hows of how she'd come to be married to Nathan or why she'd wanted to have Neil at all. It doesn't fit wirh what he knew of her, and he knows the Hatfords had been shocked to hear of her decisions and where she'd ended up. Maybe they'd thought that their wild child would go on to never marry at all.
It wasn't really her in those dreams. The real her was in his nightmares, memories of her burning body or her fists. He still didn't know which he preferred.
He had been so sure that she'd loved him when he was younger, hell, even just a year ago. That the fact she'd taken him with her proved it. How she'd held him so close and hurt him and never let him be anyone but her boy, her Abram. That had been her love.
But she hadn't loved him enough to stay, and he knew it wasn't fair, but he was so furious at her for that. Why keep him alive for so long if you were only going to leave me, a younger him would have wanted to ask. Was a part of you glad for dying, for not having to take care of me anymore? Or were you angry, having to die for someone else and for not getting the chance that you gave me?
I'm alive because of you, he wanted to tell her, but you would've killed me too. You almost did.
What kind of life had his mother been looking for when she'd run from the Hatfords and then from Nathan? He'd never know, because even if she were still alive, she'd never tell him. It was probably better, not knowing. But he couldn't help but think of her sometimes and wonder.
He used to only be able to see his father in his face, because that was who his mother had taught him to see. But now he could pick out the places where little bits of her lingered; the lighter parts of his hair that shone blonde in the right light, the leanness to his body and how his legs and his mouth were the fastest parts of him. His fierceness and his stubbornness.
His height and his hands, meant for piano but calloused and scarred from the choices he'd made.
He saw so much of her in himself that it punched the air out of him sometimes. He'd been shaped by her as much as his fear of his father had shaped him, but he was slowly learning how to be his own person, how to be Neil Josten. Who, in spite of his parents, would stay.
But here he is, sitting on the couch of their dorm, legs criss crossed and fidgeting with his plush jellyfish, Andrew beside him, waiting for whatever it was he wanted to say. He was nervous even if he knew he shouldn't be, but didn't even try to push away the emotion. Even if it was useless and stupid.
After a few minutes of silence, Andrew let his hand rest in between their bodies, but Neil couldn't take it right now. He felt jittery and too small for his body the way that he wanted to vibrate right out of it, and even the thought of touch at that moment felt like too much.
Andrew took his hand back, eyes still so steady. It was that flatness, that promise, the way that Andrew was that gave Neil comfort and the strength to breathe out and say, "I'm not a boy."
Silence. Andrew tilted his head. The words came out easier even if they came faster. "Or a man, or… I know the Foxes all call me trans, but I don't think I still am if I'm not any gender? I don't know, it's confusing. I guess I need to look up some stuff again. And I thought I was done when I found demisexuality." Neil smiled to himself, before Andrew huffed and then leaned closer, hazel eyes intense as he watched him.
"Pronouns?"
Neil smiled wider and felt warm all over. Andrew, Andrew, Andrew. His nerves settled down and he felt bubbles pop in his stomach, like the fizzy soda Dan and Matt always laughed over spilling.
"He and they. And, um." He looked down at his jellyfish again, squeezing in a pattern for a few times before looking back up, where Andrew was, still so patient.
"I'm not really sure, but. Could you try using 'it' a few times? I don't know if it feels right, but I want to try."
He'd never been ashamed of or hidden his body, and the Foxes had never given him cause to regret being so open with that part of his identity. Oddly enough, Aaron had been one of the most supportive, as his girlfriend, Katelyn, was trans herself, even if he was still homophobic. It had been bizarre to see him offer links and resources for hormone therapy, safe places to talk, etc, and then turn around and sneer after seeing Neil and Andrew 'too close'.
They'd always had curious eyes for creatures like cats or birds, wondering what it would feel like to be in a different body, even for just a day. Wondering if they'd be happier if they had different organs or if those would feel wrong too. As they grew older and kept hearing the name he'd given them, heard people keep calling them a girl, keep seeing him as something he wasn't, it kept building and building inside of him until eventually it burst. He'd told his mother and she'd accepted him, even if no one else did.
They wondered if she would have been able to accept this part of her child as well, or if she would have told him to stop living for fantasies and start living in reality. But he'd never felt as real as he did now, finding a part of himself that he couldn't believe he'd ever left behind.
Were they still trans if they weren't either gender? If they weren't any gender? Did he still want to be called trans, or did it feel wrong now? He hadn't minded before, it had felt good to be acknowledged so easily like that, but now they had another truth to tell.
"I'm nonbinary," he tells Andrew, still smiling, because he can't believe that he's gotten here to be able to say it. Alive and still learning themself.
And now Neil buries themself in the softness of his jellyfish, grinning like a fool but feeling so free that they don't want to stop. "Yes or no?" Andrew asks them, and Neil quickly looks up, saying yes.
Andrew moves closer and there's a firm grip on his chin, moving him until the two of them are looking into each other's eyes. A kiss is pressed to his forehead, soft and more gentle than Neil knows what to do with, and they know they're giving Andrew that look he always scowls about. It's brief, the touch of those lips on his skin, and yet he's never felt safer or more cared for.
"I want your weight on me," he breathes out, strangely breathless, "yes or no?" And Andrew looks at them for a moment before agreeing, and shortly enough Neil is laying on his back and Andrew is on top of him, body pressing into his carefully but exactly like the weighted blanket they have exept better, because this is Andrew.
They always feel so safe underneath him, like they could fall asleep and he would keep watch, or they could look up at him and he would be looking back. A trust stronger than anything.
They barely manage to keep hold of their jellyfish before it slips out of their hands. With a tiny sigh of relief, he brings it back and plops it onto Andrew's back, who merely stares down at him, supremely unimpressed. "Mittens is cold," Neil says, staring back.
"I should have never given you that fucking thing."
Neil scowls up at him, making Mittens attack as it bounces off Andrew's back multiple times. But Mittens is unbreakable, and is always ready to hunt. "They'll never find your body at the bottom of the ocean."
A few more attacks land before Andrew reaches back and grabs the jellyfish, throwing it across the room where it bounces and then rolls sadly across the carpet. Neil stares forlornly after it.
"Murderer," they say, and watch as Andrew presses down on their body even more, causing their lips to twitch.
"Self defense," he whispers in their ear before moving over to kiss them, stealing their smile and their laughter before it can be heard. He gives it willingly, pushing and then pulling back in a dance that's long become familiar. Next to the warmth and the closeness of Andrew as he kisses them hard, Mittens is soon forgotten.
They feel Andrew's hand on their wrists as he pulls up until they're over their head, and Neil smiles, feeling his cheeks start to flush. Their loose t-shirt hides nothing as their nipples brush against the fabric and Andrew moves, a knee between their legs and hazel eyes dark as he pulls back to look at them.
But Neil would rather have something else, and so he says, "Andrew. Come here?" Something softens in the blond's eyes before he's flopping down against their body, and Neil laughs even as he's a bit winded. They stay there wrapped up in each other like that for a while, time slipping away slowly enough that it almost didn't exist.
Andrew presses kisses to his neck and jaw and collarbones, his hands underneath Neil's shirt and slowly exploring, tracing his scars or squeezing every so often just to watch the way it makes Neil sigh contentedly. When his hands reach his breasts, Andrew cups them and then stays there, warmth on warmth. Neil relishes in his every touch, feeling cherished and like molasses as it travels.
Neil never knew how good just existing could feel until Andrew let them exist alongside him.
"Do you want me to use your pronouns in public?" It's a question that comes even longer after, but Neil doesn't feel nervous or anxious about discussing any of it with Andrew anymore. How could he, when he proves just by asking that he cares? Andrew takes care of him, more and more as the days go by until Neil is shy with the feeling of wanting to bask in it.
"Yes. I don't care who you tell." He doesn't know if the Foxes will accept him as easily as Andrew, but they love him. If they don't get it at first, they'll get there the second, third, fourth try. As long as they love him, they'll keep trying. He loves them too - if they mess up or make mistakes, he'll remind them, correct them. And Andrew will be there right beside him, a comforting prescence that will step in only if they ask him to.
Later, there will be even more questions. Matt will ask if they still mind being called 'dude'. Allison will take him along on a shopping spree and as he holds her bags, will ask if he wants to present differently now, masculine or feminine or androgynous. Will offer them help if they want to try out a different aesthetic. Dan will hug him and then grin at him fiercely, telling him that he'll always be number ten of the Foxes. Kevin will accept it and then go on to grill them relentlessly about tactics for the next game. Aaron will scoff and Neil will scoff back, and the both of them will be satisfied with that. Renee will thank him for letting her know, and she'll be the one who adapts to his pronouns the fastest, mixing them up and changing them around in sentences that confuse outsiders but always make Neil want to smile.
They'll keep Neil Josten as a name because they'd never even thought of changing it until someone asked. They aren't going to change names ever again.
They'll find out that it's okay to be trans even if they're nonbinary. That other nonbinary people consider themselves trans too, and that others prefer not to be called trans, that it varies person by person. And they'll decide that they don't mind being called trans but they identify the most with being nonbinary.
They'll think about gendered terms like dude or boy or king or prince. He'll like some and have a distaste for others. He'll come to like when Andrew calls him a pretty boy or teasingly calls him a pillow princess, because Andrew isn't calling him a man or a woman when he uses them, he's just talking to Neil. They'll let Matt know that being called dude or bro is alright, laughing when he fist pumps and pulls them into a hug.
Andrew will say things like, "It's over there having a breakdown about stickball,", "He's not going,", "They're sleeping." He'll say, "Abram," a hand on his neck, and Neil will be home. Andrew will be there with him every step of the way, because Andrew refuses to move. Steady and solid, the bedrock of a river.
And Neil will get to take care of him too. Andrew will let him be the big spoon for once, holding him against their chest as the two of them just breathe together. He'll give Andrew space when he needs to be alone. He'll sit next to him on the roof and inhale the scent of smoke, of Andrew. He'll take Andrew's weight gladly, if Andrew says yes. He'll be grateful for every day he gets to wake up next to Andrew in bed, and they'll never say it, Neil or Andrew, but the truth is that they both know this is more than enough, more than they ever thought they'd get.
Like a dream you can't quite remember or forget. That vague feeling of reaching for something.
Except their hands found each other when they did, and they're not letting go.