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Neil Josten was not familiar with comfort. He never got it as a child, either being subjected to his fathers torture, or being on the run and forced to grow up too fast. The idea of comfort was foreign – an intangible thing that his fingertips grasped at but never quite reached. It was like a blurred image, something he can almost make out, but it’s too far for him to fully comprehend. Not to mention that Andrew isn’t too good with comfort either. So, again, an unattainable idea.
It started out as a silly thing, really. They were walking idly through a store, not looking for anything in particular, when they (he and Andrew) stumbled across the baby section. Neil’s eyes found a baby blanket, just barely noticeable from the corner of his eye. Again, a silly thing, but Neil became drawn to it. Thinking back to his childhood, he couldn’t remember ever having a baby blanket or a stuffed animal of any kind. It shouldn’t have caught his attention, but it did, and he ended up pausing in the middle of the aisle to stare, eyes somehow blank yet swimming with so many emotions. Of course, Andrew caught on, but nothing was done about it. Not the first time, at least, but the third time it happened, Andrew silently grabbed the baby blanket (white with little bears that had little pink bows around their neck), and that was that. So Neil now had a baby blanket.
Strangely enough, however, the silly little baby blanket, which he hid most of the time and stared at the rest, provided him with some sort of deep-seated comfort. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Staring turned into tentative touching when alone in his dorm, and then holding it for a few minutes, still staring, but in awe. It was pitiful, really, but Neil never really found himself embarrassed. And if anyone commented, he could always lie or use the fact that he was on the run from his serial killer father.
His small collection didn’t have anything more than plushies and blankets, maybe the occasional coloring book, but that was it. And he rarely indulged, because indulgence was scary. Indulgence meant accepting the fact that his brain went just a little bit fuzzy around the edges, and he wasn’t alert. Rationally, he knew he wasn’t in danger, but being on high alert was rooted into his soul, and not having that familiar awareness was scary. Because the fuzziness often meant zoning out and losing track of time, paired with unconsciously clinging to his stupid baby blanket and a plushie.
Andrew, again, catches on soon enough, always hyper-aware and observant. There are no words shared, just a hand on the back of Neil’s neck and a silent reminder to breathe. It helps ground him, but the fuzziness still creeps at the edges of his thoughts, making his speech slower and making it harder for him to follow conversations at a rapid pace. Softer, slower things are better. Not that he’d ever acknowledge this. In fact, the first few times this happened, he forced himself out on a run and ran until his legs gave out. Andrew stopped this behavior almost immediately.
It became a thing, oddly enough, where Andrew and Neil would go to the Columbia house by themselves to indulge in Neil’s habit. They brought his small stash over and put it in Andrew’s room, where Neil felt safe enough to give in, even if just a bit. And giving in most ended with him fast asleep, blanket tucked closely to his chest in a firm grip as he dozed peacefully, no signs of stress in his person. Neither of them talked about it, not really, and no one knew outside of them; not even Betsy. But they didn’t need to know, because it wasn’t hurting anyone, and it wasn’t any of their business.
In his mind, Andrew had a hunch as to what was going on, but he never presented Nei with this information in fear of scaring him into never indulging again. But he did slip more things into the stash, like new crayons and a soft, plain hoodie, testing the waters. And Neil never commented, so Andrew kept adding; a pair of fuzzy socks, a pair of soft sweatpants, a fox plushie, markers, really anything he found that he thought Neil would like. And Neil used all of it. He wore softer colors, asking Andrew to brush or braid his hair, falling asleep with his baby blanket; accepting this small part of himself that only they knew about. And that was okay.