Archive of Our Own

Andrew sat on the examination table, wondering if all this was worth proving Aaron wrong.

The whole thing had started with a phone call. Aaron, complaining about his residency hours, had laughed and said, "I'm spending at least fifteen hours in the hospital every day while you probably can't even remember your last checkup."

"Why would I go to a doctor when nothing's wrong?"

"That breaks the whole purpose of a 'checkup.' You go to make sure nothing's wrong. Though I doubt you'd have the patience to wait."

"That's not true."

"It is."

So here Andrew was.

It had occurred to him right after he'd made the appointment out of spite that Aaron had probably baited him on purpose. Andrew had mentioned feeling more tired than usual the week before. A cheap trick. It had worked anyway. Andrew knew exactly why he'd been tired, and it had nothing to do with being sick.

Now his patience had worn thin during the week-long wait for this appointment, and the past forty minutes on this cold table, paper crinkling under his thighs, were worse.

The room the nurse had left him was cold, the walls too bright. He had sent a screenshot of his appointment as proof to Aaron while he waited, but then grown bored of his phone within the first ten minutes. Now, he was getting bored of reading the papers hanging on the walls talking about various medical issues in English and Spanish.

He was thinking of ditching the appointment and just saying Aaron was right when someone knocked the door.

The air in the room shifted the second he caught the sight of a flash of auburn hair.

"Hello, Mr. Minyard. I'm Neil. I'll be your doctor today." The man closed the door behind him and gave a charming smile. "How are you feeling?"

Andrew froze. His face was still as Neil approached the table. He raised his head to meet the man's blue eyes.

"Fine."

"You are." Neil looked at his computer's screen. "I mean you look good. I see you're here for a checkup. I will need to quickly take your vitals. Is that okay with you?"

Andrew took a breath and gave a curt nod.

"Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable," Neil said as he picked a blood pressure cuff from the machine. Andrew extended his arm when the man opened up his hand. The same calloused hands traveled up his skin as Neil pushed the arm of his sweater up, placing the cuff above his elbow. The chill of the room melted to the background.

Neil noted down the numbers and removed the cuff. He put a device on Andrew's ring finger—to measure his pulse and oxygen if Andrew remembered correctly—and gently laid Andrew's arm back to his thigh.

"Open up for me."

There was a tongue depressor in his hand. Andrew opened his mouth. Neil placed the stick, looking at him from above.

"Raise your head slightly. And a little wider."

Andrew did as he was told, their gaze meeting for a second before Neil looked away.

Was that a smirk?

He swallowed when Neil pulled back.

"Good job." Neil smiled. "Everything looks good so far."

He reached to remove the device from Andrew's finger.

"Or not." He frowned. "129? I didn't see tachycardia on your medical history. Is this a usual heart rate for you, sir?"

Andrew looked at the device then back at Neil.

"I don't know my usual heart rate."

Neil raised his eyebrow. "Have you ever been told you have an abnormal pulse?"

He shook his head.

"Hmm." Neil took the device off. "Maybe it's the oximeter. It can be wrong sometimes." He put it aside and opened his hand again. "Could I have your hand? I'll check it manually."

Andrew stared at the hand for a second before placing his into it. Neil held it with one hand while the other one pressed into his wrist. Andrew could vaguely see him raising his head to look at the clock on the wall but his own gaze was glued to the two fingers carefully placed on top of his artery.

His eyes moved to Neil's lips for a split second before he dropped them back to his wrist.

"146…" Neil huffed a laugh after a minute, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the inside of Andrew's wrist. "Weird. Why would it go up?"

Andrew glared at him.

"Do you feel cold?" Neil feigned ignorance, but his gaze had already flicked down to the pulse point in Andrew's throat. "Your heart might be trying to heat you up."

Andrew saw where his eyes landed. He leaned his head to the side, exposing the column of his neck even further. "Try checking it here." He tracked Neil's eyes, darting back and forth between his neck and face. "It would satisfy your neck fetish as well."

Neil paused for a second, his cheeks glowing a faint pink. His lips lifted into a smirk. "That's odd. Because I vividly remember," he hovered his fingers over Andrew's neck, "it was you who started singing the second I had my lips here."

Andrew sent another glare, the effect of it surely weakened by how red he was feeling. He gripped Neil's wrist. "And I vividly remember you were a car mechanic, not a doctor."

"Jack of all trades, what can I say." Neil smiled. "Dealing with cars is my hobby."

"A hobby," Andrew deadpanned. "You do a pretty good job for it to be only a hobby."

Neil chuckled. "Thank you for the compliment?"

Andrew ignored him. "Why were you at the shop every time I took my car for inspection? I thought doctors were supposed to be more busy."

"The car shop actually belongs to a friend of mine. I go there at random times to help him out when I have time." Neil studied his face. "But then one day this one customer showed up and I realized I would like seeing him more often. I've been paying for it these last two weeks, working countless extra shifts. It's worth it though."

Andrew huffed. "Sounds like obsession."

Neil squeezed his wrist until Andrew let go of his hand. "Says the man who brought his car to the same shop multiple times every week for two months despite his car being in perfect condition." He grabbed Andrew's chin, lifting it up. "Must've liked seeing me in those work clothes, I guess."

Andrew kept his face blank but his heart rate started running again as the images flashed across his brain.

"You don't need to answer that, I already know the answer." His mouth curved. "Though I have to say, I wasn't expecting you to make a move. Completely sober too, despite bumping into each other at a bar."

Andrew hadn't expected himself to make the move there as well, despite the fact he had been thinking about the mechanic since his second visit to the shop.

Neil had been bent over the engine of a rusted car when Andrew pulled to the shop for the second time. Neil had straightened up, wiped his hands on a rag already black with grease, and walked over with an easy stride. Up close, Andrew had noticed three things in rapid succession: the auburn hair curling slightly at the temples from the heat, the smear of grease across one sharp cheekbone, and the way Neil's eyes had done a quick, assessing sweep of Andrew's face before settling into something warmer than professional courtesy.

"Back so soon?" Neil had asked, leaning one forearm on the roof of Andrew's car. The position made his bicep press against the sleeve of his shirt, the muscle defined enough that Andrew had to consciously keep his gaze on Neil's face. "Missed me?"

"There's a rattle on the front."

Neil's mouth had curved. "Sure there is." He'd popped the hood anyway, and Andrew had stood beside him while Neil's hands—a thin white scar across the second knuckle of his right index finger—moved through the engine with the confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times. Neil had explained what he was checking as he went, and Andrew had nodded along, retaining nothing except the way Neil's voice dropped slightly when he was concentrating, the way he hummed tunelessly under his breath, the way his forearm flexed when he reached to tighten something Andrew wasn't looking at.

Then after two months of that shit, he'd run into Neil outside the shop for the first time. He honestly couldn't even remember what had finally tipped him over. It could've been the tight shirt Neil had been wearing, leaving nothing to imagination. Or maybe it was how eight people had asked for Neil's number within the first five minutes of them sitting together, Andrew's misplaced jealousy and possessiveness rising each time someone else had approached.

By the tenth minute, Andrew had already wanted to burn the few inches between his thigh and Neil's hand placed next to it on the seat, see how many people would ask for his number if Andrew blocked him off from the rest of the bar as he straddled him. Next thing he knew, they were at his apartment, Andrew riding him like it was a race he intended to win. The night had gotten longer, both of them flipping one another to his back, Neil reaching deeper and deeper inside him each time they switched the position. He couldn't remember what time it was when they'd finally stopped, just that there was light coming through the curtains.

Then he had woken up early-afternoon to the ringing of his phone, the only proof of the night being the exhaustion and the series of hickeys painting his neck. The man had just disappeared.

Neil waved a hand across Andrew's face. "Are you done fantasizing about me naked?"

Andrew smacked the hand off. "Why did you leave like that?"

"Like what? I had an urgent call from the hospital and I needed to leave. I tried to wake you up but you were so deep in sleep somehow. Must've been tired." He gave a weak laugh. "I thought you'd come to the shop again. You're the one who stayed away."

Andrew lifted his eyebrow. "It's my fault? You could've left a note, a phone number, or could've done literally anything but just disappearing."

Neil raised his finger, his mouth opening and closing a few times. "Okay, to be completely honest I didn't even think of those options. Now that you said them, they sound pretty smart."

Andrew wondered how this guy managed to get into medical school.

"But in my defense," Neil raised his hands, "I thought the shop would have your number. It didn't. Then I hoped you would visit the shop again, but… that also didn't happen. I technically do know where you live but I didn't want to creep you out by showing up unannounced." He shrugged and averted his gaze. "Plus after you didn't show up, I thought you didn't want to see me again. It broke my heart but I wasn't going to push you to do something you didn't want to do."

Andrew's jaw tightened. Yes, he'd never went back to shop again. Instead, he had spent the first three days angry, the next four convincing himself it was better this way. The rest of the time trying not to think about it, which meant thinking about it constantly, which meant being furious at himself for caring about someone who'd walked out without leaving a note. He'd driven past the shop once. Just to see. Neil's car wasn't there, and Andrew had told himself that was a sign.

Now he frowned at him. "I thought you just left. Hit and dipped."

"You think I'd do that?"

"I don't fucking know, Neil. I've only known you for two months and most of the time we didn't talk about anything but my car's condition."

"You're right, I'm sorry."

Andrew didn't accept the apology. He didn't reject it either. He just watched Neil's face, cataloging the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

"Are you going to finish the examination or not?" Andrew asked flatly.

Neil blinked, his gaze sliding to the heart monitor abandoned on the counter, still glowing with the damning number 146. "Right. I still need to listen to your lungs."

He turned to grab the stethoscope from the wall mount. Andrew watched the line of his back through the white coat, remembering the way those shoulders had looked bare and sweating above him two weeks ago.

When Neil turned back, the earpieces already in place, he hesitated. "I'm going to need you to lift your shirt."

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Is that a medical request or a personal one?"

"Both." Neil didn't bother lying. "But mostly medical."

Andrew grabbed the hem of his turtleneck and pulled it up just enough to expose his stomach and lower ribs. The cold air hit his skin. Neil stepped closer, his knees brushing the edge of the exam table.

"This will be cold," Neil warned.

"I know how a stethoscope works."

Neil pressed the metal disc just below Andrew's left pec. Andrew didn't flinch at the temperature, but his stomach tensed involuntarily. Neil's free hand came up to rest on Andrew's shoulder, steadying him, or maybe just touching him. The contact was unnecessary. They both knew it.

"Breathe in."

Andrew inhaled. Neil's eyes were fixed on some point over Andrew's shoulder, his expression carefully neutral.

"Again."

Andrew exhaled slowly, deliberately. On the inhale that followed, he let his chest expand fully, pushing into the pressure of the stethoscope. Neil's fingers tightened on his shoulder.

"Good." Neil's voice was rougher now. He moved the stethoscope to Andrew's back. "Turn around."

Andrew twisted on the crinkling paper, presenting his back. Neil moved his hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, pushing the collar of his sweater aside to place the instrument directly on skin.

"Breathe."

Andrew breathed. Neil's thumb traced a small circle a little below his left ear, just above the faint bruise that Andrew knew was still there from that night. Most of them were gone and he'd covered the ones still persisting with a turtleneck this morning. This one was too high to hide.

"These are fading," Neil murmured, pressing the pad of his thumb against the mark.

"You could refresh them."

The stethoscope clattered against the table as Neil pulled it from his ears and dropped it. His hand curled around the back of Andrew's neck, turning his head gently but firmly until their faces were inches apart.

"You're making this very difficult," Neil said quietly.

"I was told I don't have enough patience to wait for the doctor." Andrew deliberately dropped his gaze to Neil's lips then back up. "Proving that comment wrong."

Neil laughed, a low sound that Andrew felt against his own mouth. "You're impossible."

"You're the one who decided to play doctor with the guy you fucked two weeks ago and didn't call."

"I didn't—" Neil stopped, shaking his head. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

"No."

Neil kissed him.

It wasn't gentle. It was two weeks of frustrated wondering compressed into the press of lips and tongues sliding. Neil's hand fisted in Andrew's hair, tilting his head back further. Andrew grabbed the front of his white coat and pulled, dragging Neil between his spread knees.

The exam table creaked.

"Wait." Neil pulled back, breathing hard. "Wait. I'm actually working. There's a camera in the corner."

Andrew glanced up. Sure enough, a small black dome sat in the ceiling tiles, its red light blinking steadily.

"Unfortunate."

"Very." Neil didn't step back. His hand was still in Andrew's hair, thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind his ear, sending chills all around his body. "But I get off at seven."

Andrew considered this information. "That's four hours from now."

"You waited two weeks. You can wait four hours."

"I could." Andrew hooked a finger through one of Neil's belt loops and tugged. "Or you could lock the door and turn off the camera."

Neil's jaw tightened. For a long moment, he looked like he was genuinely considering it, and from what Andrew knew of him, he probably was. Then he exhaled, pressing his forehead briefly against Andrew's.

"Tempting. Extremely tempting." He straightened, smoothing down the front of his coat where Andrew had wrinkled it. "But I like this job, and I'd rather have you somewhere I don't have to worry about a nurse walking in."

Andrew's heart raced at the promise. "Fine."

"Fine," Neil echoed. He picked up the abandoned stethoscope and draped it around his neck. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small white card, pressing it into Andrew's palm. "My number. Actual number. Text me so I have yours."

Andrew held the card. Dr. Neil Josten, MD. It had his office number, an email, and a handwritten cell number scrawled across the bottom.

"You wrote on your own business card."

"The cell number isn't printed on there. I added it this morning." Neil smiled, a flash of that charming grin from when he'd first walked in. "Had a feeling I might need it."

Andrew pocketed the card. "Presumptuous."

"Hopeful." Neil stepped back, finally giving Andrew space he didn't want. "Now. Are you going to let me finish checking your vitals, or do I have to mark you down as non-compliant?"

Andrew leaned back on his hands, the picture of patient cooperation. "By all means, Doctor. Continue."

Neil's gaze traveled over his body. He cleared his throat and picked up his computer with professional composure. "Blood pressure was good. Pulse..." he glanced at the monitor, "…is elevated. I don't anticipate it normalizing in the immediate future." Neil typed something, the corner of his mouth twitching, then set the computer aside. "Everything else seems normal. I'm clearing you. You're free to go."

Andrew didn't move. "That's it?"

"That's it. Unless there's something else you wanted to discuss?" Neil's expression was innocent. It didn't reach his eyes.

Andrew slid off the table, landing close enough that their chests almost touched. He looked up at Neil—he had to look up, which was annoying and appealing in equal measure—and held his gaze.

"Seven o'clock," Andrew said. "Don't be late."

"I'll be early." Neil reached past him to open the door, his arm brushing Andrew's waist. "Have a good afternoon, Mr. Minyard. Stay hydrated."

Andrew walked out of the exam room with his pulse still racing and Neil's card burning a hole in his pocket.

He pulled up his phone in the car as Aaron called. He put the phone in his ear.

"I was right," he said at the same time Aaron exclaimed "Josten?!"

They both paused.

"Yeah yeah, that's great, you won. Congrats. I'm sure by now you already realized why I provoked you."

"I don't care about that. How did you know my doctor was—

"It's written on the screenshot you sent me."

Andrew put the call on speaker and checked. It actually was written there. He was so focused on getting this done he hadn't even checked who his doctor was going to be.

"Whatever." He held the phone back against his ear. "Why did you say his name like that?"

"Because that bastard is genuinely the most annoying motherfucker to ever walk this fucking planet." Aaron scoffed. "The feeling is mutual too, because for some reason I heard of him being nice to other residents and nurses and patients and doctors—basically anyone but me. I can't even tell what I could've said to piss him off, but for some reason I did I guess. And I don't know how and why we keep bumping into each other so much when I'm a neurosurgery resident and he's a PCP, but my god, he's one of the reasons why I'm loathing my hours in the hospital as much as I do because it means I have to see his fucking face."

Andrew listened to him, not sure what to say.

Aaron sighed as he continued. "And then about a month and a half ago, he suddenly acting less like an ass to me for some fucking reason. Mind you, he was still annoying as fuck. It was like…" He paused searching for words. "It was almost like he suddenly realized how insufferable he is and decided to try to be nice for once. Well, guess what? It didn't work! Especially these last two weeks, I don't know what's gotten to him but he's been exceptionally irritable." He exhaled. "I heard from Matt, a family doctor I met when I first started residency here, that apparently he's been talking to someone—which, a shocker, I'm surprised he found someone he could tolerate with how he manages to find everything annoying, or an even bigger shocker is how someone thought he's worth anything—and turns out that person basically stopped talking to him, which might be why he's been acting the way he is these two weeks. Whoever it was, I want to go and shake their hand, because congrats on being saved. I hope they're smart enough to not go back to him."

Silence filled the car as Aaron finished his rant. Andrew stared at the business card Neil had given him.

"Right."

"Sorry, I got carried off. I just don't like him, like at all."

"Really? I couldn't tell."

"Anyway," Aaron sighed again. "How was he to you? He might've guessed something before the appointment because of the last name but he obviously can figure out we're related when he saw you. Maybe his hatred extends to the whole family line."

The rearview mirror showed the faint hickey Neil had touched today.

"I don't think he hates me. He was… alright."

"Wow," Aaron scoffed. "If accessing the camera records wasn't considered a breach of your PHI, I'd want to watch how the appointment went just to see how he looks when he's nice."

"Maybe don't do that."

"…Why?"

"To keep your license."

Aaron fell silent for a second. "Yeah, you're right, he's not worth it. Well, what did he say to you? Is everything okay?"

"Nothing was wrong, like I told you." Andrew stopped playing with the business card in his hand, the pen marks catching his attention. They were slightly smudged, as if Neil had pressed down too hard, or maybe run his thumb over them anxiously. "He said I should stay hydrated."

There was a long pause.

"That's... normal advice," Aaron said slowly. "Why did you say it like it was significant?"

"I didn't."

"Andrew—"

"I'll call you later."

He hung up before Aaron could respond. He'd deal with him later.

~~~

Andrew spent the next four hours trying to not think about seven o'clock.

He showered, pointedly ignoring the fading marks on his neck and chest. Under the hot water, he remembered the third visit to the shop. Neil explaining something about Andrew's tires, had looked up at him from where he was kneeling on the floor, his grease-smudged and corded forearm flexing as his fingers traced the ribs of the wheel. Andrew had gone home and jerked off thinking about it. He wasn't proud of that.

Now, he changed into a worn black t-shirt and sweatpants, deciding that trying anything else would imply he cared more than he was willing to admit.

At 6:57, someone knocked on his door.

He opened it.

Neil stood in the hallway, changed out of his scrubs. His auburn hair was slightly disheveled, like he'd run his hands through it too many times. He was holding a paper bag that smelled like Thai food.

"You're here," Andrew said.

"I said I would be."

Neil's smile was smaller than the one in the hospital like he wasn't entirely sure of his welcome despite everything that had happened four hours ago.

Andrew stepped aside.

Neil walked in, setting the food on the kitchen counter and turned around, taking in the space with those sharp blue eyes.

"Nice place."

"You've been here before."

"I was too occupied to look around last time."

Neil leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His coat stretched across his shoulders.

The silence stretched between them.

"My brother says he hates you."

Neil froze for a second.

"What an icebreaker." He sighed. "I'm aware of his feelings."

Andrew got closer to him. "He also said you've been unusually irritable the last two weeks. Something about a person who stopped talking to you."

Neil's expression flickered with guilt, maybe, or embarrassment. "I wasn't that bad."

"According to him, you were."

"I was..." Neil exhaled, running a hand through his hair and making it even messier. "Okay. Maybe a little. But in my defense, I thought I'd fucked up the best thing that's happened to me, and I didn't know how to fix it."

Andrew heartbeat stuttered.

"Why do you hate him in the first place?"

"I don't hate him."

"He thinks you do."

Neil was quiet for a moment. "Well…" He stared at the table. "I was a resident when I first started at the hospital. Aaron was too, but he was a year ahead of me in neurosurgery. We crossed paths during rotations. He made some stupid comment about PCP being 'the easy track' and how I probably couldn't handle the pressure of a real specialty."

Andrew raised an eyebrow. That did sound like Aaron.

"I know it's stupid," Neil continued. "He probably doesn't even remember saying it. But I was working myself to the bone, and he just... dismissed me. So I decided to be an ass to him. More acceptable than beating him up, which I wouldn't do," he quickly added when Andrew frowned, "at least now. I know it was still petty for me to do that. Everything started with that comment and then the little things he did just began to get on my nerves. Obviously it's not only because he said that; I don't want to be underestimating the effort he puts into being the pest he is." Andrew glared at him again, but he felt a flicker of amusement inside. "But it for sure didn't make me like him more. And here we are."

"Interesting."

Neil reached and softly pulled him closer. "But then about two months ago, I met this guy at a car shop. And he turned out to be related to the neurosurgery resident I couldn't stand. I realized that if I wanted any chance with him, I should probably stop being a dick to his brother."

"So you started being nice to Aaron because of me."

"Nice might not be the best word for it. I tried." Neil shrugged. "Apparently I wasn't very successful." His smile faded. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"Aaron doesn't get to decide who I see."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know." Andrew draped his arms around Neil's neck. "I don't care if you and Aaron hate each other. I care if you're going to make it my problem."

Neil's brow furrowed. "I won't. I'll be civil. I'll be nice, even, if that's what you want."

"I don't want you to be fake."

"Then I'll be polite. Genuinely polite." Neil reached out and cupped Andrew's face with one hand. "I can do that. For you."

Andrew gazed into his eyes. "You barely know me."

"I know enough." Neil's thumb traced his cheekbone. "I know you're stubborn. I know you'll do something just to prove someone wrong, even if it's inconvenient for you. I know you like your car more than most people." His thumb brushed Andrew's lower lip. "I know you kiss like you're trying to win an argument."

Andrew tightened his arms, pulling him down closer. "That last one is new information."

"I learned it two weeks ago." Neil leaned, his voice dropping. "I've been thinking about it ever since."

The few inches between them felt like miles and nothing at all.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Andrew said quietly.

They barely made it to the bedroom.

Neil's hands were already sliding under Andrew's shirt, pushing the fabric up and over his head. Andrew walked backward, pulling Neil with him by the belt loops of his pants, until his calves hit the bed frame. He sat, then lay back, pulling Neil down on top of him. The presence of Neil's body above him was real in a way his memories of that night hadn't been.

"You're wearing too many clothes," Andrew muttered against Neil's mouth.

"Then take it off."

Andrew reached for Neil's sweatshirt, fingers finding the hem and pulling upward. Neil broke the kiss long enough to yank it over his head and toss it somewhere across the room. Andrew watched the muscles in his torso flex with the movement, bare and warm under his hands.

Neil noticed him looking. "See something you like?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Andrew grabbed the back of Neil's neck and pulled him down, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Neil made a sound low in his throat and pressed forward, guiding Andrew onto his back against the mattress. Andrew's hands mapped the planes of Neil's back, finding the same ridges of muscle he'd traced two weeks ago, the same ones he'd watched through grease-stained work shirts as he explained something about his car that Andrew hadn't listened to because he'd been too busy watching the way sweat darkened the collar of Neil's work shirt.

Neil's mouth moved from his lips to his jaw to his throat, pausing at the fading bruise above his collarbone.

"Can I still refresh these?"

"Yes."

Neil's teeth grazed the spot, not quite biting, and Andrew's hips jerked up involuntarily. Neil huffed a laugh, his breath hot against Andrew's neck, then sucked hard enough to draw blood to the surface. The sting melted into something hotter, spreading down Andrew's chest.

"Still responsive."

"I will kick you off this bed."

"No, you won't." Neil lifted his head, looking down at Andrew with a expression that was entirely too self-satisfied.

He pressed his palm flat against Andrew's chest, right over his heart. His hand was warm, slightly rough with calluses, and Andrew could feel the frantic rhythm against Neil's palm like a confession. "Going crazy under there."

Andrew grabbed Neil's wrist and squeezed enough to feel the bone underneath. "Are you going to do something about it or just narrate?"

"Impatient."

"You have no idea."

Neil's gaze shifted to something hungrier, making Andrew's pulse stumble in anticipation. "Then let me take my time."

Andrew did.

Neil started at Andrew's throat and worked his way down like he was memorizing the landscape of Andrew's body with his mouth. His lips traced the line of Andrew's collarbone, then dipped into the hollow at the base of his throat, where Andrew's pulse jumped against his tongue. He lingered there to the side, sucking softly, and Andrew's fingers twisted in the sheets.

Neil's mouth continued its descent down the center of Andrew's chest, pausing to press an open-mouthed kiss to his sternum. He squeezed the muscle on Andrew's pecs before his mouth closed around the left nipple. Andrew's breath caught. Neil's free hand pressed against his hip while his tongue worked in slow, torturous circles. The wet heat of it sent sparks racing down Andrew's spine, pooling low in his stomach, making his cock throb where it was strained against his sweatpants.

A strangled sound, something between a gasp and a groan, escaped Andrew's throat before he could swallow it.

Neil hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight through Andrew's chest. Neil switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, licking, sucking, grazing with his teeth just hard enough. Meanwhile, his other hand moved to the nipple he'd just left, teasing it with rough circles of his thumb.

Andrew's fingers twisted in Neil's hair, holding him there. The strands were soft between his knuckles, finer than they looked. Neil groaned against his skin, his hand sliding down Andrew's stomach. When he reached the waistband of Andrew's sweatpants, he paused and looked up. His pupils were blown wide, lips red and slightly swollen.

"Can I?"

Andrew nodded, not trusting his voice. He lifted his hips, and Neil tugged the sweatpants down, taking his boxers with them in one efficient movement. The cool air of the bedroom hit his overheated skin, making him shiver.

Neil sat back on his heels, still half-clothed in his own pants, and just looked.

The weight of his gaze was physical. Andrew felt it travel from his face down his throat, across his chest, over the plane of his stomach, settling finally on his cock which was hard and leaking against his belly.

"Take a picture," he said. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "It'll last longer."

"I might." Neil's voice was equally wrecked. He ran his hands up Andrew's thighs, palms flat, thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin just below his hipbones. The pressure was just shy of bruising. "You have no idea how many times I thought about this. In the shop, when you'd lean over the engine and I could see the back of your neck. In the hospital, when I was supposed to be reviewing charts. In my car on the way here tonight."

Andrew felt heat travel to his face, to his ears, to his chest. He didn't look away.

"Thinking about it isn't the same as doing something about it."

At that, Neil pushed Andrew's legs even farther apart, making more room for himself. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the jut of Andrew's hip, then lower, mouthing at the crease of his thigh where the skin was thin and sensitive. Andrew's breath came in short, sharp bursts. He could feel Neil's breath against his inner thigh, the softness of his lips, the hot wetness of his tongue tracing maddening patterns.

"Neil."

"Mm?" Neil's breath ghosted over the head of Andrew's cock.

"If you don't hurry the fu—"

Neil licked a stripe up the underside, from base to tip, and the rest of Andrew's sentence dissolved into a groan. His head fell back against the pillows, his fingers finding Neil's hair again, gripping tight enough to hurt.

Neil took him into his mouth slowly and deliberately, like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it. The wet heat was overwhelming after two weeks of nothing but his own hand and fragmented memories that he'd tried and failed to suppress. Neil's mouth was hot, his tongue clever. He hollowed his cheeks and took Andrew deeper, Andrew's vision blurring at the edges.

"Fuck," Andrew breathed. "Neil."

Neil hummed around him, and Andrew saw stars. His hips bucked up involuntarily, but Neil's hands were there, pressing him back down, holding him still against the mattress. The restraint made it worse. Better. Andrew couldn't decide.

Neil worked him with a focus that bordered on obsessive. He learned what made Andrew's breath hitch, what made his thighs tremble, what made his grip on Neil's hair tighten to the point of pain.

Neil pulling off sounded obscene, wet and loud in the quiet of the bedroom. A string of saliva connected his lower lip to the head of Andrew's cock. Neil wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at Andrew with those dark, knowing eyes.

"Too much?"

"Not enough." Andrew's voice was wrecked. "Get up here."

Neil crawled back up his body. Andrew pulled him down into a kiss. He could taste himself on Neil's tongue, bitter and salt and strangely intimate. His other hand worked at the button of Neil's pants, shoving them down until Neil kicked them off somewhere behind him.

Now there was nothing between them but skin and heat.

Andrew wrapped his legs around Neil's waist and pulled him down, grinding their cocks together. The friction was perfect and not enough at the same time. Neil groaned into his mouth, his hips rolling in response. Andrew could feel the hard length of him pressing against his own, could feel the slickness of precum smearing between their stomachs.

"Wait," Neil gasped, pulling back. "Lube. Where—"

"Nightstand. Top drawer."

Neil reached over, fumbling with the drawer, and returned with the bottle in under thirty seconds.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Efficient."

"I've been waiting two weeks." Neil coated his fingers, the sound of the lube slick. "I'm not waiting any longer."

Then he glanced up, fingers hovering, and waited. Not moving until Andrew gave him something—a nod, a word, permission.

"Yes."

The first finger pressed inside, and Andrew's head fell back. Neil moved carefully, his free hand stroking Andrew's thigh in soothing circles. The contrast between the softness of his hands against the obvious hunger in his eyes was maddening.

When Andrew's breathing steadied, Neil added a second, scissoring gently.

"Okay?" Neil asked.

Andrew nodded. Neil's fingers curled and found that spot inside him, Andrew's vision going white at the edges. "Yes," he gasped. "There. Fuck. Don't stop."

Neil worked Andrew open, watching Andrew's face for every reaction, adjusting his angle and pressure. By the time he added a third, Andrew was trembling beneath him, rocking into the pressure past the point of pride.

"Enough," Andrew finally managed. "I'm ready. Now."

Neil withdrew his fingers slowly, and Andrew tried to not mind the emptiness.

"How do you want—"

Andrew pulled him down, guiding Neil's hips with his legs. He wanted to see Neil's face. Wanted to watch those eyes go dark and unfocused, proof that this was happening, and Andrew wasn't going to wake up alone again. "Like this. Come on."

Neil lined himself up and pressed in.

The first inch was familiar—Andrew's body remembered this, opened for it—but then came the stretch, that specific ache that was half pain and half relief. Neil's hands were shaking. Andrew could feel the tremor where Neil's fingers gripped his hips, could feel the slight catch in Neil's breathing against his neck.

"Andrew. God, you're so tight."

Neil's voice was wrecked already, and they'd barely started. His composure fractured the moment he was inside him, his carefully maintained charm dissolving into something more raw and desperate.

"Move."

Neil did. The first thrust was shallow, testing, like he was re-familiarizing himself with the territory. Andrew felt every inch of it from the drag and pressure of Neil's cock inside him to the way Neil's pubic bone pressed against him at the deepest point. A groan traveled from his throat and left his mouth as the feeling committed to his memory. He'd wondered, during those two weeks, if he'd exaggerated how good this felt. He hadn't.

Neil's next thrust was deeper. Then another, finding a rhythm that made the bed frame creak beneath them. Andrew hooked his ankles behind Neil's back and pulled him closer, changing the angle, and Neil's next thrust hit that spot inside him dead-on.

"Fuck—there—"

Neil drove into that spot again. And again. And again. His rhythm was relentless now, each thrust punching the air from Andrew's lungs. The sound of skin on skin filled the apartment. Neil's breath was hot against Andrew's throat, coming in ragged gasps that matched the rhythm of his hips.

Andrew's nails dug into Neil's shoulders, leaving crescents he hoped would linger, proving this had happened, that Neil had been here, inside him, above him, around him.

Neil shifted his grip, lifting Andrew's right thigh higher, the new angle making Andrew's back arch off the bed. His cock was trapped between their bodies, slick with precum, getting just enough friction to drive him insane without tipping him over.

"Come on," Neil murmured against his ear. His voice was low, intimate in a way that made Andrew's breath went shallow. "Let me feel it."

The combination of Neil's voice, his cock hitting that perfect spot, and the pressure against his own neglected length was too much. Andrew came with a broken cry, spilling hot across his own stomach. Neil fucked him through it, pace relentless, chasing his own release. His body clenched around Neil, muscles contracting rhythmically, Neil's hips stuttering in response.

Neil buried his face in Andrew's neck and followed a few thrusts later, groaning against Andrew's skin as he pulsed inside him. Andrew felt the heat of it, the way Neil's body shuddered through his release, the way his grip on Andrew's hip tightened to the point of bruising.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Neil held himself up, his forehead still pressed to Andrew's shoulder. Their chests heaved together, hearts pounding in tandem, the sweat cooling on both their skins.

Neil's flushed face appeared above him, his eyes soft in a way that made Andrew's lung feel too full. "Still with me?"

Andrew blinked up at him.

"Unfortunately."

"Asshole." Neil smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Andrew's mouth. He pulled out slowly, and Andrew felt wetness leaking out of him onto the sheets. He could care about the mess. He didn't.

Neil moved down his body, mouthing at his stomach, and Andrew realized what he was doing a second before Neil's tongue lapped at the cum pooling in the hollow of his hip and stomach.

"Neil—"

Neil looked up at him, mouth shiny, the blue of his irises barely a ring. His lips moved against his hip bone. "Let me."

Andrew didn't have words for him. Neil continued licking Andrew clean with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, swallowing every trace of Andrew's release. Neil's two fingers pressed at his entrance again, pushing his own cum back inside. Andrew's spent cock twitched weakly against his thigh.

"Fuck," Andrew breathed. He was oversensitive, every nerve ending raw, but Neil's fingers were gentle, not pushing for more, just keeping him full, keeping him claimed. Neil made a satisfied sound and kept moving his fingers until Andrew was rocking back against his hand, half-hard and desperate, sounds he'd deny later falling from his lips.

Neil climbed back up his body when there was nothing left on Andrew's stomach. He paused at Andrew's throat, pressing kisses to the fading marks from two weeks ago, then sucking new ones into existence. Andrew felt each one bloom under his skin, a dull ache that would darken into purple by morning. One below his ear. One at the connection between his neck and shoulder. One to the right of his pulse point.

Neil's lips left his neck only when Andrew's voice began to strain with small, bitten-off sounds. Neil pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were soft. His smile was insufferably smug.

Andrew hated him.

Neil leaned down, breath hot against his ear, and whispered.

"Can you give me one more?"

Andrew flipped him onto his back.

Neil landed with a surprised exhale, eyes wide for a split second before they darkened. Andrew straddled him, thighs burning from the earlier exertion but refusing to acknowledge it. He could feel Neil's cum leaking out of him, slicking the inside of his thighs, but he didn't care.

He reached down and positioned Neil's cock, already hard again because apparently Neil's refractory period was as annoying as the rest of him.

He sank down.

The moan that punched out of his chest, low and rough, was involuntary. Andrew felt his face heat at how needy it sounded.

The angle was deeper like this. Neil was already big but this position made the air in his lungs feel optional. For a long moment, he couldn't move. He just sat there, breathing through the overwhelming fullness. Then, he rolled his hips experimentally, the head of Neil's cock dragging against his prostate in a way that made his vision blur.

"Fucking hell," Neil breathed. His hands found Andrew's hips, not guiding, just holding. His thumbs pressed above Andrew's hipbones. "You're so hot."

Andrew braced his hands on Neil's ribs and moved again. He settled for a dirty grind that let him feel every ridge and vein dragging against his walls. Neil's stomach tensed under his palms, muscles jumping each time Andrew circled his hips.

Andrew looked down at him.

Neil's auburn hair was dark with sweat, his curls slicked back. His cheeks were flushed pink, the color spreading down his throat to his chest. His eyes were fixed on the place where their bodies joined, watching Andrew take him over and over.

"You're going to kill me," Neil basically whined, voice fraying at the edges.

Andrew slowly picked up his pace, lifting slightly higher before sinking back down. Neil's fingers tightened on Andrew's hips. His eyes fluttered half-closed before he forced them open again, refusing to look away.

"No dying until you pay for your disappearance."

Neil huffed a laugh, breathless and surprised. "I thought we agreed it was a miscommunication."

"No." Andrew rolled his hips in a slow, devastating circle, and Neil's laugh turned into a choked moan. "You were just stupid."

Neil planted his feet into the mattress and thrust up.

"Ah—" Andrew's retort dissolved into a moan, his arms nearly giving out. "My bad. I meant you are."

Neil used his grip on Andrew's hips to pull him down closer, deeper, as if he was trying to fuse them together. Andrew let himself be moved, be taken, be had. Neil began thrusting up in earnest now, meeting Andrew's movements with his own, each one hitting that perfect spot inside him. Andrew couldn't recognize the sounds that left his mouth, not minding Neil hearing exactly what he did to him anymore. His thighs trembled. His arms shook as he tried to match Neil's rhythm.

"Neil—"

"Not yet." Neil's voice was rough, commanding in a way that made Andrew's cock twitch against his stomach. "A little longer. Can you do that?"

Andrew nodded hazily. His right hand slid up from Neil's chest, over the ridges of abdominal muscle, up the dip of his sternum, into the hollow of his throat. He wrapped his fingers against the column of Neil's neck.

Neil's hips stuttered.

Andrew squeezed. Softly. Just enough to feel Neil's pulse hammering under his palm—rabbit-fast, matching his own—to feel the way Neil's throat moved as he swallowed. He watched Neil's lips slightly part, his lashes fluttering, his pupils swallowing nearly all the blue.

"You like that," Andrew said. Not a question.

"Andrew—" Neil's voice was strained in a way that had nothing to do with the pressure on his throat. His hips were still moving, smaller thrusts now, desperate and uneven.

"Enough. Just shut up and fuck me."

Neil's response was immediate. He pushed Andrew onto his back and drove into him with a force that made Andrew's hand fall away from his neck and grab at Neil's bicep instead. Neil's mouth found his throat in return, teeth grazing the same spot Andrew had just held, and Andrew came apart.

His second orgasm was different from the first. It rolled through him in waves, pulled from somewhere low in his spine, leaving him shaking and gasping. He felt Neil follow a moment later, the hot pulse of release inside him, the unmuffled moan echoing in his ear.

He held Neil still with the little energy he had in his arms when he tried to pull back. Neil's face was flushed out, but his eyes were still hungry like nothing could satisfy it fully. Andrew knew he looked the same, could feel the hickeys and bite marks on his skin, knew how wanton he must look with his spread legs.

Andrew looked at him through his lashes.

"More."

His voice sounded disgustingly desperate despite his attempts to make it as flat as possible. He didn't know it was possible to get redder. Neil proved him wrong when his lips curved up.

"Greedy."

But he was already moving again, shifting his weight, his body answering Andrew's demand before his mouth could.

The following rounds were different. Slower. Quieter. They moved together like they'd been doing this for years instead of twice. After what could have been hours or weeks—time had lost meaning somewhere between the first thrust and the last—Andrew laid still on the bed, his body too heavy to move. Their legs were tangled, their breathing slowly syncing as their heart rates dropped. Neil's hand was splayed across Andrew's waist, thumb moving in lazy arcs against his skin. Neither of them spoke.

Andrew wasn't sure how long they lay like that before his stomach growled, loud and traitorous, and Neil chuckled against his shoulder. He lifted his head from where he laid next to him, looking at Andrew with an expression that was too soft for someone who'd just fucked him into incoherence.

"I'll clean us up. And we should probably eat some actual dinner."

"The Thai food is cold."

"I'll reheat it." Neil pushed himself up. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Andrew watched him walk to the bathroom and heard water running. Neil returned with a warm washcloth, cleaning Andrew up with gentle, efficient movements. He pressed a kiss to Andrew's hip when he was done, then another to the inside of his knee, then one to the arch of his foot. Andrew twitched at that last one, and Neil grinned against his skin.

"Ticklish?"

"No."

"Liar."

Andrew kicked him weakly. Neil caught his ankle and held it, thumb pressing into the arch in a way that made Andrew's eyes flutter closed. He was too tired to fight it.

"You're weird," Andrew said.

"You like it."

Andrew didn't deny it.

He opened his eyes and watched Neil pull on his pants—only his, Andrew noticed. Neil helped him move to the living room by half-carrying him to the living room because Andrew's legs weren't entirely cooperating. He settled him on the couch, draped a blanket over him, and went to reheat the food.

Andrew stayed where he was and listened to the sounds of Neil navigating his kitchen. The microwave beeped. A cabinet opened and closed. The soft clink of plates being taken down. Neil was humming some song Andrew didn't recognize, tuneless and content.

Andrew thought about the last time. Waking up alone. The cold sheets. The phone ringing. The evidence of the night written on his skin in bruises, but no one there to see them. He'd told himself he didn't care. He'd almost believed it.

Neil returned with two plates, he settled onto the couch, arranging Andrew's legs over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. It felt like he'd done it a hundred times and planned to do it at least a hundred more.

"Eat," Neil said.

Andrew ate. The pad Thai was good, even reheated. Neil had added extra crushed peanuts, which Andrew hadn't mentioned he liked but Neil had apparently noticed from the two times they'd grabbed food during those car shop visits.

"You're observant," Andrew said.

"I was paying attention." Neil took a bite of his own food.

"To me."

"Obviously." Neil said, like there had never been any question.

They finished eating in comfortable silence. Neil took the plates to the sink and returned, settling back onto the couch. He reached over and laced their fingers together, his calloused palm against Andrew's scarred one. He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Andrew's knuckles.

Their hands fit.

"If I have to wait in a room for forty minutes again," Andrew said, because he needed something to distract him from the feeling on his chest, "I'm finding a new hospital."

Neil laughed, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet apartment. "Noted. I'll make sure you get the express check-in."

"And you're telling Aaron. Not me."

Neil's eyes glinted. "Gladly."

Andrew leaned back into the cushions, Neil's hand still in his, and let himself imagine the look on Aaron's face when he found out, followed by the inevitable rant about how Andrew could possibly be seeing "the most annoying motherfucker to ever walk this fucking planet."

Outside, the city hummed with distant traffic and the occasional siren. Inside, Neil was present beside him, and Andrew's pulse was finally, blessedly calm.

~~~

Andrew woke slowly, which was unusual.

He was a light sleeper, had trained himself to be, but today his body felt heavy and liquid in a way that made resurfacing difficult. His limbs were weighted, his mind foggy with the particular exhaustion that only came after hours of physical exertion. He floated in that space between sleep and waking, aware only of comfort and the unfamiliar sensation of safety.

The first thing he registered was the absence.

The space beside him was cool. Empty. The sheets where Neil had been were already losing their warmth, which meant Neil had been gone for a while.

Andrew's eyes opened to an empty bedroom.

Morning light cut through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Andrew lay still and listened. The shower wasn't running. The apartment was quiet except—

A cabinet closed in the kitchen. The soft clink of a mug being set on the counter. The sound of water running, then stopping.

Andrew lay there for a long moment. Neil was still here.

Making coffee.

He stared at the ceiling. He needed to go out there and face whatever this was—this thing they were apparently doing, this person who had seen him naked and wrecked and was still here in the morning.

Instead, he closed his eyes and let himself feel the pleasant ache in his thighs, the tenderness in his hips where Neil's fingers had gripped too hard, the dull throb in his throat and collarbone where new marks were forming over old ones.

Eventually, the smell of coffee became too insistent to ignore. Andrew sat up slowly, his body protesting. His lower back ached. His thighs burned when he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Good. He wanted the reminder.

He found a clean pair of boxers in his drawer and pulled them on. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he grabbed a t-shirt. Neil had seen everything already—had mapped every inch of him with hands and mouth and eyes—but Andrew wasn't ready to walk out there completely bare.

He paused in the bedroom doorway.

Neil was in the kitchen, shirtless, wearing only his pants from last night and a pair of Andrew's socks. Plain black. Neil must have found them in the drawer and put them on while Andrew slept. The casual intimacy of it hit Andrew somewhere soft and unguarded.

Neil was facing the stove, his back to Andrew. The muscles in his shoulders shifted as he moved, and Andrew could see the evidence of last night written on his skin, the red crescents Andrew's nails had left near his shoulder blades, the faint bruise forming where Andrew had gripped his arm too hard, the marks on his neck that Andrew didn't remember leaving but must have.

The Thai food containers from last night were gone, rinsed and stacked neatly beside the sink. Two mugs of coffee sat on the counter—one already half-empty, the other waiting. A plate of toast was covered with a paper towel to keep warm. A pan on the stove held two eggs, sunny-side up, sizzling gently.

Neil glanced over his shoulder, his face melting into a soft smile.

"Good morning."

"You're still here," Andrew said.

"You told me to stay."

Andrew walked over and took the waiting mug. The coffee was sweet. Exactly the way he liked it. He took a sip, feeling the warmth of it throughout his body.

"How did you know how I like my coffee?"

"Lucky guess." Neil slid the eggs onto a plate—one yolk had broken, bleeding yellow across the white—and handed it to Andrew. Their fingers brushed. "Also, I snooped through your cabinets. You only have one kind of coffee, and there's a sugar container right next to it. The spoon was already in the sugar."

"Stalker."

"Thorough." Neil leaned against the counter, his own mug in hand, and took a sip. His nose scrunched, brow furrowing. "This is terrible, by the way. We're getting you better coffee."

We.

Andrew turned his head and took a bite of eggs to avoid responding. They were surprisingly good, edges slightly crispy the way he liked them. He didn't remember telling Neil how he liked his eggs.

"I hope you like them. I remember you had complained about the diner down the street overcooking their eggs so I tried to cook them differently," Neil said, as if remembering a passing complaint from two months ago was normal.

Andrew stared at him. Neil held his gaze, unblinking, that small smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.

"You're weird," Andrew said again.

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

Neil took another sip of his coffee, grimacing again at the taste. "Seriously. We're getting you better coffee. This is horrible."

Andrew didn't argue. He ate his eggs and drank his terrible coffee and watched Neil move around his kitchen like he belonged there. Neil found a pan to soak in the sink. He wiped down the counter with a paper towel. He refilled Andrew's mug without being asked.

The domesticity of it should have felt suffocating. Andrew had never been good at this—at letting people in, at sharing space, at the quiet intimacy of morning routines. But Neil moved through his kitchen with an ease that didn't demand anything from Andrew.

When the kitchen was clean, Neil came to stand beside Andrew at the counter. His hand found the back of Andrew's neck and his thumb pressed into the muscle there, finding a knot Andrew hadn't realized he'd been carrying. Andrew's eyes fluttered closed involuntarily.

"What are you thinking about?" Neil asked.

Andrew considered lying. He was silent as Neil's thumb worked slow circles into his neck. The coffee was warm in his hands, the morning light soft through the windows.

"Aaron," Andrew finally said.

"Weird morning-after pillow talk, but okay."

"He's going to be insufferable when he finds out."

"I can't wait to see his face."

"He called you the most annoying motherfucker to ever walk this planet."

"That's hurtful." Neil sounded far from hurt. "What else did he say?"

"That he wanted to shake the hand of whoever stopped talking to you. Congratulate them on being saved."

Neil's thumb paused on Andrew's neck. "And what did you say?"

"I didn't tell him."

"Why not?"

Andrew turned his head to look at Neil, at the eyes watching him with something that looked terrifyingly like hope.

"I wanted to see his face when he finds out too."

Neil's smile was slow and bright. His hand slid from Andrew's neck to cup his jaw, tilting his face up. He kissed him, soft, closed-mouthed, tasting like terrible coffee and something sweeter underneath.

When he pulled back, he kept his hand on Andrew's jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

"Can I take you to dinner?" Neil asked. "A real one. Not reheated Thai food on your couch."

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "That sounds suspiciously like a date."

"That's because it is a date."

"We've already fucked. Twice."

"I'm aware." Neil's thumb traced Andrew's lower lip. "I still want to take you to dinner. Is that a problem?"

"No," Andrew said. "It's not a problem."

"Good." Neil kissed him again. "I know a place. They don't overcook their eggs, if you somehow want eggs for dinner."

"Romantic."

"I try."

Neil stepped back, releasing Andrew's face, and stretched his arms above his head. The movement made the muscles in his back shift, made Andrew's nail marks stretch and pull. Neil caught him looking and grinned.

Andrew grabbed the back of Neil's neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Harder this time. Deeper. Neil made a surprised sound against his mouth, then melted into it, hands finding Andrew's waist.

When they broke apart, Neil was slightly breathless. His cheeks were pink. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"Dinner first," Andrew said. "Then that."

"Deal."

Neil's phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at it, then made a face. "Hospital. I have to go in for a few hours. Paperwork."

Andrew didn't ask if he was coming back. He watched Neil pull on his sweatshirt, Andrew's scent all over it now, and find his keys. Neil paused at the door, looking back.

"I'll text you," he said. "About dinner."

"Okay."

"And I'll tell Aaron. At work today. If I see him."

Andrew felt his mouth twitch. "Record it."

"Absolutely."

He left. The door clicked shut behind him. The apartment was quiet.

Andrew stood in his kitchen, wearing his boxers, drinking his terrible coffee, standing in the spot where Neil had kissed him. The kitchen smelled like something he was almost ready to call possibility.

A couple hours passed before he picked up his phone. Aaron's missed call notification was still there from last night. A newer text read: Josten looks happy today. I heard from a nurse he was rushing to get out yesterday. Maybe that person isn't as smart as I thought.

He stared at the screen. Neil had rushed to see him.

That person is smarter than you. And he's keeping that "annoying motherfucker."

Andrew sent the message before he could second-guess himself.

Aaron's response came thirty seconds later, a string of question marks, followed by "what," and "ANDREW WHAT DOES THAT MEAN".

Andrew turned his phone face-down on the counter and finished his coffee.

The morning sun filtered through the windows, catching the dust specks floating in the air and turning them gold. Inside, the kitchen still held the light of Neil's presence.

Andrew had spent the last two weeks pretending he didn't care.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending.

His phone buzzed again. Neil had sent him a video, only ten seconds long. Andrew pressed play.

Aaron's shocked face glowed on the screen, his voice tinny and horrified: "You—YOU—my BROTHER—oh my god—"

Neil's face filled the frame, looking smug.

"See you tonight, gorgeous."

"Josten, you—"

The video cut.

Andrew saved it to his camera roll, his face feeling too hot. It was for blackmail purposes. Obviously.

A few minutes later, his phone started ringing. Aaron, probably having an aneurysm.

Andrew didn't answer.

Turns out proving him wrong was definitely worth it.