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#and bad parts too! neil meddled with his teammates lives because he had the whole ‘im doing what’s best for you whether it hurts or not’
sunriseabram-death · 3 years
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every time someone acknowledges that neil is his mother’s child and hers alone I get 10 years added to my life span
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c-valentino · 7 years
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Lighter Next To Your Coffee Mug IX
The door fell shut and Andrew didn't move for a long moment. This was getting out of hand. Not the part where he had hit Neil. Andrew was no stranger to violence by any means. He knew both sides of it intimately. He had a strangely detached relationship to violence in general. It didn't faze him like it should –except when it did just now. Feeling guilty was something Andrew despised. How many times had he attacked some of the closest people in his life –his family, Kevin, his other teammates –intentionally or by accident without regret? And now, even after spelling it out for the guy, even after telling him ‘I might hurt you’ like some kind of insurance, he felt guilty for nearly breaking his nose. That idiot hadn't even touched him. He had tried to, true, but he hadn’t. He could have stopped. He could have realized at the last second. Could have, would have… didn't matter. He hadn't given him the chance this time, hadn't waited.
  ‘Do I really have to tell you that I’ve had worse?’  –No, but thanks for the reminder that you compare me to whoever left those scars on your skin. That had hit home. Nice. Look at you, getting in touch with those feelings. Maybe he had been a little shaky after thinking of Drake. Maybe he still was. Andrew took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. Still there. Fuck him. Getting haunted by the memory of a dead guy.
  Drake, his foster brother, who had raped him as a child and once more when Andrew had been twenty, had been killed during his last deployment as a marine. Andrew would have liked to congratulate the man who had finally offed the bastard on a job well done.
  Andrew tried to force those memories down once again, but they had already festered in his brain, corrupting his thoughts. He had two options for nights like this. Andrew chose the more unlikely one, because he felt like being unpredictable for a change. He took his phone and called Kevin. The striker picked up on the second ring.
  “Andrew?” Noise in the background, somewhere public.
  “Where are you?”
  “I’m meeting Thea for dinner. Why?” Too bad.
  “Nevermind.” He was sure Kevin could hear nothing in his voice. Andrew, on the other hand, could hear in the way Kevin hesitated that his teammate had seen through him though.
  “…Should I come home?” It was their unspoken agreement. It had started when they came here to join the US Court. Suddenly, everything had changed; their teammates, the city they lived in, the university dorms they had traded for apartments… everything except themselves. They had dragged their demons along and moved in with them. After sharing a room for so long, it had been strange. Kevin had turned back to alcohol for a while and Andrew had started to self-medicate. One night, they had met at a bar. Kevin had already been drunk and Andrew had dragged him outside and into his car. It had been Kevin who had asked him to stay that night because he couldn't stand the empty apartment.
  Andrew had stayed. He had done so three more times during the next two months, and Kevin stopped drinking again. He stayed over twice more since then, but it hadn't solved his drug problem. It just took the edge off sometimes; knowing that he could make the ten-minute drive and have his old roommate under the same roof again. Not tonight though.
  “Don’t be an idiot.”
  “You sure?” Kevin was many things –arrogant, single-minded, obsessed with the game they played, a sadist on the court –but Kevin wasn’t cruel. Not intentionally, at least. It had been beaten out of him at Castle Evermore. He was loyal, if not always reliable. He would send Thea home tonight if Andrew asked him to, if he so much as hinted at it.
  “I’m sure.” Andrew hung up. Option two then. If anyone asked him, Andrew would not admit to having a drug problem. The thought would amuse him though, after years of supervised medication. ‘Chemically imbalanced brain,’ someone had once said to him. Too bad no one knew what a chemically balanced brain in his case looked like. So they had meddled.
  It was an open secret that a large percentage of the nation was overmedicated. Popping pills had become the answer to almost every problem. The list of long-term side effects of psychiatric drugs was endless, but while some people were busy adding their findings to the bottom of that list, others were just as busy erasing them at the top. Either way, the damage was done, and Andrew didn't much care about the consequences.
  The wooden box standing on the sideboard under his big flatscreen was never empty. Neither was the medicine cabinet in his bathroom. He kept both well stocked. The box didn't look like much. It had once been a gift, part of some kind of advertisement deal, containing a bottle of overpriced scotch. The bottle was long gone but he had kept the box. Grabbing his cigarettes first, Andrew opened the window and leaned against the wall next to it. He gave Drake time to fuck off, until he’d throw the cigarette butt out the window. After that, he’d make him.
       Neil lowered his head and sniffed. The bleeding had stopped. He angrily hurried on his way home. People kept looking at him. Well, of course they did. There was blood on his shirt and on his face, and he wore the fitting, dark expression that told of a fight.
  He’d just left the station closest to his apartment when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out immediately, looking for the name on the screen that wouldn't leave his thoughts. Andrew, Andrew… The text wasn't from Andrew.
  ‘Sehen wir uns morgen Abend?’*
  The German. He was back already? Neil didn't want to reply but he had to.
  ‘Ich kann morgen nicht. Sorry.’  He didn't feel sorry at all; not for declining, not for lying about it. He just couldn't face the man right now.
  He jogged the last two minutes to his apartment, and fumbled with the keys at the door. He shrugged his jacket off and pulled the dirty shirt over his head as soon as the door closed behind him. The blood on it was already almost dry. Neil went into the bathroom and inspected the damage on his face. His nose looked fine but there was a bruise beneath his left eye. Shit. He washed the blood off his face, left the shirt in the sink to soak in cold water for a while, and stepped into the shower.
  His mind returned to the scene at Andrew’s apartment. He had royally fucked that one up. He should have left after the blowjob like Andrew had wanted him to. He should have given the man the satisfaction of getting one step closer to his goal –whatever that might be –and leave everything else for another time. The sound Andrew had made when he had been on top of him… he could still hear it, that half-sob. He could still remember him shuddering. It made something in his gut clench in sympathy.
  After cooling his head on his way home, Neil didn't mind the hit he had taken. The fact that Andrew had minded was enough for him to let it go. What remained was the question: would Andrew want to see him again. ‘This whole thing is disgusting.’ He had meant it. The revulsion at that moment had been palpable. Neil closed his eyes and let the water hit his face. Disgusting. Really? All of it? Part of it? Which part? The part where Andrew was paying for a prostitute? The fact that he had issues he couldn't talk about? ‘This whole thing…’ Liar. Liar, liar, liar… Takes one to know one, and Neil was the king among liars. –Or was he?
  He had offered Andrew more of the truth than he had given to anyone in years. He kept his lies with the man to a bare minimum. Normally, he would have constructed a fake persona for the goalkeeper after their first meeting, would have given him a false name, a bunch of lies that made up enough of a background story to keep Andrew at a distance and Neil at ease. It was his safety net. The clients didn't find out about him and he kept himself removed. It worked both ways. But he had given Andrew Neil. While Neil was only part of Nathaniel Wesninski, it was the part Neil had chosen to keep. He had tried to outrun the rest of him. What had he been thinking to give Andrew that name?
  Because Andrew Minyard was special to him. His Andrew Minyard was special, he reminded himself. The goalkeeper of the US Court, the face showing up in magazines, the prodigy standing in the goal, the man who had been at Kevin Day’s side since the day those two met in Palmetto. The man he envied, the guy who had everything.
  This Andrew Minyard was nothing like him. Then why did he get attached to this version of him too? It should have been the opposite. It should have shattered his dreams. Expectations were a silly thing. All they ever did was disappoint.
  Maybe it was all over now. If Andrew didn't contact him again, this would be the end of it. The thought alone woke something in him that had the familiar taste of panic to it. Actual fucking fear, dreadful and promising emotional pain. Why? Because he had gone too far and now he was trapped.
  Neil shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. He left the shirt where it was; he would wash it later. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off half-heartedly, then flung the towel onto the bed. He got dressed in sweatpants and a hoody and went over to his fridge to make himself something to eat. The sandwich was gone before he even realized it. He couldn't appreciate his food tonight. His thoughts where a mile away. He felt restless and tired at the same time. Eyeing his racquet over his shoulder, he gave in to the familiar pull of his obsession. Better than drugs, better than sex, Exy would always be his way out of his own head. The day his body wouldn’t let him play anymore would be the day he wanted to die. Neil turned around, grabbed his keys, tied his shoes, and took a ball and his racquet with him on his way out, letting the door fall shut behind him.
  Two hours and what felt like a never-ending repetition of drills later, he opened the same door again. He closed it none too gently and kicked off his shoes. He left the ball there but couldn't let go of his racquet. He was still thinking of him. He had gone through every drill he knew, had run suicide sprints and had taken shots at an empty goal until his arms screamed in protest at him. What made things worse was that he now was actually worrying about Andrew. How fucking stupid. He had thought about the phone he had left at his apartment, wondering if he would miss a text from the goalkeeper, while all his thoughts should have been on his practice. Of course there was nothing. Why would there be? Because he wanted it to be there.
  He twirled the racquet in his right hand, made it spin, and grabbed it again. Go to bed, he told himself. Sleep it off. He took another quick shower to get rid of the sweat he had worked up. The moment his head touched his pillow he already knew that sleep wouldn't come easily tonight. By the time he gave up, it was almost midnight.
  Very well aware of the fact that he might be about to make the biggest mistake in his life, Neil got up and dressed again and left his apartment.
  Forty five minutes later he was standing across the street from Andrews place. He made sure he was standing on the illuminated sidewalk visible from Andrew’s living room when he texted the man.
  ‘Can I come up?’ He waited. Andrew was home and still awake. He could see the lights burning in those windows and it didn’t even take a minute for Andrew to show up behind one of them. Neil had one hand in his pocket, a plastic bag dangling from his wrist. He cocked his head and looked up at the goalkeeper.
  Andrew kept watching him but didn’t write back. Neil shrugged exaggeratedly at him. It was Andrew’s call. He saw the goalkeeper nodding at his door over his shoulder before he turned around and vanished from Neil’s sight. Hurrying inside, Neil took the waiting elevator up and found Andrew leaning against his half open door, waiting. He still wore the same clothes, had the same messy hair, and Neil was sure he hadn’t left this place since they had seen each other earlier.
  “Hey,” he offered in way of greeting and studied the man in front of him. You are a mess, aren’t you? Even in the dark hallway, Andrew’s pinpoint pupils spoke volumes. Those hazel eyes just stared at him in their unnerving way. Neil smiled a little and lifted the bag he was carrying. “I brought bribes.” Sadly they didn’t have Andrew’s favorite flavor, but cookie dough caramel ice cream still sounded a lot like a child’s sugar overload dream to him. Andrew didn’t move and remained silent. Neil sighed a little.
  “Look, I came to apologize. What happened tonight has been my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I was out of line. I’m sorry.” He hated the thought that Andrew was alone at night getting high because of something he had done. “Just…” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. That’s it I guess. I thought you might not call again, so I came here to tell you. I’m sorry, Andrew.” That was all he had to offer and maybe it was not enough. I wish I could read your mind right now. He lowered his head a little and put his hands back into his pockets, as he took a step back. At the same time, Andrew backed off too and opened the door wider. Neil hesitated, waited for either an invitation or a dismissal, but Andrew simply turned around and went back inside, leaving the door open. Neil followed him, saw the whiskey glass in the goalkeeper’s hand that had be hidden behind the door. Andrew emptied it and left it on the breakfast bar.
  Neil took a look around, found the open wooden box on the coffee table, and saw the little plastic bags and pill bottles inside. Andrew saw him looking and smirked. He reached out a hand and Neil handed the bag over. Inspecting its contents, Andrew went into the kitchen and grabbed two spoons. He came back and climbed onto the sofa, grabbing one of the two pints and opened it. Neil watched him eat the ice cream, looked again at the bottle of painkillers next to the half empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table. Geez, Andrew… His dismay must have been visible on his face because the goalkeeper tapped the spoon against his lips while he studied Neil. He extended one of his legs and closed the wooden chest with his bare foot. The sound of it snapping shut was unpleasantly loud in the too quiet apartment. Neil slowly made his way over to the sofa.
  “Tongue-tied?” he asked, because Andrew always kept too much to himself and that was fine when they were doing business, because that was Andrew’s choice after all. But this was a social call and so Neil could be a little selfish.
  “Black-eyed?” Andrew answered and Neil touched the bruise over his left cheekbone.
  “It’s fine,” he replied. Well, maybe it wasn’t fine. Bruises on his face couldn't be hidden. People noticed, meaning people paid him more attention. But it would fade. He shrugged, ran his fingers through his hair, and thought carefully about his next words. He sat down at the other end of the sofa, watching out for pieces of broken glass but they were gone.
  “I won’t do anything with you tonight, even if you wanted to,” he said slowly. Andrew had returned his gaze back to his ice cream as soon as fine had come from Neil’s lips. “But I’m going to tell you something, because I think you might actually need to hear this.” He waited and said nothing, until Andrew finally looked at him again and he had his undivided attention.
  “There is nothing you need to hide from me. You can tell me about anything you want to do or have done to you. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about it. It doesn't matter if it will turn out the way you thought it would. If I agree to do something with you and I do it wrong, that’s on me. You can tell me and I’ll try to make it right. But you never have to justify anything you think you did wrong in front of me. As long as we both respect our limits, I’ll never judge you.”
  And when Andrew started to say something, he didn't let him. “Andrew. Just listen, okay? You pay me for this. I’m not a thing but you can use me to do anything we agree on. And if that means making mistakes, then that’s okay too. Because this,” he motioned between the two of them, “is just between us. It’s our business and I’m the last person you need to feel ashamed in front of.” He could already see that Andrew didn't want to hear any of this. But maybe he needed to, and Neil would give it time to let it actually sink in. Andrew could glare at him all he wanted. He just couldn't stand the man looking like this. Even hate was better than this.
  “You say you hate me. Admit it, that’s what you are thinking right now.”
  “There is nothing to admit. I do hate you.” Neil smiled at him and it made Andrew even angrier.
  “That’s fine. Hate me all you want. I’ll still do this with you. Just tell me to back off or take a break, tell me to go and sit in the corner or wait in the next room or whatever. Tell me to wait outside for all I care. Just don’t feel like you need to run from me. Okay?”
  “Are you done now?” He really didn't want to hear this right now. But Neil knew he would think about it.
  “Yes, I’m done. You can throw me out now.”
  “And if I don’t?” he asked after a moment.
  “I guess, then we’ll have to find out if that thing works and if you are any good at it,” Neil said and nodded at Andrew’s gaming console below the flatscreen. Andrew followed his gaze and took another spoonful of ice cream. He sucked on it before he answered.
  “Go ahead. I’ll pass. My reflexes are a little …inhibited at the moment.” Neil glared at the box. He usually didn't care what people did to themselves, but Andrew was an athlete he admired and it pissed him off to see him like this.
  “You should be careful with those. The long term–“
  “Geez, thanks Kevin. The last thing I ever wanted were two of you,” Andrew sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Shut up, I think I know enough about side effects.” Neil glared at him. “Go ahead,” Andrew said again and made a gesture at the general direction of the console.
  “We can do something else, if you like. We don’t have to play,” Neil offered. It had just been a suggestion to lighten the mood. Andrew leaned back and put both feet on the table, pressing back against the cushions until he found a comfortable position. 
  “I thought you came here on your own time.”
  “I did.” Neil watched him.
  “Then, for god’s sake, just do whatever you want,” Andrew sighed. “Don’t look at me for directions.” Neil hummed in response and started the console to have a look at Andrew’s game collection. He had played before but never bought anything himself. After he found something he liked, Neil leaned back and watched the opening video before he let the intro teach him a few skills. Andrew seemed content with just watching for now. It came rather unexpected, when he broke the silence between them suddenly.
  “Do you really get off on pain?” Neil blinked but didn’t face him. He kept playing, asking himself what had brought this on.
  “Why do you ask?”
  “You don’t seem to have any problem when you are doing it with me.” Andrew licked on his spoon again. Neil raised his eyebrows and smirked a little.
  “Yeah, well, that’s because it’s you, Minyard.” Andrew glared at him.
  “Gross. So what? You want me in my gear to fulfill your obsessive fantasies?”
  “Damn, that would be so hot,” Neil joked. Andrew looked unimpressed. “I’m kidding,” the dark haired man chuckled. “Can I see your racquet though? The US court gets theirs custom made, right? That must be awesome!”
  “Is that all?” Andrew asked in a bored tone.
  They fell silent again, as Neil got swamped with zombies during a boss fight. His character nearly died.
  “Zombie guard to your right,” Andrew told him.
  “Got him,” Neil whooped. “Is what all,” he asked then.
  “Is that all it takes to make you happy?” Neil thought about it.
  “Isn’t that enough?”
  “How would I know?” Andrew finished his ice cream.
  Neil’s voice was lower when he asked, “Is it true? They say your apathy is part of a mental disorder.”
  “They say,” Andrew repeated. He eyed Neil’s untouched pint on the table. “Are you going to eat that? It’s melting.” Neil shook his head.
  “Go ahead,” he offered. “–You never smile, you never laugh…” Neil felt a little uneasy talking about this. Of course he wanted to know but it seemed awfully private and was probably nothing Andrew wanted to share.
  “Maybe you are not funny.”
  “Maybe,” Neil agreed. He watched Andrew from the corners of his eyes as he opened the second pint of ice cream, and wondered how someone could eat so much sugar at once. “You…” He fended off another wave of zombies, distracted for a second. “…were different when you played for the Foxes. Because of your meds?”
  “Different,” Andrew echoed again and a shadow crossed his face.
  “Like… ‘fake’. –Sorry, that was… uhm. No, sorry, that was out of line,” Neil winced, his thumb rapidly hitting the buttons.
  “That’s something coming from a liar,” Andrew said unfazed.
  “–I guess,” Neil admitted. He finished the level and turned the game off. Turning sideways on the sofa, he faced Andrew and watched him eat. “Hey. About tonight? It wasn’t all bad, was it?” ‘This whole thing is disgusting…’ Andrew didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him. “That couldn’t have been your first blowjob. You’re too good at it,” he pressed on, trying to remind Andrew of the good parts.
  “Never said it was,” Andrew answered emotionlessly. His mind clearly was on what had followed afterwards. Neil sighed. He still felt like he would lose Andrew here.
  “Geez, Andrew. Do you think I never have trouble getting it up? And it’s my job.”
  Andrew looked pained when he turned to Neil and asked, “Did you just compare doing this with me to getting beaten up? I feel so much better now.” Neil blinked.
  “No,” he replied horrified. “That’s not what I meant. - Jesus, Andrew, and seriously, would you just stop thinking that all my clients beat me? In fact, none of them do. You miss the point in all of this.”
  “And that is?”
  “It’s about control. Some people like the feeling of being in control of the situation; others want to be rid of it. Some say it’s about trust, but you can’t force that. If you could, I wouldn't be there, willing to take the risk. It’s my job to pretend to trust them in that situation. –Truth be told, I don’t. I trust none of them. We hide behind rules and agreements and the risk is still there and they pay me for it. The fact that you think that I get paid to get beaten is seriously insulting.”
  “You are still saying I’m one of them.”
  “Aren’t you?”
  “Because I hit you–“
  “No! Because you pay me Andrew,” Neil said and waited for Andrew to look at him. The goalkeeper was stubbornly eating his ice cream. Because touching Andrew was not an option right now, Neil reached over and took his spoon away. The Exy player shot him an annoyed look.
  “It was my fault, okay?”
  “I told you, it was not,” Andrew growled.
  “Yes, it was. I could repeat it right now and it would still be my fault. I triggered you–“
  “Don’t call it that,” Andrew interjected, disgusted. “We are not playing your games here. This is not a scene, we don’t have safe words,” he hissed.
  “Yes, we do. ‘No’, ‘Stop’, ‘Don’t’ –all of these are your safe words. You don’t have to spell it out for me. You told me in the beginning that I would need your consent every single step of the way.”
  “This,” Andrew pointed between the two of them, “is just plain sex, understand? You are my hooker and I pay you for this. You said I shouldn't twist this, but it’s you who turns it into something else,” Andrew accused him angrily. Neil looked at him and said nothing. He couldn’t say anything because he had come here tonight as something Andrew didn't want him to be. It was a dead end. It felt like a slap in the face, because he had made the mistake of trying to turn this into something else tonight, something more. He had been wrong and he should have – had – known better.
  He lowered his gaze and handed the spoon back to Andrew. “Sorry.” He felt ashamed all of the sudden. He knew it would turn into anger soon enough. Neil got up. “You are right. I made a mistake.” Andrew just looked at him.
   This had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Andrew looked up at the man in front of him, who had suddenly lost all of his confidence. His drugged brain told him that Neil was ashamed and he couldn't figure out why in time. Damn, he was out of it. There was a reason he only did this when he was alone. One thing was certain though; Neil was going to run. Fight was no longer an option, and everything about the guy screamed flight right now. Why? He blinked.
  “Sorry,” Neil said once more, then turned and left. Andrew stared after him, trying to figure it out. The spoon lay forgotten in his hand. He was still angry, but that couldn't have been it. Neil was pretty used to his moods by now. It was quite impressive actually. The guy just didn't get intimidated. Then what? His usually perfect memory wouldn't let him replay the scene in detail like he wanted. The drugs made everything foggy.
  Andrew felt something snap in him and flung the spoon across the room. It clattered against the wall next to the door and then fell to the floor.
  “Fuck,” he said. Andrew stood up and went to the window. He looked down, and as usual, the height as he looked straight down at the street below gave him that stomach-twisting feeling. He ignored it and kept looking. A moment later, Neil crossed the street, head lowered, hands in his pockets, feet speeding up to a jog –running away. From him, Andrew realized. 
  translation notes: *’See you tomorrow night?’
 ‘Can’t make it tomorrow. Sorry.’ thanks for reading!
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