Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What's your favorite color?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“I don't know. I just… I want to know more about you. Everything.”

“I don't have a favorite color. But if I had to choose one, it would be black. What about you?”

“My favorite color? I never thought about one, but if I had to choose, it would be like your eyes.”

Andrew tilted the glass to the side, and the golden whiskey wobbled in the light. He saw his own distorted reflection in the liquid. He looked away when he couldn't bear what he saw.

“Are you having fun?” Renee sat down across from him.

They were in a small-town place, but familiar enough that Kevin didn't have a meltdown every time the door rattled with the arrival of a new guest.

It had been almost two years since Riko had left the music world and, consequently, stalked Kevin like he was her property. However, as was evident, the memory of the abuse hadn't left Kevin's shoulders.

He knew it wouldn't return, but he was still alert to its possible arrival.

"What do you think?" He looked at her with boredom.

Renee smiled softly. She always did that when she received an unsatisfactory response. It wasn't a normal smile; it was tighter and a little slower to appear. With Andrew, it was always like that, but for some reason, he stayed by her side. Maybe because he didn't care enough about the mild mistreatment, or maybe because they were the only ones who could understand each other on some level. Whatever the response, it didn't matter. No. Renee stayed, and that was that.

"The performance was a success. She deserves some pride."

Pride. The mere thought caused irritation in the pit of her throat.

"Boring."

A distant roar alerted Andrew. His eyes saw Nicky standing on a table, swaying his hips exaggeratedly, ignoring the shattered glass on the floor.

Near him, Aaron was filming it all, and beside him was a girl with slightly reddish hair.

Anger flared like lava fresh from a volcano, and Andrew's hands tightened around the glass. His chest heaved as he watched his twin lean in and whisper something to the publicist.

"Andrew."

Wymack, whose body could barely fit through the door without bumping into the corners, met his gaze, and his family faded into the background.

"Don't look at me like that, kid. You let her come."

She did. And although Andrew didn't believe in regret, he couldn't stop the anger and the... the anger from blinding his gaze.

“Before I go, I came to tell you that I'm proud of where you've come.” He didn't smile; there was no need for it when his eyes were shining. “Where you've come from.”

A knot the size of a fist tightened in his chest. It wasn't the first time Wymack had dared to say those words so brazenly, and it wouldn't be the first time a knot tightened his vocal cords, preventing him from saying a word without the tremor being noticeable. Therefore, Andrew simply nodded as if what he'd said was stupid or unimportant.

Wymack had taken him, Aaron, and Nicky in when, in high school, Nicky posted a video online of them playing a stupid song. Somehow, the video ended up in Wymack's hands, and four months later, with the promise of not dying under a bridge, they accepted a contract with him.

Thus began “The Foxes,” a small group known only for getting into trouble. In fact, they were primarily recognized after the incident outside a nightclub where Andrew, a five-foot-tall man, nearly took the lives of four men whose build was larger than his own.

The headlines were quick to arrive, and instead of being called foxes, they were known as "The Monsters," but that was the least of it. The hatred toward Andrew grew to alarming levels, so much so that even Wymack had to intervene. He refused to let the hurtful words affect him. They were nobodies. They didn't know him, so they shouldn't have affected him. He had little memory of the brief trial that ended with a shocking sentence for his cousin's attackers.

Their popularity increased positively when Kevin Day joined their ranks. And although it didn't work miracles, the addition of singer Keyleight Day's son was positive.

At first, Kevin was a nuisance. Every instinct Andrew had was to strangle him, but over time, he realized he was doing more good than harm to their ranks. And if he knew how to play his cards wisely, he could even be useful.

Another loud crash brought him out of his thoughts. Nicky was now dancing with her hips pressed up against the publicist.

Somewhere in his mind, Andrew knew he had a name, but he ignored it. Beside him, his twin looked at them with slight embarrassment and mockery, but it didn't last long when he looked up at him. His eyes, a reflection of his own, settled on him.

Suddenly, Andrew felt less sober than he had a couple of seconds ago. Why was he looking at him? Andrew wasn't stupid. Andrew wasn't ignorant. Therefore, it wasn't difficult for him to recognize the hesitation in his brother's eyes, much less the fear, the sorrow, the...

The music changed, and suddenly Kevin's voice echoed through the speakers, accompanied by the howls of his coworkers.

That was it.

Andrew placed his half-drunk whiskey on the counter and grabbed his jacket from the seat next to him. With a slight nod, he said goodbye to Renee. He made a move to open the door, but as usual, it was only a feint.

"Are you leaving?" Aaron had set aside his jacket and tie.

During any public gathering, Andrew dressed the same as his brother to make it easier to confuse the audience. They were twins, but being born a girl had marked some features more than others, yet few could tell them apart.

"An-Drew! Don't go, the party's just getting started!" Nicky wisely didn't touch him, but moved close enough for the gin and oranges to hit his nose.

"It's late." The fingers in his pockets were cold. Andrew refused to squeeze them for warmth.

"We won," he replied as if it were a valid answer.

"So what?"

Nicky seemed to notice the tension in Aaron, as he leaned closer until his shoulder was brushing against his. Despite being cousins, when Andrew saw them like this, he could almost see how well Nicky had done in their lives. Playing the role of a father figure that wasn't his.

“We have to celebrate, cousin. Don't go home,” he drawled. “Stay with us. Besides, Aaron has…”

His words were silenced by a not-so-subtle pinch from Aaron.

“What?”

Suddenly, his twin seemed nervous. Unease pricked Andrew's neck at the thought of Aaron being in danger.

“What?” he repeated, taking a step forward.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just, can't you stay a little longer?”

For someone who refused to feel, Andrew couldn't shake the sensations in his chest.

He would stay. Andrew would if there was something worth doing it for. But there wasn't. He was supposed to have a band, some bandmates. But Andrew never felt it as something real. Like something that belonged to him. Even after three years. Even after. He never did.

“What for?”

Aaron made a face that didn't understand.

"It doesn't matter. Let me know when you get home."

As if he was going to read the message later.

Andrew left the store and walked through the boring, abandoned suburbs of Columbia. His house was quite far from the store, and he would have taken the GS if it weren't for the fact that when he was going to an official event, transportation was provided. So, the GS was warmly parked in front of the apartment.

He lit a cigarette and smoked it calmly, feeling the tips of his fingers freeze under the touch of winter, while his other hand dug deep into his pocket in search of warmth he wouldn't find.

He walked for almost an hour until he began to see the familiar streets.

With the amount of money he'd earned from the last record, Andrew could afford a better place. Still, he was attached. And he'd invested heavily in decorating every damn corner of the home. Leaving seemed like abandoning everything he'd cared for so hard.

The keys jingled in his hands as he opened the lower door. It was thick and adorned with large ironwork rotating on its axis and colored crystals, the metal groaning with the push. He took the stairs since the elevator tended to break down, and he didn't want to stay trapped between floors until the tow truck arrived.

Its door was thick and white, the only thing that changed as quickly as he'd started living there. When the smell of stale vanilla filled his nostrils, Andrew allowed himself to relax. However, the feeling didn't last long when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sudden movement. He stepped aside as quickly as he saw it coming, and an elbow hit the door rail.

"Wh...?" He heard a vase from his house break, and his neck muscle ached as it stretched so quickly toward the source of the blow.

Hands grabbed him from behind, and his heart skipped a painful beat. Andrew wasted no time moving his elbow to strike, and the body moved away. The hooded man who had tried to hit him from the start leaped toward him with something in his hand. Andrew dodged it, staggering forward, but was soon held back from behind.

He felt the orange carpet beneath his feet.

"Damn it, hold him back."

The hands returned, but with much more insistence. The man in front of him, whose dark eyes seemed to promise pain, raised a hand to his hair and pulled hard until his face was upturned and painfully tense. The other hand went to his nose, and when Andrew tried to bite as a last resort, all he managed was to inhale the chlorine.

As quickly as he realized it, he began to feel his muscles tense. He blinked hard, forcing himself to remain alert.

He didn't see the next thing that happened, but he heard a loud bang, and the hand tightly gripping the handkerchief disappeared.

"What the f---?"

Andrew heard a click, the hands behind his back disappeared, and something splashed against his neck. He stumbled toward the wall to his right, and when he pressed his shoulder against the cold cement, his legs gave way.

Don't fall asleep.

He blinked, forcing himself to focus his gaze.

Another knock.

“Drew?” She was so strange and familiar.

He looked up.

Because the room was still dark and his eyes were cloudy, he could barely dispel the glint of a person gently rushing toward him. However, he could see the curve of her jaw, the upper bow of her lips, and the eyelashes of her eyes. He could see some blue or gray, as well as brown hair.

There were changes, but she was what she once was.

Don't go to sleep.

“Abram?”

He received no answer.

“A…” he blinked. His weight fell onto his knees, and he might have inhaled more chloroform than he realized. He saw the hands of unconsciousness catch his gaze. “Don't leave me.”

Then everything went dark.

Andrew woke up the same as always, with a sharp jerk. He forced himself to blink, and as soon as the sleepiness disappeared from his vision, he realized he was in his apartment. Everything, set up just as he had; the keys in the lock so no one else could break in, the latch engaged, and even the rug tilted.

He might have wondered if it had all been a dream, except that his wrist was throbbing violently from the rough handling, that he couldn't remember how he'd gotten to the sofa, and that his eyes were fixed on him from across the dining room.

Andrew wasted no time in grabbing the knife, conveniently placed under the sofa pillow.

"Who are you?"

The previously murmured words turned into air as Andrew's eyes met blue ones that stole his breath.

Andrew could have been sober or medicated, half-dead or more alive than ever, but wherever he went, he would recognize those eyes. He would recognize this person. With black, blond, or red hair. It didn't matter. Abram stood before him, the only difference being his now red hair and the long, deep scars crisscrossing his cheek.

Andrew had dreamed countless times about whether he would ever see him again.

None of them were like that.

He blinked, hoping what he was seeing was a heavy joke from the dream that clung to him. Suddenly, he wondered if the whiskey had harbored some kind of drug that justified such a real chimera. So vivid. Or maybe the chlorine had wreaked such deep havoc on his brain that he'd never be able to differentiate dream from reality again.

Abram's eyes were slightly open, and restlessness permeated every one of his features. Subdued, almost imperceptible. But there, alive and bright. His features were more jovial now, not so childlike.

"Drew." The voice wasn't husky, but velvety. It wasn't deep, but there was depth to it. And it was so damn close and so far away.

Andrew felt a chill sweep down his spine. But he couldn't tear his gaze away. So warm, so recognizable. They were once a comfort, now just a flicker of a feeling that once existed.

Andrew didn't wait for anything else. Not now. Now he couldn't deal with this. He got up from the couch so quickly he stumbled to the side. Abram made a move to approach, but it only took a cold look from him to stop him.

"Drew, where...? Don't go." The plea in his voice was something new.

Andrew stopped in front of the door. He didn't know where he would go if he left the apartment, but it was better than staying with a liar.

"What are you doing here?"

Defeat swept his features.

"They... I..."

"Are you going to say something coherent?" Words that bit into skin that couldn't reach. There was a time when Andrew longed to have Abram in front of him, with the sole purpose of making the skin he once wanted to touch ache.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. “They… They were going to hurt you, to hurt me.”

“Who were they?” Unease heated her skin and made her bristle. They had held him back. If Abram hadn’t intervened, Andrew would have been held back.

Held back. Held back. Held back.

“They're corpses now. The rest doesn't matter.” The venom in his voice was palpable.

I let go of the implication of his words to reexamine him. He was so much the same as back then, and yet so damned different.

I looked at him without really looking at him. Disbelief and something unknown flickered like a flashing traffic light. Both of them fighting for dominance, even though they knew they would meet in a losing battle.

Not really knowing what to do, I asked the first thing that came to mind.

“What are you doing here, Abram?” Andrew saw the chill he felt.

“Those men…”

“No,” he shook his head. “I'm asking, what are you doing here? How did those men get here? And if you dare lie to me, I'll kill you.”

It's a promise, one he can't break.

Abram looked away, suddenly self-conscious and nervous. He cleared his throat.

“I often come through here.”

The answer was so unsatisfactory that Andrew walked toward him, knife raised.

“Shit.” He took several steps back. “Work.”

“What?”

“Work.” Then his eyebrows sank in a plea. “Don’t ask me anything else.”

“What kind of work?”

A defeated sigh left his lips. As an implicit answer, Andrew noticed that the suit hugging Abram’s body was lightly stained with blood, and there were traces of water that barely erased the reddish stains. He wondered how long he’d been asleep before he’d had time to wash his hands.

“The kind that kills people.”

“Explain.”

“It’s… Do you remember when I told you I was on the run?”

Andrew remembered everything. But when it came to Abram, Andrew remembered every look, every smile, every wink, and even every sigh. So did the broken promise. The damned broken promise that destroyed what I was beginning to believe I deserved.

At the raised eyebrow, Abram continued speaking.

"I was running away from my father, Nathan Wesninski. Also known as the Baltimore Butcher."

Andrew recognized the name. He didn't go to college, but after the trial in which he was acquitted, curiosity peaked at the back of his neck, and before he knew it, he was pouring over every criminal article covering the United States. None of them coherent enough for a judge to let him go without retribution, but there he was.

Likewise, under that investigation, he was thrust into an uncrowded circle, like the country's most notorious criminals. Evidently, among them was Nathan Wesninski, with hundreds of deaths behind him.

During the short time they were together, Andrew never managed to get Abram to say anything about him, and Abram never made any attempt to reveal anything.

She knew his name, she knew the fear he felt for his father, she knew his mother had saved him, she knew he hated vegetables and loved fruit. She knew he had nightmares, and when he woke up because of them, he was unable to find solace. Even one evening when they had stayed up later than usual, Abram whispered to her, his eyes glazed over and his voice fading, that when his mother pulled his hair and growled hurtful words, she reminded him of his father.

She knew a lot about Abram. She knew a lot about what Abram was. Yet, looking at him now, face to face, she wondered if she had really learned anything relevant. If she had really known him.

"Your father?" his voice sounded strange. It was his own, but it seemed spoken by someone else.

Then Abram told her who he was running from. That his mother had been murdered and buried on some random beach in California.

"So, what were those men doing here? Why did they attack me?"

“I don't know. I don't know why they attacked you. I just... I was following them and suddenly I saw you and saw them. I don't know how they linked you to me, but... Shit. I have to make a call.”

Without waiting for an answer, Abram rummaged in his pocket for a flip phone and dialed a number.

Three beeps echoed through the empty walls of his apartment before someone answered in a murmur, “Neil?” Andrew pressed his lips together at the female voice. Neil? Was that his name now? And who was she?

“Robin, I need you to contact Stuart.” Neil didn't bother to lower his voice.

“What...? Why...? Neil, you said that-” The voice wouldn't even be audible if it weren't for the silence in the apartment.

“I know what I said. Call Stuart and tell him I'll be there as soon as I can.”

For the first time, Andrew wondered what Neil had become over the years. When they first met, Abram had always said he'd liked to be a musician, but now, beneath that suit stained with a few drops of blood, he knew for certain that his dream had remained just what it was. A dream.

<<Sure.>> Then there was a noise in the background. <<When are you coming home?>>

As Andrew's chest tightened, Abram's eyes lifted to his.

"I don't know."

The blue met the hazel, and that was it. Before Andrew realized it, Abram had already hung up, their gazes held between their own.

"Are you in danger?" He regretted it as soon as he said it. Abram. Neil. Whoever he was didn't deserve those words, didn't deserve the ill-disguised hint of his concern.

"That's not important." He shook his head, frowning. "Are you okay? Are you in pain?"

Andrew shook his head, ignoring the throbbing in his wrist and the sudden hunger.

"Can I come closer to you?" the liar snapped after a dubious glance.

"Why?" The back of his neck prickled. He wanted proximity, his closeness. Damned if he didn't. He'd dreamed of her since the first time he knew Abram would be trustworthy. But at the same time, he knew that proximity would do him more harm than good.

He met Abram at the lowest point of his life, and if it weren't for her presence and constant support during those times, there would be nothing good to remember. To be. Therefore, and against all his better judgment, it was inevitable that his skin wouldn't tingle in the presence of the one who had once been his anchor. His everything.

With time and a lot of help from Bee, Andrew had learned that he wasn't weak. However, now looking into those blue eyes where his features were bathed with what he recognized as love and concern, Andrew felt his very pillars shake.

"I want... I need to know that you're okay. I really do."

Andrew didn't consider himself stupid, but he still looked away from those blue eyes, afraid to see the lie in them. Instead, he nodded and watched as Abram's body moved closer to him.

“Can I hold your hand?”

Andrew inhaled shakily. The only thing that came to his senses was the chilly air of the apartment and how his blood had begun to pump more strongly.

“Drew?”

He blinked and whispered a soft affirmation as he raised his aching hand. His skin prickled at the touch of Abram’s warm fingers. Like a starved dog, Andrew forced himself to memorize the sensation of warm fingers touching with the gentleness of someone touching a flower petal. He forced himself to memorize it as if he had no eidetic memory.

Andrew couldn’t help hissing when his fingers touched the reddened area.

Abram frowned and turned his wrist so the inside was facing his eyes.

“May I?”

It took Andrew a few seconds to understand what he meant, until he spotted the buttoned hem of his white T-shirt, the swelling disappearing beneath the fabric. He looked doubtfully at his bandages. During their time together, they'd told each other many truths, but it's gone.

"What?" Abram tilted his head to the side. "I just want to see how far it's spread."

"Just the shirt."

He couldn't say for sure that he wasn't ashamed of his scars, but over time, he'd learned to deal with it. On the other hand, he knew it wasn't common; on the contrary, it seemed to make people uncomfortable. And that was the last thing he wanted to do with this situation.

Likewise, showing it to the one who had once been his Abram, under his sole, watchful gaze, felt like baring his neck for him to lick, like whispering how much her leaving had affected him, like shouting how much he hated him for leaving.

"Sure." His battered, freckled cheeks darkened slightly. If it weren't for the soft light from the bedside table, Andrew wouldn't have noticed.

"So—"

Andrew didn't wait for him to say anything. Blinded by the sensation of the warm pads on his wrist bone, he swiftly undid the button on his left hand, and quickly, the fabric gave way and opened. The bandages were visible, black and soft, barely a piece of fabric, but Andrew spent enough money on them that they wouldn't irritate his skin.

As Andrew sighed, Abram inhaled. A song they had danced to so many times, but now, it was only a bitter memory of what had once been between them. Of that blinding trust that allowed them to synchronize to the point where a glance was a conversation.

Now nothing.

"I'm going to touch it. Yes or no?" The scars, in short, didn't take away from the softness of his features.

"Whatever." Do it. Do it. Do it.

"I need an answer, Andrew." His name was velvety.

"Yes."

The fingers now seemed a little colder. Maybe it was because the lack of satisfaction was beginning to allow the winter outside to seep into his apartment. It didn't matter. There was no way Andrew could be cold next to Abram, next to his eyes and breath.

"Where did you leave the bodies?" He momentarily looked away from the entrance. His apartment was the same as always, and the disturbed one would have gone unnoticed if it weren't for the elephant figurine Nicky had bought him on one of his trips with Erik, broken on the table.

Neil raised his blue eyes for a second before returning them to his doll.

"I got rid of them. Don't worry."

"I'll do it if my house has become a crime scene." He snorted.

"I didn't kill him here, so this isn't a crime scene."

"Has killing people become very common in your life?"

"It's not broken," he muttered with relief, no doubt ignoring the pointed question.

His fingers slid from the throbbing blue vein in his wrist to lower. They brushed the beginning of his bandages, and Andrew felt his whole body tense before unraveling. His vision blurred slightly as he squeezed his thighs together, feeling his stomach tingle.

He opened his lips. He was going to say something. Something to make whatever was happening stop. But then his fingers ran openly over his wrist, gently pressing against the blue veins, clinically probing the abuse, and Andrew bent forward, his forehead colliding with Neil's shoulder.

“Stop.” His voice didn't reflect the turmoil burning in his chest. He wasn't stopping because he didn't like the touch; in fact, it was the opposite, and that wasn't something he could allow himself to do.

The hands disappeared. Andrew stayed like that. He leaned against them until his chest calmed and his breath was no longer as hot as summer.

“Does it hurt? I didn't mean to…”

“No. I said you'll be quiet.”

“You said to stop.”

Andrew clicked his tongue and lifted his face when his neck began to protest.

“Why are you still here?” His voice sounded more tired. In fact, Andrew was starting to feel very tired. He had barely slept, being nervous about being surrounded by so many people, and his colleagues' nervousness, due to the uncertainty. It had been a long day, and the only way to find comfort was to curl up in the corner of his mattress, against the wall, while he rubbed himself for warmth in the bundle of blankets on his bed.

Not here. Not with him. He wasn't supposed to feel safe enough to feel the weight of sleep on his blurry eyelids.

"Just making sure you haven't been hurt."

"No. Abram. Why are you still here?" his eyes focused on the other pair. Through the blurry gaze, it was easier to see what had once been Abram's face and what it had now become.

"I've missed you..." he said and said, and damn it, he dared say it.

"You're lying."

How could he believe it? Andrew had lived in dozens of houses, and none of them missed him. They never did. At least not enough to seek him out again. Even his classmates, even Kevin, who stayed by his side only because of a promise. Even Nicky, who couldn't wait to get back to Germany and his life. Even Aaron, who was rebuilding a life that didn't include Andrew.

How the hell would anyone miss him?

How could anyone miss someone like him? Not even Andrew. He was a bundle of repressed resentment, envy, disgust, and pain. Andrew choked every morning with what he saw in his mirror.

So how dare Abram lie to him so blatantly? He was cruel.

Cruel. Cruel. Cruel.

Why was she cruel to him? Andrew was never cruel in return.

“Don’t ask me the truth if you’re just going to ignore me, Andrew. I’ve missed you.”

There was no reply. Abram looked at him with conviction, as if his words were a fact, as firm as the sky was blue and as firm as the sea was salty.

“There wasn’t a single day that I didn’t think about you.”

The silence settled like a thin sheet that, if you pulled hard enough, would rip. Andrew wasn’t going to pull that sheet back. It wasn’t his place to do it, not when he always kept his promise and Abram didn’t.

“I know I don’t deserve…” His words were forgotten as his phone rang in his pocket. With a soft, guilty look, he picked it up.

Andrew clicked his teeth when the same female voice spoke.

“When are you coming home, Neil?”

“I… I’m on to something important, Rob.”

The woman snorted on the other end.

“I need you to come here, please.”

Mentally, Andrew ignored the last words; instead, his body bristled. Neil didn't see him; he was too busy debating his thoughts.

Tell him no. Tell him no. Tell him…

“Sure, I'll come now.”

As if by some miracle, Andrew felt his chest tear one last time. He had lost what had kept him sane all this time. His Abram was no longer his Abram. Now he was someone else's Neil.

He no longer belonged to him.

“Andrew?”

The conversation faded into the background. Andrew's eyes went out of focus, and he felt as if he were submerged underwater. He could barely see, barely hear, barely feel. Barely. The water went all the way down, his nose began to sting, and he blinked, trying to shake the sensation away.

He wasn't going to cry.

Andrew?

He wasn't crying.

He wasn't crying. So why did he feel his eyelids filling and his chest feeling heavy? Why were his hands shaking and his mind could only remember the soft, girlish laughter they shared on those swings?

"Andrew, are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

His vision cleared, and before him stood Neil, his brow furrowed, concern evident in his eyes.

"What?" Andrew took a step back, separating himself from the proximity.

Neil frowned and took another step back, and now they seemed uncomfortably far apart.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you leaving?" he asked instead.

Neil closed his mouth and opened it again. He repeated it.

"I guess we won't see each other again." There was an attempt at humor in Andrew's voice, but his words came out faster and with a bitter aftertaste.

“Don't do this.”

“What?”

“Say goodbye like this.”

“So I'm right? You're not coming back?” Her skin prickled at how pathetic it sounded.

It disgusted her.

It disgusted her.

Neil kept his mouth shut. Andrew had enough.

“Go away.”

“Andrew…”

“I said go.”

Neil looked hesitant, but walked to the door. He opened it, and the dark light from the hallway consumed half of his body.

“Let's not say goodbye like this again.” The plea in his voice trembled.

“There was never a goodbye, remember? You broke your damn promise.” He walked over to the door handle.

His face twisted in shock. He faltered, taking a step back. Now he was completely lost in the darkness.

“I don't want to see you again, Neil.”

He spat before closing the door.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here?” Andrew rolled the four-leaf clover between his fingers.

“Being with you.”

“Who are you running from?”

“Not you.”

Andrew looked up. Abram was already looking back at him. The wind blew, making the blue-eyed man's dyed curls dance. There was a soft, shy smile on his lips, almost as if he was afraid it would appear but, at the same time, unable to stop it.

Andrew wanted to run his thumb over it to wipe it away. He wasn't allowed to make him feel this way.

“Are you staying?”

There was no answer.

There never was.

“Damn it, play the chorus better!” Kevin yelled at Nicky.

“I can’t feel my fingers, Kevin. Let’s stop,” his cousin whined, tugging dramatically at the piano keys.

“Not until we get it right again,” he denied, getting into position in front of the microphone. “Stand up straight, Nicky!”

Aaron snorted behind him. He’d long since put his drumsticks aside, staring at his phone instead.

“I’m gay, I can’t!”

Kevin was about to start yelling again, but was interrupted when Wymack opened the door.

“Are you guys done? Abby wants to finish the revisions.”

“N-.”

Andrew stood up without waiting for Kevin’s booing. He was tired. Very tired. He hadn't played guitar because of his bruised wrist, but hearing Kevin constantly yell, Nicky complain, and Aaron dropping hints that Andrew pretended not to hear was enough to make his shoulders slump more than usual.

"Who's going first..."

Andrew closed the door behind him to reluctantly welcome him to the infirmary.

"Oh... Hi Andrew," he smiled as always. He was wearing the signature white coat and carrying a folder. Sticking out of the right pocket of his coat was a pen with a fox-paw-like tip that Allison had made as a promotional piece for the band a few months back. "Let's do the monthly checkup, okay?"

Andrew nodded reluctantly. Once the checkup was done, he could go home and eat enough ice cream to ease the pressure in his chest. Maybe he'd write, or maybe he'd read a book on his to-do list.

"Let's start with the easy stuff. How tall are you?"

It was monotonous and familiar, as always. How much do you weigh? What's your diet like? Does your wrist hurt a lot?

"Has there been any change in the prescription?"

Antidepressants weren't his best friends. While they kept his depressive episodes at bay, they left his skin tight, clouded his mind, and even made his hands shaky.

"Bee's prescribing me a different dosage."

"Right, she told me so." He jotted something down. "Did she reduce it?"

"A little," he shrugged.

"How are you feeling so far?"

"Are you my therapist now?"

Abby wasn't intimidated by the scathing comment.

"I'm your nurse, and I'm worried about you. I need the data to know you're okay."

She snorted but answered.

"No more."

"Tremors?"

"No."

"Pain?"

"No."

Abby took aim.

"Anything you want to add?"

"No."

"Well, just let me know if there's anything. Now all that's left is the blood sample, and you can go."

Andrew grew bored with the familiar procedure. Other bands didn't have to do this—some didn't even have a registered nurse—but it was one of the few things Wymack could handle without a single stumbling block. He was even against it.

Frankly, he thought it was ridiculous, but he didn't care enough.

"Perfect. For now, I'll just run a blood test, and you can go."

When Andrew came out into the living room, Kevin was reviewing recordings of his recent rehearsals, and Nicky and Aaron were playing the video game Wymack had reluctantly bought after losing the first and last bet he'd ever participated in.

"Are you leaving?"

Andrew nodded at Wymack, who was coming out of the hall with a cup of coffee.

"Then remember to bring the songs tomorrow and be on time. Allison needs to talk to you about some publicity shit." He respectfully walked away toward the dining room. "Don't be late, Minyard!"

For some reason, Wymack wanted us all to participate in the songs on the new album, even Nicky, who could barely rhyme a word other than "dick," and Aaron seemed so lost texting on his phone that Andrew was starting to doubt he even knew what a pencil was.

Oddly enough, everyone had already turned in their song, except for Andrew, who, despite the fact that the bottom drawer of his nightstand was littered with all the lyrics he started writing after getting out of reform school, had none that were the least bit intimate to offer.

Not when most of those lyrics were about his time in foster care, not when a few others expressed how inadequate he felt, and many others about his devotion to a certain liar who didn't seem to care in the least. After Andrew's miserable and shameful life, the last thing he needed was a one-sided love.

He pulled the GS out of the building's parking lot. In theory, he shouldn't be driving because of his swollen wrist, but not in his worst nightmares would Andrew take public transportation.

He didn't turn on the radio, afraid to hear Kevin's shrill voice on it. Instead, he put in one of his many cassettes, and the soft melody filled the car. He turned on the heater. It wasn't late, but in winter, the days were getting shorter, and the moon seemed to be trying to force its way into the sky, resulting in a gray sky. Undecided whether to remain day or turn to night.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the entrance to his house.

Sitting on the small step was a hunched body, head bowed to the ground.

Andrew didn't need to squint to spot Abram.

He stopped his car in the empty driveway. Abram didn't look up, though it was impossible he hadn't noticed the sound of the engine stopping in front of him.

The silence was accompanied by the soft melody of piano keys.

"What are you doing here?" He regretted it as quickly as he spoke. He didn't want to break the silence; he wanted to stay there, watching Neil's figure in front of his house. But at the same time, he wanted to kick him off the threshold. How dare he return? When she lied to him, when she had someone else, when Andrew was no longer important in her life. How could she go back knowing she was turning her world upside down?

He had no such right.

"I'm talking to you." he snapped harshly when he didn't receive a response.

Abram raised his head.

Barely three days had passed since their meeting, yet it seemed the years weighed on Abram's essence.

His hair, hidden behind the hood of a sweatshirt, looked like a tangle whose fingers had been combed through to look at least minimally presentable, but he had barely succeeded. Under his slightly reddened eyes, there were two purple circles that seemed heavy, his cheeks hollow, and his lips oblivious to what moisturizer was.

"Andrew," he smiled slightly. "How are you?"

Andrew wanted to hit him and drag him to a mirror so he could see how he looked.

"I know you didn't want to see me," he cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. "Just... I can't... I don't want to lose you again."

"Why?" he probed.

"You know why."

He knew. Or at least he knew the answer his Abram would have given him. But this man wasn't him, no matter how similar he was, no matter how similar they were. Abram had disappeared in California with all his truths and Andrew's heart.

He said nothing, since there was nothing left to say.

After seconds or minutes, Abram got up from the ground.

"I-" He didn't approach the car, but he seemed closer than before. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"For not being enough, for not being what you needed." He started walking, and Andrew let him go.

He thought he let him go, since when Abram's body disappeared down the next street, his car lived on.

"Abram." He didn't hear him, so he tightened his vocal cords. "Abram."

The man stopped, and for a second, Andrew thought he saw his shoulders tremble.

"Get in the car."

His head snapped up in disbelief.

"What?"

"Get in the car."

Andrew unlocked the car, and with one swift movement, Abram circled around to the passenger seat. Silence settled between them as Andrew drove through the back streets of Columbia. He had no fixed place, he just drove.

Frankly, Andrew didn't know what to do. It had felt very brave to cling to Abram once more, intending not to let go of the thing that gave him oxygen in a city that was suffocating him. But now, with him sitting next to him and his breathing heard beneath the music, it seemed like an unreal dream.

Just the two of them.

Just the two of them.

Like before.

Like now.

He forced himself to remember that Neil wasn't Abram, and that Neil had a family whose voice he'd heard quite clearly less than a week ago. Whose voice had said "come," and Neil had come.

It was Neil now.

Neil.

“How long are you going to stay?”

Neil sighed. A long, soft sigh, as if the question had pressed against his chest. He turned to Andrew, but he didn’t return his gaze. He felt his eyes burn against his temple. Warming it like a caress from cold hands that, with the friction of skin, turned warm.

“I’m not leaving. Not again, Andrew.” His trembling words seemed like a promise.

Andrew’s knuckles cracked with relief from how tightly he gripped the steering wheel.

No one said anything for the next twenty minutes. Andrew finally pulled into a parking lot at an uncrowded shopping center. He turned down the music but kept the car running so the heater would keep working.

“Why did you leave?”

Their gazes held before Neil began to speak.

“The last night we saw each other, when I came home, Mom was gone.” Her eyes looked at him gently. Part of them lost in memory, part of them absorbing whatever they saw on Andrew's face. "At least not like I used to. He was on the floor. There was so much blood. I'd never seen so much. His stomach... Andrew's was cut open, and his face..."

Neil touched his fingers to his own scars on his face.

"She was dead. Lola and Romero were hiding in the room. They caught me and took me to my father."

He spoke.

"I don't know how long I was in that van, but it hurt a lot."

He spoke.

"Dad locked me in the basement for weeks. He wanted me to become him."

He spoke.

"I was supposed to die in the end, but my Uncle Stuart helped me escape."

He spoke.

"As much as I wanted to, I couldn't have kept our promise. And I'd rather break it than put you in danger."

Andrew held his gaze long enough to know he was speaking sincerely. For better or worse.

Objectively, Andrew understood why the break in his promise was justified. He understood why it couldn't be kept, and he even knew that keeping it back then was a death sentence for Abram. Nevertheless, he still felt remorse in his chest.

He wasn't the one who had run away; on the contrary, he had stayed behind. He had waited for him. He had dreamed of his return. While to Neil he was a memory, to Andrew he was warm, soft skin, a small smile that faded beneath the sound of the wind. It was winter afternoons at six o'clock.

It was a bubble that kept him protected from the rest.

So he dropped the subject, fearing that the conversation would lead to another argument that would end with them parting ways.

"What did your uncle teach you?"

“I learned about business from Dad. I learned how to run a mafia. I learned how to get rid of those who let me down.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I’m not a good person, Andrew.”

He pressed his lips together in a soft lament.

“I’m no good for you.”

“Who said that?”

“I know. I’ve killed people.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. Many.” His brows furrowed and he drooped, and Neil suddenly seemed softer. “I’m not someone worth keeping around.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“Never,” he shook his head. “Not you.”

“That’s enough.”

Despite the remorse coursing through his bloodstream, Andrew kept trying. He wanted him in his life.

“It shouldn't be,” he snapped. “You're not supposed to settle for me not hurting you. You deserve more. So much. Deserve-”

“I don't want more.” He looked at him because it was the only thing he could do. “I never wanted anyone else. You left me—You left, and I waited.”

He did.

A long time before he accepted it, and even years after, there were days when he woke up believing that that morning, noon, or night he would appear. Only sometimes.

Neil opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. He searched for words he couldn't seem to find, so Andrew spoke first.

“I don't like second chances. I never liked them, and I never believed in them.”

But.

But.

But.

“Stay.”

Neil's eyes were a little red.

"But if you leave again, I don't want you back."

Andrew didn't know what Neil was looking for in his face, since his blue eyes remained long enough for the pause to become silence, and the silence to remain, and just when the presence seemed to become belonging, the mall lights closed.

Andrew saw that they had been in the parking lot for almost three hours.

"Are you hungry?"

Andrew drove to Sweet's, a place he used to come to with Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin a while back. It was nice to hear the familiar door jingle as someone entered or left, as well as the smell of melted chocolate and strawberry milkshake.

Following Neil, he sat at the back of the tables.

It wasn't long before a girl arrived to drop off the cards. Andrew didn't open it since he already knew what to choose. Neil, on the other hand, had a look of torment.

"What?"

"It's all very sweet."

“That’s the point.” Andrew tilted his head slightly.

Shortly after, they ordered. Andrew got his usual three-scoop ice cream with caramel and pieces of pork for decoration, while Neil opted for a black coffee.

“What about you?” The redhead tilted his head slightly.

“Mhm?”

“All this time. What’s happened since I left?” The words are a little awkward, but the question gives Andrew some relief. He feared, for a second, that he was the only one interested in rekindling what they once were.

“After you left.” He paused. “I left the Spears. I went to juvie. I have biological family, like, a twin brother and a cousin. I have Kevin, too,” he muttered as an afterthought.

He pushed the strawberries aside and began eating the ice cream.

“Wymack found us shortly after. Now I make music.” He shrugged.

“Music? I thought you hated it.” He smiled at the memory.

“I do.”

Neil smiled more broadly.

“Stop.”

“What? I’m not doing anything.” He continued smiling.

“I’m not talking about music with you.” Andrew shook his head.

“Just a little? I want to know what you do. Do you play? Do you sing? When we first met, you said you could play bass… But I’m sure you can sing. I mean, you have a nice voice, so…”

“I don’t sing. I play bass.” Andrew sighs when he knows the battle is over. He could refuse to continue talking about music, but Neil was looking at him with the puppy-dog eyes he used before and was using now. “It’s a band. ‘The Foxes.’ My brother, my cousin, Kevin, and I. We recently got approved to release an album. I have to bring the songs tomorrow.”

“Songs? Did you write them?” His eyes glittered.

“Some.” He shrugged.

“Mhm… When are you planning on releasing?”

“End of the month. Wymack wants to start touring as soon as possible.”

Neil nodded to him.

“And you? How is it possible that after your disgusting obsession with music, you haven't done anything?”

Neil sipped his coffee.

“The mafia takes up a lot of time.”

“Not for a drug addict like you.”

There was a brief silence; it wasn't awkward, just contemplative.

“I can't sing.” He tilted his glass slightly. “My father's men…”

Neil leaned toward him, and for an embarrassing second, Andrew thought he was going to kiss him. However, the thought was quickly erased when he saw Neil's fingers tug at the hem of the sweatshirt that wrapped around his body.

Andrew tensed.

Three thick, deep scars swept across Neil's neck like a cursed necklace.

"Who?"

"Lola Malcolm. She's just a corpse now. There's nothing to worry about her."

"She... She did that to you..."

One of the many things I knew for sure about Neil was his obsession with music. An obsession that drove Andrew to pick up the bass again, and an obsession that kept them both up late into the night in that damned park, with only Neil's voice for company and improvised songs that suddenly came to him.

And he had been taken away from her.

"Technically, I can sing. How else would I talk? But my neck gets irritated easily, and I wouldn't be able to say a single word for the next week without feeling my neck burn."

"And talk?"

"I can." He looked at me in the mirror as if it were obvious.

"At what cost?" Andrew snarled. He didn't like dodging questions.

"It tends to irritate. Sometimes it hurts, but it's nothing special." He shrugged. "I can handle it."

"You shouldn't—" He forced himself to calm down. "Have you thought about sign language?"

"Oh…" He laughed. "Robin says the same thing."

He pressed his lips together. Robin. The same girl from that call. His friend? His girlfriend? He quickly glanced at Neil's hands, ring-free. Not his wife. How long had he known her? And why was he smiling like that? Had he told her he loved her? Jealousy pricked like an old friend in his chest.

Abram was his; this Neil belonged to someone else.

"Robin?" He tried to be subtle.

"I met her shortly after I took over the Wresinski empire. You'd get along. I need to introduce her, she—" The dreamy smile faltered. “You'd get along.”

“But?”

Neil pursed his lips. He seemed unsure of what to say.

“I don't want you involved in my life beyond Abram.”

“But you're Neil Josten.”

“I go by many names. I'm Neil Josten to civilians, but I'm Nathaniel Wesnisnki to the mob.” His soft voice folded between them. “I can't—I don't want you involved enough to get you tainted.”

Silence.

“What I'm trying to say is, I want that second chance. Damn it, Andrew, I've wanted to come back to you for a long time. But I can't do it if I know you're going to get involved with… Nathaniel.”

“You talk like it's about someone else.”

“Because it is. Nathaniel is a murderer.”

“So who am I supposed to stay with?”

Andrew didn't agree with what he was hearing. Nathaniel or Neil were both what was before his eyes. The only thing that changed was the name. Why did he push him away again? Andrew wanted every part of him, just like before and always.

“Abram, Niel… With whatever you want, except Nathaniel.”

“You can't separate them forever.”

The silence that followed only highlighted the harshness and reality of Andrew's words.

“I will.”

Chapter Text

“Why?” There was no need for pleading in his voice. It never was to be able to witness the fear in him.

Piggins looked at him with compassion; as if he understood his suffering, as if he were willing to do anything to end it. Andrew knew that look, so well he knew the lie in it.

“I don’t want this, I don’t deserve this. Change it. How do I do it?” he stumbled over the words. “Change me. I can’t… It can’t be like this forever. I’d rather die than live like this.”

“It will pass.”

Andrew denied.

He wouldn’t do it. He never did.

A week after their conversation in a random Columbia parking lot, it became strangely common to find Neil sitting on his doorstep in the afternoons. However, as quickly as it was becoming a habit, Andrew wondered every morning if this would be the day he'd disappear again, unable to fully grasp what they'd begun to build.

The new routine aside, the moments he wasn't with the redhead seemed to slow down. Rehearsals were a torture, and Andrew had begun to dream of sewing Kevin's lips shut, since the green-eyed man was worried about the brief release of the new album.

Andrew didn't care. He submitted his lyrics to Wymack last week, and when Wymack read the song, he simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged with a soft murmur of "it's not in my salary." On the contrary, Aaron and Nicky had not had the same good sense to keep their mouths shut and as soon as the songs were shown to start making a melodic base, Aaron confronted him in the middle of a rehearsal, silencing Kevin's strident voice.

“Who the fuck are you talking about here?” The drumsticks left his hands with a resounding clap.

It took Andrew a while to realize they were talking to him. He dropped the bass on the strap around his neck and turned with an imperceptible raised eyebrow toward his doppelganger.

“What?”

“I'm not stupid. I know this is the song you wrote. Who are you talking about?”

Wymack had said that the songs he would receive from each of them would be as “anonymous” as possible. If they wanted to say which one they'd written, they could, but they could still avoid the topic. Considering there were only five songs, one for each member and the fifth they were required to do as a team, it wasn't that hard to put two and two together, when Nicky's was openly about a boy and Kevin's was about how hard it was to be him.

“I don't see how that's your problem.” He wanted to poke and stab. Aaron had been a bit of a handful ever since they graduated, and he practically begged him to break his promise.

Andrew still had nightmares where his twin's cracked, trembling voice begged for freedom. Did that make him any different from the men who hurt him? He'd kept his blood family tied to a harsh bond that, if they strayed far enough, Andrew would only need to tug at it to warn them of their stupid audacity. In doing so, he'd only shattered fragments of a relationship that hadn't even begun and was so fragile that if you stroked it with your fingers, it shook like a slap.

And with no rope tying his hands, Aaron still dared to pull.

"I'm your brother. Since when do you have a girlfriend? Did you break our promise for her?"

He pressed his lips together. Andrew didn't break anything. He was the one who had begged for it through his tears.

“Aaron, I think…” Nicky approached the twin and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Can you guys fight later? We have to finish rehearsing, or…”

“No. Who is she?”

He felt a little annoyed by the feminine connotation. Andrew had written the damn song to be performed freely, since referring to it as a “he” wasn’t an option.

At the same time, it bothered him not to say it completely naturally. Andrew wasn’t ashamed of who he was—not of being gay. But coming clean meant conversations he didn’t want to have.

“So? Are you going to answer?”

Conversations like this.

“Careful, Aaron.” He turned his attention back to the bass. It was just as damn boring as before, but it made a good amount of money and kept him close to his family.

“Great. Damn great. So you’re a whore to someone? This song is embarrassing.”

Nicky cursed as Andrew pulled the thick bass string off, ignoring the loud thud it made as it hit the floor, and approached his brother, knife in hand.

“Andrew, Andrew, you know your brother…” he laughed nervously, blocking the way.

“Move out of the way if you don’t want me to stab you.”

“Come on, it was just a misunderstand-”

Misunderstanding. Nicky knew it was another forbidden word. Andrew pointed the knife at his stomach, and when the blade caressed the other man’s abdomen in a sharp slash, the living room door opened, and Wymack stopped the conflict.

That was how he had gotten here again.

“Andrew, do you need a break?” Bee blew on the steaming cup of hot chocolate in her hands.

Shrugged, sipping from her own sweet cup.

“Do you want to talk about Aaron?”

“No.”

Bee nodded, oblivious to the refusal.

“Do you want to talk to me about something?”

He’d known Bee since Wymack took them in a few years ago, but she didn’t start visiting until the court ordered her to attend twice-weekly sessions. Their relationship had softened for some time, and while Andrew had begun to trust her, that didn’t mean it was any less easy to open up.

“Have you talked to Abby?”

Sipped.

“I’m not having any side effects.”

“That’s great, Andrew.” A calm smile. “Remember I told you about the other prescription? If you find this works for you now, we can set it aside and see how you feel. But if you want to try something else, you know you can tell me, and we’ll figure out a solution together.”

“I’m fine the way I am.”

“I like that you say that. Still, you know it’s okay that you’re not.” Bee sipped again.

He drank too.

“Even so, Abby told me your decision is to not take anything for now,” he sighed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He held back a snort and took another sip.

“Andrew, I need you to talk to me so I can help you.” He had heard that word so many times.

Andrew had been through thirteen psychiatrists before Bee. None had his patience, much less his desire to deal with a troubled teenager. Even Bee sometimes seemed defeated, but then she'd return to the clinic and wait for him with two cups of hot chocolate.

"When I was twelve, I met a boy."

Bee surreptitiously straightened.

"Who was he?"

Andrew shrugged.

"He was a liar. We met for almost six months in a park."

"Oh. Did you like him?"

"I hated him." Andrew loosened his grip on his mug.

Bee didn't miss his tension.

"What happened to him?"

"He lied to me. He broke our promise. Now he's back."

"Mhm... remember what we talked about your promises?"

Didn't respond, but she didn't need to. Andrew's messed-up past was playing tricks on him again, and it seemed the only way he could find to hold on to people was through promises he knew no one would keep, but that would keep them by his side.

He did it with Aaron, when he promised he'd take care of him in exchange for staying by his side alone. Just the two of them.

Deep down, he knew it was impossible to keep Aaron by his side, but he did it anyway.

He did it with Abram, when he promised he'd always remember him in exchange for Abram letting him know if he was leaving.

Deep down, he knew it was impossible to warn of an evil that was already there.

But those promises were the only thing that kept him clinging to anything other than loneliness and nightmares.

Without promises, Andrew lacked a focus to live for.

Now he was only clinging to a tenuous thread, held by Kevin. But Andrew was no fool; independence shone through the green-eyed man's every pore now that Riko was gone. Kevin would soon break his promises, and Andrew would have to find someone else.

"You don't need to make promises to have someone by your side," she repeated as if she hadn't done so in almost every damn session.

"However, everything ends," she snapped. "He's gone, and so is Aaron."

"Aaron's not gone, Andrew. He's still in the band, still rehearsing with you."

She pressed her lips together. Bee didn't understand.

"And considering the new situation, this person has come back into your life and can be a part of it, no promises." After a silence, Bee added, "Did you ask for it, or did he come?"

She remembered Abram's dead stare sitting at the edge of the apartment's entrance.

"Him."

"And what did you do?"

He pressed his lips together.

"I told him to stay." He sounded more spiteful than he'd intended.

"And how does that make you feel, Andrew?"

He sniffed. Bee knew how and when to ask. She went straight for the jugular, and that was something Andrew admired and loathed in equal measure.

"I hate him. He broke our promise and he's back, saying things that... Saying things. And it's not fair that I waited for him for almost a decade and then accepted him back into my life." His tongue was dry. "It's not fair."

"Andrew, you have every right to feel that way. I'd like to ask you a question: do you think in another situation, he would have kept his promise?"

He drank and refused to speak for the rest of the session. Bee didn't complain; on the contrary, and to Andrew's dismay, she seemed content with the silence.

He left the room as soon as the hour was up.

His hands were shaking from the cigarette, but he was still inside the damn complex, and before he left, he had to warn Wymack; otherwise, he'd be a fucking jerk for the rest of the week.

He took the stairs two at a time, and when he opened the door, he ignored the five stares staring at him.

"Are you leaving?" Wymack broke the silence.

Andrew simply nodded as he searched for his bag in one of the closets.

"Remember to come back this afternoon. You have the interview with ABC."

Andrew rarely forgot things, especially the ones he wasn't interested in.

"It's just a photo shoot. Aaron pretending to be me like before," he shrugged.

"I'm sick of this shit," he snapped from the couch. "Take your damn pictures."

"It's not just pictures, it's an interview, and having a twin doesn't let you get away with things, Andrew." His words ended the conversation.

"Shall we continue with the rehearsal?"

Andrew didn't answer Kevin and got out.

He drove faster than usual, and when he began to see the familiar streets of his apartment, his heart began to race.

Was he...?

The breath he hadn't known he was holding left his lungs when he saw his body leaning against the threshold of his house. There was a cigarette between his fingers, burning without a drag, the smoke swirling before him but dissolving as it barely reached his neck, whose upward slope made his Adam's apple more pronounced and his jaw sharper. He seemed to be looking at something in the clear sky.

Andrew's heart didn't hesitate to race when Abram turned toward the sound of his car approaching.

"Are you waiting long?" Andrew rolled down his car window.

"Long enough." He always answered the same, and always accompanied it with a relaxed, gentle smile.

Andrew pulled the car over and got out. He looked at the redhead's relaxed face. Suddenly, his argument with Aaron and his conversation with Bee seemed distant. Now he was with Abram.

His Abram.

"Shall we go in?" He seemed a little surprised.

This past week, Andrew hadn't let Abram into his house, not because he didn't want him there, but because it seemed too intimate. However, yesterday, he started to think about it and really wanted to be with Abram without the noise of strangers.

"Don't you want to?"

"O-of course I do." Abram's cheeks turned red.

Andrew tilted his head to the side as he took his keys out of his pocket.

"You're blushing," he muttered.

"What? No. No, I'm just cold, I mean hot." The words tumbled over each other. "It's hot, a little. I'm nervous, and the heat..."

"Why would you be nervous? You've seen it before."

There was a comfortable silence accompanied by their footsteps.

"It's different. You're letting me in."

Andrew's feverish mind leaned into another line of thought, and suddenly he was the one who was hot.

"You're blushing now."

"Shut up."

There was a gurgle like a laugh. Andrew jammed his keys into the lock. He turned and turned again, and the door opened.

"Are you coming in?" He raised an eyebrow as Abram stood in the doorway.

"Yes."

His apartment wasn't anything special; in fact, it was a bit boring. The walls were bare, there was a designer olive-green sofa in the dining room, a small glass table in the center, and a neutral-colored rug that gave it some warmth. There was a TV and remote control next to it, but Andrew rarely used it. From the dining room, you could see the kitchen, separated only by the lower half of a wall.

Behind the sofa, a few feet away, was the door to his bedroom. Next to it was another door to the guest room, and to the right was the bathroom door.

Anyway, nothing special.

Andrew quickly turned to look at the blue-eyed man, who was hovering with slightly open eyes as if he wanted to absorb everything. He stopped in front of a piece of furniture between his bedroom and the guest room. It was empty inside, but above it, in a small wooden frame, was a photo of him, Nicky, and Aaron with a boring cake on the table.

"Was it your birthday?"

"Mhm," he nodded.

“You look happy.”

He didn’t at all. I mean, to other people, he didn’t. While Nicky had a giant smile and Aaron was a little softer, Andrew was all serious edges and a dead stare. But his shoulders were relaxed and his face tilted a little to the side, and if you looked closely enough, you’d realize he was the most relaxed he’d been in a long time. That picture was before his graduation.

“No, I’m not,” he retorted as he took off his shoes and put on slippers instead.

“I know you.” Abram turned to him. “At least I did, and I know who you were.”

Andrew wanted to shake his shoulders and yell at him, just as he wanted to cup his face and stare until he was satisfied.

“How were rehearsals?” he always asked about rehearsals, and even though Andrew hated everything to do with music, he could see the soft longing in Abram’s eyes. He simply couldn’t refuse to answer.

“Shit as usual.”

“Hmm… Kevin?”

“Aaron.”

“What’s he done?” He leaned back against the couch.

Andrew sat at the other end and looked up at him.

“Ask,” he shrugged. “I guess he doesn’t like the song I wrote.”

“Hmm.” It was Abram’s turn to sit at the other end of the couch. “And that song…?”

“I won’t tell you about it.”

He snorted, pushing myself back against the couch. Andrew hid the quivering corner of his lip.

“Damn, I’m dying of curiosity.”

“Wait like the rest.”

“It’s unfair,” he groaned.

Andrew shifted in his seat.

“The album comes out at the end of the week,” he reminded himself. “It’s not like it’s that long.”

“A week is an eternity.” turns to look at him.

When the silence stretches on, Andrew leans his side against the back of the sofa, seeking some warmth. One of the downsides of the apartment was that there was no heating, and Andrew was lazy enough not to get a portable one.

“How was your day?”

“Normal. What do you think you'd like for dinner today?”

Normal. He always said the same thing. And always followed it up with some random question.

“We can't have dinner together today.”

“What? Why?” The softness in Abram's expression was replaced with disappointment.

“I have an interview.” He shrugged.

“Oh... that's great, Drew.” The smile returned.

Andrew's skin prickled. He wanted to hear his name like that again.

“And then?”

“I'll be late.”

“I don't mind waiting. We can order something to go and then watch a movie. Last time we left the one at... Howl's Moving Castle.”

“Howl's Moving Castle.”

"That one. We left it half-finished."

A damn sin, but Abram was nodding off and practically snoring next to him on the couch. There was no way he was going to finish the movie, so they left it at the best part.

"I don't know how long it'll take."

"No matter. I'll wait," he enthused.

Andrew look at him. There was something fascinating about seeing Abram for who he was, less as a hallucination and more as a person whose body heat Andrew could touch, could feel, more like someone who looks back, smiles back, and understands him in return.

Seeing his warm features despite his scars, and it feels like being back on those swings of rough welts and dirt-darkened blue plastic, with the soft breeze of the spring weather and the company of Abram's incredulous laughter at some stupid comment Andrew made, accompanied by his serious face.

"Can I hold your hand?"

Abram blinked and reached over, holding out one of his hands.

Andrew quickly took it, his warm fingers touching the immobile limb. Out of pure instinct, he cupped his hands around hers, rubbing them together for warmth.

"If you were cold, you could have told me."

"I'm fine."

"You're not allowed to say those words with me."

Her smile twitched, and she leaned her head forward. Belatedly, he realized one of them had gotten close enough that the other's body heat was more than just her imagination.

"I'm warm now."

And it was true; the temperature seemed to rise, and Andrew went from cupping her hand to tracing his fingers over the gnarled, burnt knuckles.

"They're dead, Andrew."

"If they were still alive, I wouldn't hesitate to kill them."

"I know."

They stayed like that for a while. Every now and then Abram would make some stupid comment, and Andrew would respond scathingly, knowing it would get a soft laugh from him.

"I've missed you. All this time."

"You already said it." He looked away, not wanting to deal with difficult things. He wanted to stay like this for hours. Side by side, looking at each other. "You don't have to repeat yourself."

"I will until you believe me." He leaned closer, and if Abram leaned toward him a little, their foreheads collided. "Because I can see you don't."

It would be so easy to lean in and touch his lips. Barely a couple of inches. At this distance, Andrew could count Abram's eyelashes, see his slightly crooked nose, and appreciate that his lips looked dry. If he leaned in, he could moisturize them. If he leaned in…

But Abram didn't want him like this.

He had a Robin.

And he didn't look at him the same way Andrew did, at least not the way he wanted.

"How many secrets can you keep?"

"What?" He looked slightly surprised.

Andrew's cheeks heated, and he stepped back a little, hoping the dim lighting in the dining room would hide the evidence.

"A line from the song. You asked for it first."

"And you said no."

"I said it could wait." He shrugged. His fingers began to untangle themselves from Abram's hand, but Abram tangled his pinky finger with Andrew's index finger as an option. Andrew stayed.

"So the song is about me?" A smile spread, and Abram's eyes sparkled with amusement and something else.

"Very bold of you to believe that." He lifted his chin.

"But is it?" He leaned forward, his hair rippling around his chest, and his tilted chin gave a wide view of his Adam's apple pushing against the scars on his neck. His eyes glittered. "Now I just want to hear it more."

Heat ran down his spine and settled in his belly. He stirred and clenched his muscles. Relax, he told himself.

"Are you cold?"

"Are you?" he answered instead.

"A little. But I like it."

He glanced at the clock adorning the transparent frame. He had little time left before he had to leave again.

"Will you stay here until I get back?"

"Only if you want. I can also wait somewhere."

"You can stay." Andrew shrugged, a little uneasy, but he wanted to let him.

"Great," Abram hummed.

"You seem pretty excited to be about to spend three hours in a place you don't know."

"It's your house, Andrew. It smells like you. I like it."

It suffices.

Andrew got up from the sofa, feeling the cold creeping into his limbs. He preferred winter to summer, but unlike Abran, Andrew felt like a wet cat when he felt even a hint of chill.

"You can take my jacket; it's better quality."

Andrew looked at the expensive-looking jacket on the back of the sofa. Wearing it might raise some suspicion, which Andrew wanted to avoid at all costs, but that jacket reeked of Neil and his perfume. He wanted to be enveloped and inhaled until he was high on it.

So he took it.

"You can do whatever you want, just avoid my room."

"Sure." Neil leaned against the doorframe as Andrew put his shoes and jacket back on. "Oh... May I?"

Andrew saw the hands extended toward him.

"What for?"

"Fix the collar."

His gaze jumped from his hands to his face.

"Sure."

Neil's cold skin didn't touch his neck, but feeling the strange yet familiar hands settle on him melted his body. It had been so long since Andrew had received a show of care that his beloved stiffened with anticipation that the strange hands would soon be gone

“Better.” He walked away, and the loss was as bad as he imagined. “Have a good time.”

Andrew made a move to leave, but…

“Will he be here when I get back?”

“Yes.” His smile faltered, and his face grew more serious, more confident.

“Promise me.”

“Falling into old habits.” He grimaced, but never abandoned the friendly smile.

It was strange how Abram recognized Andrew’s patterns when it had been almost a decade since they last saw each other. When even his family didn’t notice, but it only took a couple of conversations for Abram to fully understand.

“I said…”

“No. I want you to believe me without a promise, Drew. I’ll be here when you get back, and we’ll finish that weird movie.”

His heart raced, and he clenched his hands into fists as he tried to reach out to him and clutch his blue hoodie.

“It’s not weird.”

“The guy turns into a bird,” he looked at him in disbelief.

“That’s very normal.” He crossed his arms.

A laugh bubbled from Abram’s throat, deep and a little raspy. Even his shoulders shook a little.

Andrew felt like his world had stopped.

This was trouble.

This would be trouble.

And if that weren’t enough, Abram believed the song was for him.

And damned if it was.

But he didn’t know if he was ready.

He’d given those lyrics in a stupid impulse to show something of himself, to be able to free himself from something that squeezed and craved in his chest almost as tightly as someone waiting for breath after being underwater long enough to believe they’d drown.

Shit.

Andrew was lost and soon exposed.

And the worst part was, Aaron was fucking right.

He was crawling in the damn song.

Chapter Text

Andrew got up when the nausea was just a memory and the sweat had dried.

First, he sat up in bed.

The sheets were wrinkled and slightly damp. The damp, salty smell settled in the room; he didn't know how or when, but now it was familiar and easy to recognize even with his eyes closed.

He was naked.

He always was when he woke up.

His eyelids were heavy and his vision a little blurry. His neck throbbed slightly and his right shoulder ached faintly, but Andrew only had the strength to look down.

There was a little blood between his thighs. Usually there wasn't any. At least not anymore, but sometimes his body gave in to the pain. He moved a hand to touch the dried blood glistening on his pale complexion, and when his slender fingers touched the slippery liquid, he emptied his stomach onto the floor.

He was running late for the ABC photoshoot. And he knew it because when he got out of the car after parking at the warehouse, his phone had three missed calls from Allison, seven from Kevin, several texts from Nicky, and one from Aaron saying, "Where the fuck are you?"

He left them on read and got into the elevator after the receptionist told him where to go. A chill ran down his neck. At the last minute, he'd left Neil's jacket in the car to avoid any unwanted comments.

"Where the fuck were you, Andrew? You're almost forty minutes late." Kevin, looking clean and bright, cut him off.

"Not your problem."

He absolutely wasn't going to tell anyone he'd spent almost twenty minutes in his car in a major, very, very gay panic.

Andrew refused to do anything self-congratulatory in his car.

"Don't argue." Wymavk appeared through one of the doors, looking aged. “You gave us a scare, kid.”

Kevin clicked his tongue and snorted.

“Go to the locker room, they’ve got your clothes ready there.”

Without answering, he went to the locker room. Part of him wanted to resist, since annoying Kevin was quite fun, but he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible so he could get home with Abram.

There was an outfit on a chair; Andrew took it and didn't bother looking at the blue pants before rejecting them. Instead, he took off his black T-shirt and put it on without much hesitation. He briefly glanced at his baggy sweatshirt before brushing against the rough fabric of his polo collar.

Bee had once told him that when he felt vulnerable, he usually hid behind the baggy fabric of sweatshirts. He didn't understand then; Andrew had knives, and if they weren't there, he wouldn't hesitate to bite. Not anymore. But now he thought he understood what was behind those soft words Betsy had mentioned to him as if it were a secret.

He looked at the seams with disgust, putting aside the thought of the sweatshirt. The damn fabric itched like hell. He stretched it to make it baggier, but like a rubber band, it returned to its natural size. Disgusting as shit.

I wouldn't buy it at all.

He left the room with a loud click of the door.

“And the pants?” Allison looked at him in disgust. “We don’t have time for a tantrum.”

“I’m not wearing that. Find it in black or nothing.”

“But…”

“Allison, let’s get this over with,” sighed the coach.

The blonde swore under her breath, muttering something similar to “five feet tall” and “emo.” Nothing important.

They led her into the living room. On one side, Kevin was doing a photo shoot against a white background, while on the other side of the room, the interview with his doppelganger was taking place.

“What would you do if you weren’t a musician?”

“Be a doctor.”

“Oh…” the man with glasses whose molds took up most of his face looked surprised. “That’s a big change.”

“I’ve always been interested in medicine. In fact, I didn’t plan on being a musician.”

“Wow, do you ever plan on studying to be a doctor?”

“I guess so.” I'm not going to make a living from music forever.”

Andrew calmed his breathing. He was no stranger to Aaron's dreams, and that didn't make him any less anxious.

Aaron wanted to study medicine at a prestigious California university, and the mere thought made his throat swell.

“Next question: What's your favorite band?”

Andrew tuned out and waited for the call to take the photos.

It was simple. They told him where and how to pose, and where to look. No one said anything about his pants, and Andrew didn't lash out at anyone.

“Can I fit you in?” a young-looking girl muttered nervously.

“How?”

"You can roll up your sweater a little. We want to take some suggestive photos, nothing out of the ordinary."

Andrew raised an eyebrow, but one look from Wymavk was enough to keep his mouth shut.

He pulled his sweater up a little until his V and toned stomach were visible. It wasn't as defined as it should have been for the amount of exercise he did, since he ate more ice cream than protein in a week, but Andrew was content to maintain a workout routine.

He got bored quickly, and the staff seemed to notice, speeding up the photo process.

"I'm so proud of my boys," Nicky whispered softly as he reviewed the pictures. "They've grown so much."

Andrew kept his eyes from rolling.

"Perfect! You can go with Colin to the interview."

He took the seat where his brother had been. He checked the time; barely 90 minutes had passed.

Maybe if he asked the questions quickly, they could slip away sooner.

Wymack seemed to guess his intentions, watching him closely from the corner. For some reason, he took the publicity very seriously.

"Hey, Andrew. Uh..." he shifted uncomfortably. "I'm going to ask you the usual questions we have for you."

He shrugged nonchalantly. The damn sweater was irritating his neck.

"What do you think of your band's trajectory? Your views have skyrocketed in the last few months."

They'd released a single a few months earlier that began to give them the "recognition they truly deserved," according to Kevin. It was a lame song and had only increased their popularity, much to Andrew's annoyance.

He still had nightmares about driving with the radio on and Kevin's squeaky voice singing "Sex, drugs, etc.," with no way to turn the damn radio off.

"I don't care enough to even think about it."

There was a brief silence from the interviewer.

“B-But… doesn’t he care about his band’s success?”

“No.”

“Ah…” he blinked again and again. “W-Well, what do you think you would have majored in if the band didn’t exist?”

“Criminal Code.”

He recognized his brother’s snort behind him.

“Something to say, little brother?” He raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fuck you. You don’t know if I’m the little one.”

Andrew ignored him as he sighed and leaned back in his seat.

“Anything else?”

“Y-Yeah. Uh…” He looked at one of the managers and went back to his paperwork. Andrew almost saw a drop of sweat run down his temple. “How does it feel to be the bassist in the band?”

“Boring.” He shrugged, ignoring Wymack's snort and cursing under his breath.

"Want to give us any clues about your song?"

"No," someone grunted disapprovingly.

The interviewer began to sweat and shift, visibly uncomfortable. He asked a couple of questions that Andrew answered listlessly, and just when he was starting to get really bored, he yawned.

"Hmm... What's your type of girl?"

He raised an eyebrow, not entirely surprised. There were always questions like that in any interview. Yet they were always annoying.

"I don't see what that has to do with you." Apparently, people had woken up today wanting to pry.

"Yeah, but the fans are interested. You've never spoken openly or been seen with anyone, so people want to know about your private life. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise?" I ask, glancing briefly at his brother, who seemed surprised by the reporter.

“People will start to doubt your sexual orientation…”

“My brother isn't gay!” Aaron interrupted with a growl. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“But it's only natural for people to question it. They haven't seen it…”

“Shut up. Are you serious? How dare you disrespect him?” Aaron interrupted.

Andrew tuned out. He didn't know if it was the journalist's insinuation or his brother's clear offense at the possibility of him being gay that made him tune out the conversation. But when he came to, his pulse quickened.

“How is it possible they've never seen him with women? Fans worry.”

Worried? It would be just as bad if he liked men.

“Fuck, you're not going to talk about my brother like that.”

“But he is? I mean…”

Andrew brushed his fingers along the edges of his bracelets.

“Enough.” Wymack interrupted the brief series of questions. “This isn’t in the contract. Who’s your superior?”

As the man began to answer, Andrew slipped behind him and went to the small locker room, nimbly removing his ridiculous sweater. As he straightened his soft black T-shirt, his anxiety seemed to slowly dissipate.

“Andrew?”

“What?” He put on his jacket and cupped his keys in one hand, hearing them jingle.

“Can I come in?” The voice, like his own, cracked.

Before his brother could ask any questions, Andrew opened the door.

“Are you leaving?”

“I have things to do.” His things were seeing Neil.

“Are you okay? For…? That jerk, we can go sue him for this and…”

“No. I don’t care what they think,” at least not enough to interfere.

And even more so when the insinuation hadn't been wrong. The question itself didn't bother him; did it puzzle him? Yes. But what burned in his chest came from the spectacle his twin had given to the possibility of Andrew liking men.

Many people had disrespected him over his twenty-four years. Many people. In many ways. He'd learned to deal with the bad ones, and the worst.

"But... were you angry? He was defending you."

"Defending himself?" The corners of his mouth twitched. "I didn't know you cared enough to..."

"Of course I do. You're my brother." He leaned closer, as if the words hadn't sunk deep enough.

So why was he attacking him? Why was he calling him a monster? Why was he criticizing him? Keeping his brother around was a double-edged sword that stabbed more than it struck. The scales barely balanced when the other's weight rose into the air as if Andrew's care and dedication to Aaron were dust that vanished with the sweep of a broom.

Andrew was fully aware that he was far from the best brother in the world. From the moment he hung up and told him to go to hell, with only the smell of freshly brewed coffee and Cass's distant voice humming a song for company, Andrew realized he would never achieve a brotherly relationship.

However, when she promised to protect him from anything that could harm him, that's what his world became.

"Aaron couldn't be around drugs, so he tried to avoid places where they were used."

"Aaron was afraid of spiders, so he made sure there weren't any around."

"Aaron couldn't look at a blonde woman without shuddering at the memory of his mother."

Aaron. Aaron. Aaron.

Even now.

But it was never the other way around.

While Andrew was making sure the tables at Eden's were drug-free, Aaron spat at him about how controlling he was, glared at him, and disappeared for the rest of the night, leaving Andrew to worry and worry.

While Andrew was with him day and night during his first relapse, all his brother could do was repeat over and over how awful he felt for having called him that first time.

While Andrew made sure Tilda never raised a hand to him again, Aaron just yelled, "You're a monster," "Why do you hate me so much?" and "I wish you'd die."

"Say that enough times until you believe it." He sidestepped his brother and headed for the elevator.

"You always do the same thing!" Aaron followed close behind. "You're... You always do the same damn thing. I'm sick of..."

"Me? It's nothing new, little brother." He called the elevator and crossed his arms, irritation burning in his chest.

I tried to give in and talk to you to fix this, but you wouldn't let me. I'm kind and understanding, but it's impossible when you ignore me and avoid conversation.

Want to talk? Talk. Andrew's eyes danced lazily between his twin and the elevator light. "You have 20 seconds."

"Fuck off," he snapped. "You're going to be alone your whole miserable life, Andrew. All of it."

He lifted his chin. A few people had started to turn around to see where the commotion was coming from.

"You have 9 seconds left."

"Fucking waste of time." He waved his hand and turned on his heel, walking down the hallway.

Across the hall, he saw his cousin watching the conversation with disappointment.

Andrew left.

Getting into his car, he took off his jacket and turned on the heater. When the heat reached his bones, he leaned his head on the steering wheel.

Damn.

Damn.

He could have stayed a little longer and really listened to him. But doing so made him feel so damn vulnerable he wanted to throw up.

Damn.

He could have really listened, tried to understand. But there was so much resentment in his chest. Aaron wasn't listening back either. Why was he always the one who had to make the first move?

Damn.

Fuck them all.

Fuck Nicky for always expecting more than Andrew could ever be.

Fuck Wymack for not breaking their contract when Andrew almost killed those guys.

And fuck the Spears for making him believe he ever had a choice.

Damn.

Damn.

"Andrew?"

He choked on a breath, and his eyes began to blur the previously obscured view.

"Andrew, are you there?"

"Bee."

“Yes. You called me. I think you're having a panic attack. Do you want to do the breathing?”

Andrew didn't respond, but Bee knew him well enough to know it was a statement. So she started breathing, and by the time everything seemed quieter, she was able to slouch properly in her seat.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

"No." He felt nervous, and verbalizing anything he might do made bile rise in his mouth.

“Sure, Andrew. You know you can call me anytime, right?”

“Yes.”

When Bee wrapped her hand around her phone, she relaxed and was able to breathe freely. Against her better judgment, she opened the glove compartment and, with the agility of someone who'd done it a thousand times, grabbed her notebook and broken pencil and wrote, or else the thoughts would be etched in her mind.

The walk back to the apartment was even longer than the one she'd taken.

He reached the entrance of his house as the sky darkened, and as he searched for his keys in his pocket and the soft jingle echoed in the lonely hallway, the door to his apartment opened and, under the warm light, Abram leaned forward, revealing a soft smile on his face.

"You're back."

Andrew has always been a solitary person, and that had never bothered him.

But being welcomed home caused an inner unease that shouldn't have.

Especially since it was Abram.

Abram's smile quickly disappeared when he saw what he saw on her face.

"What happened?" He pushed past Neil and entered the apartment, and wasn't surprised to find him warmer than usual. A thin tablecloth covered the glass table, with several plates of sushi on it. The television was on, blasting the latest music channel.

"Drew. Who?"

Andrew stopped midway through hanging up his jacket.

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me who did it."

"Why?" He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you'd keep Nathaniel out of here. Out of our way."

"You can't argue with someone if they're hurting you."

"You can't take away everything that bothers me."

"It wasn't just that it bothered you, Drew. I see it. And I know you. I know that look, and... "He started to move closer.

“Shut up.” He shook his head. “I hate you.”

“I know.” His face twisted into a painful grimace. “I know, Drew. You can do it whenever and however much you want. But don’t push me away.”

He clenched his fists. He felt raw because he was unable to anger Abram the way he had Aaron. Sharp words and hurtful comments didn’t drive him away.

“I’m not going away from you,” he whispered as if reading her mind.

“You can’t say those things,” he spat.

You can’t say those things without expecting me to kiss you.

“I’ll say it enough until you believe me.” He pressed his lips into a small smile.

Before Andrew could say anything he might regret, he finished taking off his jacket and walked into the dining room.

“Sushi.”

“You wanted that, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Neil sounded a little more open.

"You've arrived just in time for the channel to start talking about promising new bands. I'm sure you'll be there." Excitement flooded his words.

"Junkie."

There was a splutter of laughter.

"Go change, I'll wait for you."

This time Andrew didn't have as much trouble believing him, and he was right. He swiftly changed into the slightly tacky pajamas Nicky had bought him three Christmases ago. They were a little worn and had a hole in the sleeves, the light blue ones they'd been had faded a little, and the miniature shark on his chest had lost part of its tail.

Neil didn't comment on the colorful pajamas or the fact that he was still wearing his gloves. Instead, he patted the empty side of the sofa, and Andrew sat down. They were close, but there were still a good few inches to prevent any accidental contact.

They ate until they were full and still had some leftovers.

They fought over who had control, and although they watched some of the music program after several complaints from Neil, Andrew won and ended up watching the remaining part of the movie. When he finished, he heard Abram sigh.

"When I first saw it, I thought Howl was stupid. He had the love of his life right in front of him, and he refused to say it."

The credits lit up the screen. He noticed Neil turn to look at him.

"And now?"

"I understand he gave her time to figure out what they were."

As always, when Andrew turned to look at Abram, he was already looking at him.

"He was sure enough of their love that he didn't need to say it. He knew that sooner or later she would recognize him for what he was and what he is. That she would catch him."

"Is that what you wanted? Is that why you watched it so often?"

“Before, it was just the reruns because Howl was attractive enough.” He shrugged, ignoring Abraham's eyes beginning to widen in understanding.

“Do you like Howl?”

“I used to. Now I just watch it for the familiarity.” He snuggled up. Sleep was starting to weigh on him.

“So…”

“I'm gay.” I blinked, driving the sleep away. “I thought you already knew that.”

“Why?”

Because no one could miss the way he looked at you.

“It doesn't matter. Now you know. Is that a problem for you?”

“No, no. I don't mind that you like him, well…”

“What?”

"Nothing just... Are you sleepy?"

The credits rolled and the TV suddenly went dead due to the lack of movement of the remote.

"Aren't you?"

Andrew barely saw him shrug.

"Are you going to sleep here?"

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

Andrew's lips twitched. His hand began to play with his ear piercing.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you want to sleep in my room?"

He didn't want to do anything. But it was Neil. Abram. He knew he wouldn't do anything he didn't want, and even if they were one on each end of the king-size bed, he'd know Abram was with him.

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't."

"I don't have pajamas either."

"I can leave something."

Neil didn't seem entirely sure, but he followed Andrew into his room anyway. Like the rest of the apartment, it was barely decorated. However, there were more photos than in the dining room.

Photos with the stereo.

A photo with Aaron and Nicky.

With Renée.

Even one where she was giving Kevin the middle finger.

He opened a closet and grabbed a T-shirt and a tracksuit. He handed it to Neil, who hesitated until he left the room. Andrew heard the bathroom door open and close, then close again.

His bed was against the far wall, so Drew didn't hesitate to take the side where his back would be against the cold stone. When sleep returned, Nei did too.

"Are you following…?"

"Do you want it?"

"Yes. Everything you give me."

Andrew ignored how his body tightened, heating up.

"Then get in." He pulled up the covers so Neil could slide in. "Don't touch me. I might hit you."

"I never would. Not without your permission."

Andrew said nothing. He arranged himself the way he liked it and covered himself with the extra sheet at his feet. Neil was finally turned toward him; he felt his eyes burning his feelings.

"Looking."

“Does it bother you?”

“No,” he sighed, finally leaning back against the soft pillow. He looked at Neil as well.

Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, it was easier to make out his neck, his jaw, his lips, his cheekbones, his eyes, the beginning of his red hair…

“You never told me who hurt you today.”

Was that what had been going through his head? Andrew might have laughed if the noise didn’t catch in his throat because it was so strange. Now he understood, because at times, he could feel Neil’s gaze as he watched the movie intently.

“You have one-track thinking.”

“I guess.”

Silence.

Silence.

“My brother can sometimes be as much of a jerk as I am.”

"Why do you say that?"

“He likes to annoy as much as I do. I guess that's the only thing we have in common, apart from the obvious, of course.”

"Was I...?"

"Was I what?"

"The reason you came in shaking."

"I guess."

He trailed off.

"You can't lash out, Abram. He's my brother."

"He's hurt you."

"And he'll continue to. He's still my brother. There's no arguing."

"Why do you let him do it?"

"You ask a lot of questions and give nothing in return."

"Then ask." Abram blinked innocently.

It would be so easy to walk up and...

"What do you do when you're not with me?"

"Andrew..."

"You can't ask questions without giving anything in return. "Don't expect the truth if you're just planning on evading my questions," he snapped.

Abram sighed.

"As Nathaniel Wesninski, I'm pretty busy hunting down the bastards who attacked you."

"I thought I'd killed them."

"And I did. I mean the people they work for."

"Are you planning on dismantling a potential criminal organization?"

"I'm working on it," he shrugged.

"Is that why you're working with Stuart?"

"Hmm..." his voice vibrated hoarsely. "My turn."

"No. You've asked four questions, I still have two left."

"You didn't answer the fourth," he snapped crossly.

"I still have one left."

There was a brief exchange of glances, which Andrew won.

"Yeah. Well, I've always worked with Stuart, but... A few years ago, we had a fight, and the Harfords and the Wesninskis quarreled. Until... well. Until we met again." He cleared his throat slightly.

"Your throat hurts," Andrew guessed.

"Yeah, but..."

"No buts. Shut up. You can ask the rest tomorrow."

Abram frowned.

"It's not just..."

"Shut up."

"Andr..."

"I'm going to stab you."

"Liar."

"Shut up, Abram."

There was a snort, a rustle of sheets.

As Andrew fell asleep, he remembered he hadn't asked if would find there in the morning.

Chapter Text

“You don't understand. I'm telling you the truth!” Her voice cracked. It had been so long since she'd thought about pleading. “He likes children. He comes into my room at night, and he… He… He abuses me. You can't allow any more children there, you can't leave Aaron near him.”

Luther frowned and crossed his arms. The crucifix around his neck danced, the metal gleaming.

“Kid, you must be confused. The Speas are a good family who care about you. I understand that living in foster care has messed with your view of brotherly love, but Drake is a good guy. He serves his country, he serves the military. He's a star protector.” He looked genuinely sorry and upset. Even his eyebrows sank. “I don't know where you get those lies, kid, in the Bible…”

Andrew stopped. His eyes were caught on the crucifix. They absorbed him. He staggered every time Luther moved his hands while he spoke and coughed due to his intolerance to the tobacco he secretly smoked every Tuesday at seven in the evening in the backyard.

“I just want you to believe me.”

Luther sighed, interrupting his speech.

“Don't pretend. You grew up without proper love, and now that the Spears gave it to you, you don't know what to do with it. And I understand. But you can't accuse people of such serious things.”

That was the first and last time he asked for help.

Two weeks and four days later, he burned the car that had taken him to the reformatory.

The album was released on schedule, and Kevin was a pain in the ass all morning.

“Will you just shut your fucking mouth for a second?” Aaron looked for the TV channel where the songs would be broadcast, and they were reviewing them.

“Do you think they'll say anything? The songs are good, right? I have a good feeling…”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

The whole team was here, including Abby, who was talking attentively to a sulking Wymack in the corner, who occasionally scanned the room to make sure everyone was okay.

On the couch across from Andrew, Allison and Renee were squeezed together but quite comfortable. Renee gave him a smile, while Allison looked at him sarcastically.

“Let me do it.” Matt took his hand and pressed a few buttons on the TV. There was static, and soon host Kathelyn appeared next to Kathy. They were both watching some absurd KK Music Studios show. Secretly, Andrew disliked Kathy more than Kathelyn.

“That’s my girl,” Aaron muttered when the redhead appeared on screen.

“Erik, are you watching the channel?” he heard his cousin mutter behind him.

Andrew rolled his eyes for the second time when Kevin’s babble filled the room again.

“Fuck, Kevin! Shut up!” Dan yelled, curling up next to Matt.

“Guys,” Wymack’s voice was enough to quiet everyone.

“It’s starting!”

“Good morning, viewers. Today, after several months of waiting, we have with us the new album by ‘The Monsters,’ a band already well known for their solo “Sex, Drugs, etc.” Kathy smiled at the camera.

As if that weren't enough, the song started playing in the background as they continued performing. Kathelyn took over, and Andrew swears he heard his brother sigh.

"The group, made up of four incredible men: Kevin Day, who sings the lyrics, Andrew Minyard, the guitarist, Aaron Minyard, the drummer, and Nicky Hemmings, the pianist."

"The album has five songs that promise to leave us just as surprised and captivated by the single." Kathy sang along with Kevin's chorus, and Andrew couldn't hide his grimace of disgust. "And rumor has it that, with the exception of one, the rest belong to a member of the band, and we're very intrigued to guess which one belongs to each of them."

Kathelyn probably already knew Aaron's, but since their relationship wasn't public, no one would ask directly.

The album began with the song Andrew secretly knew was Nicky's since he'd reluctantly helped him write it.

It was called "Middle About," and the music began with Andrew's bass playing a brief solo. It crescendoed and crescendoed, breaking into Kevin's vocals. The lyrics spoke of a one-night stand, but secretly, they were about Nicky's fantasies about Erik when she met him after traveling to Germany.

Or so she understood.

Kevin was moving his lips without singing the song, and Nicky was practically screaming it at the top of her lungs, looking at her phone. Behind him, Wymack was serious, but Andrew knew him well enough to recognize the pride in his features.

The next song, "Right Here," was Aaron's. And if you looked hard enough, it wasn't hard to tell, since the constant mention of a certain girl and certain drugs left a lot to be desired.

"That's good!" Nicky snapped, shaking Aaron's shoulders. Aaron looked at her disapprovingly, but couldn't hide his smile. "You're going to win her over."

On TV, Kathelyn's cheeks looked a little redder, but nothing noticeable, considering she was wearing a thick green sweater that matched her eyes and highlighted her red hair.

"Why do I feel like this song could be Kevin Day?" Kathy smiled at the camera. "The first one is definitely Nicky's, considering it's clearly about sleeping with a man." Nicky had fought tooth and nail with Kevin to keep the male pronouns in the lyrics. After all, everyone knew his cousin was openly gay. Whether it was because he didn't hesitate to say it out loud whenever he could, or because of the compromising photos that had leaked of him kissing a boy at a festival a couple of years earlier.

"It's very complicated. Very little is known about the band, but I agree the first song is probably Nicky's," Kathelyn said.

The next song was the band's own. It was called "Natural," and it was definitely the most tedious to make. Aaron and Kevin argued several times, and if they didn't have more interesting things going on in their lives, Andrew might have killed them.

As if the audience knew, they kept their mouths shut throughout the song with an air of sadness.

"It's giving me the creeps," Dan joked. "It's okay. I don't understand why everyone has such a long face."

“Teamwork is overrated,” Aaron snapped bitterly.

Andrew secretly nodded.

“This one has a slightly different foundation.” Kathelyn nodded. “I like it, it’s very them.”

“Yeah, I guess so, but Andrew definitely wrote it. It has that dark vibe.” Kathy laughed and looked back at the camera. “Guys, we're more than halfway through the album, and so far we think we have songs by Nicky Hemmings, Kevin Day, and Andrew Minyard.”

Kathlyn nodded, her lips slightly pursed. And the audience roared with excitement.

“How many views do we have?” Kevin interrupted.

“They haven't even submitted it yet,” Wymack said, looking at something on his phone.

“We're trending on Twitter.” Allison fiddled with her freshly manicured nails. “I've seen it before. The album is popular.”

“Trending doesn't mean you like it. Especially on Twitter,” Aaron murmured.

“Liking it doesn't matter, what matters is being acknowledged,” the blonde replied.

Aaron started to say something, but Kathlyn's voice came over the TV. “The next song on the album is 'Softcore.'” He smiled as the first notes filled the stadium.

Kevin didn't flinch as his song enveloped them.

"Definitely one of the saddest on the album."

"Yes," Kathelyn agreed. "But it's funny that, despite the lyrics, which talk about a person struggling with their own problems and those of their relationship, the beat is still catchy."

Andrew looked at Kevin. Oddly, Kathelyn had hit the nail on the head, or at least that's how he understood it.

Since there was a promise involved, Andrew knew a lot about Kevin Day's life, such as the abuse he had suffered with Riko Moriyama, the singer of the band "Cuervos," whose collapse last year surprised everyone.

And he might as well have talked about him, since Andrew still didn't fully understand the deep-rooted power dynamics that kept Kevin subdued to extreme levels.

But Andrew knew enough to know that the song, despite having a female protagonist, was about Jean Moreau, the Ravens' lead guitarist, who after the band's failure had completely disappeared from the music world, except for a few fan photos that ended up linking him to California.

And it's not that Kevin talked about Jean much, but every time she was mentioned, every time he saw a photo, his gaze darkened, almost the same as Andrew's when he thought of Abram.

Kathy nodded.

"Who do you think this song could be about?"

"It could be anyone, but maybe Aaron?"

Nicky lets out a loud, growling noise before he starts laughing.

"Shut up!" His doppelganger's cheeks darkened, and Andrew looked away before he started to throw up.

"You think? I guess it could be." Kathy shrugged. "Well, the last song and the one that closes the album '7am!' is called 'Do I Wanna Know?'"

Aaron, being the unsubtle guy he was, allowed himself to turn around and look at Andrew.

Nicky mumbled something under his breath as the first notes began to play.

Andrew did nothing but tense up a little.

Was Abram listening to it?

He'd know it was his song from the little hint he'd given him that one time. Did he know it was for him? Would he like it? Would he hate it? His skin tightened, and the feeling of vulnerability settled over his like a dead weight.

He'd given that song to Wymack at the last minute, when confidence oozed from every pore and he was sure of it. Andrew didn't regret it, as the effort wasn't worth it. Still, he felt the song said more about him than it should.

It made him obvious.

And it humanized him.

And it made him nauseous.

The song seemed longer than usual, and when it finally ended, Andrew barely heard what the hosts were saying. There was static in his ears.

"I think this song is definitely Aaron's. I mean, it's too romantic for Andrew or Kevin." Kathy tucked her brown hair behind her ear. It could be Nicky, but I'm pretty sure the first song was his.

Aaron snorted.

"Whoever the songs are from, I think it's a very successful album. All the songs are fantastic."

"That's for sure."

"We've got half a million views," Wymack interrupted.

"But... we only just released the album like an hour ago?" Dan frowned, standing up and grabbing his phone.

"We should celebrate!" Allison stood up abruptly.

"There's a hashtag where people guess who the songs are from," Nicky interrupted. "Erik tells me there are already translations of the songs online."

"Damn it." Kevin stood up. "We're doing it."

"Congratulations, guys." Abby enthused, as gently as you would pet a stray cat, ready to give it affection even though it might lash out with a scratch. "You deserve it."

There was a roar of voices and the occasional hug. Andrew's phone vibrated in his pocket, and his heart skipped a beat. As he looked at Bee's congratulatory message, he belatedly remembered that Abram didn't have a phone.

"Has she returned your feelings?" Nicky sat next to him, staring at the screen of her phone. "Oh... it's Bee."

"Congratulations."

"Congratulations."

As if it were fate, another text arrived from Bee.

"I'm proud of what you've accomplished, Andrew."

The text stabbed at him, and his breath caught in his lungs. He'd never said that to her. Wymack had, sometimes, but not just to him. He said it to everyone, and it didn't bother him. But Bee hadn't sent that text to Kevin, or Nicky, or anyone else. It was a him.

"I'm proud of you, too." Nicky sighed as if his words were light, unaware that Andrew's shoulders felt like lead. “Oh… By the way…”

He snapped his fingers and Andrew quickly changed his appearance.

“What do you want?”

“Want?! I don’t want anything.” He laughed nervously. “It’s just… Christmas is coming up and Dad called… He wants us to go there for lunch.”

“I’m not going,” he quickly declined as he stood up. He wanted to go home and wait for Abram to come and tell him what he thought of the song.

“But Andrew…”

"You see. But Aaron won't go either."

"What about me?" his twin interrupted. "You're not going to decide for me. We don't have a promise anymore, Andrew."

Their conversations tapered off.

"You're not going," he practically growled.

"My parents, Andrew." Nicky gasped. "And I know they're not the best, but they're my parents, and maybe..."

"Maybe? People like them don't change. I won't go, and neither will Aaron."

"You know what? I'm actually going," Aaron muttered smugly.

"No."

"Of course I am. You can't forbid me from doing anything." He crossed his arms. "What are you going to do? Tie me to the door?"

"If you have to-"

"Guys," Renée chimed in. "I think..."

"Give them one last chance," Nicky practically begged. "Please-"

"Shut up."

A phone ring interrupted the discussion, and Andrew took the opportunity to leave.

He wasn't visiting Luther.

"Andrew."

He brought up a cigarette and inhaled so deeply that he took almost a third with him.

Renee opened the metal gate to the back entrance. Her rainbow hair was starting to unravel, and Andrew was sure she had a hair appointment scheduled to get those colors.

"How are you?"

She shrugged.

"You know Nicky just wants a relationship with his parents, right?"

"Don't play therapist, Renee. I already have one."

Renee smiled, oblivious to the cutting words.

"I know. I'm just being a friend," she shrugged. "And as a friend, I'm always going to look out for your best interest."

"I don't need friends."

"Of course I do." He sat down on a small step in the sidewalk and patted his side. Reluctantly, Andrew complied. “You’re my best friend.”

“Throw up.”

Renee laughed surprisingly hard. The tension slowly left her shoulders.

“I won’t go to the Hemmingses’ house.”

“You don’t have to.”

There was silence, broken only by Andrew’s soft exhalations from the tobacco.

“You could tell them the reason you refuse.” Renee didn’t know the reason, but she knew enough about Andrew to know there was a reason.

He knew he could. Anyone other than Andrew would surely have told them. But it was humiliating. To ask for help and be ignored, to be called a liar. It was his word against Luther’s. There was no longer any evidence on Andrew’s body to corroborate his words, and even when there was, they didn’t believe him. So if they didn't do it that guarantees that Nicky or Aaron did it.

Especially when he'd already been called a 'monster,' 'psychotic,' and 'freaking crazy.'

He wasn't going to say those words only to have them fall on deaf ears again.

He didn't answer Renee as the metal door opened and Nicky walked out, his eyes watery and red. When he sniffed, Renee stood up and said a soft goodbye as she walked up the stairs.

"I know Luther isn't your favorite person."

"They sent you to a conversion camp, Nicky."

"I know." Her cheeks darkened. "But they're my parents, and they told me they're going to try..."

"See. If they want to fix it, let them, but they don't nee-"

"They want you there. They told me if you and Aaron don't go, then no one else will."

"Do you know what that looks like?"

“I know, but…” he sobbed loudly, and thick tears streamed down her cheeks. “Maybe…”

Andrew bowed his head. He didn't like seeing his family cry, contrary to popular belief.

Throughout his years under Nicky's care, he'd had many conflicting feelings. He liked that Nicky went after what he wanted. He'd decided to take care of them, and she'd succeeded. He'd decided to maintain her relationship with Erik despite the hundreds of miles that separated them, and she'd succeeded. She wasn't ashamed of who she was and always seemed genuine with her feelings.

Fifteen-year-old Andrew had felt envy and disgust. How could he be so self-confident? Why couldn't he be like that?

The Andrew of today only saw him with pride and admiration. Someday he would like to shed what held him back and restrained him, and even though he knew he wouldn't be able to, since his fears weighed heavily enough to make him crawl, he had often dared to fantasize about being free from those chains.

Nicky was a figurehead for all his negative thoughts, but now he could find solace in his cousin's security. You can fantasize about becoming that free.

But in the end, they were only fantasies.

Nothing real and nothing tangible.

So, little by little, with the help of the years and Bee, it could be said that despite being tough on his cousin, he felt a certain weakness.

"I won't go to his house."

Not when the kitchen was the place where he told Luther the truth. And not when the dining room was the place where Maria looked at him with pity.

Nicky sobbed so hard, so hard, that he shook. “Sure.”

“I won’t go to his house, Nicky,” he repeated.

“I know, I—” “Wait.” He looked up sharply. “Does that mean we can do it somewhere else?”

Andrew shrugged.

“I decided the day,” he added.

“O-Of course.” He wiped his tears and snot with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Andrew rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Are you staying for the celebration?”

“You abuse” he simply said, lighting another cigarette.

Nicky let out a soft, shrill laugh.

“Sure, go find your girl.”

Andrew glared at him as he walked away. There was no girl, and even though he wanted to say it, the words had gotten stuck in his lungs every time he tried.

When he got to his car and turned up the heat, there were several messages. Among them were the fox group, which Andrew ignored. Then another “Thanks” message from Nicky. A “We need to talk” from Aaron. And a “Can I come over to your house later?” from Kevin.

Andrew responded to the last one with an affirmative before driving toward the apartment.

For the first time, he played music at a fairly high volume, trying not to hear his own thoughts.

He was surprised when he found the familiar figure in his front doorway.

Since his album launch was scheduled today, he'd postponed rehearsals, so he'd left hours earlier than he usually did. So he didn't expect to find Abram sitting on the front step of his house.

"What are you doing here?" he said as he parked his car.

"Didn't you want me to come?"

"You work until seven in the evening," he stated the obvious.

"So do you."

"You know why I came early."

Abram looked at him, searching for something Andrew didn't recognize. When he grew weary of the suspense, he hollowed out the keys and opened the gate. Abram's footsteps behind him were quiet but familiar. He opened his front door and took off his jacket.

“Shall I make some coffee?” Neil didn’t wait for a reply and walked into the kitchen.

Andrew watched him grab the spoons and milk. Just as it was strange to see him moving around his house as if it were his own, it was also comforting.

But he didn’t allow himself to get lost in thought. He went to his room and grabbed his pajamas. He took his time in the shower, listening to Abram’s humming as he passed through the door. He looked at the folder and decided not to put them on since the pajamas were quite baggy and ugly. He came out with his hair still dripping and a slipper halfway on.

Neil was waiting for him, sitting on the couch with a coffee in his hand and a creamer sticking out of the cup on the table. Before sitting down, Andrew wandered to the small piece of furniture between the two rooms and grabbed what had been on his mind.

He felt refreshed and renewed as the couch absorbed him.

Nei took a sip and turned to Andrew.

“I put a double marshmallow in it.”

He took a sip from his cup and held back a grateful sigh. Damn sweet, just the way he liked it.

“Hold out your hand.”

Neil obeyed as quickly as a faithful dog.

Andrew placed a set of keys in his hand. The other day he had bought a ring decorated with a small rabbit.

“Andrew.” His voice was a rush, and his gaze, which had been fixed on the object in his hands, had become Andrew’s.

Blue eyes. Deeply tanned. And if Andrew had even a shred of decency, he wouldn’t allow himself to get lost in them so quickly.

“They’re just keys.”

“They’re not. You know they’re not.” His thumb traced the depths of the metal. “Why?”

“Be more precise.” He sipped his coffee with feigned disinterest.

“Why are you giving them to me?”

“You don’t need to wait out there.”

"It's not that... Andrew, I don't mind waiting outside. I would. Always. I know you'll come."

"Winter is coming."

"Is that all?" Abram's eyes seemed to glow.

There was silence. Andrew wanted to speak, but fear had stolen his words. And he was afraid of saying something wrong and pushing Neil away again. He couldn't go another ten years without seeing him. Not when he was learning how to be with him again.

"I heard your song," he said after what seemed like hours of silence. "I want to know."

Andrew made a noise in his throat.

"I like it. I've heard it like... I don't know. I think I know it by heart." He laughed. "I... who are you talking about in the song?"

“What makes you think I'm talking about someone?”

“You can't write a song like that without someone in mind.” Abram laughed a little uncomfortably.

Andrew tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Abram avoided his gaze and sipped his coffee.

Something pricked the back of his neck.

“Why do you want to know?”

Andrew didn't receive any answers. But as the seconds passed, he began to notice the redness that had started on Abram's neck and risen to his face.

“You're blushing.”

“It's hot.”

“It's winter.”

“Autumn,” Abram hurried stubbornly.

But Andrew's thoughts began to race. Abram still didn't look at him.

A thought swept through his mind.

“You're jealous,” he guessed.

“No,” he bargained quickly. The color deepened, and their hair and faces began to look more alike.

Amusement bubbled through Andrew, and he leaned forward more confidently.

"Are you jealous, Abram?"

"W-What are you talking about?"

He stuttered. Damn, stuttered. A dark chuckle escaped his throat.

"Yes or no?"

"Yes."

Andrew leaned close enough to bring their lips together suddenly. Their teeth clashed, but they quickly leaned in, and it was all gentle. At first, just a touch, but Andrew was a hungry man, and he soon deepened the kiss.

His thoughts disappeared, and the focus was on Abram. He focused on the notoriously inexperienced lips, and how the pressure, just as firm on his side, was also firm on Abram's.

Abram gasped as Andrew's tongue entered. The temperature rose, and all Andrew could think of was more.

"Don't touch me," he gasped before kissing him again.

Neil's lips were a little chapped and tasted like bitter coffee. Never mind.

Andrew dragged his teeth along Abram's inner lip, and Abram leaned in after him. The hand that wasn't resting against the back of the couch reached up to Neil's hair, but it balled into a fist.

"Touch me, Andrew."

Shit.

A shiver ran through Andrew's body and settled in his stomach. His closed hand gripped the hair on the nape of Abram's neck and he tilted his head to gain free access to his neck, where Andrew began kissing and nibbling the smooth skin.

When their lips touched Abram's chapped lips again, the doorbell rang, and they both jumped.

Andrew pulled away, and Neil's gaze, bent over, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen and wet, greeted him. He almost kissed him again, but the doorbell rang impatiently.

“Who…?”

Andrew frowned and cursed.

“I'm going to kill Kevin.”

Chapter Text

Middle About (Chase Atlantic) - Nicky Hemmings.

“We only met each other just the other day. 

But you already got me feeling some type of way, now.

If I could figure it out, i’d take you back to my house

So we could meedle about

We coil meddle about”

 Right here (Chase Atlantic) - Aaron Minyard.

“I didn’t hear a word you say

I wasn’t that high, I swear

It’s happening again

Well, I don’t give a fick about your friends

I’m right here, here

Og, baby, take a look around

I’m the only one that hasn’t walked out

I’m right here, here.”

 Natural (Imagine Dragons) - Together.

“That’s the price you pay

Leave behind your heart and cast away

Just another product of today

Rather be the hunter than the prey

And you’re standing on the edge, face up

‘Cause you’re natural

A beating heart of stone

You gotta be so cold

To make it in this world

Yea, you’re a natural”

 Softcore (The Neighbourhood)- Kevin Day.

“I’m too consumed with my own life

Are we too young for this?

Feels like I can’t move

Sharing my heart

It’s tearning me apart

But I know I’d miss you, baby, if I left right now

Doing what I can, tryna be a man

And every time I kiss you, baby

I can hear the sound of breaking down”

do I wanna know (Arctic Monkeys) - Andrew Minyard.

“ Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you’re in deep?

I dream about you nearly every night this week

How many secrets can you keep?

‘Cause there's this tune I found

That makes me think of you somehow

And I play it on repeat

Until i fall asleep”

Chapter Text

Andrew tapped a rock with the toe of his sneakers. He was walking through the neighborhoods of Oakland. It had been half an hour since he'd told his mother he was going out, and it had been half an hour since his lungs had been able to properly fill with air.

“Why are you doing that?”

Andrew's heart leapt, and he quickly looked up. In front of him was a boy. His clothes were dirty, slightly holey. His hair was dark and hidden under a cap, a few strands of it peeking out from underneath. But that didn't bother Andrew, only his black eyes. So black they looked fake, fixed on him.

“What?” His words sounded more caustic than he'd intended, but he showed no remorse.

“You get here at five in the afternoon and walk around for the next two hours hitting rocks. Every day. Every day. Why?”

Andrew felt his lips twitch downward. Had he been watching him? The mere thought of being watched without him noticing unsettled him and reminded him again how defenseless he was. Just like omegas. Unpleasant. The boy continued to stare at him, his hands in his pockets, and he looked about Andrew's age, maybe younger.

"Who are you?" Andrew shifted his eyes disinterestedly to the playground next door. It wasn't cold, but there was still a pesky wind that rocked the swings slightly, making the worn metal squeak.

"Mark Lewis. You?"

Despite looking away, Andrew didn't miss the slight flinch or shudder. Whatever it was, it was lying. And Andrew had learned there was one thing he hated almost as much as they did, and that was lies.

"I won't answer to a liar."

Swings creaked. Andrew made a move to turn around. It would be the first time in two and a half months that he'd be returning home earlier than usual.

“Abram.” The boy took a step forward. Andrew narrowed his eyes. “That's the most real thing I can give you.”

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He didn't know what he saw, but after three heartbeats of holding Abram's gaze, he said, “Andrew.”

That was the beginning.

Andrew opened the front door with a button and turned from the threshold where Neil was still dazed, breathing heavily on the couch.

"Get ready."

"Huh?" He blinked more attentively.

"Hair. Fix it."

Neil ran his fingers through his curly hair, failing miserably to fix it.

When Kevin's footsteps seemed closer, Andrew casually helped himself to the doorway, ignoring his pounding chest and damp boxers.

"Where's the vodka?" was the first thing Kevin said as he took off his jacket.

Andrew wasn't surprised. Kevin had a vodka problem and had accepted Andrew's help to slowly break his addiction. So whenever Kevin wanted to drink, he had free rein at Andrew's house, as long as he did so in moderation and under Andrew's supervision.

Over time, after an incident where Kevin broke into his house and emptied the alcohol shelf, Andrew changed where he hid his booze after each visit.

"On the shelf next to the fridge."

He snatched his coats off and headed toward the kitchen, not noticing the man on the couch.

Neil raised an eyebrow, and Andrew shrugged.

"We've reached one million views—" "Who the fuck are you?" Bottle in hand, he stopped, frowning.

"Neil Josten." He flicked his chin in greeting.

"Who's he?" This time Kevin looked at him.

"It's Neil Josten." He shrugged.

"What's he doing here?"

"He's my friend." The words sounded like a lie, considering he'd been eating his so-called "friend" just seconds before.

"You don't have any friends."

"Now I do." Neil chimed in with a frown.

"Great," he said as if it were an insult before gulping down a third of the bottle. "Why didn't you come to the celebration?"

"I was bored." He closed the door and walked over to the couch next to Neil.

Kevin settled into the armchair next to him and took another sip.

"Slow down," Andrés warned.

"Yeah, yeah." He sighed as if it were oxygen, not vodka. "Are we spending Christmas with your uncles anyway?"

It didn't surprise him that Kevin joined the plan. He always did, and Andrew found it strangely comforting.

Kevin was a complete jerk, yet after almost half a decade, he'd become something like family. Even if most of the time Andrew wanted to sew his mouth shut.

"Yeah, but not Christmas."

"He thinks you hated them."

That caught Abram's attention, as he sat up beside Andrew.

"Hate them?" he asked, looking at his nails.

"No."

"What? If it was legal, you'd kill them." Kevin slurred. "Hey, Neil? Be careful, Andrew has knives."

Andrew didn't say anything about his bands being empty. He'd only started doing that a couple of nights ago when Abram had told him there were times he was still scared of knives.

"Mhm..." Abram leaned confidently back against the couch. “Are you planning on attacking me, Drew?”

And damn it, because the tangled, fire-like hair fell softly over his temple as his lips curved into a slanted smile.

“I’ll kill you.”

“Sure.” He smiled wider.

“By the way.” Kevin interrupted the atmosphere. “Wymack said if the viewings keep increasing, we’ll probably move up the tour.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not talking about music.”

“Of—”

Andrew stepped onto the TV, silencing Kevin.

Neil relaxed beside him, and Andrew pretended the weather forecast was interesting. When Kevin moved away from his spot for the sixth time, Andrew looked at him.

“What?”

“Is that the one you’re talking about in the song?”

The weatherwoman laughed. Andrew didn’t.

“Is that your song about Jean Moreau?”

Kevin looked away and kept his mouth shut for exactly 21 minutes. Andrew looked for something to watch, and Neil got up to make dinner.

"You know being gay only makes things worse?" Kevin whispered, just loud enough so Neil couldn't hear. "With your history..."

"You're really drunk, and I have knives."

"I'm just trying to help."

"So what do you think I should do?"

There was silence, then the sound of Neil doing whatever he was doing in the kitchen.

"It's easier to be straight."

"Are you saying this for yourself?

"I'm not gay," he quickly denied.

"No, that's not what I said." He flipped the channel and stopped at some cartoons.

"Just... You know what they're going to say if they find out you like men." Kevin sighed, taking his last drink. "Is it worth dealing with?"

The conversation was interrupted when Abram appeared in the middle of the living room. Andrew noticed the smell of burning and frowned as the smoke began to dissipate in the kitchen.

"What happened?"

"It burned." Abram raised his hands as if facing a police ambush.

"You mean you burned it?" Kevin laughed. "What were you doing?"

"Fried eggs."

"You burned fried eggs?" Andrew looked at him in disbelief, ignoring Kevin's rising laughter.

"Can we get pizza?" Abram shrugged.

The pizza arrived half an hour later, and ignoring Kevin's complaints about how greasy it was and how few vegetables it had, they ate until it was barely 11 p.m., when Kevin fell asleep on the couch.

"Is he going to sleep there?"

Andrew sighed.

"Go take a shower, I'll take care of him."

I didn't wonder if he'd fallen asleep. Since that first time, Neil had stayed more often. Sometimes in his bed, sometimes in the guest bed. Depending on how much Andrew wanted to kiss him.

"Your pajamas are on the bed," he warned before leaving.

Abram entered his room when Andrew recognized the almost empty bottle and kicked Kevin in the bent leg.

"Kevin," he yelled. There was no reply. "Kevin."

The snoring intensified, and Andrew cursed.

Should he leave him? Or drag him into the bedroom?

Last time he dragged him, so this time he could sleep on the couch.

He picked up some crumbs and the pizza boxes. When he reached his spot and took off his headbands, his heart racing, the door opened and Neil, his hair dripping, walked in with what Andrew could make out was a shy look.

"Shall we leave Kevin in the dining room?"

"He's slept there before," he shrugged, grabbing a dry towel from his closet. "Sit here."

Neil obeyed, and when he sat on the edge of the bed, Andrew began roughly drying his hair.

"Does he come here often?"

"Yes. He's a nuisance."

"But you let him in." Neil looked up and leaned into Andrew's hand holding his head. "I like it."

"We all make mistakes."

The familiar chirping sound came from his lips. When his hair seemed drier, Andrew smoothed it, making small curves in his barely formed curls.

"We've kissed before."

"Yes."

"Can we do it again?"

As if he hadn't been waiting for it since their lips had parted. Andrew gestured for Abram to stand up since he refused to bend down.

"Yes or no?"

Abram was only a few inches taller than him, but enough so that Andrew had to lean in just a little.

"It's always yes with you."

"Don't say that."

"Don't ask for the truth if you're just going to dilute it."

I didn't wait for anything else when their lips crashed again. This time, Abram reacted quickly and parted his own for Andrew to enter. It was gentle and not as rushed as before. Now, they both knew it would happen again.

Andrew moved his hands to Abram's forearms and reached down to check that his hands were buried behind him. So obedient. Estiro and Abram pressed, implying that he wouldn't move from there.

However, he broke the kiss when a thought crossed his mind.

"W...?" Abram opened his eyes, staring at Andrew as if he were the only one. His pupils had swallowed the blue of his eyes.

"Robin?"

Neil frowned and even tilted his head.

"What?"

"She…?" He unconsciously pulled away from Neil.

"What does she have to do with this?" he tried again.

"You and her. Aren't you—?"

"Wait, what? No. Andrew. Whatever you're thinking isn't like that." He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "Robin's like a sister. That's all. It's not even remotely like what I feel when I'm with—"

The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears, and he barely heard what Abram said, but it was enough for him to press his lips to his, silencing the rambling. It was a few seconds before he broke away again. Unconsciously, Andrew searched for the lie but couldn't find it in Abram's eyes.

"Junkie. Yes or no?"

"Yes." He sighed with relief.

Driven by the heat and hunger, Andrew moved close enough for their pajamas to rub together, and the friction of the fabric raised goosebumps on his skin. His right hand traveled to Abram's waist, pulling him closer, and his ring finger slipped, touching a strip of warm skin. Neil responded with a loud gasp, and Andrew swallowed it.

The cold was gone. They were creating a heat of their own to become one. And although Neil's hands pressed tightly into his fabric pockets, Andrew felt like he was being wrapped, and he liked it. He moved closer, and this time the fabric stopped rubbing against each other and pressed firmly together. Andrew's teeth caught Neil's lower lip, and he tugged, feeling fire in his throat.

When he tried to dive back into the kiss, his body stumbled toward Neil, and something hard pressed against his lower stomach. He looked down, pulling away, and he didn't miss the crease in Neil's pants.

"S-Sorry."

When Andrew looked up, Abram was already looking at him, a hint of embarrassment washing over his face.

"Why?" He pressed his lips together, a hidden smile on his face.

"Oh my God. Don't make me say it."

"It's normal."

"Are you…?"

"Yeah, I'm turned on."

It was dark, yet Andrew noticed the blush that was shining on Abram's face.

"Who knew a mafia boss blushed so quickly?"

"It's your fault." He booed.

"Do you want me to take care of it?"

He seemed to think about it before refusing.

Andrew pulled away without pushing him. It was okay. Abram didn't want his hands on him.

"It's not because... I don't want you to think I asked you to kiss me for this," he whispered. "I wanted to kiss you because I wanted to kiss you."

Andrew's hand moved to the back of Abram's neck, gently stroking his curls.

"Besides, Kevin's in the dining room."

"There could be an earthquake and Kevin would still be asleep." Andrew snorted. "Come on, let's go to bed."

They snuggled up to each other. Maybe a little closer than usual.

"I can't believe we kissed," he whispered after minutes of silence.

"Did you expect that?"

"No. At least not until you kissed me. I didn't know I wanted it until now," he sighed. “But I heard your song and thought… Who are you talking about in the song?”

“I thought it was clear after I kissed you.”

“And what’s the song?” he asked. “The song that reminds you of me.”

“Not yet.” He still didn’t want to tell her which one it was.

Neil’s frown softened as he recognized whatever it was in her eyes.

“If anyone dares to say you don’t have a heart, I’ll have to kill them,” Abram joked.

They stayed like that. Silent and soft. Barely a quiet breath. Her body relaxed, and her eyelids began to close. It was strangely frightening how easily her body softened, even though someone else occupied her bed.

“I only see you, Drew.” Warm breath brushed her cheeks, the pillow shifted, and her breath hitched. If Abram had said it a little softer, the whisper would never have reached her.

She blinked slowly. She could pretend she hadn't heard it, but the words echoed like the pain of a fresh wound. She couldn't get it out of her head.

"You said something like that a long time ago," she dared to remember. "Three days before you left."

There was a soft noise. She was listening.

"You said, 'Sometimes I feel lost, but when you're with me, it doesn't matter. I only see you.'"

"Now too. I only see you. The rest doesn't matter."

"Shut up."

Abram laughed.

He fell asleep, recording his lips over and over again.

Andrew woke up to the light from the window shining in his eyes and the sound of an alarm blaring throughout the apartment.

"I'm going to kill Kevin," he shouted.

By the time he opened his eyes, Abram's side of the bed was empty. Andrew ran his hand over it and noticed it was still warm.

He went out to the dining room and saw Neil searching for the source of the noise. Hearing Andrew's footsteps, he got up from where he was crouching and scratched his stomach while yawning loudly. Even his face still bore the mark of the pillow.

"I wanted to turn it off before it left you."

Andrew moved closer until there was barely any space between them.

"Yes or no?"

Abram, suddenly more awake, whispered affirmatively and leaned close enough for Andrew to press his lips against his. Barely a few seconds.

"It's in his pocket. It's always the same." Andrew pulled away and rummaged through Kevin's pants. Kevin grunted, but snored again when Andrew had the phone in his hands.

It wasn't the alarm. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Kevin's half-dead body on the couch. He picked up the phone.

"Kevin, damn it, why don't you cont-"

"Coach."

"Andrew?" Smoke muttered on the other end of the line. "Get your ass moving and Kevin gets back to the studio. We need to talk."

"It's vacation," he reminded himself as he watched Neil walk into the kitchen to make coffee. Andrew followed, grabbed a glass, and refilled it with water.

"I don't care. I want them here in less than an hour."

"He's tense, Coach," I mocked.

"Miniyard," he warned me.

"We'll be there in half an hour." He hung up and poured some water on Kevin's chest, making sure it didn't touch his precious sofa.

"What the...? Damn sea, Andrew!" he yelled. "You could lift me like a normal person."

He held back a sneer.

"Your father is expecting us in the study in half an hour."

Neil struggled to carry the three cups of coffee, and Andrew nimbly picked up the one overflowing with cream.

"Neil?" Kevin grunted, blinking. "I think I dreamed it."

"I'm real." Neil shrugged.

"Unfortunately," Kevin said, not so quietly.

Abram ignored Andrew's request and smiled. He drank his coffee quickly and when he finished, went to his room to get dressed. While listening to a conversation whose words were mostly insults between Kevin and Neil, Andrew put on baggy black jeans and a sweatshirt whose logo had begun to fade from constant use.

"What are you going to do?" Andrew interrupted.

Neil turned around, still looking sleepy.

"I have to go to work. I could come back tonight." He sipped his coffee, which must have been lukewarm by now.

"Now you have a key," he shrugged. "Remember to lock up later."

"Wait, he has a key and I don't?" Kevin crossed his arms. "I'm your best friend."

Lately, people were daring to say those words with the same ease with which you talked about the weather.

"Are you ready?" Andrew boredly dug his hands into his pockets.

In response, Kevin got up from the couch and barely sorted out his nest of a head.

With a brief goodbye through gentle glances, Andrew got out and drove to the studio, Kevin's car right on his heels.

"Finally, damn it," Aaron swore, leaning against the couch.

"What's going on?" Kevin leaned forward, his features worried.

"The press happens," Allison chimed in.

It was rare to see her without her outfits that ended up in fashion magazines. Today, however, it seemed she'd barely had time to fix her hair in a messy ponytail.

Wymack entered the room, followed by

Abby.

"Everyone here? Great." He crossed his arms. "What do you want first? The good news or the bad news? Doesn't matter, that ad you did last week just came out."

"Yeah, it's complete crap." Allison added, ignoring the coach's glare.

"No wonder. Andrew was a jerk," her brother mocked.

To prove it, Allison pulled out the tablet she was holding and showed the article.

''The poor treatment Flinn Cavan received for interviewing 'The Fox'

The troubled past surrounding each member of the band led by the well-known David Wymack is not unknown, however, they are once again surprised by their behavior that leaves much to be desired.

The last day (xxxx-xx-x), Flinn Cavan interviewed the group and everything was going well, until Andrew Minyard began responding hostilely to the questions, even humiliating the workers.

'I don't see why that should be any of your business.' This was the notorious phrase at the meeting when Flinn asked about his situation in the industry. As if that weren't enough, in the final moments of the collaboration, people claim that both Minyard twins had a meeting in the hallway, where Aaron Minyard could clearly be heard saying 'You're going to be alone all your life' although, we know that the Minyards don't have a relationship like other brothers, since they met at the young age of thirteen. To what extent is their relationship broken? And how will this affect the band?

“Aaron?” Nicky’s shaky voice broke the silence.

Aaron crossed his arms stubbornly, ignoring Wymack’s raised eyebrow.

“You’re going to sink this band,” Allison snapped. “It’s always the same with you guys.”

“Can we fix this?” Kevin picked up the tablet, reading the rest of the article. “We could do a press release.”

“We’re still trending on Twitter because of the album, not the article.” Nicky showed her phone screen.

“We can wait and see how this affects us, but everyone will work on a press release to post in case it goes viral.” Dan pulled some paper out of her binder and handed them out. “Here are some guidelines for the press release. No swearing.”

Andrew ignored the paper in favor of looking at Dan with feigned innocence.

“Great,” the dumbest Minyard clicked his tongue.

"Aaron? You and I will talk." For the first time in days, Nicky seemed disappointed.

Aaron avoided his gaze and approached reluctantly.

"What's the other news, Coach?" Renee interrupted the tense atmosphere.

"Next week you're doing a concert in Columbia. With open and discounted tickets, to gauge audience reach." Wymack didn't give anyone time to say anything before he spoke again. "This here is the list of confirmed states for your upcoming shows. Any questions?"

"Are we having a concert in less than seven days?" Nicky stood up in disbelief.

"Yes. I want you all here Thursday at 4:00 p.m. so we can all go to the stadium together." Wymack passed the flyer with the states to Kevin, who looked over it and seemed pleased, and Nicky quickly took it out of his hands.

"Can I send a picture to Erik? I'll be so happy." He didn't wait for a reply before sending it. “Oh my God, we're going to play.”

“Before you go, talk to Allison about the wardrobe, and damn it, don't get into any more trouble.”

Abby put a hand on Wymack's shoulder as she had done many times before. Allison discreetly raised and lowered her eyebrows at Dan.

“By the way, we're planning on having dinner on New Year's and…”

“Family dinner? I knew we'd do it!” Nicky blurted out next to Allison. “Can we have a movie marathon too?”

“Damn it,” Wymack whispered, hiding behind his large palm.

“Sure.” Abby nodded. “Is that okay with everyone?”

Most people nodded enthusiastically.

To be part of the Foxes' music industry, you only needed a couple of requirements: being useful and having a considerable history of trauma. Almost all of the Foxes didn't have family to visit on holidays, so, at the coach's feigned reluctance, they always had lunches and dinners at his house some days.

Or movies.

Afternoons and afternoons of movies

"Great. We'll work it out later."

"So... do you have any outfits planned?" Allison snatched her tablet back from Kevin's hands and searched for something. "I had something like that in mind."

The only thing Andrew could stand about Allison was her fashion sense. She'd chosen an outfit that was mostly black and silver, but tailored to each of them. While Kevin and Aaron had something a little more formal, Nicky was more revealing, and Andrew was authoritarian.

He looked away when Aaron, without looking at him, handed him the list of cities. He glanced briefly, and his eyes lingered on California.

California.

Spears.

Without making much noise, he stood up, leaving the paper behind, and took out the pack of cigarettes. Halfway out, he was already inhaling the smoke, feeling the tension in his body dissipate.

When his heart stopped pounding in his ears, the door opened.

"How are you?"

He didn't raise his head to realize it was Renee. Always so attentive. Andrew didn't respond, just looked at her with false reassurance and exhaled.

"Do you need to work out?"

Just like that. He nodded after one last drag.

Renee didn't know for sure what was stirring Andrew's insides, but she sensed enough to intervene. And although their encounters weren't exactly pleasant at first, Andrew understood what she was trying to do.

And just as she offered him workouts to relieve the tightness in his chest, Andrew was there for her on those days when faith couldn't fully heal the pain.

He came home with her body throbbing and bruised. A bruise was forming on her ribs, and although he knew his cheek was red from a badly dodged elbow, what always made his hair stand on end was the hot water splashing over her open knuckles.

It was a sensation too familiar to ignore, and although she'd learned to deal with it, his couldn't help but slide his eyes to the scars crisscrossing his arms, fainter with age.

He put on the baggiest, ugliest pajamas he could find after briefly treating his wounds. With little desire to get out of bed, he wandered through his phone, ignoring messages from his bandmates. By contract, all the members had public accounts where they occasionally posted pictures or comments, all under Allison's obligation.

@silvecart. “Why do people keep trying to guess each member's song if it's supposed to be a rumor?”

:Reply: @foxes4ever. “The fact that it's a rumor makes it more interesting.” 42,000 likes.

@needafox. “5 moments when a fox left his fans speechless."

@shhalex. “Have you seen the FMEstudios article?” 437 replies.

:Reply: @foxes4ever. “That company always gets into controversies to increase their views.”

:Reply: @conrad_ju. “I'm not surprised it's true, just look at them.”

:Reply: @giastiles. “My aunt works there and said the Minyards had a shouting match and almost came to blows.”

*This post was deleted for violating Twitter's language.

@__gleco. “I'm hooked on the Monsters' 7am album.” 78,000 likes

@alex_987. "Why isn't anyone talking about how four of the five songs on the album are about love?"

:Reply: @kevinmydaddy. "I just need to know which one is Kevin's."

:Reply: @kytripa. "I can't imagine Andrew writing a romantic song."

@ruth_klaus. "I'm amazed at how hypocritical people are about the band 'The Monsters.'"

:Reply: @hilmen. "The foxes**."

:Reply: @foxes4ever. "I feel the same. It's sad to see the fandom is trash."

@nomy_filter. The people who support the band 'The Monsters'? Can we remember that Andrew Minyar almost killed four men? That Aaron was found with drugs less than five years ago at a Palmetto club? Do you want me to publish the article where, because of Kevin, his brother and best friend Riko committed suicide? The only one who's halfway clean is Nicky, and he's wasting it by being gay.

:Reply: @NickyMiPatron. "I'm reporting you for being homophobic."

:Reply: @andrea_steel. "People change."

:Reply: @nomy_filter. "They're all psychopaths!"

:Reply: @mimi777 "Having a drug problem isn't being a psychopath. Do your research before you speak."

:Reply: @ilrikoM_ "Totally agree with @nomy_filter."

@amanci0.tuamigo. "It's a shame Andrew knows how to fight. He'd be very handsome underneath me."

@br1dgeth. "It's canon that Middle About is clearly Nicky's because it's about a man and he's openly gay. Otherwise, it would be another Fox reveal, just as Right Here is clearly Aaron's, and while it could be Kevin's, as far as I know, he doesn't have a drug habit. This leaves us with three songs and two members. My hypothesis is this: *continues in thread. 376 replies. 78 likes.

; @br1dgeth. Remember, four and a half years ago, before Aaron's Palmetto photos leaked, there was a video of Kevin in the nest with Jean Moreau. The two are very close together. Kevin was crying, or at the inn, apparently. In fact, they looked like two lovers saying goodbye. Eventually, he credited him with a softcore song. *continues in thread.

;@br1dgeth. "That leaves us with two songs and Andrew Minyard. While I don't have a clear answer, I'm betting my right tit that the "do I want to know?" question is Andrew's.

@frank_c.. "Someone like Andrew would be incapable of making a song that good."

@foxes4ever. "That video was shot on a prehistoric Nokia. You can barely see any pixels."

@kevinteamo. "Is Kevin gay? He's the most straight-laced person I've ever seen."

@piepe_cucke. "Reasons why I think Aaron Minyard is gay."

The jingling of keys in the door prevented Andrew from reading the reasons why 204 people who'd liked me believed his brother was gay.

"Drew?" the door closed, the key in the lock, the fabric against the fabric.

Footsteps, and Abram's head peeked out with a soft smile on his lips.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No. I was reading because people think my brother is gay." He shrugged. "You have your pajamas over there."

Abram spun around until he spotted the pajamas on the dresser.

"Oh, thanks. How about it?"

"I haven't read it yet." He got out of bed, missing the warmth he'd managed to shelter under the covers. His bare feet touched the cold floor and he pricked his spine. He leaned closer and when there was barely an inch between them, he stopped.

"Are you going to kiss me?" He had smiled at his words.

"Do you want to?" He lifted his chin, unable to avoid looking at Neil's lips.

"Yes or no?"

"Yes."

Andrew's lips were warm compared to Abram's. They were soft and affectionate. The kiss didn't go any further; after a few seconds that were too short, Abram pulled away to look into his eyes.

"I still can't believe I'm kissing you."

"Have you waited that long?"

Because Andrew had. Since before. When he was a Doe and Abram was nameless. Barely a face. Barely a smile. When his world was that blissful park and those afternoons that ended too early.

He didn't know when or how, but by the time I realized it, there was already a hole in his chest that fed on pain like a candy cavity.

A long time for Andrew.

Abram's eyes went from bright to suddenly dull.

"What's this?" He gently raised his hand and brushed Andrew's bruised cheek without touching it.

"Practice with Renée." He shrugged. "It's normal."

"Renée? Is that the one with the colored hair?"

Andrew moved up.

"I told you about her. She's... my friend." Andrew took the hand Abram had lowered and brought it to his cheek. The cool skin didn't bother him, and even though his fingers were calloused, the touch was pleasant. "The head is a yes."

"Is it mandatory that I like her?" Abram's thumb brushed his cheek as if wiping away a tear.

"She does." The corners of his mouth twitched. "Are you planning on putting on your pajamas? I'm sleepy."

Abram changed in the bathroom while Andrew curled up in bed, staring at his supposedly gay brother's thread.

"Is that you?" Abram snapped as he snuggled in a little closer than usual to watch the feed on Andrew's screen. "That photo. That's you."

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that… you’re prettier.” He blew on his hands in a futile attempt to warm them. “Your brother is ugly.”

“We’re twins.”

“You’re not the same,” he shrugged.

Andrew ignored him, doing him a favor by continuing to gossip.

“Andrés.”

“Hmm?” He flipped through the Twitter messages.

“Are you okay?”

Andrew’s finger stopped scrolling, doing him a favor by looking at Neil. Neil was already looking back at him; it was soft and even sweet. Warm. But firm.

“Why?”

“I know you.”

It was simple, and he blurted it out as if it were obvious, as if those words wouldn’t alter his brain chemistry. He regulated his breathing. There was something so gentle about this, something so domestic. It was what he’d once longed for.

As if that weren't enough, Neil leaned toward him a little.

"You can trust me."

"That attempt."

They both knew it. What was broken couldn't be fixed with the ease of a few words or kisses. It took gestures, it took time. And they were both trying.

"It's not my best day," he admitted.

"Can I do something?" A soft tan.

"You're already doing it."

A second of looking at each other. An eternity.

He let out a breath he didn't know had caught.

It stayed that way for minutes.

Just them.

Chapter Text

Andrew's heart raced when he heard the doorbell. He looked at Cass, and she returned a smile as sweet as the pancakes she made for breakfast on weekends.

"Nervous? Don't worry, Andrew. My son is a hero and will protect you from everything." She kissed his temple before walking to the door. "Baby!"

Andrew heard the sound of hugs, Cass's soft words, and a manly laugh.

"I've missed you."

"Me too, Mom. Where is he?"

"Come on."

He heard footsteps, and Cass came out of the hallway, teary-eyed, a perfect copy of Richard and Cass at his side. His mother signaled for him to come closer, and Andrew did.

"Andrew?" Drake smiled, crouching down to his level. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Me too." He didn't know if they were sincere words, but it didn't matter; it was what he had to say.

He didn't get along very well with his former adoptive siblings. But if it was for Cass's sake, Andrew wouldn't mind sharing her attention.

"Come here." He opened his arms.

Andrew was.

All the way to the pavilion where the concert would be held, Andrew pretended he wasn't nodding off. A few seats ahead, Kevin sat with red-rimmed eyes, occasionally scratching the scar that Riko had nearly left him deaf.

The night before, he'd interrupted his warm sleep due to a crisis that could only be solved with gallons and gallons of alcohol. Andrew handed him his usual bottle, which, as usual, he secretly snatched away when the drinking started to pay off.

Be that as it may, the night had been spent trying to keep Kevin from choking on his own vomit. For a moment, he was grateful Neil hadn't stayed for work, but as quickly as he arrived, he was wasted.

They arrived around five, and the concert didn't start for another two and a half hours. They set up the stage, and although he was wearing a thermal shirt under his shirt, Andrew could still feel the cold seeping in and prickling his skin.

“Nicky, remember the notes in the chorus and…”

Andrew took advantage of the distraction to pull out his phone.

Neil, reluctantly, had finally gotten something other than a Nokia. And although he had a problem with maintaining the battery, Andrew was satisfied enough not to complain.

He replied to Abram's emoji with one of his own. Without a doubt, his bunny had found emojis more appealing to a phone.

“You can listen to me!”

They stopped rehearsing when Erik called Nicky, and since he knew him so well, Kevin gave up.

People didn't start arriving until fifteen minutes before the show, and what had previously seemed like just a small concert, the arena was completely flooded with people, so much so that they were pushing each other.

“Shall we start now?” Kevin's leg bounced up and down.

They were in the closest thing to a locker room. Aaron was reluctantly allowing Allison to subtly smooth over his dark circles. Beside him, Nicky kept taking pictures to appreciate the messy eyeliner and the glow on his cheeks.

“It’s not time yet,” Renee smiled with the same patience at the question Kevin had asked five minutes earlier.

“Would you call me already?” Aaron growled, right along with Renee.

“Where’s the coach?”

“Oh! Do you think he’s with Abby? You know, doing a little…” He made an obscene gesture that was quickly echoed by grimaces of disgust.

“What? It’s normal. It’s not like you wouldn’t have done something similar,” Allison agreed, looking at Aaron’s face with satisfaction.

“How many people are there?”

“Enough to fill a stadium.” Wymark interrupted. “There will be people left out, but Matt is already making sure everything is under control.”

“Wait, are we filling up the pavilion?” Dan walked over to Nicky with a big smile. “Oh my God, I have to call Erik!”

“There’s no time. Allison, finish what you can. I want you both out in five minutes.”

Casually, Allison pushed Aaron aside and leaned toward Andrew, concealer raised.

“No,” he simply said.

Allison walked away with her hands raised.

“So you listen to him, but not to me?” Aaron’s cheeks reddened in what was easily recognizable anger.

“There’s no comparison. Andrew is intimidating,” the blonde shrugged. “Either way, I’m doing it for him. He’s the one trying to woo someone, right?”

Nicky looked up from his phone at the interesting conversation. Andrew stopped himself from rolling his eyes, noticing how his pocket vibrated with a message.

"What was it? Oh yeah, 'maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall in love with som-"

"Allison." Renee's hand on Allison's shoulder stopped him.

"What? It's weird to see the monster write something so... romantic."

"Whoever he is, he's lucky Andrew wrote that song for him," Nicky sighed, more of a tormentor than a supporter. "Such nice words..."

"Guys." Wymack glared at us. "Save the drama for another day. I want you out now!"

Andrew headed the line behind a convulsing Kevin.

The comments didn't usually bother anyone. They didn't usually. But the last thing he wanted was for his song to be singled out like that. He'd written it to get the thorn out of his side, not to be made fun of.

Finally, he found it hard to resist the urge to pull out his knives.

There were too many witnesses.

Wymack had come up short with the definition of "too many people." There wasn't room for another soul in the arena, and Andrew could see the lights outside, and many other people had decided to listen to the music through the small wall.

"I feel like I can't breathe," Kevin gasped.

"Kevin," Andrew groaned.

"I'm trying." He inhaled hard enough to resemble a vacuum cleaner.

"Get it right, you damn."

"Do you think he's watching me?" he choked on his words. "Oh my God."

"It doesn't matter if he does," he replied quietly. "This is your moment. Forget about the others."

When his chest seemed to relax, Wymack announced they were coming out onto the stage. With Nicky leading the line, then his twin, him, and finally Kevin, the screams from the audience only grew louder.

Increase and increase.

So many people.

It smelled cold, and his nose was probably starting to redden from the sudden change in weather. The adrenaline in his veins kept him warm enough.

He positioned himself as he had rehearsed so many times before, and when the bright lights illuminating the stadium suddenly went out, Andrew's fingers danced over the bass strings with the same familiarity and ease as someone born with the instrument.

The screams echoed again as if they had just woken up, and Kevin began to sing "Middle About."

At some point, the only sensations he could manage were the music bouncing in his chest from how loud it was, the sensation of the makeshift stage shaking beneath his feet due to the crowd's noise, and the cold sweat running down his back because of his overly warm sweatshirt and the overly cold weather.

When his bass wasn't needed, he used his hands to brush his wet hair away from his face, and the crowd seemed even more unbridled.

His song came on four times, and as quickly as it was recognized, the crowd started clapping along. Andrew leaned in while strumming his bass. Kevin moved around the stage, singing to a few random people.

He leaned into the microphone to sing "Dragging Me Back to You," and his voice was absorbed by the audience.

Then it dawned on him that everyone was singing along. Even Kevin's voice was barely audible over the loudness of the crowd screaming his lyrics, filled with both affection and deep frustration.

He turned to Kevin, who just happened to turn around with a big smile on his face.

The rest of the show was a blur, as his thoughts kept returning to the fact that the crowd knew the words.

"What a buzz! Did you see it?! They loved our songs!" Nicky jumped up and down. "Let's celebrate!"

"We've been trending for five hours," Dan announced with a bright smile. “Views keep increasing.”

The hot shower water ran down Andrew's spine. As soon as he'd left the stage, he'd gone into the bathroom, ignoring Nicky's protests. After soaping up, he couldn't help but stare at his adrenaline-shaking hands.

He got dressed right there, even though the feeling of the fabric sticking to his damp skin was unpleasant.

"This is something to celebrate!" Allison's words were a mass, and even though it wasn't Andrew's true intention, he was eager.

The drive back to Columbia was just as long as the drive there, the only difference being the sense of accomplishment everyone felt. Even Wymack, whose smile hadn't blossomed but whose lips twitched at every unfunny joke the Foxes made.

They went to the bar Allison and Nicky frequented as often as they went to the barber. Andrew ordered a burger and a non-alcoholic soda, knowing that Abram might be waiting for him at home.

Once everyone was satisfied with their orders, they returned to the tables Renee had pushed together so they could all fit.

Andrew sat against the wall, with Kevin on his free side and Renee in front of him. Next to Renee was Allison, who followed Dan, then Matt. Next to Kevin was Aaron, and Nicky was at the top of the table, having refused to let Andrew's face slip while they ate.

He muttered something like, "I can't let my son out of my sight," and Aaron grunted with a grimace that hid a smile.

While Andrew listened to the small group in the back settle some bets, he ate his burger.

"You know, I've been thinking about the back of a song these days that I can't get out of my head."

Andrew snorted, and Renee smiled even more.

"I think you could use those lyrics you taught me," she added. "I think that would be really good."

"What song?" Kevin looked up from his phone, and out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw the search engine with the French saying.

Andrew glared at Renee, and she took a big bite of the burger.

"You don't want to know." She shrugged, taking another bite.

"If it's about the band, of course," she replied as if we were idiots.

Andrew pursed his lips and looked uncertainly between Renee and Kevin. Before he could say anything, Allison turned around, almost as creepily as an owl, and excitedly.

“Andrew, could you settle a bet for us?” she blinked innocently. “Does the girl you like have brown hair?”

Kevin choked on his drink, and Aaron grimaced next to him, either at the overdraft or the blonde’s question.

Andrew just raised an unsurprised eyebrow.

“Nicky says she’s definitely not blonde, but Matt’s pretty sure she is. I think she could be brunette, but not brown, more like… auburn?”

Kevin sank down in the chair next to him, whispering a curse.

“I don’t see how this concerns you.”

“Then there’s someone.” He clicked his tongue. “Pay up, bitches.”

Andrew barely saw Matt and Nicky pull out their wallets, their faces disappointed.

“She’s good,” Renee whispered softly.

“She’s the devil,” Andrew mimicked, earning a deep laugh from the rainbow girl.

“How did you meet her?” Aaron narrowed his eyes. “I don’t remember seeing you with anyone during high school.”

“How did you meet Katelyn?”

Kevin cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable, and began to sip hard through the straw in his cup.

“Anyway, we have other bets to settle…” Matt laughed awkwardly in a futile attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere between the twins.

“Y-Yeah. What? Allison got a boob job?”

Andrew’s phone started buzzing in his pocket, and the table suddenly fell silent. The only thing interrupting their closed mouths and sidelong glances was the bar noise, which had now been forgotten when the imperceptible but unmistakable standard ringtone of his phone broke the conversation.

“Is that her?” his brother raised an eyebrow.

Kevin sipped so hard he practically swallowed the phone noise.

The call stopped ringing, before starting again.

"My God, Andrew." Nicky opened her eyes. "She's in need."

"Kevin."

Kevin moved, pushing past his brother to clear the way out.

"No." He crossed his arms. "Answer me."

"Aaron, I don't think that's fair." Renee's humbergassa was forgotten.

The uncertainty barely lasted a few seconds when Andrew raised his hand under the bandages, and Kevin pushed back so hard that his brother had no choice but to move.

With his hands in his pockets, clutching his cigarette pack, Andrew left the bar.

His phone rang again as he lit his cigarette.

"Andrés." Neil's voice sounded as if he were taking his first breath of the day. "Are you okay? You weren't answering."

"I'm at a bar." He took a quiet drag. "They wanted to go out and celebrate. Are you home?"

What had once been an apartment was slowly becoming a home.

"Yes." Abram was heard walking. "I saw your car here, but you weren't there. I thought..."

Since Kevin had come home at dawn with his tantrum, he'd decided to drive to the studio the next day, and on the way back, Kevin would take him home.

"I'm fine," he exhaled.

"You sound like me." He almost saw the smile on his lips, which were starting to crack from the balm Andrew forced him to put on at night.

"What a shame."

"Can I come get you?"

Going home with Neil, without Kevin, was definitely a good plan.

"You don't have a car," Andrés reminded him.

"What makes you think that? Of course I do." He sounded a little indignant.

"When you come home, you can't see a single car."

"I like running."

"I'll kill you." He smiled faintly as Abram's laughter sounded on the other side.

When he finished his cigarette, he just watched the cars cross the road.

"So?"

"Come on. But don't stop in front." His skin prickled as he heard the purr of a car coming to life. "What car do you have?"

"You'll know when you see it. I'll be there in ten minutes..." He moved. "See you later, Andrew."

After hanging up, Andrew allowed himself a breath of fresh air before going back inside.

"Well?" Allison raised and lowered her eyebrows.

He ignored her and ate the rest of the burger with a little more agility. He shared silent glances with Renee.

"Are you coming back to rehearsal tomorrow?"

There was a boo in Kevin's direction, who shrugged it off as unimportant.

"You know, Kevin? You look very relaxed, but it's good to know there are bets on you too," Dan muttered with a raised eyebrow.

The conversation drifted from one point to another in barely ten minutes. Finally, Renee stood up, and Andrew followed her.

"No way, guys."

"But it's only... twelve."

"It's been a long day." He tucked one of his strands behind his ear.

When the goodbye dragged on, Andrew started walking. Just a few minutes earlier, he'd noticed his phone vibrate, knowing it was Neil. His chest lurched with anticipation.

The cold hit his cheek, and as he noticed Renee already following him, he turned the corner and headed straight ahead.

"Will I meet him?"

He settled the idea. Renee was sure. She wouldn't say anything, and in a way, I felt introducing her to Abram was the right thing to do. Even though all she knew was that he was a pain in the ass. But he knew it was more. He knew it from the way Andrew's face wrinkled in a subtle, fake grimace of disgust whenever she mentioned him. Renee watched him, listening intently, her lips tilted upward.

"Yes."

Three blocks later, in the darkness of some quiet streets lit only by the dim headlights of public transport, he saw in the distance what he could make out was a Maserati.

He cursed.

A week ago, Andrew had joked that when he got a Maserati, he'd stop caring what people thought of him. He joked. Even though owning a Maserati was one of his childhood dreams. Back when he could still dream.

"Wow," Renée whispered. "Is that him?"

Andrew didn't answer; instead, he approached and saw the door opening, and his redhead emerging from it. His breath caught.

Abram was wearing a suit. A dark suit that clung to his smooth muscles. His hair was slightly combed into its familiar shock of haphazard red curls. The light from the streetlight fell delicately on his skin, like a bath of light. His scars cast a shadow, and although the vision seemed rough and dangerous, Andrew could only see the slanted corner of her mouth, His soft brows, and her warm gaze.

Andrew wanted to leave the skin of his neck visible. However, the thought faded when he glimpsed her split lip and a dark, visibly painful bruise on her cheekbone.

"Do you like it?"

"What happened to you?" He ignored her question.

"Oh..." He hid a grimace. "Nothing major."

"Abram."

"It's just a bruise."

"Someone hit you."

Abram looked away and sighed. That's when he noticed Renee.

"Who is it?"

Andrew narrowed his eyes, not entirely happy with her lack of response. Abram's voice deepened, barely audible.

"It's Renee."

"Oh." He saw her muscles relax. "The rainbow girl?"

“I guess it's normal to be known for it.” A laugh came from her friend for the first time. “Nice to meet you, Abram.”

“Call me Neil. How was the concert?”

Andrew shrugged casually.

“Great, you could come sometime.” Renee glanced at Andre before turning back to Neil. “Or to the celebration dinner.”

“Sure. I'd like to meet Andrew's band.”

Andrew snorted and muttered, “I'm not talking about bands outside of my work hours.”

Renee laughed a little more openly and economically.

“Well, you're home now.”

“Want us to join you?” Abram muttered.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. Abram knew how strong Renee was and that she was fully capable of protecting herself.

“I only live a few blocks away.” He smiled at Andrew. “See you Monday at the studio. We can talk about that song.”

“Sure.”

When Renee moved far enough away for her silhouette to disappear, Andrew turned to Abram, frowning.

“What?”

“Your face. Who did it?”

“Andrew…”

“No. You can’t come here with a face like that and expect me not to go looking for answers,” he growled. “So answer me.”

“I argued with an associate.” He shrugged. “A friend.”

“Argued? You’re bleeding.” He pointed his chin at his lip.

“Yeah, well, more than just arguing. Differences in ideals, maybe? Nothing that hasn’t been resolved.” His eyes softened when they met Andrew's. "You don't have to worry."

Andrew clenched his hands into fists. Part of the question was to snarl that he didn't care about anyone. He wanted to clamp his hands around his neck and squeeze until Neil promised he'd never appear in front of him with a bruise again. On the contrary, and despite himself, his hand, as gently as a leaf falling from a tree, cupped Abram's jaw, causing his eyelids to droop in a calming gesture.

"There's no mourning. I'm fine, Drew."

"Shut up." He rubbed his thumb over the cut on his lip.

Neil didn't flinch. This showed either that it didn't hurt or that he was already very used to the pain.

Andrew knew the answer without having to ask.

"Kiss me," Abram whispered, looking at his lips.

Andrew's feet rose slightly. He wasn't standing on his tiptoes, but he had to lean in to press his lips against Abram's. It was gentle, not daring to hurt him. When he pulled away, Abram smiled, stretching his wound.

"Careful."

"You're amazing."

"Shut up."

Abram smile and took a step toward the car.

"I have a gift for you," he crooned.

"I'm going to drive it," he said, still not entirely convinced to drop the subject. A fleeting glance at the car was enough to tell him he needed his hands on that wheel, his foot on the pedal, and the rumble of it to vibrate in the seat.

"Good, because it's yours." He leaned closer, and darkness consumed him. Andrew blinked until he adjusted.

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"It's in your name. You'll have to go add someone as a second owner."

"I'll kill you."

"Drew."

The heavy keys fell into his palm. There was the standard Maserati keychain, and next to it was a hard rubber cat-shaped doll with the letter "A" embroidered on its chest.

"It looks like you."

Its eyes were yellow, and its whiskers seemed factory-made, making its expression more serious than it had probably intended. Its paws were squared off, and its tail was wrapped around them.

Andrew didn't have anything sharp to respond. Instead, he walked past Abram and got into the car, ignoring his snickering behind him.

The leather seat embraced him, and suddenly, the cold outside seemed a distant memory, his hands on the steering wheel and Abram beside him, looking at him as if he were the first person he'd seen in years and years of solitude.

"Where are we going?"

Andrew, driving with no apparent direction. At first, they only heard the engine, but then they started talking and talking. About everything and nothing. Those trivial conversations they had so eagerly avoided before.

They stopped at a 24-hour gas station. Andrew had a freezer to stock with ice cream and an empty tub of lubricant to replace.

"And for that reason, I think if zombies existed, we could survive." Neil waved a packet of soup, listening instantly to the sound.

"Remember what you told me that time?" He turned to him. Feeling his fingers frozen from the open refrigerator.

He picked up the packet, and the redhead quickly took it from his hands to cup it in his own. Without realizing how much, Abram ended up carrying three packets of ice cream.

"I'm surprised you don't have a cavity yet."

"I had one once. Aaron makes me go to the dentist."

"Mhm... How was it?"

“Two panic attacks and the promise of a bottle of whiskey from Wymark.” The shorter man shrugged, walking through the aisles to the health section. “It wasn't that bad.”

Andrew glanced at him when he didn't get a response. Neil was looking at him, but he seemed more lost in thought than thinking of anything to say. He blinked away whatever had absorbed his thoughts and realized they were in the hygiene section, specifically in front of the wide variety of lubricants and condoms.

“I didn't know there was so much… variety.” Neil frowned. “Banana flavor?”

“That's not the one I'm looking for.” Andrew stood on his tiptoes proudly and took the water-based lubricant.

“What's different about this one from the rest?”

“It doesn't sting and it's smoother.” He weighed the bottle, looking at the other similar options. “Never used one?”

“No.”

“And condoms? Which ones do you use?” He tilted his head.

“I don't use it.” A blush was beginning to spread across her cheeks. “I mean, I... No. I only touch myself when necessary and that's it. I haven't done anything else.”

“Nothing else?” She was genuinely surprised. It was true that Abram was a little inexperienced with his kisses, but at this level… “Have you never had sex?”

Andrew wasn't the most experienced person in the world either, considering it had taken him years to touch himself without feeling panic whisper in his ear. However, he had had a few casual encounters where the person had firmly not touched him and relied on a quick blowjob from him and hopefully never meeting again.

On the contrary, the idea of ​​giving Abram a blowjob sent currents south, made his mouth water, and he could feel his ears heating up. Seeing Neil's cheeks flush, would his neck flush too? Would he moan? Oh, he bet he would.

“Never.” Now he was all red. "Does that bother you?"

Andrew handed a pack of condoms. He turned to Abram.

"I'll show you," he shrugged, walking toward the box, leaving the junkie to choke behind him.

The cold didn't seem as harsh when they went back outside. The gas station and a solitary reddish night light were the only things illuminating the small parking lot. Andrew opened the back door to put the bags in and closed it.

When he turned around, Abram was already handing out a lit cigarette.

"Yes, I remember."

Andrew made a noise in his throat. Lost in the sight of the full moon.

"The zombies. I don't remember exactly what I said. But I do remember the way you looked at me." He exhaled and turned to him. "I came home with my heart racing. I didn't know... I didn't understand why. Now I do."

"Yes or no?"

"It's always yes with you, Drew."

The kiss was hungry after hours without a conversation. Andrew's hands flew to Neil's hips to stay close while he sucked on his lower lip. Andrew moved closer and closer. Their breasts, for the first time, were flush against each other. The fabric prevented him from fully feeling the redhead's warmth, and for the first time, he wanted to remove it without preamble. He tugged at his lower lip, and Abram seemed to melt.

"Draw," he moaned.

"To come," he murmured between kisses.

"Where."

"Shoulders. Up."

Abram's cold hands tangled in his blond hair and tugged, causing him to lean back slightly. Suddenly, his lips seemed further away, and when he was about to protest, he felt his warm, moist lips trace his throat.

The noise coming from his throat was inhuman, so much so that Neil stopped and moved away a little. Embarrassment rose to his cheeks when he saw the worried blue gaze.

"Are you okay?"

"I hate you," he growled, filling his lungs with air. "I'll kill you."

"Mhm..." he murmured with a crooked smile. "You like it."

"I hate you." He clenched his fists, gripping his suit.

"I like that you like it." He chastely kissed her lips. "Everything. Everything you like, I want to give you. Just ask, Drew. And it's all yours."

Andrew's hands rose to his cheeks and he straightened them to look at him.

"Let's go home."

He drove in comfortable silence. Occasionally, he could feel her gaze, but only for a few seconds.

They stumbled up the stairs. Between stolen kisses that ended with a pause halfway up to deepen it until Andrew protested his melted ice cream. He didn't know how, but Abram opened the door, and Andrew took off his jacket when his lips moved far enough away while Abram undid the knot in his tie and left his jacket on the hanger.

"You're beautiful."

He let it go, a favor of silencing him with his lips. As receptive as he was, Neil returned it and even deepened it. They stumbled back but barely separated before their lips met again.

"Couch," Andrew pushed.

Abram walked backward, his fingers barely intertwined with Andrew's. His blue eyes bored deeply into Andrew's.

"Stop looking at me like that," Andrew whispered as if it were a secret.

"It's the only way I know how to look at you."

His chest heaved in the only way Abram could. He didn't say anything, but he pushed him slightly, and he fell onto the couch with a chuckle that soon turned into a sharp intake of breath as Andrew tucked his knee between Andrew's and leaned down so he was on top of him.

"Andrew?"

“Yes or no?”

He whispered a yes just seconds before their lips kissed. This time, softer. Gentler.

It was a caress not given, a look of encouragement on days of fear, a comforting hand when your body had only known stinging.

Andrew kicked off his shoes by pushing them off from the heel, and as soon as the sound of them hitting the floor resonated, he snuggled closer to Abram. One leg between his, their groin a breath away from touching, and that's when their kiss went from affectionate to a scorching fire that burned Andrew's skin.

He unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt and in turn kissed the newly exposed skin. His tongue lingered on the beginnings of a scar that disappeared beneath the fabric.

Abram cursed.

“I want to touch you.”

“Yes, Andrew. Yes.”

He pulled away slightly and looked down at the bulge in his pants. He lowered his hand and gently stroked the bulge with his index and middle fingers, feeling the excessively warm fabric. Abram's body jerked, and Andrew felt his belly plunge into a warm current.

He made a move to continue, but an unpleasant sensation filled his mind. Andrew blinked away the thought. He wasn't going to get distracted. He wanted this. Abram wanted this.

So why couldn't he stop thinking about how much it had hurt before?

None of them would ever be gentle. In fact, Andrew preferred it that way. There was just one time when Harris, one of his adoptive fathers, tried to go slow, lubricate and stretch. Andrew vomited on the first thrust. Even though he didn't want to, he preferred the pain and bitterness. It made it more real, because if they were gentle, was it as bad as he felt?

It used to be that way, then he grew up, and Drake took him. And Drake loved to torture him until he came. The first time, he freaked out. He cried. He cried so much his head throbbed for days afterward. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to rip his stomach open and tear out all his insides.

He wanted to stop feeling.

Abram's groan snapped him out of it, and his hand jerked away. Nausea plummeted into his stomach, replacing the heat with fear, and he felt every muscle tense one by one.

He couldn't do this.

Not when touching Abram meant staining him.

"Andrew?"

Andrew leaned back until his back touched the far end of the couch. He felt his back sink into the pillow, and for a second, he hoped it would absorb him and with it, disappear.

"Andrew. Are you okay? Talk to me?" There was a plea, there was a need, and yet he held on to his edge.

Andrew took a deep breath. He didn't know how many puffs it took to raise his head. Enough time had passed for Abram to button his pants and shirt.

"Did I hurt you? Do you need anything?"

He breathed.

Abram would never hurt him.

"I need a cigarette."

Chapter Text

The first time happened in June, when he was barely seven years old. Andrew was genuinely happy, since that afternoon he had eavesdropped on Melanie and Jason talking about making his adoption official.

It was late, very late. But Andrew was afraid he'd fall asleep and realize it had all been a dream.

That's when he heard it.

The creaking of wood and then a door. His adoptive father's heavy footsteps wandered down the hallway, and just as he seemed to pass by, they stopped and returned until they were standing in front of his door.

Andrew got up, curious, sitting up in bed. He could see the shadow through the small crack in the floor.

His doorknob turned and turned next to his heart.

"Dad?"

"Oh... You're awake." He pressed his lips together and shook his face. "Can you do Dad a favor?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

And regretted it. With all his might. Hours later, days later, and weeks later, she could still feel the thickness of his mouth, he could feel the hard-fingered hands clutching at her hair and cheeks, he could feel her own hot tears.

She could hear him saying to her.

'Just once, okay?'

'Don't tell your mother.'

'Open your mouth wider.'

'If you die, I'll kill you.'

'It's just a secret between us.'

"It's even better than imagining it."

When Andrew opened his eyes the next morning, Abram was already looking at him.

"Looking."

He nodded with a faint smile.

"You're an idiot." The words came out softer than he intended as he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

"You're amazing."

Andrew shook his head. He couldn't stop those words, which, despite himself, made his heart race.

After his solitary cigarette the night before, Abram warmed him a hot chocolate, and they soon fell asleep, knowing Andrew wouldn't want to talk about it.

Silence fell, but for the first time, he was glad to have someone by his side.

With one last smile, Abram got out of bed.

"Come on. I made you breakfast."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't stay when his stomach began to growl. Belatedly, he realized the dining room smelled of sweet coffee and toast. On the glass table was a tablecloth and several plates.

"Did you make the eggs?" I looked at him, remembering how you almost burned down his house.

"Yeah. Timed."

He snorted and ate his food quickly. The television was on with news of yesterday's concert.

You look...," Abram whispered, halfway through eating toast with scrambled eggs. "Did you have a good time?"

"Nothing special," he shrugged.

The newscaster cut to another shot of music playing in the background and people singing. Then it showed him, his slightly sweaty body strumming the bass guitar and running his hand through his damp hair.

Abram's breath caught in his throat and he swallowed hard. Andrew couldn't help but twist his mouth.

"Do you like it?" he leaned in.

Abram turned to look at him. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Trapped.

Getting no response, Andrew put down his cup and leaned toward the redhead until his lips brushed the surface of his ear.

"I didn't know you were so dirty."

Andrew pulled away with a soft chuckle when Abram couldn't control the blush on his face, which, truth be told, had become one of his favorite things. If he'd known it was so easy to make it rise, he would have started moving it forward a long time ago.

"It's unfair."

"Hmm?" He stuffed a large piece of chocolate chip cookie into his mouth.

"I want to sing something about you, too."

The subject of Neil's inability to sing was a touchy one. There were days when he could speak more openly about his helplessness, and days when just remembering it made him bitter.

"You can do it." He chewed and swallowed. "Just don't force it."

Technically, Abram can sing, but the problem was that he couldn't sing for long periods of time, and he couldn't even reach some notes. Andrew had never heard him sing beyond a few throat-dry hums, but he knew he was good with lyrics, having read them to him on occasion when they were little.

They finished breakfast, and Andrew helped Abram clean up.

They loitered around for the rest of the day.

At some point, while Andrew was showering to head to his afternoon session with Bee, he looked closely at the drawer where he kept his lyrics.

"Drew?" Neil walked into the room, holding something thin between his fingers.

The thought left his mind as he turned.

"I've been keeping this since... forever. I wanted to give it to you yesterday, maybe as a gift for the concert, but other things happened. Uh," he cleared his throat.

He walked over to the instant-print photographs. He remembers borrowing it from Cass and showing it to Abram to show him that he could have something of that "now." Something that made them both real, knowing that no matter how long their time together lasted, it would feel ephemeral once they parted.

Andrew was sitting at the bottom of a ladder leading to a slide. His hair looked more white than blond and fell short and messy over his forehead. He held a four-leaf clover in his hands, and his gaze was glued to the camera, capturing the exact moment he realized Abram was pointing it at him.

He definitely remembers me telling him off for it.

His eyes focused. There were deep purple circles under his eyes, and although his complexion looked as pale as it was sickly, I could see the comfort in his entire form: in the creased corners of his mouth, in his slumped shoulders, and the clover leaf rolling between his fingers.

The corners of the photograph were curled inward and slightly darkened by his constant touching.

"I wanted to show it to you. To let you know I'll never forget you." Abram looks at the photo. "I don't know if you've begun to believe me. I don't know if you ever will."

"Abram." It was barely a whisper.

"I don't quite understand what we have now. But it seems only fair that you know I'm in it. With you. And that you're not alone in anything. Not anymore."

His nose prickled menacingly.

He blinked hard and walked away to his dresser. With the other photo in his hands, he handed it to Abram, and he didn't need to look at it because he already knew it by heart.

He had traced its outline a million times.

The angle of the photo was tilted because it had been held against a smelly log; it was also a little blurry, as if it hadn't quite come into focus. The two of them were close together, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder.

A closeness he was only able to achieve on extremely good days back then.

There was a half-eaten chocolate bar between his fingers. Abram's face was tilted toward Andrew and slightly back. The image had caught him in the middle of a loud, unusual laugh. Andrew's lips tilted and tightened, trying to suppress the smile on his lips as his eyes absorbed Abram's entire face.

"You've got her," he whispered.

"I've got her."

"Were you thinking about me?"

All the time.

"You were supposed to be a pipe dream. A pipe dream," he whispered as if it were a secret. "You weren't supposed to be real. You were a hallucination."

"I'm not a hallucination."

Andrew moved away and sat on the bed. Abram soon followed him, as if unable to leave his side.

"I looked at the picture when I believed it." He tugged at the loose thread at the knuckle of his shirt. "I knew you were real when, looking at the picture, I could still hear your laugh from that time."

What seemed like years of silence, between glances that spoke volumes, Abram leaned in with a request that Andrew quickly silenced, pressing his lips to his.

"I don't know what I would have done without you," he whispered into the middle of a kiss. "You're all that matters, Drew."

"Don't say that." kiss.

"It's the truth."

The following days were like a warm blanket in the winter wilderness. They were as pleasant as making noises to a stray cat and it coming up to you freely to receive your petting, as pleasant as the sugary coffee he made at home on Sunday afternoons when he knew it was raining outside and he was snuggled up on his couch.

He woke up with Neil's soft gaze on him and fell asleep with chaste kisses that reluctantly brought a smile to his face.

They whispered secrets to each other, the same way they had when Abram was a nobody and Andrew was a Doe.

"Was everything bad in the foster care system?"

It was nighttime, and sleep weighed heavily on each of them. Abram had been out most of the day on issues he refused to share with Andrew. "I'm not going to involve you in that world," he whispered before dropping a chaste kiss on his temple. Now they were lying on the couch after pacifying their anger with a large tub of ice cream and three Studio Ghibli movies.

Andrew never spoke in full depth about foster care. He did tell him about how thin the blankets were and how it was practically impossible to keep something just for yourself. He also told him that he'd been in thirteen foster homes and hadn't truly established any of them.

However, those were ambiguous, considering that simply remembering that time made his stomach churn and bile rise in a bitter, familiar taste in the pit of his throat.

He was afraid he'd throw up.

He used to do that a lot.

But he'd talked to Bee about it. And little by little, he was getting better.

"No," it was true. Not everything was bad, but most of it was. "There were other kids with me. Not being the only one helped."

Abram nodded on his side of the couch. One leg was bent, the other was stretched out with the heel resting on the floor. Andrew, on the other hand, had his knees bent and was leaning sideways against the back of the sofa..

"But it wasn't easy. It wasn't pretty." He tugged at the skin around his fingernail. "I didn't know how much I needed to leave until I did."

"Juvie. What was that like?"

"Better. I had things just for me," he hummed. "And you? What was it like killing your father?"

"Liberator."

"And what was it like living with your uncle?"

"Weird at first. Stuart is... normal. He didn't torture me, and his biggest concern was that I make friends. He wanted me to be normal. But..." I clicked my tongue. "After killing my father, everything... was different."

"How?"

"I did things, Andrew. Many of them I would do again without a second thought, but others... I think Stuart was afraid I'd become like him, like my father. We argued when I was 16 and left England. I was rebuilding what my father destroyed until I was 18, and I met Robin while working on a job."

I knew there was more to the word 'job,' but he didn't ask.

"She..." he laughed. "For some reason, she joined me and has helped me with everything ever since when I couldn't."

From what little he had seen and known of Robin, he seemed quite right with his words.

There was silence.

"You're not like your father, Neil."

Abram looked up with a sigh. His face was bowed and shone with sorrow and guilt. But something burned in his eyes. A flame whose fire Andrew knew all too clearly. He saw that fire when Andrew had told him he wanted to die. It was the same fire with which he had looked at him, after returning one afternoon with his face stained with tears, unable to bear another day of Drake's abuse. It was the same fire with which he had looked at him when he whispered, "I promise you."

"Listen to me, Abram." He leaned closer until their knees touched. "You're not like your father."

"You don't know."

"I know." His hands cupped his face. "I. Know."

His thumb furrowed the painful-looking scar, and Neil leaned back, like a cat curled up under its master's gentle caresses.

As well as secrets and midnight truths, there were silly days when Neil couldn't get near the kitchen without breaking something, or Andrew stuffed himself with ice cream until his stomach hurt.

One night, after a forgotten nightmare, Andrew called Bee while smoking a cigarette, carefully exhaling the smoke out the window.

"It's normal, Andrew."

"You don't understand, Bee," he sighed, sighing out the nicotine. "Everything's going too well. Everything... This isn't normal for me. I feel... I know something's wrong. This can't be this good. Not for someone like me."

"What you're feeling has a name, and it's self-sabotage. It's normal when so much of your life has found you in a constant state of discomfort and survival. I need you to breathe, Andrew. It's normal. Everything's going to be okay."

By the time the week and a half of vacation was over, Andrew felt like nothing could match how good he'd felt these past nine days, so the rehearsals, the run-ins with his family, and Kevin's squeaky voice only made him remember those days with pure nostalgia.

"You're stuck on the chorus!" His neck reddened with the force.

Aaron snorted and ignored him, marking the steps for the next song.

The real concert was only just approaching, and it showed in the tense atmosphere within the band. Even Allison, whose duty was publicity and marketing, barely wore any makeup to the studio.

Things got complicated when he spoke to Wymack.

"Add a song?"

"You can say no and we'll save ourselves more screams from Kevin." He crossed his arms, looking bored. There were lyrics he couldn't get out of his head. He wanted to spit them out and forget them. He'd had the bad luck of showing them to Renee about two weeks ago, and the rainbow girl had already finished the backing track.

"It's really good, Coach," the girl added. "And it'll only be played once."

Wymack raised one of his thick eyebrows, looking from one to the other. With a sigh, he moved forward.

"I won't tell the others."

So here it was.

Andrew was adjusting the bass string while Renee spoke. Kevin was carefully reading the lyrics in his hands, occasionally raising his head to show he was listening to whatever the girl was saying.

"Who wrote this? It's good," Nicky interrupted.

"The emo twin has been saying a lot lately," Allison guessed mockingly.

Their comments stopped when a sharp noise came from the knife in her hands.

Less than a week later, they were on their way to Atlanta, a nearly five-hour trip due to Kevin's nervous breakdowns. Although the idea of ​​taking a plane would be easier and more than affordable, Wymack had rejected the option in favor of the familiar bus, and although sitting for five hours and enduring the whining of a certain black-haired man wasn't his favorite afternoon, Andrew preferred it to setting foot in the airport.

“Will you stop touching your makeup?!” Allison pinched Kevin's stomach, who let out a shrill scream.

They were getting ready, and although there was still time until the concert, Andrew felt the familiar jitter in his gut. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it was there.

Abram couldn't make it to his concert for obvious reasons, but he would arrive for the last song, which he had no idea even existed, since Andrew had decided to keep it a secret. Then they would go to a hotel and spend the night. He refused to get his hopes up, but the mere thought dulled his concert nerves.

“How are you doing?” Renee appeared dressed in dark shades, her eyes shaded with a violet hue that shimmered like wet gold. This time, she had agreed to appear at the concert, and although she would remain in the background in charge of sound and tones, she was always considerate in front of the media when she left.

'The Monster Girl.' That's what she was nicknamed at first, with an old-fashioned and vulgar tone. A press release and several rumors about his former life were enough to keep the publicists' mouths shut.

Andrew took one last look in the mirror. He'd opted for something lighter, considering he'd almost suffocated to death at the Columbia concert. So, paired with baggy black jeans, he wore a short-sleeved T-shirt that stretched just enough to show off his muscles. His eyes scanned the bands whose knives had been removed for legal and boring reasons.

He felt good about what he saw.

"I want you out in fifteen minutes!"

Before the concert started, Andrew checked his phone one last time, which had been revealed by Abram's "On the Way."

Less surprising was the amount of shouts they received when they appeared on the dance floor, and also the fact that the entire stadium was packed; it even seemed like there were more people than allowed. Many fans carried signs that Andrew's undiagnosed nearsightedness prevented him from seeing, but he squinted at the ones closest to him. He could see some that read, "Kevin, make me a son," "If you see this, wink at me," "The Monsters or the Fuckers?" There was even one with a part of his song.

He had to admit, some were pretty clever.

When they took their places, Aaron played his drumsticks and started the set.

Unlike last time, everyone seemed a little more relaxed. The crowd was singing along, and Kevin was cheering with claps and jumping around. Aside from the fact that just a few minutes in, he looked like he was going to throw up, now he was even talking to the audience between songs and making some witty comments.

The songs flew by almost as quickly as the last time, and by the time he was playing the last notes of the softcore song, his chest was starting to race with anticipation. Still playing the bass, he unconsciously searched the crowd, and even though he knew he wouldn't find the drug addict's familiar face, he didn't give up and looked again.

And he looked again.

And he looked again.

And the end of softcore.

The lights dimmed, and although the crowd chanted for the concert to be extended, some seemed to have given up on gathering their things.

Andrew looked toward Renee, who could barely see her in the background, and suddenly there was Aaron's snap again, and Renee played the first notes. The music vibrated in a failed attempt to ignite, and the notes went from white to red. The crowd turned in confusion as the spotlight focused on Kevin, who began to sing quietly.

Now that everyone was quiet, Andrew realized his eardrums had adjusted to the noisy crowd.

Since the lights were no longer focused on him, he could see the banners more clearly, and therefore, the faces more clearly. And when he started looking for the drug addict, his eyes fell on another figure.

Jean Moreau.

And he wasn't alone. At his side was Jeremy Knox, a soloist who was starting to gain recognition almost at the same time as them.

His eyes traveled to Kevin, who was singing with his eyelids closed.

But Andrew wasn't stupid.

So when Kevin opened his eyes and paused for a few minutes, his voice faltered until it finally stopped.

Andrew played the guitar, unsurprised by the interruption. Not that. What surprised him was that, suddenly, Kevin's voice was replaced by his own, and without even realizing it, he began to sing the lyrics he had written himself.

There was a collective hesitation from the audience, and suddenly millions of eyes were looking at him.

He played the bass without stopping.

He wasn't going to hold back his words.

The song didn't have a name, though Renee had mentioned that "The Beach" was a good one. And while it didn't matter much—the song reflected how he felt, even if it could be misinterpreted—Andrew hoped Abram understood what he was talking about.

He stared ahead without the fear that would eat away at him. Later, Aaron would kill him, but it didn't matter because he knew he was watching him. That he was seeing him fully for what he was.

He ran one of his hands through his damp hair and finished playing the last few notes.

The stadium remained completely silent for what seemed like an eternity before a single scream ignited a horde of screams.

Andrew was the first to leave the stage, disappearing behind the curtain, where he was greeted by an incredulous-looking Allison and a frowning Wymack.

"Damn sea." Nicky's laughter vibrated beneath the surprised words and the genuine curse as he appeared behind Andrew. "What was that? I didn't know you sang!"

"I don't sing." bored

“So that was my imagination?” he whispered.

“It’s not that good.” Kevin appeared, pulling the earpiece out of his ear with a sour face. “Next time, sing it yourself.”

“You stumbled.” He pointed out the obvious as he undid the straps on his earpiece.

“I don’t—! Screw you! I can sing my damn lines perfectly,” he spat angrily.

“Then do it right.” He ripped out the earpiece, feeling the liquid curl in his veins. He had just broken through every one of his defenses by leaping into nothingness and daring to sing in a stadium full of people, alone and solely because he knew Abram was watching him, and he wasn’t going to let a slip from Kevin will work his song.

“I had it under control,” he whispered dryly.

“It's okay, boys” say Nicky

“You're the one who's determined to impress-” Kevin's words caught in his throat when Andrew gave him a look that made the threat obvious.

“Impress who?” Allison interrupted.

“Guys, anyone want to do the press service?” Dan rolled his eyes when everyone looked at her, slightly surprised. “We can ask about the gossip later.”

“Nicky and Kevin,” Wymack said with a coarse demand. “Yours.”

It was always their turn, but no one questioned his words since the most he would get from Aaron was vague answers and from Andrew, absolute silence.

Taking advantage of the distraction, he headed to the small study. He hadn't planned to shower since he would do it directly at the hotel, but he would change his shirt because the one he was wearing reeked of sweat. Besides, adrenaline aside, it was getting colder.

Someone knocks on the door, and Andrew feigns indifference when it opens.

"Andrés?" Wymack almost filled the entire doorframe. It was almost comical. "Is this going to be a repeat?"

I looked at him through the mirror. He grabbed his zip-up sweatshirt and put it on. He turned just a bit to face him.

"I think you wanted me to participate."

"And I do. I like that you're involved in the band, even that you sing." He crossed his arms. "And I know it's above my pay grade, but if you're with someone, we should start considering communi-"

"You said it." I looked at him while rummaging through the furniture for his pack of cigarettes. "Above your pay grade."

"Andrew."

“Do you want songs? Do you want to participate?” He grabbed the pack from behind a pillow and pulled out a cigarette, resting it against his ear. He waited for Wymack to look at him with obvious boredom. “I’ll send you the next song this week.”

“Will you do more?” interrupted the enraged figure of his twin.

Wymack pulled back to look at him, and as soon as his green eyes took in his brother’s defensive stance, he let out a tired sigh, and Andrew swore he heard him swear.

“I don’t see how that concerns you.”

“I hate that damn phrase,” he spat. “It concerns me because you’re my brother.”

It was Andrew’s turn to take a second to simulate the disbelief. Giving up, he pulled the cigarette from his ear and lit it in a swift motion. Wymack grunted in disgust at smoking in the bedroom, but didn’t reprimand him.

"Strange. Last time we spoke, you said I'd end up alone." The phone in his pocket vibrated.

"Apparently you have too much company to end up alone. Who inspires you?"

He inhaled and exhaled smoke, satisfied with the look of disgust on a face just like his own.

"I guess we can go now, huh?" He looked at Wymack, bored. His fingers itched to answer the call, knowing full well who it was from.

"Is that her?" Aaron jerked his chin toward the vibrating phone in his pocket. "Unlike you, I wouldn't mind if you had a girlfriend."

Girlfriend. The fact that there was no "girlfriend" would definitely bother him.

He exhaled the smoke as it burned his lungs and reached for his coat without putting it on.

"Aren't you coming back to the hotel with us?" Wymack asked.

"No."

"Wait, she's here? Are you going with her?" Aaron frowned before looking defeated and tired. “Can I meet her?”

“No.” He sidestepped his brother and wasn’t surprised when his footsteps followed.

“Andrew!”

He didn’t stop.

“Will you stop?!” he yelled. “I’m fucking trying!”

“Trying to what? Intrude on my life? You’ve made it pretty clear how you feel about me time and time again this month.” He turned after pressing the elevator button.

“You’re the one who’s keeping me from getting close.”

Adrenaline returned like an unexpected storm and burned Andrew’s throat.

“How am I supposed to if you then call me a monster?” he spat, and his phone stopped vibrating in his pocket.

“I don’t…”

“No lies.”

“I’m sorry!” He seemed genuinely sorry. “I just want us to be real brothers. Kathelyn told me I should talk to you.”

“Are you talking to me because she told you to?” His chest heaved, forcing him to breathe.

So all these advances were because she'd asked him to? Not because of him? Wasn't he genuine? Aaron seemed to come to the same conclusion as Andrew, since fear and remorse shone like oil on his features.

“No.” But he was too vague and too slow. Andrew was already going down the stairs, and this time Aaron didn't follow.

The back exit was marked with hidden neon lights, and before opening it, he put on the wool hat hidden in the inside pocket of his jacket and then took out his phone, which vibrated again.

“Drew?”

“Where are you?”

“Three blocks from the back street. Do you want me to come?”

“Stay there. I'm five minutes away.”

He walked for the first time and was glad of the chill that enveloped his body, which in turn cooled the fire in her chest. He recognized the Maserati he had reluctantly taken after a blunt threat from Andrew.

Ever since he'd gotten used to the leather seat, the purr of the engine, and the smooth pedals, he didn't want to drive anything else.

Abroma held an unsmoked cigarette between his fingers, her gaze fixed on a stain on the floor. His lips tilted upward.

“You look stupid,” he greeted, cupping his hands in his pockets.

“Sing.” He smiled more broadly, leaning closer. “You sang for me, didn't you?”

“You're a total jerk.” He whispered as his hand snaked toward Neil's cigarette, and he took it, unsurprised by the cold.

There was a soft laugh or gurgle. Andrew snatched the cigarette, unlit from lack of use, and threw it to the floor. He took Abram's other hand and cupped it between his own, blowing hot breath on it.

They were always frozen, so much so that the scarred skin was turning a little blue. There were times when Neil stared at them with something nauseating in his eyes, but as soon as he absorbed a bit of heat, the violet-blue vanished.

"Your voice. I thought I was dreaming."

"Im real." He felt like his words didn't belong to him. They were no strangers to this kind of back-and-forth conversation, yet now they seemed to be at different extremes.

"And you don't know how grateful I am." He leaned down, his forehead brushing Andrew's, who unconsciously tilted his chin in a kiss that never came.

With one last breath, he brought Abram's hands under his sweatshirt, and he could feel the cold skin against his spare T-shirt.

"Can I kiss you?"

Chapter Text

  The beach  (The Neighbourhood)  - Andrew Minyard.

“If I told you that I loved you

Tell me, what would you say?

f I told you that I hated you

Would you go away?

Now I need your help with everything that I do

I don't want to lie, I've been relying on you

Fallin' again, I need a pick-me-up

I've been callin' you friend, I might need to give it up

I'm sick and I'm tired, too

I can admit, I am not fireproof

I feel it burning me

I feel it burning you”

“And you can throw me shade, all it does is just cool me off”

“Swim with me

I think I can see the beach

I  know what's underneath

I need you here with me

But we're out in the open

Swim with me”

Chapter Text

“Abram?”

There was a blurry figure in front of him, moving like thick liquid with no container to settle in. But his freckled cheekbones and the ridge of his upper lip were familiar.

Andrew raised a hand that seemed to be going in a completely opposite direction. He tried harder.

His eyes rose to dark eyes and equally dark hair. So damn fake. So damn familiar.

“Abram,” he thought he said, but he didn’t hear it.

His eyes could barely focus, and his body seemed lifeless on the battered couch. He clung to that gaze.

Abram looked at him the way he had years ago. His childlike face hadn’t changed in the last two years. Suddenly, his vision became more distorted, and the figure disappeared.

His soft smile. His sweet eyes. His words of encouragement.

A mirage whose glass remains broken deep in his memories. He wanted to forget him almost as strongly as she wanted to cling to him again.

"Don't go," he tried to say. "Don't leave me."

The mirage disappeared, and Andrew looked at the drugs scattered on the bathroom floor.

One more.

Just one more, and this time he would say goodbye to him.

Abram had a room booked at a hotel in downtown Atlanta. It was cozy, but what really mattered to Andrew was the double deadbolt on the door and the one Neil had manually added.

"Do you like it?"

The room was spacious. There were two separate double beds and a small table with a basket of groceries. One wall was almost entirely glass, and one of them slid open to reveal a terrace with leather seating.

He hadn't gotten around to inspecting the bathroom, but he had no doubt it would be similar to what he'd already seen.

"Is it safe?"

"Yes," he appeared at his side. "It's where I come when I have business around here."

"Business?" he asked with feigned disinterest as he turned to him.

He made a noise in his throat in response.

"Abram," he looked around the room one last time. "They won't kill me if you tell me something about your life as Nathaniel."

"They won't. I won't let them," she promised. “But I'm not taking the risk.”

Andrew shrugged without insisting. He wasn't going to force him to talk about something he didn't want to.

“Shall we talk about the song?” This time he smiled. “Don't expect you to sing.”

“Me neither.” Be honest. "Kevin hesitated."

“It could have been covered up with a couple of chords from your bass.”

I knew it. Of course he did. But...

“So? I wasn't going to let him ruin my song.”

There was a velvety laugh.

“You're setting the bar pretty high.”

“I guess you'll have to push yourself.” He lifted his chin, knowing his shoulders. “You owe me two songs.”

“Of course I will. Oh, and you know I wouldn't hesitate to swim with you.”

“Shut up.”

He ignored the heat in his chest in favor of leaning his face toward Abram. After just a few seconds of staring at each other, something that seemed to end in a kiss, Andrew pulled away and glanced at the bathroom for a second.

"I have to shower."

He took his time under the hot water, and although the soap didn't smell as good, he used it to get rid of the greasy feeling in his hair. When he finished, even his skin was steaming. He put on his winter pajamas, but for spring, he decided to leave the headbands aside.

Abram was sitting in one of the armchairs on the balcony, and he didn't need to look to know there was a lit, unsmoked cigarette somewhere.

He opened the window, and this time, the cold was cruel. His heart raced when he spotted Atlanta below him. They weren't that high, but high enough to make vertigo knot his stomach with the healthiest version of fear.

"It's cold in here." He sat down on the balcony sofa. Abram was a few inches from his side, their elbows barely touching.

"We can go in." I look up from my phone and turn it off, setting it aside to pick up the cigarette from the coffee table.

“Or you could come closer.” I rest my hand against the feel of it.

Abram looked at him long enough for Andrew to believe he hadn't heard his words.

"Yes."

Abram slid forward until their bodies were a breath away from each other. The closeness was pleasant, whether for the security or for the fact that Abram, despite being an ice cube, could retain some warmth.

He pressed close until he found a comfortable angle, something similar to a hug. Andrew lowered one of his hands to Abram's muscle and pulled him closer until his leg straddled his. Abram rested his temple on Andrew's shoulder and snuggled up until they were flush against each other.

"You can touch me."

Neil's hands flew to his shoulders, rubbing up and down. One stayed there, but the other toyed with the clipped strands near his neck. Andrew's skin prickled.

Andrew kept his eyes closed, appreciating the caresses, without any malice in them. They remained that way, Abram leaning against him, while Andrew had one of his hands on his hip, stroking the fabric with his thumb, while the other clung to his thigh, occasionally squeezing. He didn't know how much time passed, but when he opened his eyes, it wasn't as cold as before.

He looked at the curve of Abram's neck, inches away, and, unable to resist, kissed the skin.

Abram hummed.

He kissed again.

And again.

Abram stirred before looking up at him. There was a sleepy softness in his features, but his cheeks still glowed with a warm blush.

"Yes or no?"

"Yes."

The kiss was gentle, and every now and then Andrew broke it with a chaste one before wrapping himself around him again. But Abram whispered his name, and everything became more ferocious. Their lips made a rough impact, and Andrew lowered both hands to her hips, squeezing and feeling the muscles contract.

"Shit." He pulled away. "Let's go inside."

They entered between kisses, and Abram barely closed the glass to keep the cold out. Andrew pushed him onto the bed, which Abram had moved at some point so he was pressed against the wall.

"Andrés," he whispered as he fell onto the mattress and Andrew pressed himself between her open legs.

"Abram," he whispered, slightly amused, as he kissed him again.

Abram's hands soon snaked to the back of her neck, like a safe and familiar place. Andrew responded with a noise he didn't recognize from his own throat. The heat had been long forgotten, and now pure need burned beneath his skin.

Without even realizing it, he moved his hips against Abram's and the current swept down his spine. They were both hard.

"Fuck," Abram whispered, parting his lips to look down.

Honestly, you could barely see anything in Andrew's hideous pajamas, but when he looked up at him and rolled his hips against his again, seeking some meager relief, Abram shook his own.

"Yes or no?" Andrew's hand hovered against the drawstring of his sweatpants.

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure." He kissed the corners of his mouth after a nod. "Words."

"Yes, Andrew."

Andrew undid the drawstring and, with Abram's help, dragged the pants past his knees. Beneath them were a pair of boxer shorts that revealed a wet stain over a bulge.

Andrew swallowed and looked up at Abram, who was already looking at him.

"I don't have..."

He was silent when Andrew placed his hand on his chest and lifted himself up slightly to pull his own pants down to mid-thigh. Unlike Abram, he wasn't wearing underwear, and as quickly as he got rid of them, he felt the coolness of his erection stir. Abram kept his eyes on him the whole time.

"I'm naked. Yes or no?"

"Yes. Whatever you want, Drew." He seemed breathless. "I'm yours."

Andrew ran his tongue over his lips and pulled Abram's hips toward his, quietly listening to the blue-eyed man's muffled noise. Abram made a move to lean in for a kiss, but wasn't quick enough to stop Andrew from grinding their erections together, the only obstacle being the thin fabric of his boxers.

There was a curse and a gasp.

"Oh…"

Andrew looked down, unable to tear his gaze away, and went back to dragging their erections together. A pearl of semen ran from the tip of his free member to Abram's underwear, which gripped the covers more tightly as the friction increased.

"Boxers. Take them off." Andrew's voice sounded breathless.

"Yes, yes, yes…" The enthusiasm in Abram's voice only drove Andrew further over the edge.

With slightly trembling hands, he stroked the hem of his boxers before curling his fingers and tugging the material down. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Abram's member glistened erect and slick with precum. There was a hint of red hair that made it even more attractive.

"Touch?"

"Whatever you want, Drew." He felt a soft kiss on his jaw.

His hand brought both erections together and gave the first jerk. Andrew pressed his lips together as his breath nearly gasped, while Abram moaned softly before tilting his head. He jerked again, and again, and again. The panting, the scent of soap, and Neil's moans filled the hotel room.

When her wetness and Abram's began to create elastic, slimy sounds. Obscene. He looked up at the blue-eyed man.

"Do you like it?" she whispered breathlessly.

Abram blinked away from his lips. His flushed cheeks, wet lips, and glazed eyes made the answer clear, but he said it anyway. "You're perfect."

He didn't respond, not when something swept through her body in a shudder she wanted to feel again.

"Mhm? You know that, right?" Abram whispered, leaning closer to his ear. "Amazing."

He felt her stomach clench with impending arrival, the hand on Abram's hip gripped the man's sweatshirt, and he felt her own eyes crystallize and blink to focus on Abram's curved lips.

"Do you like it?" One of his hands brushed a blond lock from his forehead. "Me telling you how important you are for me."

A noise escaped his strangled lips. She was close. So close. He rolled his hips harder and moved her wrist with more need and force. The bed creaked a little.

He felt Abram gasp in her ear before dragging his lips along his throbbing jugular. He kissed his, and when he ground his teeth together, an inhuman noise escaped his throat, and he felt his entire belly tense before he came.

He took his hand off his cock and wrapped it around Abram's.

"Come," he said, and Abram squeezed his hands tightly, feeling strips of moisture between his legs.

He breathed, noticing the sweat on his back, and as quickly as his body softened, he could do nothing but lean fully against Abram's body.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." It was barely audible, but it seemed enough for Abram's body to soften as well.

"We're disgusting," Andrew added after minutes of silence.

Abram hummed in response.

It was strange, the feeling of his body broken, even vulnerable. He didn't feel the need to pull away and lock himself away until the panic faded from his tense muscles. So he allowed himself to stay that way until the semen began to cool.

"Come on. Let's take a shower."

"Together?" Abram lifted his head, suddenly interested.

He opened his mouth to answer. He felt comfortable; he knew Abram and was starting to trust him, yet beneath his skin, a fear of pushing things crept in. Bee would tell him to take it easy, and even though Andrew didn't usually listen to her, he wanted this to work.

He wanted it to work.

Whatever he saw in Abram made his jaw clench with a softness that always took his breath away.

"You go first. I'll take care of dinner."

He didn't argue. While Neil disappeared onto the terrace to make the call, Andrew went to the bathroom and let the hot water warm his skin. He wet his hair and reluctantly used the rancid hotel soap again.

He looked in the mirror. Rarely was what he found pleasant, but this time it was soft and warm. It was unsettling to admit that he was starting to trust Abram. But while part of him was allowing himself to be with him, another part reminded him that good things don't last. That if he left him once, it didn't stop him from doing it again, and therefore he should avoid getting attached enough to yearn.

That only reinforced his need to establish a promise between them. A bond. But he wasn't stupid; he knew his promises didn't work because of their pleasant aspects. Even with Kevin, the only person with whom he still kept a promise that barely held up.

He dressed in the same pants as before, but gave up on the T-shirt since Abram had taken it upon himself to paint them with his pleasure stripes.

When he left the bathroom, a cloud of moisture followed him, and he didn't realize how long he'd been inside until he spotted Abram checking his cell phone in just his pants and his stained sweater thrown to the side.

"The pizza will be here in a few minutes."

The thought of pizza made his stomach growl, but his gaze and attention shifted to his torso, marked by healed scars that must have been agonizing in pain at the time.

Andrew's eyes barely recognized some wounds, like the gunshot wound he'd shown her years ago. He looked older now, and considering the many other scars crisscrossed his chest, that was barely noticeable.

He slid lower, to one of his pectorals, decorated with two parallel vertical and horizontal stripes. A clear tic-tac-toe that ended with the champion's cross.

"They...? If they were alive, I'd kill them," she growled, approaching him.

"I know," he says softly. "There's nothing to worry about anymore. They're dead. All of them."

"How?"

"Before my uncle came for me, I was with them for two years." Explicit.

"Too long."

"They couldn't break me."

Andrew looked up just enough to meet his eyes.

"You can touch."

His fingers ran over the scar, noticing how the skin was softer and thinner. It seemed as if it would break if he didn't touch it gently enough. Andrew felt pure helplessness, seeing scar upon scar, burn upon burn.

Pain upon pain.

"You're safe now," he reminded himself. He didn't know if it was for Abram or for him.

"You too," he murmured in a similar tone of voice. "You too."

Andrew nodded and extended the brief kiss on the wounds Abram leaned in to give him.

"You can look." Because I knew him. Because I knew his eyes never strayed beyond where Andrew allowed them.

Abram's eyes lingered on his in a silent conversation, which ended with his gaze drifting downward.

Andrew followed his gaze to his chest, less defined by the ice cream. Pectorals covered with soft fat. His eyes continued to gaze, and when he thought he hadn't noticed, Abram's expression changed.

"Andrew."

The wounds.

“They're from a long time ago.”

Abram's jaw clenched and unclenched.

“When did you start?”

He pressed his lips together to avoid a cutting comment. For some strange reason, this was a sensitive topic. It had taken him years to even call them what they were: self-harm. He didn't allow himself to feel ashamed of how easily he'd let himself get carried away and how they were his only solace. It was both a reminder that he'd caused them and a consolation that they were now part of the past.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

With Bee, he could barely discuss it without hearing the shame, the disgust, the fear in her voice. He felt exposed. The impassiveness she showed him was feigned, and Bee was so good at her job that he knew it.

He didn't mind Abram seeing them, and truthfully, he hoped he could be honest with him. But not now. It had been a long day, and he felt sleep gripping every weak muscle in his body.

Abram approached without seeming offended by this. Andrew sighed.

"I don't anymore."

The tension drained from Abram's shoulders and he nodded again, this time more relieved.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of his long-awaited dinner.

With one last glance, Abram walked around it to the door.

Bored, he opened the small bag he'd brought, ignoring his phone vibrating on the nightstand. He paused for a moment when he realized it wasn't his phone, but Abram's, the model of which was the same as his.

His chest heaved as the thought crossed his mind. Andrew didn't consider himself a pushover; in fact, quite the opposite. But still, something stirred in his chest, and without even realizing it, he leaned toward the screen as the call ended. However, the screen lit up and displayed a message from Robin that said, "Done. When do I upload it?"

He didn't get to see what the other message from a number he hadn't added said, as Abram appeared in the living room, three pizza boxes in his hand.

"I hope you're hungry."

They ate in comfortable silence.

"Staring at each other."

"You can't blame me."

That was all before their stomachs were full. Drowsiness was settling in. Abram walked slowly toward the bathroom to shower. He emerged shortly after, wearing pajama shorts, bare-chested.

Andrew appreciated the softness in his eyes before leaning over his things and throwing a sweatshirt at Neil. Without seeming surprised, he put it on as Andrew leaned over to turn off the light.

Abram fell onto the bed with a jolt and crawled into the sheets. Andrew with his back to the wall, and he faced him with his back to the door. For a second, looking down at Neil, his sleepy eyes, his tender features, and his disheveled hair, he thought he'd like to be the one who turned his back on the doorway, just to protect him.

The thought was replaced when Abram buried his nose in the collar of his sweatshirt.

"Did you just smell it?"

"Uh... No?"

They could barely see in the darkness, but the small light from the terrace streamed in through the large window, bathing them with the subtlety of someone who's paying attention and can see what's going on.

"You can keep it." He had other sweatshirts. And strangely, he liked the idea of ​​Abram in his clothes.

The redhead blinked and squinted in the darkness.

"It's no good to me if I keep it," he murmured softly, almost as if he wasn't sure what he was saying. "It smells like you. If I keep it, the smell will go away."

It was his turn to blink before he felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

"You're blushing." How the hell was he seeing that?

"Shut up."

"He's stuttering." He hid his smile.

"Damn you," he growled. "You can't say things like that."

"You like him." He raised an eyebrow.

Andrew snorted, looking away.

"Will you tell me why I was so upset when I recognized you?"

Andrew will never cease to be amazed at how perceptive Abram was when it came to him. How he knew him despite all this time apart. How with just a glance he knew the day had been turbulent. How with just a smile he knew Andrew was expecting a kiss.

It would never cease to amaze him how easy it was to be read in the right eyes.

"Aaron," he managed to say.

"Your brother?"

“I'm not sure brother is the right word.” He clicked his tongue.

“Why do you say that?” His red brow furrowed. “Did he say something?”

“He always says something.” He leaned back so the blanket covered his shoulders. “For years, we've… I don't regret killing Tilda.”

Abram didn't notice the confession. There was an imperceptible movement in his jaw, but otherwise nothing. The understanding in his eyes calmed his racing heart.

“I'd do it again. That bitch only lived to mistreat him, and no one touches my family. No one,” he growled. “But Aaron didn't understand. We had a relationship, you know? I know he broke it. I'm not stupid. I know he was seeing Kathelyn before graduation. I guess keeping my word isn't relevant? But I did. I protected him. And all I got was scorn.”

He didn't know where that came from. Even with Bee.

He wasn't even aware his voice could sound bitter.

"I wanted…" he trailed off.

"Andrés."

"No."

He bit the inside of his cheek. He was tired of feeling this way.

There was an exhalation.

Even though he wasn't looking, he felt Abram's gaze on him.

"I'll support you in whatever you decide. My priority will always be you, Drew," he whispered, as gently as if you were touching a cat's nose. "But I know pushing him away only hurts you. You appreciate it, and I'm not trying to deny it because I can see it. And I know you can fix it. You have time."

Without realizing it, he started to shake his face.

"There's nothing to fix."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I know."

"Don't avoid your feelings just because you're afraid of fighting them. If he doesn't appreciate your effort, it's not worth it."

"I don't want to…" her throat tightened. "I tried once. I made a promise with him, I protected him, and I walked away. He won't be able to watch me come back…"

He snorted when her nose started to itch.

"It's okay to be vulnerable, remember? You taught me that."

"But I don't want to be vulnerable. He's the one who should change, not me." He said more harshly than he intended. "I don't want to feel like that time, Abram."

"You're not alone. Not anymore." He looked at him and looked at him and looked at him.

"You'll leave again." He didn't even think about it; the words left him before she could process them.

"No." Her words were accompanied by a shake of him head. "I'll only leave when you ask me to, otherwise."

I'll stay.

"Promise me." The whisper was so thick with need that anyone would think he needed the promise as much as he needed oxygen.

"No. You don't need a promise for that. I want you to believe me without a deal involved."

They held each other's gaze for an eternity until Andrew ascended.

"I won't let you down."

It was a murmur barely audible to two people on the verge of sleep, but it remained etched in their brains and echoed with the words of twelve-year-old Abram. And twenty-three-year-old Abram.

He woke up the next day to the screech of an incoming call on his phone. He blinked with a stifled yawn in his chest. It was daytime. The sun filtered through the curtains, and it was the first time he hadn't woken up because of it.

His phone kept ringing.

"Where...?"

Abram's side was empty, and his chest heaved. He looked around for a figure that definitely wasn't there.

He jumped out of bed and looked for the ringing phone.

'Wymack'

He hung up and searched his contacts for Abram.

It rang and rang. He jumped to the voicemail.

He called again.

He answered.

Had he left?

A sickening deja vu ran down his spine as he looked down at his bare feet. Would he come back? His mind raced through millions of possibilities, all of which ended with Abram far from him.

"Andrew?"

Abram walked down the hall in his workout clothes, sweating enough to fill a puddle on the floor. He was panting, his hands clutching a large paper bag.

"I brought you breakfast," he mumbled, heaving the bags up. “By the way, I forgot yesterday…”

He sat bolt upright in bed, forcing her fingers to loosen their death grip on her phone.

“Drew? Hey, Drew.” he set the bag aside and leaned closer.

“You weren’t there.”

Surprise spread like a canvas across his face and was quickly replaced by acceptance.

“I went for a run and bought breakfast. I’m back.”

He nodded.

“Let me know.”

It sounded stupid considering those same words had been whispered that way when he was barely three years old. It was the beginning of his first broken promise and the end of a first love he had once believed to be a hallucination.

But they were adults now.

Abram wasn’t running away, and Andrew wasn’t subservient.

They were, in a way, as free as they could get. They could speak without lies.

They were adults.

"Okay. I'll leave you notes." Ascending. "Sorry-"

His words were replaced by a ringtone.

Andrew flipped the screen, which again showed an incoming call from Coach. Before he picked it up with a companion's snort, it scrolled down and he saw a call history. Seven from Kevin, three from Nicky, nine from Aaron, and almost five from Coach. And a lot of messages.

"Hang on." He frowned and called Wymack.

"Damn it, kid, why aren't you answering?"

“It’s ten in the morning.”

“Normal people are awake at nine.”

“I guess.” I clicked my tongue. “What are you calling for?”

“Have you seen the damn news? Your name is circulating next to a song!”

I shout so loudly that I pull the phone away from his ear.

“I haven’t stopped getting calls all day!” I snarl. “And today’s a holiday!”

Andrew blinked more awake.

“A song with my name on it?” I yawned. “What does that have to do with me?”

Beside him, Abram cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. He stood up and avoided Andrew’s gaze. Suspicion seeped through his fingers.

Wymack said something, but Andrew jumped in first, forgetting the coach in favor of watching Neil’s sudden evasion.

“Abram?” he said casually. “Do you know anything about this?”

“M-Me?” I cleared my throat. “Why are you mentioning that?”

“Yesterday. Yesterday you said you owe me a song.”

“Yes.” He laughed uncomfortably. “Actually, I wanted to tell you...”

“Have you named a song after me?” the words came out slowly and clearly.

Chapter Text

Andrew pulled away with a gasp and felt a chill sweep down his spine, prickling unpleasantly. Bile rose in his throat.

He wasn't going to let them take this away from him.

Forcibly, he wrapped his hand around his now-soft member again. There was a tingle. Nothing more.

A tear trickled down his cheek.

He wasn't going to let them take this away from him.

Down and up. And again. I tried until it stung, and when his thoughts slipped to blue eyes, a current ran down his spine, causing him to arch. Then disgust surged through his gut. He jerked his hand away and knelt before dumping his entire stomach onto the floor.

When the last heave left him, he backed away until his back hit the wall. He was shaking all over as he sniffled and sobbed.

Please.

“Not just the first name, the damn last name!” Wymack snarled on the other end. “Tell that guy I have the press on my neck.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow, his chin tilted toward Neil.

His neck was awash in pure red.

“I just wanted to make it clear it was for you,” he muttered softly.

“I could have told you in person! What do I do about the press?”

“Talk to you later, Coach.”

“Minyard, don’t you dare-”

Andrew hung up on Wymack.

“I was going to tell you yesterday.” He licked his lips. “But things happened….”

His cheeks darkened, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Andrew that by “things,” he meant him jerking him off.

Andrew hummed and hurried to grab the TV remote that rested on the delicate white marble. Under a growl from Neil's throat that seemed the closest thing to a protest, he turned on the TV and hurriedly searched for a random channel that focused on music.

He stopped on one where he recognized his name.

"The song 'N.J.' has garnered over 10 million plays in just a few hours. Named after the well-known artist Andrew Minyard, part of the band "The Monsters," it gives us an insight into who the song is about."

The man paused, and the screen split in two. Andrew's eyes scanned what he assumed was the cover art, which featured different shades of yellow or brown. Too much mixing to distinguish a single color. The song already had hundreds and hundreds of comments and enough likes to be trending on any music platform, not to mention plays.

"Let's analyze the song."

Abram groaned regretfully as the first notes of the song rang out.

I realized, I belong to you

I feel the darkness, when away from you

Andrew couldn't stop his raised eyebrow. He felt his hands squeezing his knees and chest, his heart beating fast enough to echo in his ears.

Don't stop your lovin', walk out on me
Don't stop for nothin', you're what I bleed
I learned to love you, the way you need
'Cause I know what's pain, this is not the same

Exhale.

I'd be nothing', nothing', nothing', nothing' without you
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing
I'd be nothing', nothing', nothing', nothing' without you
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

He remembered Abram's words from that first kiss. The way he tilted his face, the difficulty he had in tearing his gaze away from her moist lips. As if with the same resemblance and gentleness as caressing a newly blossomed flower petal, he whispered, "I am nothing without you." Words Andrew quickly dismissed and threw to the floor. Words he quickly discarded in the bag of lies that made him feel good, but were still lies.

I was too busy tryna find you with someone else
The one I couldn't stand, to be with was myself
'Cause I'd be nothing', nothing', nothing', nothing' without you
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

Pick up your phone, I got a question, oh
If I die tonight, would you regret it?

Don't stop your lovin', it's all I have
'Cause I can't function, no I won't last
I swear I'll love you just like the past
'Cause I know what's pain, this is not the same

The volume of the music was lowered so that the interviewer could be heard clearly.

I'd be nothing', nothing', nothing', nothing' without you
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing
Oh, I'd be nothing', nothing', nothing', nothing' without you
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

"While we don't know if Andrew Minyard knows this new artist, the song makes it pretty clear that there's a 'past' on either side. Meanwhile, fans and music lovers have begun their own investigations.

I was too busy tryna find you with someone else
The one I couldn't stand, to be with was myself
'Cause I'd be nothing', nothing', nothing', nothing' without you
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

Several tweets appeared on the screen, barely legible.

@tahuk.22: “Considering the less-than-subtle songs Andrew has been adding to the shows, I think there's no doubt he's in love.”

@ulsFaro: “Is anyone worried? If I were Andrew Minyard, I'd be in the police station.”

@gyMason: “Is Andrew Minyard gay?”

When I feel the love, girl I hesitate
It's what I'm guilty of, oh yeah (oh yeah, oh yeah)
I can't get enough, I'm insane
Without your touch
Touch, touch, touch
I'd be nothing', nothing', nothing', nothing'
Nothing', nothing', nothing', nothing'
Nothing', nothing', nothing', nothing' without you
Without you, without you, without you

“Be that as it may, this song definitely…”

The screen went dark, and Andrew’s gaze shifted to the hand behind the screen and settled on Abram, whose face, besides being serious, was as red as fire.

“I didn’t want to turn this into a media circus.”

“Well, that’s the job of the press,” he forced himself to relax. “And you’re not exactly subtle.”

“I didn’t think…”

“That it would be so successful?” he mocked. “Even I know that song deserves a damn award.”

Neil’s face twisted, and he quickly hid his feelings behind an impassive expression.

“Does it bother you?”

Andrew got out of bed and started walking toward the redhead, stopping a foot away.

“When did you write it?”

“After our first kiss.”

Abram’s eyes danced, tremulous. The corner of his lips curved, and the beginning of his brows furrowed slightly. So damn attractive. Abram was completely unaware of the power he held over Andrew.

"Tell me something, Drew," it was a plea.

"Do you belong to me?"

"Since the day I saw you."

"Yes or no?"

"Always, yes. Always."

They kissed familiarly, feeling the possessiveness in every pore of their skin. Andrew's hands flew to Neil's hips, pushing him until he hit the wall. Abram gasped, and barely a second later, Andrew struck again.

He couldn't get enough.

He wanted more of Abram.

He wanted all of Abram.

"Drew..." he sighed, throwing his head back.

Andrew kissed the bridge of his throat and pulled away to look into his eyes.

"Say it," he demanded, his hand digging beneath Neil's shirt. Her thumb brushed over his navel and she felt a tingle on Neil's skin.

"I belong to you."

"Again." he dug his nails lightly into his rib and Neil moaned, arching.

He saw Abram's lips curve upward. No doubt enjoying whatever was happening.

"I belong to you. I'm yours."

"Say it again." He pulled off his shirt. "Always."

"Until when?"

"Until I get tired." He kissed the bare skin of his chest, feeling the scars against his lips.

He looked up as her lips moved lower, scar after scar. Reaching his hipbone, he nibbled, leaving a reddish mark on the soft skin.

"Do you want me to suck you off?"

"Shit." His hips jerked forward. "Y-Yeah."

Andrew slid a finger through the drawstring of the jogging suit as if he had all the time in the world, untying the knot. As soon as it loosened, he tugged on the string, and it dropped to his knee.

He dropped to his knees and leaned so close that the fabric of Neil's pants was brushing against his chest.

Abmar had a sizable bulge under his boxers and a wet imprint at the top. One of Drew's hands ran over him, feeling his hardness and trembling, while the other gripped his hip. He brought his face close and kissed where he guessed the tip was.

"Oh," Neil gasped.

He kissed her again before pressing the tip of his tongue to the underside of his shaft, barely feeling his balls.

There was a noise, and he looked up to notice Abram clutching the television screen tightly. Andrew hid his smile in favor of pulling down his boxers and memorizing Abram's penis in his mind. It was long and a little thick at the bottom. It was slightly crooked, and a vein ran from the bottom to the tip, which glistened slick and purple.

He looked at Abram, who was already looking at him with a flushed face and attentive eyes.

"Are you s-?" A noise deep in his throat emerged as Andrew ran his tongue over the vein.

It tasted salty from the exercise he'd done previously, but he couldn't care less when Abram was looking at him like this.

He kissed the tip before surrounding it with his lips and sucking. Abram groaned, and there was a crash as the television fell and shattered to the side from the excess weight. He couldn't care less. He plunged in until it was submerged past his throat. He swallowed, and that was all it took for Abram to moan loudly and his knees to buckle. Andrew pressed his fingers and pinned him against the wall, moving his mouth up and down.

"A-An..." he gasped.

He sucked hard, feeling him begin to throb in his mouth. Abram braced himself again and shifted his foot for more stability. However, Andrew didn't see the tip of his shoe brushing against his crotch, his erection straining against his pajamas, causing his hips to jerk in search of more and he moaned around Abram's cock.

"-ngo," he moaned. "Rew..."

It took another tiny bit of friction for Andrew to moan, and with that, Abram came in his throat.

He swallowed and pulled away as he began to soften. Abram braced himself against the wall and soon slid down it until he was facing Andrew.

Abram, after an orgasm, looked like the most broken person. His eyelids were drooping and glazed. His lips were wet and red. And...

"Fntstic," he stammered.

And barely anything sensible came out of his mouth.

"Do you like me?" I asked just for the pleasure of an affirmative answer.

"All of you," he whispered. "Do you want...?"

He was hard, so much. He craved friction, but they had a long drive to South Carolina, and considering the media drama, his family must be fuming.

"Home."

Home.

As if he'd noticed, Abram's smile widened even further.

Junkie.

They barely had to pack anything, since they'd both brought a modest bag with just the necessary clothes. Andrew put on Abram's sweatshirt and a hideous black tracksuit. It was cold outside, but with the layers he was wearing, he could barely penetrate it.

"What about the TV?" he looked before leaving. It was lying on the floor, glass scattered to one side. He belatedly realized that, as he fell, Abram had moved it away so it wouldn't fall on him.

"Huh? Oh, never mind."

He didn't ask, but raised an eyebrow.

"The staff will take care of that."

They walked down the hallway to the elevator. Abram pressed the button for the parking garage.

"We left it at the entrance yesterday."

"Yes, but I moved it this morning to the parking garage." He snuggled up to him when Andrew answered affirmatively. "I know you don't like the cold, the parking garage is better than going right outside."

He pressed his lips together. His chest warmed. It was a little uncomfortable that someone could read him so easily, that someone knew him even more than he knew himself, but at the same time, it was pleasant. It gave him a sense of belonging he'd never experienced in his life.

He couldn't help but wonder how long that feeling would last.

He leaned in and, unable to help himself, inhaled the soft scent of shampoo and Abram's own fragrance.

He would enjoy it however long it lasted.

The elevator doors opened, and Andrew couldn't help but frown at the dimness of an empty parking lot with the only car he recognized as his own.

He took Abram's arm and slung it around his back.

"There's no car."

"Sure, I rented the whole hotel."

Andrew choked and started coughing.

"Are you okay? Is it a cold?"

"You... Did you rent the damn hotel?" He cleared the discomfort in his throat.

"Yes... I wanted to be alone with you," he muttered obviously.

Andrew's eye might as well have been twitching at the incredulity he felt at that moment. Had he rented the whole damn hotel just to be alone with him?

"I hate you," he whispered. "I hate you 98% of the time."

He started walking toward the car and heard Abram's hurried footsteps behind him.

"Do you hate me 98% of the time?" There was a slight chuckle in his voice.

"Yes. 98% of the time I want to kill you," he spits out, noticing his cheeks reddening.

He damned well wasn't blushing.

It was Andrew Minyard.

"And the other 2%? Mhm, you want to kiss me. The other 2% is that you want to kiss me, right?"

Andrew turned around, and Abram was standing a meter away from him. He was leaning on one leg, a big smile on his lips. His face was flushed, and his blue eyes seemed brighter.

"The other 2%, I just hate you."

He ignored the bubbling laughter in favor of opening the driver's door and unlocking the car with the heater on full blast. The passenger door opened quickly, and there was barely a sigh before Abram made that happy noise in his throat again.

"I'll kill you." He pressed hard on the gas, pulling out of the parking space.

"Mhm... I'll kiss you."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and Andrew refused to accept the sudden jump in his heart.

It took them longer than usual to get to South Carolina because they stopped for a snack, and eating turned into a stupid kissing contest.

He recognized his driveway and stopped the car almost halfway down the road. There was a body sitting on the threshold. It was almost comical when Abram had once been the figure that had colonized the small space of the driveway. However, Abram was beside him, and now it was someone else on the threshold.

"I'm going out," Neil's voice muttered, much raspier, much more serious.

"Stay. I know who it is." Andrew sighed, undoing his seatbelt. "It's Aaron."

Abram stopped his hand on the door handle and relaxed a little.

"Do you want me to walk you?"

"That's not a good idea, druggie," he muttered.

"But do you want to?"

Andrew looked at him and looked at him. He shook his head.

"Stay here. He won't hurt me."

He left without waiting for a reply and walked over to the seemingly inert body.

"You."

As if an electric current ran down his spine, Aaron jumped up.

"Andrés?" His eyes widened when he spotted his brother, and he stood awkwardly. "Where were you? Are you okay?"

He bit the inside of his cheek and dug his hands into his pockets.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you," he muttered as if it were obvious.

"Did Kathelyn tell you to come?"

"You know it's not like that," he whispered. "Kathelyn wants the best for us, wants us to be siblings again, but not more than I long for it."

Andrew clicked his tongue.

"Andrew." His voice was now shaky.

Andrew kept his gaze on the ground. His right shoe had begun to untie.

"Andrew." This time the voice was nasal.

Andrew glanced down as a pained murmur escaped his twin's throat. And his own breathing slowed as he saw the face that was a mirror of his own, contorted. The eyebrows were drawn together, the eyes glazed over, the lips pursed, and the chin trembling.

And a thought crossed his mind. Was this what Tilda saw? Was it before or after she hit him?

Andrew wondered if Aaron had already received his blow or if he hadn't received it yet. Andrew didn't ask any questions. No consultation. He didn't want to hurt him.

He never wanted to see that expression.

"I'm tired." A sob found its way into his throat as tears began to fall onto his cheeks. "I just want to be your brother."

Andrew's nose prickled. His fingers pinched his thigh, pushing away whatever was choking in his throat.

Andrew wasn't stupid. He knew this would happen, he knew the inflection would come sooner or later, what he didn't expect was to feel the way it did.

"I know I've treated you like shit." It didn't help to run his sleeve across his cheek, as more tears stained his skin. "But I'm asking you... Give me a chance."

Another sob interrupted his words.

"Just one. I just want to be your brother."

He inhaled cold air that froze his lungs.

"Okay."

Aaron looked at him in surprise.

"What?" He hiccuped.

"Okay," he mumbled, his voice a little hoarse. "We'll try. This whole being... brothers thing."

"Really?" He rose sharply. "Yes. Together we tried."

Andrew moved forward, and Aaron made a move to leave before turning and looking at him hesitantly.

"Can I hug you?"

He tilted his head slightly. He hadn't received a hug since he was fourteen until he found Abram again. Not even Bee. He was fine with the next person being his brother, so he muttered an affirmative.

It was awkward and new. They were both the same size, so they turned their heads in opposite directions. He inhaled his brother's scent of plums and deodorant. It was tense and new, but comforting.

They awkwardly separated, and Aaron practically ran to his car at the other end of the street. Andrew stared until he saw him disappear, and continued watching even after he was gone.

"Are you okay?"

He relaxed at Abram's voice and gently turned to face him.

"I think so."

Abram sighed with a soft smile.

"Everything's going to be okay, Drew."

Andrew reached out a hand toward him, and Abram took it, dragged it to his lips, and kissed his knuckles.

"Everything's going to be okay."

He lingered long enough for his fingers to freeze in the cold.

"He didn't see you."

Abram shrugged.

"Better, isn't it?"

Something caught in his chest, but he couldn't place it. He felt a heartburn but couldn't recognize the source.

While Abram parked the car, Andrew went inside and climbed onto a portable heater. He put a coffee on to warm up, ignoring how late it had gotten while he changed. Once wrapped in his pajamas, he climbed onto the couch and looked for something even remotely interesting to watch.

He paced, and although all he wanted to do was listen to Abram's song again, he remembered that he'd have enough time later to analyze it word for word.

He paused on some general news, but was distracted by the sound of the key in the door.

"What took you so long?"

Andrew frowned at Abram's grim expression.

"What happened?" He scanned him from head to toe, noting that he was pain-free.

"My uncle called."

His uncle. The one who took him in and taught him how to be a mafia leader. His uncle, whose name he still didn't know because Abram was very suspicious of the world Nathaniel moved in.

"So?"

"I have to go."

Everything stopped.

Leave?

“How long?”

“No... I don't know. Not long,” I mumbled. “I'm not going to leave you, just... I have some things to take care of in Europe and…”

“I'm coming with you.” He got up from the couch, ready to pack a bag.

“No.”

I looked at him again. There was remorse and guilt. I recognized that expression as the same one he'd received after he'd whispered in a broken voice, “I promise.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Drew.”

“Abram,” I growled. “If you leave, you leave. I'm not going to wait another decade to get crumbs from you. From your damned memory.”

“I'm coming back.”

“Give me a date,” he whispered, realizing how close they were now.

“After Christmas.”

Christmas was two weeks away.

“That's not an answer.”

He was about to lose her temper. To push him and scream. When the television caught her attention.

There was a photo of Nathan Wesninsky from his time in prison.

Andrew grabbed the remote and quickly turned up the volume.

“Whose man was found dead after his time in California, allegedly in a street shooting. January will mark ten years since his death, but official sources say the case will be opened since similar movements by Nathan have been identified in Baltimore.”

Andrew looked at Abram, who pursed his lips.

"These same official sources suspect that someone has assumed the position Nathan held before his death. Whoever it is, this has already been in the hands of the FBI since late November, following the discovery of three dozen bodies outside Michigan, three of which still have missing parts."

As if that weren't enough, the woman continued speaking.

"Although there are some possible suspects on the table, there's still no solid evidence, which is why we're asking the people of the United States for help in working together and ending corruption in the country."

Andrew looks at Abram. The woman was still talking, but he no longer cared.

"Is that why you're leaving?"

"Andrew."

"The FBI is following you? I can be your cover. I'll say you were with me in November or whatever."

Abram shook his head before looking at Andrew in horror.

"I would never make you lie like that," he whispered. “Haven't you heard what they said?”

“They're looking for you,” he muttered, obviously.

“Three dozen! And that's not even half my record, Drew. Drew, Andrew. I know where the damn remains are.”

“I don't care.”

“I'm like my fa-”

“Shut up,” he growled, losing his patience. “I know who you are. You're not Nathan. You're not them. You're Abram.”

“I'm a murderer.”

“I killed my mother.” He shrugged. “You know why. Why did you kill them?”

“They were the ones who came for you. Someone hired them. I know it was their job, they had your address. I couldn't…”

“You couldn't risk it. Just like I didn't want to risk Tilda touching Aaron again.” He pressed his hands to Abram's cheeks, forcing him to look at him. “You're not a monster.”

He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling. The calm was interrupted by Abram's phone.

"Damn shit," he growled, pulling it out of his pocket.

Andrew lowered his hands but remained close. With a hesitant glance at the phone and back at him, Abram finally decided to pick it up.

"What do you want?" The cold, raw voice met Andrew's gaze. "Yes. Yes, I've seen him."

He ran a hand through his already messy hair, and Andrew sat down on the arm of the sofa.

"Don't fuck with me. I know. Screw you, I'm no longer under your command." He stopped suddenly. "Don't even think about it, or I'll kill every single one of your men without caring that you're my family."

Andrew raised an eyebrow at the words.

"Get the hell away from Carolina," he growled. "Yes. Not for long. Shut up."

Several insults and threats later, Abram hung up.

"My uncle."

"I guessed as much. Are you leaving?"

Abram looked at him and leaned closer until they were barely inches apart.

"I told you I'd be back," he murmured slowly. "I'll be traveling and back before you know it. You know I will."

Andrew clicked his tongue.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow."