Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Studying was a waste of time. Boring lectures, tedious professors, and endless classes that dragged on like molasses. Instead, Andrew decided to spend his time more productively. He perched on the windowsill in the common room, lazily exhaling cigarette smoke. Outside, nothing was happening: students trudged back from classes, occasionally stopping to exchange a few words with friends. Andrew couldn’t hear their conversations, but he was certain they were as empty as everything else around him.

He flicked ash from his cigarette, pulled out his phone, and checked the time. Neil was supposed to be back from class an hour ago. Consistency was a key part of Andrew’s life, even if he never said so. Kevin and Nicky, without realizing it, followed a strict schedule, returning to the dorm right on time, every time. Neil, it seemed, had noticed Andrew’s habit of keeping track of time but never brought it up. Still, he always sent a quick text if he was running late.

His fingers tapped nervously on the window. Andrew debated whether to text first. He knew a single question mark would be enough—Neil would understand. Lighting another cigarette, he typed the message but hesitated, his thumb hovering over the send button.

A knock came at the door. Nicky, sprawled on the couch, shot Andrew a questioning look. They weren’t expecting visitors. Nicky stood, eyeing his cousin in expectation of some reaction, but Andrew remained impassive, his gaze fixed on his phone.

The knock came again—soft but insistent. Nicky plastered on his usual grin and opened the door. Matt and Renee stood in the doorway.

“I don’t know how to break this to you, so… here,” Matt said, stepping aside to reveal a child.

“Did you steal a kid?” Nicky asked in surprise, then crouched down. “Hey, little guy. I’m Nicky. What’s your name?”

Andrew looked up from his phone, narrowing his eyes. None of the Foxes would drag a kid to the dorm, especially not to the Monsters’ room. The boy stayed silent, ignoring Nicky’s question, and an awkward hush fell over the room. Renee glanced at Andrew across the space, her polite smile hinting at trouble.

Andrew stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill and hopped down. Stepping closer, he studied the child. Red hair, icy-blue eyes, and a piercing gaze as sharp as a blade. The boy stood with his arms crossed, irritation plain on his face. Something about him felt eerily familiar. Andrew’s eyes flicked to Renee, demanding an explanation. She gave a slight nod toward the kid, and that was enough.

“Name,” Andrew said curtly.

“Nathaniel,” the boy replied, crossing his arms tighter.

“Holy shit,” Nicky blurted, clapping a hand over his mouth.

Andrew gave the kid a skeptical once-over. He looked about five or six, his face clean of scars or burns. He was drowning in Neil’s gray hoodie—the same one Neil had worn when he left that morning—huge and baggy on him. The pants were different, new. Probably the work of the upperclassmen; a kid wouldn’t have found fresh clothes on his own. Nathaniel met Andrew’s distrust with a defiant stare, his blue eyes unwavering.

“What are you doing here?” Andrew asked calmly.

“No idea,” Nathaniel snapped, enunciating each word sharply.

“Was he always this feisty as a kid?” Nicky whispered to Andrew.

Andrew’s attention stayed locked on the boy. Nicky turned to Renee, hoping for answers.

“Matt found him like this on campus,” Renee explained. “They made an announcement over the intercom, trying to find the kid’s parents from the lecture hall where Neil’s class was. I was nearby and went to check it out. Matt tried talking to him to find out what happened, but didn’t get far. He wouldn’t talk to me at all.”

“I offered to get him clothes that fit,” Matt added. “He agreed to that but refused to take off the hoodie.”

Andrew gave a faint nod. Stubbornness, no matter the age or name, was pure Neil Josten. The kid didn’t seem dim, and an idea sparked. Andrew pulled out his phone to find pictures of adult Neil. Allison never missed a chance to snap “blackmail” photos, and that might come in handy now. Stifling a sigh, he realized Allison hadn’t taken a single photo of Neil alone—every one of the dozen shots had Andrew in it too. He picked the clearest one showing Neil’s face and turned the screen toward the boy.

Nathaniel studied the phone, stepping closer to peer at the image.

“Why am I holding a cigarette?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

Matt crouched down, eyeing the photo. He remembered that day vividly—Allison had snapped it just before a brawl broke out. The Foxes had left a bar, debating which pub to hit next, while Neil and Andrew smoked off to the side. Things were fine until Neil started mouthing off to a group of random students.

Matt couldn’t recall what sparked the fight, but the photo captured it: Neil flipping off the strangers, Andrew’s hand on his waist—either holding him back or egging him on. Neil’s face was scarred, and Andrew stood too close. Neither fact seemed to faze young Neil, unlike the cigarette, which stood out to him despite the chaos of the image.

“You get that it’s you in the photo?” Matt asked.

“Yeah,” Nathaniel said shortly. “My dad doesn’t have scars like that.”

“Your dad’s dead,” Andrew said evenly, moving to pocket the phone, but Nathaniel reached for it.

The boy froze, not touching the phone. He wanted a closer look but hesitated, lowering his hand. Andrew’s words sank in slowly, and a smile spread across Nathaniel’s face.

“Really?”

His voice was too joyful, and Andrew saw Matt, Renee, and Nicky exchange uneasy glances. Everyone knew what a monster Nathan Wesninski had been, but they hadn’t expected such raw honesty from a child. Bracing for a tough conversation, Andrew crouched down.

“Yes, Nathan, your father, is dead. Do you know what year it is?”

“Ninety-five?” Nathaniel shrugged, as if guessing.

“No,” Andrew said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Why do you trust me?”

“You seem kind,” Nathaniel replied, unfazed. “And in the picture, we were standing close.”

Andrew ignored Matt’s smirk. He didn’t look at Renee or Nicky but could feel their grins. No one, especially not kids, ever called Andrew “kind.” His indifference usually scared people off, but this kid looked at him with unshakable confidence.

Pushing that thought aside, Andrew focused on the second part of Nathaniel’s answer. In ’95, cell phones were rare, clunky, and out of reach. Neil, as far as Andrew knew, later avoided devices that could give him away. Nathaniel probably hadn’t seen anything like a flip phone as a kid. Andrew snapped the phone open and shut, the plastic clicking faintly, and handed it to the boy. Nathaniel took it, turning it over suspiciously as if checking for a trick, then mimicked the motion—open, close, open again.

Satisfied he’d piqued the kid’s interest, Andrew stood to discuss next steps with the upperclassmen.

“Where’s my mom?” Nathaniel asked softly.

“She’s dead,” Andrew replied calmly.

“Why’d you tell him that?” Nicky hissed in German.

Andrew ignored him, watching Nathaniel. The boy’s eyes flickered with doubt, but the longer he looked at Andrew, the more the light in his eyes faded. His grip tightened on the phone, knuckles whitening, lips trembling as if on the verge of tears. Instead, he lowered his head and nodded, accepting the blow.

The room grew heavy with silence. All eyes were on the kid, but no one spoke.

“Don’t stare,” Nathaniel suddenly snapped in broken German, glaring at Nicky.

Nicky flinched, waving his hands as if fending off the accusation, muttering apologies or excuses. Andrew shot his cousin a look—Nicky’s pitying expression was grating. He gave him a light smack on the back of the head, making Nicky step back with a scowl. Nathaniel caught Andrew’s eye and gave a faint smile, though his eyes still glistened with unshed tears. Andrew didn’t know how to comfort—words for that didn’t exist.

“You hungry?” he asked, slipping back into familiar conversation.

Nathaniel nodded without hesitation. Andrew silently gestured toward the kitchen and walked there without looking back. The boy followed like a shadow, asking no questions. Something about Andrew’s calm, his cold confidence, soothed Nathaniel, as if this adult were the only safe thing in this strange day. The others—Matt, Renee, Nicky—stayed behind the threshold, and the boy figured they’d sort themselves out.

Andrew pointed to a chair, and Nathaniel sat obediently, propping his chin on his hands. His gaze drifted over the kitchen—the peeling paint on the windowsill, coffee stains on the countertop, the fridge covered with a dozen notes and reminders.

Andrew turned away, pulling a frozen lasagna from the freezer. The plastic packaging crinkled under his fingers as he set it in the microwave. When he turned back, Nathaniel had pulled his knees to his chest and was turning the phone over in his hands, studying it with childlike curiosity.

“Want to ask anything?” Andrew said flatly, not expecting an answer.

“What’s this called?” Nathaniel pointed at the phone, his voice quiet but firm.

“Mobile phone.”

Andrew sat across from him and held out his hand. The boy hesitated briefly before placing the phone in his palm, watching every move closely. To pass the time while the lasagna heated, Andrew showed him a few features: games he never opened, music he didn’t listen to, and the photo gallery.

The games didn’t impress Nathaniel—he glanced at the screen briefly and shook his head vaguely. The photos, though, sparked his interest. Andrew, swallowing his reluctance, opened the gallery. He rarely took pictures himself, finding the world around him too dull for it. Sometimes, random details caught his eye—shadows on the pavement, rust on an old car, light filtering through the dorm’s murky window. Sharing anything personal wasn’t his thing, and even Neil never pried into his phone, preferring printed photos he could hold.

Nathaniel noticed how often stray cats appeared in Andrew’s shots—by trash cans, on benches, or on windowsills—too many to be coincidental. The boy said nothing, but the corners of his mouth twitched in a faint smile.

When Andrew’s photos ran out, Allison’s started. Her mass texts clogged the phone’s memory, and her endless shots of exy and the Foxes bored Andrew. But as he scrolled through the gallery, he realized how much Neil was in them—his face, his hands, his gaze in nearly every other frame. Nathaniel seemed to notice too but kept quiet.

Most of those photos were on Neil’s phone too, but judging by the boy’s reaction, he didn’t know where his adult self’s phone was. Andrew moved to close the gallery, but the boy was staring at the screen too intently, so he let him keep looking.

“Where’d I get all these scars?” Nathaniel asked thoughtfully.

“Life,” Andrew answered dryly.

Nathaniel frowned, clearly unsatisfied, but Andrew wasn’t about to elaborate. Explaining what Neil had been through would take too long, and the kid didn’t need to hear it.

The microwave’s beep broke the silence. Andrew left the phone on the table and went to get the food. He slid the lasagna onto a plate, set it in front of Nathaniel with a fork, and returned to his seat. The boy was still sitting with his knees drawn up, but the phone had vanished from the table. Andrew silently held out his hand. Nathaniel grimaced, clearly reluctant to part with the device, and even tried slinking lower in his chair, as if that could save him.

“Neil,” Andrew said sternly, but he stopped short, realizing his slip.

“What’d you call me?”

“Your name’s Neil Abram Josten now.”

“Abram’s my middle name,” the boy repeated thoughtfully. “Why am I Neil Josten now?”

“You wanted to stay here.”

Nathaniel went quiet for a few seconds, mulling over the words, then lowered his legs and scooted to the edge of the chair. He reluctantly handed back the phone but immediately started fussing with the hoodie sleeves that kept slipping down. Andrew watched his futile efforts until he sighed in irritation.

“Take something from my closet.”

Nathaniel nodded without arguing and followed Andrew to the bedroom. On the way, he glanced around the room—no other adults, door closed. The absence of prying eyes was a small relief. Once in the bedroom, Andrew pointed to the closet, and the boy approached, carefully studying the clothes.

Andrew stopped at Neil’s desk. It was usually tidy, but today it was a mess: notebooks with sloppy margin notes, library textbooks, crumpled sheets with reference tables. He picked up one sheet—an equation half-solved, crossed out with a heavy line, started again, and left unfinished. The margins were covered with fox pawprints, and Andrew grimaced involuntarily. Neil’s obsession with the Foxes’ symbol was irritating. Twice he’d let Neil doodle on his torso with a ballpoint pen, and both times it was covered in those damn paws.

Nathaniel picked a black long-sleeve, pulled it off the hanger, and glanced at Andrew, who was still studying the notebook page, not paying attention to the boy. Nathaniel changed quickly and approached, holding out Neil’s oversized hoodie. Andrew stared at it with an unreadable expression, and Nathaniel tilted his head questioningly.

For two seconds, Andrew looked at the thing, fighting the urge to chuck it in the trash. But he shook his head and draped it over the back of a chair.

They returned to the kitchen. Nathaniel sat at the table and started on the lasagna, handling the fork carefully. Andrew watched, arms crossed, trying to make sense of how this kid ended up here. Neil had to be returned to his real age, no matter what it took. He had no ideas how to make that happen and reached for his phone to text Renee.

Opening the phone, he found the gallery still open—Nathaniel hadn’t closed it when he returned it. The screen showed the photo the boy had lingered on longest. During a break in exy practice, Neil was resting in the goalie zone, as usual. Their talk about exy had slipped into something more engaging. Despite Andrew’s feigned indifference, Neil had managed to get under his skin. Leaning close to his ear, Neil whispered something in French. Andrew never learned what the words meant, but he was certain Neil whispered them to tease Andrew into shutting Neil up.

Allison had caught the moment when Andrew gripped Neil’s jersey, staring at him with a loaded look.

“The people who brought me—are they my friends?” Nathaniel asked suddenly.

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Nathaniel said shortly, catching Andrew’s questioning glance and adding, “Adult me has friends.”

“You don’t have friends now?”

“I might say too much, so no,” the boy replied calmly, setting down his fork and narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Do I really not have to go back home?”

“You have a new home,” Andrew said, pulling a keyring from his pocket and placing it on the table. “You’ve got a copy.”

Nathaniel reached for the keys and cautiously touched them with his fingers. After a brief pause, he pressed his fingertips against the ridges, as if memorizing their shape, and gave a genuine smile.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “I want to be an adult again.”

Andrew gave a barely perceptible nod. He wanted Neil back to his real age too. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Josten had landed himself in this absurd situation all on his own. Explaining to a kid that his adult version was a pro at creating problems for himself and everyone around him was tricky, so Andrew didn’t bother. He didn’t know why Neil had become a child, but he was ready to do whatever it took to fix it.

He texted Renee, hoping for a bit more information—maybe she had some leads. Her reply came quickly: she suggested heading to the girls’ room, where all the Foxes were already gathered.

Chapter Text

Andrew entered the girls’ room without knocking, not deigning to glance at any of the Foxes. He sank onto the soft couch, which carried the faint scent of someone’s sweet perfume. Andrew pushed one of the many decorative pillows out from behind him and handed it to Nathaniel. Then, propping his head on his hand, he settled into a comfortable position.

The boy followed him silently and sat beside him, diligently avoiding the curious stares of those around. Clutching the pillow to his chest, he tried to relax, if only a little. Andrew appeared unfazed, and Nathaniel wanted to seem that way too.

Dan and Allison eyed the child with distrust, as if they couldn’t fully believe what was happening. Kevin, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, kept shooting Andrew irritated looks, as if he were personally to blame for Neil became a kid.

Nicky was quietly chatting with Aaron in German, but Andrew didn’t bother trying to follow their endless banter. Soon, even Aaron grew tired of his cousin’s chatter—he shoved Nicky’s shoulder, crossed the room, and stopped beside Kevin. Now two people were sending Andrew disapproving looks. Their attitudes didn’t bother him, unlike Nathaniel’s condition. The boy’s shoulders were visibly tense, his fingers gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles whitened, and he ignored the cautious questions from the upperclassmen.

Nathaniel felt uneasy with so many people around and couldn’t find the courage or desire to talk to the adults. He tried to appear indifferent, but his leg kept bouncing nervously, betraying his inner tension.

“Look,” Matt said, kneeling down to the floor beside the couch and holding out his phone. His voice was soft and calming despite the buzz of voices in the room. “This is you and me. Allison or Dan take most of the photos, and if you’re curious, we can show you more.”

Nathaniel leaned slightly toward the screen, his eyes narrowing as he studied it. The phone's matte case caught the soft light from the ceiling lamp, and though it was a different model from Andrew's, the photo on the screen felt familiar. Matt scrolled through pictures, talking about exy and matches, about trips to bars and cafés where he’d managed to drag Neil. Dan and Allison joined in, showing their own photos, their voices blending into a light hum, like a beehive. Nathaniel nodded, his grip on the pillow loosening slightly, his shoulders gradually relaxing. The Neil in the photos was smiling—not broadly, but sincerely—and it began to convince the boy that the adult version of himself trusted these people.

Renee walked around the couch, her footsteps lost in the noise of the conversation. Andrew caught her approach out of the corner of his eye and instinctively tensed when she moved behind him. Stepping to his side, she handed him Neil’s bag, which smelled faintly of tobacco.

Peering inside, Andrew pursed his lips in annoyance—the pack of cigarettes had been crushed by a textbook. Tobacco had spilled out, some collecting at the bottom of the bag, but most of it was scattered inside a notebook. Andrew pulled it out and placed it on the couch’s armrest, catching Allison’s disapproving glance. Focusing on the bag’s contents, he began searching for anything that might explain why Neil had turned into a child.

Another notebook, a pen, a phone, and a book—worn, with a heavy leather cover that carried a faint smell of mildew. Andrew pulled out the phone and the book, deeming them the most useful. Neil’s phone was empty: no messages or calls from that day. He set it on his thigh and opened the book.

The book was so old its pages threatened to crumble in his hands. A few sheets fell out, including notebook paper covered in messy handwriting. Andrew picked one up and read through it carefully. The notes were strange: scattered English words gave way to symbols resembling Cyrillic but with curves that looked more like drawings. He frowned, trying to decipher their meaning, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nathaniel’s hand reaching toward his thigh. Andrew caught his forearm, gripping just firmly enough to stop the movement, and turned a calm gaze on the boy. Nathaniel flinched but didn’t pull away, only tilting his head slightly toward the phone. Andrew placed it in his hand and let go.

He returned to the book, carefully turning its fragile pages. The cover bore an inscription—dark and embossed, written in a bold, sprawling hand, as if burned into the leather. Andrew ran his nail along the edge of a symbol, and his finger came away with a trace of soot mixed with something sticky, like wax. The spine was covered in marks that seemed more than decorative, as if they held meaning, though it eluded him. He turned the book toward Renee.

“It’s some kind of sacred text,” she said, half-stating, half-asking.

Moving the notebook from the armrest, Renee sat on the edge of the couch and took the book from him. Her fingers carefully flipped through the pages, her expression growing more focused with each movement. Pentagrams, candles, and vague figures resembling people covered the yellowed paper, as if someone had tried to draw a story.

Andrew gave Renee a puzzled look. She paused halfway through the book, where a single word was circled in pencil—a fresh, sharp mark. Andrew checked the notebook page: the same word, circled multiple times, with three question marks beside it.

“It’s something in Cyrillic,” Renee said, “but not the modern alphabet. I can’t even guess the age of this book, but I’m sure it’s why Neil turned into a child.”

Andrew glanced at Nathaniel, who was listening to Matt talk about a gaming console he’d recently bought. The boy looked warily interested, though he probably didn't understand half of what Matt was saying. His fingers still clutched the pillow, but not as tightly.

Matt noticed Andrew’s attention and offered, “I can stay with him if you and Renee need to step out.”

Andrew needed a computer and a library. First, he had to identify the language of the book, then translate the words Neil had marked. That might hold the key to restoring him to his normal age. He didn’t want to leave the boy—his tense posture and quick glances betrayed his wariness. But Matt was the best suited to play babysitter. Andrew looked at Nathaniel. The boy met his gaze with a frown, clearly reluctant to stay with the Foxes, but after a long pause, he nodded in agreement. Andrew stood to leave, but Dan’s voice stopped him.

“It’ll be okay,” she said confidently. “I think we can befriend him again.”

Andrew didn’t respond, only walked out of the room, leaving behind the hum of voices and the mingled scents of tobacco and sweet perfume. Renee said a polite goodbye to the Foxes and followed him. The walk to the library was short, but how long the translation would take, he didn’t know. Nathaniel on campus could draw unwanted attention, and Andrew hoped the Foxes could handle it. Neil had always bolted at the slightest threat, but the child lacked that experience. It was somewhat reassuring, but a nagging unease still gnawed at the edge of his mind. They needed to figure out how to set things right.

***

“What do you want to do?” Matt asked with a smile.

“Why are they so grumpy?” Nathaniel replied with a question, pointing at Kevin and Aaron, both standing with their arms crossed.

“You’re nothing but trouble,” Aaron snapped irritably.

“Have you ever played exy?” Kevin asked, stepping closer to the couch.

“No.”

Kevin froze for a moment, gauging the boy’s age. His gaze drifted as he tried to piece together dates and events in his head. After a moment, he nodded and sat on the couch beside Nathaniel, taking Andrew’s spot.

The boy frowned and scooted away, suppressing the urge to kick the older guy. Kevin was bigger, and without Andrew, Nathaniel didn’t dare show his displeasure.

Oblivious to the boy’s discomfort, Kevin launched into an animated explanation of exy—rules, team lineups, the Foxes’ highs and lows. He spoke with enthusiasm, piling on details faster than Nathaniel could process. The boy stared at him in surprise, trying to keep up at first but soon giving up and turning a bewildered look to Matt. Matt just smiled, scratching the back of his head where his hair was slightly tangled.

Nathaniel glanced at the girls. Allison, sitting beside him, made it clear with her entire demeanor that she thought Kevin’s endless monologue was absurd. The boy couldn’t quite read her emotions, but he was sure she wasn’t impressed. Dan covered her face with her hand, as if tuning out the words entirely. Nathaniel nodded to himself—he wasn’t the only one who found this obsession with exy odd.

“By the way, can you tell them apart?” Nicky interrupted, pointing first at Aaron, then at the door Andrew had left through.

“They’re different,” Nathaniel replied, frowning. “Their eyes.”

“What do you mean?” Nicky asked.

“Their gazes are different: one tries not to look at me, while the other doesn’t hide his hatred.”

Nicky opened his mouth to ask more, but Matt and Dan gave him pointed looks, silently urging him to stay quiet. Allison studied Nathaniel thoughtfully, her nails tapping lightly against each other before she snapped her fingers.

“You need some clothes that actually fit you.”

Nathaniel grimaced, his gaze dropping to the soft carpet beneath his feet. Andrew’s sweatshirt hung on him like a tent but covered the scars on his back and torso. In the fitting room Matt had taken him to, a massive mirror reflected every flaw, every mark of his father’s cruelty. Changing while staring at his reflection was unbearable. Back home, Nathaniel’s bedroom had no mirrors, and he was grateful—bruises and cuts appeared too often, reminders of things he’d rather forget. There were no new injuries today, but he wasn’t about to show his body to anyone. He didn’t know if Neil’s friends knew about his scars, and he wasn’t willing to take the risk.

He studied Aaron, who glared at him with undisguised judgment, his jaw clenched so tightly it was almost audible. Nathaniel didn’t know what he’d done to earn such a reaction, but the anger and disdain felt familiar. It stirred a strange mix of calm and unease, like returning to a familiar but uncomfortable home. Aaron’s face was almost identical to Andrew’s, but Andrew, despite his indifference, looked at the boy with something akin to warmth—subtle and fleeting, like a lantern’s glow in the dark.

Nicky’s gaze, on the other hand, had been dripping with pity from the moment Nathaniel said his name. He didn’t consider himself weak enough to warrant such a reaction. He wasn’t dying, wasn’t crippled, and certainly wasn’t pathetic. But Nicky looked at him like a broken toy, and it made Nathaniel want to punch him. With every passing minute, the urge grew stronger, but instead, he hissed through gritted teeth, “Stop staring at me.”

Nicky raised his hands in surrender, attempting a smile before asking a silly question that Nathaniel ignored. Kevin kept rambling about exy without pause, while the other Foxes chatted among themselves. Nathaniel scanned the room again. They seemed like decent people, maybe even good ones, but there were too many of them. Their gazes clung to him, and he wanted to escape the attention. He shivered, wishing he were in Andrew’s room, preferably with him, where the quiet and Andrew’s calm created an illusion of safety.

“Neil,” Matt called, but the boy didn’t respond to the name. “Nathaniel?”

The boy looked up, surprised.

“What should we call you? Neil or Nathaniel?”

“I don’t know,” he replied thoughtfully. “I could get used to Neil. That’s what I’m called now, right?”

“It’s so weird it’s almost creepy,” Allison said quietly, then, noticing the surprised looks, explained, “Neil turned into a kid who was still Nathaniel back then. Kids are usually more talkative, but he just goes along with everything we say, no extra questions. It’s odd.”

“The guy in the photos looks happy, and I trust myself,” Nathaniel said calmly.

“What about Andrew?” Allison asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nathaniel didn’t answer. He trusted himself, no doubt, and the adult Neil, judging by the photos, trusted Andrew deeply. The looks they exchanged in the pictures were hard to decipher, but if Neil let Andrew get that close, it must be fine. Andrew didn’t seem cruel or threatening. He didn’t ask uncomfortable questions or demand answers—and that was comforting.

“Neil,” Matt called, waiting for the boy to look at him before continuing, “are you hungry?”

“I already ate,” Nathaniel replied calmly.

“Maybe you want something? Anything,” Matt said, glancing briefly at Aaron before returning to Neil. “I can show you the room you used to live in. We were neighbors.”

“Where do I live now?”

“With Andrew, Nicky, and Kevin.”

“Nicky’s the one who looks like he’s about to cry, and Kevin’s the exy talker?” Nathaniel clarified.

“Yeah,” Matt replied, barely stifling a chuckle.

“Why did I move away from you?” the boy asked, surprised, and Matt’s face immediately grew complicated.

Nathaniel watched him for a moment, waiting for an answer, but Matt hesitated and looked at Dan. Nathaniel wasn’t sure if Matt had an answer or thought the truth was too heavy for a kid. He scanned the other Foxes—their faces were either tense or showed an emotion he couldn’t quite read.

“Did you want to sleep on the bottom bunk?” Nicky asked tentatively.

Nathaniel could barely believe that. The top bunk always felt appealing to him—private, elevated. He doubted adult Neil felt differently. The Foxes’ faces suggested the answer wasn’t wrong, just poorly chosen. The situation seemed to amuse Allison—her lips curved into a slight smirk—unlike Kevin, who rolled his eyes so hard Aaron had to nudge his shoulder. Nathaniel lingered on Aaron—his jaw was clenched, his gaze fixed on a poster on the wall.

“Let’s just say you found a reason to be on the bottom,” Allison said with a smile, ignoring Dan’s look.

Nathaniel nodded faintly, accepting the answer. He didn’t know what could’ve changed his mind, but it must’ve been a good reason. Deciding the conversation was over, he pulled the phone from his pocket and turned it over in his hands. The case was warm from his fingers. It was the same model as Andrew’s, and Nathaniel exhaled in relief—he knew how to use it.

“Wanna play my console?” Matt suggested.

“We could play at our place too,” Nicky chimed in.

“I’ve never played a console,” Nathaniel admitted.

Matt and Nicky exchanged glances, their eyes lighting up, and they eagerly began describing their consoles and games to Nathaniel. The only thing Nathaniel caught was that their toys were different. The details went over his head, but he listened, tilting his head slightly. Matt’s enthusiasm drowned out the creak of the couch, while Nicky gestured wildly, as if sketching each game in the air. Nathaniel noticed Aaron quietly slip out of the room, his footsteps nearly lost in the buzz of conversation, but he chose not to linger on it.

Allison, exhausted by the absurdly long debate about where to play, snapped her fingers, cutting it off. She decided for everyone—they’d go to Andrew’s room. After reluctant agreement, she said goodbye and stood from the couch. The Foxes followed, preparing to move to Andrew’s room.

The echo of heels clicking carried down the hallway, and Nathaniel instinctively turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of Allison’s shoes. His mom rarely wore heels…

“Neil?” Matt called from the doorway of the Monsters’ room. “You coming?”

The boy nodded slowly, still watching Allison walk away.

“Like Allison?” Matt asked, crouching beside him.

“How does she walk in those shoes?”

“Turning heads with every step,” Matt replied with a grin.

Nathaniel frowned, puzzled by the response, and turned to Matt. He just smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. Without further explanation, Matt gestured toward the room, and Nathaniel stepped inside.

Nicky gestured to the beanbag chair, inviting Nathaniel to sit. The boy eased into it, the fabric rustling beneath him. He tried to get comfortable but gave up—every movement sank him deeper, almost hiding him from view.

Dan settled on the couch, her fingers lazily tracing the faded upholstery. The smell of cigarette smoke had long seeped into the room, an inescapable part of it. The others didn’t seem to notice, but Dan wrinkled her nose, feeling the oily residue on her fingertips.

Matt moved the low coffee table aside and pulled a second chair closer, sitting between Nathaniel and Dan. He placed a hand on her knee, giving her a warm smile. In response, she leaned in and brushed a light, almost weightless kiss against his temple.

Nathaniel frowned, looking down at the stiff carpet. His parents had never been so gentle with each other; even at formal events, Nathan kept his distance, as if incapable of showing care for living people. Mary was always the perfect wife, trained to smile, but her gaze remained cold.

Nicky snapped him out of his thoughts, handing him a controller. He plopped onto the floor and began explaining the controls with great enthusiasm. Nathaniel nodded but didn’t understand a word. The brief tutorial ended, and the TV flickered to life, filling the room with a low hum and flashes of light.

Shutting out the bustle, Kevin took his place at his desk. His fingers tapped aimlessly on the laptop, his gaze drifting without focus. Neil had become a kid who didn’t remember the last fifteen years of his life. Vaguely recalling a young Nathaniel—a shadow flitting beside Nathan’s intimidating figure—Kevin wasn’t surprised by his withdrawal. Mary would whisk the boy away from practice, surrounded by bodyguards, and from Kevin’s few memories, he was the first kid Nathaniel had ever spoken to. Their childhood interactions were brief, leaving only a grim memory he didn’t want to revisit. Nathaniel had grown up in a brutally harsh environment, where a single wrong word could cost a life. His silence was as learned as it was expected.

The only thing Kevin couldn’t wrap his head around was the way Matt and Nicky were behaving. They treated Nathaniel like any other kid: playing games, joking, sharing memories. Their smiles couldn’t erase his past. From the moment he was born, Nathaniel never had a chance to be normal.

***

Renee and Andrew entered the library. The silence was broken only by the faint whirr of the air conditioner, and the light from the lamps softly scattered across the wooden shelves. Andrew headed straight for the nearest computer, though he had no idea how to phrase his search. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as the screen slowly came to life with a quiet buzz from the fan.

Renee, meanwhile, made her way to the shelves, certain of what she was looking for but unsure if the university’s collection would have it. She needed to identify the language first. She walked to the foreign literature section, where the air was slightly dustier, and began scanning books with Cyrillic scripts. Her hunch was confirmed: modern editions didn’t use those symbols, though many letters looked familiar. The handwritten text in Neil’s book, with its uneven strokes, made things harder, but Renee spotted similarities in certain characters. There were hardly any religious books, and those she found were in English translations. Finding nothing useful, she returned to Andrew.

Andrew stared at the monitor, trying to figure out where to start. Renee had mentioned Cyrillic, so he pulled up a page on the alphabet—he’d seen it before but never studied it closely. Visually, the letters matched those in Neil’s book, with their curved shapes. The search engine, however, was too strict, and safe mode blocked some sites, making him click links in frustration. It slowed him down, so he dug deeper, looking into the history of Cyrillic. There was a flood of information, but most of it felt useless, like old records in a dusty archive.

Filtering out the noise, Andrew stumbled on a mention of Glagolitic—an alphabet with similar, more archaic, rounded symbols. He exhaled heavily and leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. Neil had circled one word multiple times, clearly significant. Some letters matched, giving a faint lead. Andrew decided to figure out how words and symbols worked in this language.

Renee pulled a chair closer and peered at the screen. An article on word formation flickered under the cold lamplight.

“Try finding an old sacred text in its original language,” she said. In response to Andrew’s silent question, she added, “Not the Bible. The book was written by people tied to religion. That might help us pin down the language.”

Andrew nodded slightly—they had no other options. There weren’t many ancient sacred texts, and most used a single language. He compared the notebook page to examples on the screen, and a relieved sigh escaped him.

Church Slavonic? What had he even gotten himself into? — the thought flashed through Andrew’s mind, but the current Neil wouldn’t answer those questions.

Frowning slightly, Andrew glanced at the keyboard. He wasn’t sure Church Slavonic could even be translated into English, let alone typed on a standard keyboard.

“It’ll take time,” Renee said, her voice tense.

Andrew didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure they had time. Still, Renee turned on the neighboring computer, and they got to work.

After nearly five hours, they translated two words: pure love. It was the phrase Neil had circled. It left more questions than answers. Andrew understood each word separately, but together they felt meaningless: what could pure love even be? He pulled out his phone to check the time, the screen lighting up his face in the dimness. Allison had texted that she’d bought Neil new clothes, but the boy refused to try them on. She seemed to expect Andrew to step in. Pointless, since he didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the boy wore as long as he was comfortable.

Translation remained the priority. Once they grasped the word formation, things sped up slightly. With Renee’s help, they translated the remaining words in a couple of hours: hope, ritual, rite, light, red, Sun. Andrew sighed heavily and leaned back, closing his eyes. A useless jumble of words. Clearly, something had gone wrong during a ritual or rite, causing Neil to become a child.

“May I keep the book for now?” Renee asked quietly.

“Yes,” Andrew replied curtly.

“I’ll look for these words in the text. It should help,” Andrew nodded, so she continued, “I’ll call when I finish translating.”

Renee didn’t say it outright, but she hinted that Andrew could go to Neil if he wanted. Though the boy had agreed to stay with the older Foxes, he was calmer with Andrew. Andrew said nothing, but Renee noticed his tension; the situation was stressful. Anyone would feel out of place in his shoes.

“Think Kevin will lend me his laptop?”

“Yes,” Andrew replied shortly, standing from the chair.

He tucked the notebook page—now marked with both Neil’s writing and his own translation notes—into his hoodie pocket. Renee gathered the book and her notes, clutching them to her chest, and followed Andrew out of the library.

Chapter Text

“Matt, this isn’t fair!” Nicky said indignantly, raising the gamepad over his head.

“Learn to lose gracefully,” Matt replied with a smile. “Neil and I make a great team, don’t we?”

Nathaniel nodded, the corners of his lips twitching in an attempt to smile. He and Matt had just beaten Nicky for the fourth time in a row. Matt, sitting beside him, patiently guided his fingers across the gamepad, showing him which buttons to press and teaching him a combo that triggered the victory cutscene. On the screen, the winner taunted the loser, having just broken a few of their bones. Nicky, though rolling his eyes with exaggerated offense, was clearly having fun despite the losses. Dan and Allison, cheering for Neil and Matt’s team, had moved from the couch to the floor, closer to the TV, their voices blending with the hum of the game. Only Kevin remained detached, buried in a book. He hadn’t moved in hours, his head never lifting from the pages.

“Another round?” Nicky suggested.

“Should we order pizza?” Dan and Matt said in unison.

All eyes turned to Nathaniel. He shrugged uncertainly, trying not to sink deeper into the beanbag chair that creaked faintly under his movements. The weight of their attention felt like an interrogation, making his shoulders tense as he fought the urge to hide. He lowered his gaze to the gamepad, still warm from his hands.

“Kevin, what do you want? Salad?” Dan asked, turning to him.

“Yeah,” Kevin replied curtly, not looking up from his book.

“He doesn’t eat pizza?” Nathaniel asked, surprised.

“I don’t eat junk food,” Kevin said, closing his book and setting it on the table. “It’s important to watch what you eat—it directly affects your body’s performance…”

“Got it,” Nathaniel interrupted. “You don’t want to get any junkier.”

“Well said,” Allison smirked.

Kevin pulled a sour face but didn’t respond. The upperclassmen smiled, and Nathaniel felt his quip had hit the mark. Matt was easy to be around—his warm energy wrapped you up like a cozy blanket. Dan and Allison seemed kind, though their glances sometimes flicked toward him with a hint of wariness. Nicky, despite his chatter and jokes, wasn’t annoying; he felt genuinely welcoming, having boiled the kettle twice in the past couple of hours and offered Nathaniel snacks. Kevin, though only a few steps away, seemed to exist in another world. He avoided looking at the boy, as if Nathaniel reminded him of something unpleasant. Despite feeling relatively comfortable among the Foxes, their noisy group still felt foreign to Nathaniel.

Outside, it had long since grown dark, the streetlights barely filtering through the blinds. Nathaniel didn’t know how much time had passed, but Andrew’s absence was starting to weigh on him. It felt like an eternity. He didn’t dare ask the upperclassmen when Andrew would return—they hadn’t mentioned his name all evening. Nathaniel couldn’t explain it to himself, nor could he convey it to others, but Andrew made him feel safe. Andrew didn’t look at him with pity, didn’t force fake smiles, or try to change the subject with jokes. He answered questions directly, even if not always in detail, and that inspired a trust Nathaniel didn’t find in others.

Sighing, Nathaniel sank deeper into the beanbag and yawned—all he could do now was wait for Andrew.

***

Andrew opened the door to his room and frowned slightly at the sight of the upperclassmen. They usually avoided the Monsters’ room, preferring not to set foot in it. Only Matt occasionally dropped by, and even then, just to call Neil, staying in the hallway without crossing the threshold. The TV was on, the game paused, and gamepads were scattered on the coffee table among empty mugs. This was probably Nicky’s idea.

“New meeting hall?” Andrew said indifferently, drawing the Foxes’ attention.

Without waiting for a reply, he walked into the bedroom, where Kevin’s laptop sat on the desk. He didn’t need special permission to ensure the book translation continued. Grabbing the laptop, Andrew returned to the door. Renee stood at the threshold, not crossing the line without an invitation, clutching a book to her chest like a precious treasure.

“You can translate here,” Andrew offered.

“Thanks, but I’ll have to decline,” Renee said softly. “I need quiet.”

“You gave her my laptop?” Kevin spoke up. “There’s personal things on there.”

“Countless pictures of Jeremy?” Nicky said with a smirk. “That’s hardly a surprise.”

“Screw you,” Kevin snapped. “I admire him purely as a player. And my laptop has a password.”

“Hate to break it to you, but everyone knows your password,” Nicky leaned closer, trying to catch his gaze. “Except Neil. He hasn’t figured it out yet. Neither version of Neil has.”

“Cut it out,” Kevin muttered, standing and storming into the bedroom.

The door slammed shut with a loud thud, prompting chuckles from the Foxes. Andrew resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead glancing at Renee. Despite her smile, her gaze remained serious—another squabble among the Foxes didn’t interest her. She took the laptop, nodded gratefully, and, after saying goodbye to the others, left for her room.

Closing the door behind her, Andrew looked at Nicky questioningly—he still hadn’t answered his earlier question. It took only a moment for Nicky to jump up, approach his cousin, and switch to German to ask, “It’s okay for everyone to be here, right?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Nathaniel tilt his head slightly, as if he couldn’t quite make out the words. His expression was complex, his brows knitting together. Andrew had never cared to ask when Neil started learning German, but judging by his thick accent and sentence structure, it was recent. He probably knew a few memorized phrases, nothing more. Unable to resist, Andrew looked at him in response—and was met with a smile. Nathaniel was happy to see him, not hiding it at all. Deciding not to dwell on it, Andrew turned to Nicky.

“Ask before you act,” he said.

“I decided we’d hang out here,” Allison interjected, guessing the topic. “For obvious reasons.”

She subtly nodded toward Nathaniel. He didn’t notice the gesture, his eyes fixed on Andrew. Andrew waved it off and headed for the beanbag chair where Matt was sitting. Matt, without needing a clearer hint, moved closer to Dan, freeing up the seat.

“We ordered pizza,” Matt said.

Andrew gave a faint nod, sinking into the chair, his gaze drifting indifferently to the TV screen. Another fighting game, probably the least violent in their collection. The Foxes exchanged glances, and Andrew could feel Nicky shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he tried to come up with a conversation topic. Nathaniel’s gaze, filled with a strange mix of trust and curiosity, Andrew pointedly ignored. He wanted to ask outright why the kid looked at him like he was the center of the universe but held back.

“We’ve only got water and coffee,” Nicky admitted, then clarified, “the kind that doesn’t burn.”

“I’ve got soda in my room,” Matt said. “Neil, you drink soda, right?”

“Uh, yeah?” the boy replied uncertainly.

“Great,” Matt said, standing. “I’ll grab some.”

“I’ll help,” Dan added, following him.

“And I’ll find some soda that does burn,” Allison said with a smile.

The upperclassmen left the room, and Nicky disappeared into the kitchen. The clinking of dishes and the sound of running water mixed with the muted melody of the paused game. Nathaniel’s gaze darted from door to door, his fingers nervously tugging at the hem of his sweater, but he forced himself to relax when he noticed Andrew sitting calmly, as if nothing unusual was happening. The boy decided to follow his lead, though he didn’t fully understand what had just occurred.

For Andrew, the Foxes’ behavior had become second nature. Each had a habit of leaving the room or group under the flimsiest pretexts: Nicky suddenly remembering forgotten coffee, Allison abruptly needing to make a phone call. It happened when tensions ran high, and no one wanted to risk catching an accidental knife from Andrew or a sharp word from Neil.

Matt was usually the first to initiate these exits. He noticed changes in Neil’s behavior before the others—sometimes Neil lingered too long on Andrew, losing the thread of conversation entirely. Then Matt would invent the most absurd excuses to leave them alone: watering a nonexistent plant, picking up laundry, counting Allison’s shoes. The other upperclassmen would catch on and leave, giving the two space for a private talk. Andrew knew these excuses were nonsense but turned a blind eye to the little performance.

Kevin, on the other hand, never noticed the shifts in the room’s atmosphere, never learning to leave at the right time. Nicky used to drag Kevin away to give Neil and Andrew space, but in the past couple of months, curiosity had gotten the better of him—he was dying to know the details of their relationship.

Left almost alone, Neil would say things he couldn’t in front of others. He’d grown used to Nicky and Kevin, as well as their inability to sense when they should leave. At Neil’s initiative, Andrew had learned Croatian for private conversations. A questionable choice of language, but Andrew figured Neil picked it because no one else would understand it.

It suddenly hit Andrew: Croatian was very similar to Serbian, their speakers able to understand each other by mixing the languages. Serbian used both Latin and Cyrillic scripts, while Croatian used only Latin. Neil had encountered Cyrillic while studying both languages, possibly stumbling across some cult’s activities. Andrew needed to dig into these languages, their cultures, and religions. He wanted to stand and go to Renee, considering messages a waste of time, but Nathaniel’s voice stopped him.

“How’re you doing?”

The question caught Andrew off guard. The simplest, most obvious thing to ask—and he’d expected it least.

“Fine,” Andrew replied curtly, turning to Nathaniel.

The boy gave a faint smile, a spark flashing in his eyes, as if he was pleased he’d managed to break through Andrew’s wall of silence.

“We played the console all day,” Nathaniel said. “Matt’s nice, Nicky’s weird. I didn’t understand half of what he said.”

Andrew nodded, and the boy spoke faster, recounting the game and the combos Matt had taught him. His hands moved animatedly, mimicking the gamepad motions, the TV’s light casting soft reflections on his face. Andrew listened without interrupting, though he learned nothing new. Nathaniel spoke with enthusiasm, without the pauses or stumbles that vanished once he felt heard. From Neil’s stories, Andrew knew he’d avoided his father since childhood, and his mother had shut down idle chatter, so there’d likely been no one to listen to him.

Andrew quickly realized: Neil, at any age, loved to talk. Andrew didn’t consider himself a great conversationalist, but his brief nods and rare questions were enough. Nathaniel liked it—his shoulders relaxed, his fingers no longer fidgeting with his long-sleeve. When the boy finished, Andrew decided to text Renee instead of going to her. Leaving Nathaniel alone felt wrong, though he couldn’t explain why.

“I was at the library,” Andrew said, pulling a notebook page from his pocket. “Do any of these words look familiar?”

Nathaniel leaned closer, scanning the page. His face grew serious, his brows knitting together as he studied the uneven lines.

“You don’t know these words?” Andrew asked.

“The handwriting’s messy.”

“You wrote it.”

Nathaniel grimaced and turned to Andrew, his eyes narrowing as if searching for a trick. Andrew raised a brow, waiting for a question or continuation. The boy opened his mouth but said nothing. A moment later, Andrew raised his hand and pressed his fingers to Nathaniel’s chin, closing his mouth. Nathaniel pursed his lips and turned back to the page.

“I hope I don’t always write this badly,” he said.

“Almost always.”

Nathaniel tugged the page, and Andrew let him flip it over. On the back, words were listed in a column with English translations. The boy seemed to decipher them. His finger slid across the paper, and he whispered, “Ritual, red Sun, light of hope… rite and pure love?”

“What’s ‘pure love’?”

Nathaniel shrugged instead of answering.

“Say the first thing that comes to mind.”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t think—just say.”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you understand those two words?”

“I don’t know!” Nathaniel shouted.

Andrew clenched his jaw, realizing he’d pressed the kid too hard in his attempt to get answers.

Nathaniel shoved the notebook page back into Andrew’s hands and sank deeper into the beanbag chair, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. The fabric creaked softly as he burrowed in, as if trying to disappear. Andrew wasn’t about to apologize—there was no time for outbursts. He smoothed the crumpled page and scanned the words again, his fingers gripping the paper’s edges. Nathaniel had linked some phrases: red Sun, light of hope. A red sun in the morning promised a storm by evening—a fitting symbol for their mess. Maybe Andrew was chasing meaning where there was none. But what did light of hope even mean?

“Love is something about trust,” Nathaniel murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “but I don’t know what makes it pure.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” Andrew said.

“I’m fine,” Nathaniel replied.

Andrew knew that was a lie, but he let it slide. He saw no worth in the word “love,” just an empty noise. People tossed it around so much it had lost all weight—loving everything from sunny days to other people. Andrew had heard countless confessions, but at best, they were fleeting crushes. Behind the endless “I love yous” came ugly truths, memories that wouldn’t fade.

“My parents don’t love each other,” Nathaniel said flatly, like he was reciting a boring story. “They never acted like Matt and Dan do. They… always glared at each other with rage. I thought that’s how it was meant to be.”

He hesitated, then dropped his voice to a near-silent whisper. “My father loves his knives. I’m not sure ‘love’ fits, but he treats them with care—polishes them, keeps them in special cases. My mom… she always protected me. I think she loved me.”

“You think?” Andrew echoed.

Neil was rarely this candid, and it was starting to make sense why his parents kept him from making friends.

“You’ve seen me, right?” Nathaniel leaned in, studying Andrew’s face. He looked calm and focused.

Andrew nodded, knowing the boy meant his scars.

“Then you know. I…”

“Enough,” Andrew cut him off, catching the nervous smile creeping onto Nathaniel’s face. The right corner of his mouth twitched, his eyes so vacant he might as well have been somewhere else, lost in painful memories.

Nathaniel dropped his gaze and gave a small nod.

“Does my sad face annoy you too?” he whispered.

“No. It’s another look of Neil’s that gets under my skin.”

Nathaniel lifted his eyes to Andrew, braced for anger, irritation, or even a flicker of annoyance. But Andrew’s face stayed calm, his voice even, his gaze locked on the boy as if he were the only thing in the room that mattered. Despite the suspicion and distrust burned into him, Nathaniel couldn’t find any threat in Andrew. Andrew was safe.

“I wasn’t wrong about you,” Nathaniel said, a faint smile breaking through. “Thank you.”

Andrew watched him, tracking the quick shifts in his emotions: a spark of fear, a shadow of sorrow, then a fragile calm. Like adult Neil, but gentler, less jagged. The boy was politer, quicker to thank, his words raw and unpolished by years of lies. Sinking into the beanbag, Nathaniel looked impossibly small, but his smile was just as bright as Neil’s. Andrew wasn’t one for comforting—or sure he’d even done it right—but his quiet presence seemed to be enough.

He made up his mind: he’d get Neil back to his real age, whatever it took. Andrew was ready to pull all-nighters, digging through the dense book Renee was wrestling with, hunting for answers. All to figure out one thing: how the hell had Neil landed in this mess?

A knock at the door interrupted, and the sound of running water from the kitchen stopped. Nicky greeted the upperclassmen with a warm grin, taking the pizza boxes from Matt and setting them on the coffee table. A second later, he swept the clutter off to clear space.

Allison stood across from Andrew, a glass of “soda” in one hand, shopping bags in the other. Holding his piercing stare, she dropped the bags between the chairs and settled on the couch next to Dan.

Matt sank to the floor by the couch and grabbed a slice of pizza. He passed the first one to Dan, flashing a soft smile when she leaned in for a gentle kiss.

Andrew caught Nathaniel’s quiet huff and barely held back a smirk. Adult Neil never blinked at other people’s relationships, completely uninterested. For the kid, it was all new, and he probably wished he could look away from the mushy stuff.

Andrew pulled a black t-shirt from one bag and a hoodie with an orange fox paw print from another, giving Allison a pointed look.

“I was short on time,” she said with a shrug, sipping her drink.

Andrew showed the clothes to Nathaniel, planning to check the other bags, but the boy pressed his hand to the paw print, staring at it with quiet wonder. No words needed—he’d made his pick.

Nathaniel took the clothes and headed to the bathroom to change. The moment the door clicked shut, Allison leaned closer and offered Andrew her glass.

“Some adult soda?” she offered.

Andrew didn’t answer, just shook his head. Nicky, already sprawled on the floor, reached for the glass. He downed it in one go and handed it back. Allison raised an eyebrow.

Nicky glanced at Andrew, then at the coffee table, where two unlabeled bottles sat. Catching Allison’s hint, he filled her glass to the brim and passed it back. She nodded, her lips curving into a smug smile. Taking a sip, she leaned back on the couch and crossed her legs.

“What number bottle is that?” Nicky asked.

“Finishing the second,” she said.

“Who else is drinking?”

“Just you and me,” Allison said with a touch of irritation. “Those two got all saintly all of a sudden.”

“I’ll get trashed later,” Matt promised. “Something stronger, for sure.”

“You’ve got no taste,” Allison scoffed. “I don’t share my stash often—you should be jumping at this.”

“Save me a bottle for tonight?” Dan asked with a smile.

“For you, sure,” Allison nodded. “It’s gonna be a long night.”

The noise drew Kevin out of the bedroom. He grimaced at the Foxes but showed a flicker of surprise when he spotted Allison’s glass. Glancing at the table, he nodded to himself and headed to the kitchen. In less than a minute, he returned with a glass bottle—its label sloppily torn off—and an empty glass. Ignoring Andrew’s heavy stare, Kevin poured vodka halfway up the glass and knocked it back. Wincing faintly, he settled by the coffee table and refilled it. A sober night with the Foxes felt off, almost unnatural, and Nathaniel’s presence only made it weirder. The alcohol warmed him, easing the tension. Kevin downed another glass, washing away the last of his unease, then capped the bottle tightly and slid it under the table. Only then did he glance at someone other than Andrew. The Foxes were staring, their expressions hard to read—or maybe the vodka was already clouding his head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“The great Kevin Day, acting like a responsible adult,” Allison said with fake shock. “Don’t want the kid seeing good boys drunk, huh?”

“Shut up,” Kevin hissed through clenched teeth, going quiet as the bathroom door opened.

Nathaniel stepped out in the new hoodie, which, to his surprise, fit just right. He approached Andrew with a questioning look, unsure what to do with his old clothes, still hanging on a hook in the bathroom. Andrew gave a slight frown and pointed to the beanbag chair beside him, as if the question didn’t register.

Sitting obediently, Nathaniel glanced from Andrew to Matt, who was already digging into the pizza. Noticing the boy’s gaze, Matt handed him a slice from the box.

The Foxes followed suit, starting their late dinner.

Andrew stayed detached, lost in his thoughts, food the last thing on his mind. He racked his brain for any memory of cults or tabloid headlines, but came up empty—he’d never cared about that stuff. Mysticism always seemed like garbage, but sitting next to a kid-sized Neil, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

The upperclassmen slipped into casual chatter, and Andrew tuned it out, trying to recall a single ritual. His mind drew a complete blank—it was hard to recall something he’d never known in the first place. Allison’s voice suddenly broke through, addressing the group.

“Who’s Neil staying with tomorrow?” Allison asked. “I get that there aren’t many options, and this could count as a valid excuse to skip practice and classes…”

“I can stay by myself,” Nathaniel cut in.

The upperclassmen exchanged looks, as if that hadn’t even occurred to them. On the surface, it didn’t sound like a terrible idea. Nathaniel was old enough to look after himself—he could manage reheating food, pouring a glass of water, and other essentials for a few hours. But anyone who knew Neil well knew leaving the kid alone was a bad call.

Andrew trusted Neil Josten, but the boy beside him was Nathaniel Wesninski. The one who’d accepted his parents’ deaths too easily; who went along with whatever the upperclassmen said; who might bolt the moment he was out of sight. Trusting Nathaniel the way he trusted Neil would be reckless.

“No classes for me tomorrow,” Andrew said, his tone flat.

“You’ve got classes,” Kevin shot back. “And morning practice.”

“Not anymore.”

“You—”

“Kevin,” Matt cut in. “Andrew’s staying with Neil. Done deal.”

“I didn’t say that,” Andrew said lazily.

The upperclassmen shared glances—nobody bought it. They all knew Andrew, despite his usual stubbornness, wouldn’t leave the kid alone. Not when that kid was Neil.

“We could leave Nathaniel with Wymack or Abby,” Kevin suggested, but seeing the doubt on the Foxes’ faces, he added, “Hold on, nobody told Coach?”

“I was going to, but…” Dan looked at Matt.

“But…” Matt echoed, glancing at Andrew.

“But what’s the point?” Andrew finished.

Kevin swore in French and filled his glass to the brim. He glared at Andrew, who didn’t care. The irresponsibility pissed Kevin off, and he couldn’t figure out how to make the others see—this wasn’t normal. They hadn’t just picked up some random kid off the street, and that alone should’ve been reported to Coach. Neil had literally gotten younger, and who knew if it was just his appearance or something deeper? Aaron rarely spoke up, especially about Josten, but what if… what if Nathaniel had lost more than memories? What if he was missing an organ? He could drop dead any second, and everyone else was just cracking jokes and pretending it was all fine. Downing another glass, Kevin thought to himself: Nothing’s fucking normal.

Andrew held Kevin’s gaze, locked in a silent battle. The Foxes went quiet, as if trying to catch words that weren’t said. Andrew knew what Kevin was thinking: This is a creepy situation. We need help, need to tell Coach, maybe get the kid to a hospital to figure out what’s going on.

Andrew had no interest in that conversation—talk was useless. He’d already decided to look after Nathaniel and wasn’t about to pass that off. His stance was set, and no argument would budge him.

“The fewer people know, the better,” Allison said evenly, leaning toward Kevin and offering her glass. “Coach stays out of our messes. Let’s keep it that way. If we can’t handle this, we’ll go to him.”

“Like we’re handling it now,” Kevin muttered through gritted teeth, shoving her glass away and pouring more vodka.

“Renee’s working on the translation,” Dan said.

“Yeah, Andrew and Renee have it under control,” Nicky said, nodding eagerly and sliding closer to Kevin, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Chill out. It’s gonna be okay.”

Kevin didn’t reply, still glaring at Andrew. His face, as always, stayed calm, like none of this touched him. Like he wasn’t tied to Neil’s de-aging, showing no worry. Grudgingly, Kevin decided it might be too soon to panic—if things were really bad, Andrew wouldn’t be sitting here.

Andrew didn’t bother confirming or denying Nicky’s words. He had no clue what he was doing. He and Renee were clutching at straws, hoping for some kind of breakthrough. Making things worse seemed impossible. So many questions hung unanswered, but maybe the translation would shed light on what happened and what it meant.

Kevin started to say something, but his eyes landed on Nathaniel. The boy watched him and Nicky with innocent curiosity as Nicky patted his head to calm him down. The irritation started to fade, but Kevin still broke free from Nicky’s arm, moved away, and reached for the bottle.

“That’s alcohol, right?” Nathaniel asked.

Kevin froze, bottle in hand, and said nothing. Nicky answered for him.

“It’s Kevin’s favorite kind of water.”

“It’s called vodka,” Allison said, rolling her eyes.

“Never heard of that water,” Nathaniel said, skeptical.

“Good for you.”

Nathaniel looked at Andrew, waiting for confirmation or denial. Andrew didn’t react, just took a sip from his mug. Nathaniel watched, and Andrew handed him the mug.

Pretending to be something you’re not—hiding who you are—was a waste of effort. Even if the mug had held alcohol, Andrew would’ve offered it anyway. He never hid that he drank.

Nathaniel hesitated, sniffing the sweet smell, then took a small sip. The taste was syrupy and fizzy—nothing like alcohol. He’d never had soda before and couldn’t decide if he liked it. His mom always bought orange juice, too bitter for him. New food didn’t feel safe, but Andrew had drunk from the mug, so it must be okay. He nodded slightly, starting to hand it back, but Andrew waved him off, settling deeper into the chair.

Andrew figured Nathaniel didn’t trust others enough to eat or drink anything brought from outside. He’d spent the evening with Matt and, by his own account, had fun together. No surprise he took pizza from Matt’s hands. But the soda poured by Nicky, whom Nathaniel found weird, went untouched. The boy just turned the cup in his hands, staring at the design without drinking. Andrew’s hunch was right: Nathaniel only sipped after seeing Andrew drink first. Even now, not yet on the run, the kid had serious trust issues.

The upperclassmen dove into another round of small talk, moving on to exy and practice. Nicky and Allison pushed to cancel tomorrow’s practice and go for breakfast together. Dan and Matt were hesitant—a kid on campus would draw too much attention, already a problem for the Foxes. Kevin, for once, backed Dan. Beyond seeing no reason to skip practice, he didn’t get why the others wanted to take Nathaniel out. He didn’t say it, but Andrew could tell from his face that Kevin would rather be anywhere else, far from the kid. Matt, meanwhile, tried to gently pull Nathaniel into the conversation, asking his thoughts; the boy answered when asked but mostly just watched.

Andrew’s phone buzzed. He checked it—a message from Renee. She’d finished translating a page Neil had marked with a pencil. Andrew took it as a quiet summons and showed the screen to Nathaniel. The boy frowned at first but nodded, silently agreeing to Andrew leaving.

Andrew stood and left the room without a word to the Foxes.

Chapter Text

The door to the girls' room was ajar, and a faint draft carried the barely perceptible scent of the candle burning on the windowsill. Andrew entered without knocking, his footsteps not breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the room. Renee sat at the desk, drowning in a sea of papers that seemed to have a life of their own: sheets scrawled with notes, crossed-out lines, circled words, and arrows linking chaotic thoughts. Andrew paused for a moment, trying to decipher what she was working on, but it all looked like Renee was unraveling a dozen puzzles at once.

He quietly pulled up a chair and sat, the wooden seat creaking faintly. Renee's fingers tightened around her pencil for a split second, betraying her irritation, before relaxing as if she'd forced herself to exhale. Weariness etched her face, and it took her a few beats to compose herself. Only then did she look up at Andrew and, as always, offer him a warm, slightly strained smile.

Suppressing the urge to call out the futility of her hard-won smile, Andrew nodded toward the stack of papers. He knew Renee could get angry, that her patience—admirable as it was—wasn't infinite. He decided against unnecessary words and got straight to work.

“There are a few translation options,” Renee began. “Next time Neil gets tangled in something like this, tell him to pick an easier language.”

“Lightning doesn't strike the same place twice,” Andrew said thoughtfully.

He knew that with Neil, it didn't work that way. Lightning could strike twice, three times, a dozen—if it had to. Getting into trouble was a gift or a curse, and Neil was damn good at it.

“We didn't quite get the word ‘pure’ right,” Renee continued, shaking her head and handing the sheets over.

Andrew scanned the notes, gradually piecing together meaning from the chaos. Renee's exhaustion made sense: both translations were close in nuance, but certain words stuck out like sore thumbs.

The first was literal and clunky, words tangling into confusion, the verses rhyme-less and steeped in symbolism that slipped away like smoke. It read like a feverish stream of consciousness, penned in ecstasy or madness—maybe religious psychosis.

The second, thanks to Renee's annotations, was easier. She'd broken down the symbols, explained the metaphors, and what had seemed like incoherent ramblings now formed a rigid ritual. Line followed line, and Andrew felt growing respect for Renee—she could spot structure where others saw only fragments.

The chapter she'd been laboring over delved into the cycle of life, intertwining it with “changing the form of flesh.” The book's authors, apparently, believed that innocent love—the pure, untainted kind—could create and destroy worlds. The words reeked of obsession and terrifying conviction.

“This seems like madness,” Andrew concluded, handing the sheets back.

“I get it,” Renee agreed. “It makes sense to keep translating, but... Andrew, you do understand what the book's about, right?”

“Yeah. And it's impossible.”

“Anyway, I'll keep going. For now, our only lead: innocent, pure, unspoiled love.”

***

In the Monsters' room, a heated discussion about morning practice was in full swing. The air smelled of coffee, booze, and pizza, mingling into a haze that gave Nathaniel nothing but a headache. He'd long lost the thread of the conversation, drowning in the flood of words and emotions. One takeaway burned clear: the Foxes loved to bicker.

Nicky, arms flailing, pushed for an unscheduled day off, with Allison backing him up just as dramatically. Dan and Kevin dug in their heels: practice on schedule, no exceptions. Their voices overlapped in a buzzing hum, like sparks crackling in the air.

Soon the bickering escalated into another round. Kevin and Allison teamed up, demanding Nathaniel stay holed up in the dorm, while Nicky and Dan insisted otherwise. Retorts flew like cards in a heated game, each sharper than the last, twisting the chaos tighter.

Only Matt stayed out of it, neutral as ever. He sat on the floor beside Nathaniel, talking animatedly about video game worlds. His soft, steady voice created a pocket of calm amid the storm.

Glancing from one Fox to another, Nathaniel nodded slowly—to Matt’s stories, the girls’ arguments, Nicky’s shouts. Kevin still paid him no attention, but eagerly traded jabs with Dan and Allison. Nathaniel couldn’t understand what fueled such loud shouting, but deep down he sided with the girls— even though their back-and-forth had long since become an end in itself.

He sank deeper into the beanbag, arms crossed over his chest. The fabric was soft but slightly scratchy, and he traced it with his fingers to distract himself. Sleeping around screaming people was risky, but his eyelids grew heavier. The Foxes' loud voices weren't so scary anymore—he was getting used to their chaotic, vibrant rhythm. When Matt paused, Nathaniel let his eyes drift shut for a moment.

The bickering faded for him—he'd drifted off. The boundary between sleep and reality thinned into a wavering haze. Suddenly, a shadow loomed over him, heavy and menacing. Instinct struck before thought: Nathaniel lashed out with his foot and tried to scramble from the beanbag. But it gripped him like quicksand, pulling him deeper into its hold. Finally, he tore free, hit the floor back-first, and crawled in panic toward the door, arms curled over his head.

Nathaniel didn’t catch the muffled curses, didn’t try to make out who was standing nearby. Memory flared—his father’s brutal hands dragging him from bed, the searing pain of blows, a terror with no escape. He stretched for the doorknob, seized by a single thought: run, while there was still a chance.

“Easy, easy,” Matt's soothing voice cut in. “Neil, it's okay.”

Nathaniel pressed harder against the wall, trying to melt into it. He wanted to vanish, anything to avoid the pain. Arms still guarded his head, bracing for the blow he expected.

“Neil, look at me,” Matt went on, no threat in his tone.

Heart pounding like it might burst, Nathaniel forced his eyes open. Fear locked his body, but he lifted his head slowly to Matt. The guy crouched at a safe distance, face lit with an encouraging smile.

“Nicky didn't mean to scare you. He was gonna wake you gently and send you to bed... He didn't expect you'd kick him in the knee.”

“Is he... hurt?” Nathaniel whispered.

“Nicky? Nah, Neil, don't sweat it. He didn't feel a thing...”

“Bullshit!” Nicky protested, but he clammed up right away after a sharp cuff from Dan.

“Watch your language around the kid,” she said sternly.

“Pot calling the kettle black...” Nicky grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

The bickering flared up again, but quieter now, with little pauses—like the Foxes were holding back words they wanted to say. Nathaniel seized the moment when Matt turned and reached for the knob again. One more tug—he'd slip into the hall—but Kevin's deep voice stopped him:

“Where are you going?”

Nathaniel paused, his heart hammering again. Kevin had not seemed dangerous to him before, but now his gaze was so intense that it tightened his throat. Gathering the remnants of his courage, Nathaniel exhaled and answered firmly:

“I want to go to Andrew.”

He caught the Foxes exchanging glances, like a wordless back-and-forth. Nathaniel breathed out through clenched teeth as irritation built in his chest. Neil had too many friends. They all surrounded him with excessive care he wanted to escape.

Andrew had left for Renee's without a word. Nathaniel wanted there—quieter, safer.

Gripping the rough fabric of his jeans one last time, he stood. He opened the door resolutely and stepped into the hall. For a second, he thought about scouting the dorm—at least this floor—but he felt the Foxes' stares on his back. Without looking, he headed to the girls' room.

Slipping in quietly and closing the door, Nathaniel spotted Andrew right away and nodded to himself, calming inside. He didn't want to interrupt, bother, or impose—just be near.

Andrew and Renee hunched over the desk, surrounded by papers, heads bent over notes. The room was silent, broken only by page rustles and rare sighs. Nathaniel froze, soaking in the calm, such a stark contrast to the Monsters' chaos.

In his short life, he'd learned one lesson: silence was all that was required of him. Careful not to draw eyes, he tiptoed to the couch and sat gently. Checked if the springs creaked. Satisfied, he lay down, curling into a ball. Drowsiness washed over despite the recent fear, like a warm blanket. Andrew was here; that meant safety. Nathaniel closed his eyes and slipped into sleep almost instantly.

Andrew and Renee exchanged looks. Both had heard the door open and close, the cautious steps, the faint couch creak. Questions piled up, but no one to ask. After a couple of seconds, Andrew glanced back—Nathaniel slept, knees to chest.

It was well past midnight, probably too late for a kid. The light didn't bother him—he didn't turn away or pull up his hood like Neil sometimes did. Andrew leaned an elbow on the chair back, watching the boy. Sleeping Nathaniel looked carefree, unlike Neil.

Neil slept fitfully, stirring at every rustle. Even in sleep, a restless unease gripped him, as if he were poised to spring awake and fight—or flee. Life on the run had left an indelible mark, its consequences haunting him still.

Nathaniel was different, yet to endure the traumas and pursuits that shaped Neil. He could sink into serene sleep. Andrew gazed at him, a wrenching ache in his chest born of conflicting emotions—relief mingled with pain. He shook his head, steeling himself to one goal: bring his Neil back.

The longer he watched the sleeping child, the stronger the drive to fix it. Neil was part of his life, essential as breathing, and the idea of him stuck like this was unbearable. Andrew eyed the book on the table and cursed inwardly.

The couch was no place for a kid to sleep. He texted Nicky to clear the Foxes out. Reply came fast, but Andrew strained to hear hallway movement. Silence.

Renee sensed the tension and whispered:

“It'll be okay. We'll get Neil back.”

Andrew shook his head sharply. He refused to give in to despair, viewing the situation objectively: together, they’d barely deciphered a few pages. The book seemed a maddening jumble of symbols, offering no clues about reversing the transformation. Shifting forms, the decay of soul and body… Andrew had twice longed to torch the book, to reduce it to ashes, if only it weren’t their sole key to the truth.

 “I'll keep translating; you should rest,” Renee whispered softly.

“You too.”

“The book's interesting. I'm grateful for the chance to study it, and...”

“You'd be more grateful if it were in English?” Andrew finished.

“Yeah.”

Sighing quietly, Andrew stood. Nicky, as usual, dawdled over his promise. Relying on him was futile, so Andrew took matters into his own hands. He slipped out of the room, careful not to make a sound and wake the child.

“Are you Andrew's friend?” Nathaniel asked suddenly as the door closed behind him.

“I think so,” Renee smiled. “He'll be back soon.”

Nathaniel nodded slowly, sitting up on the couch and rubbing his eyes sleepily. Renee seemed kind and friendly, which caused an inner resistance in him. Andrew was friends with her, and that didn’t fit in his head. They seemed so different—her soft smiles and his cold, gripping stare. Nathaniel doubted Neil was friends with her too; he couldn’t have changed that much over the years.

He glanced at the closed door and drew his knees to his chest. Andrew had left him with Neil’s friends again. The bitterness of resentment settled slowly in his chest, layer by layer. Nathaniel tried to convince himself it was about the translation, but the book remained here, and Andrew had gone.

He wasn't used to being alone—at home, mom had always been there, strict but caring. He had always felt protected beside her and now longed to see her again. To be in her arms and hear her say everything would be fine, no matter what.

Here, surrounded by the Foxes’ noisy chatter, he felt achingly alone.

“How are you feeling?”

The soft voice sliced the silence like warm light. Nathaniel flinched instinctively but met her eyes. Lamp glow reflected in them, making her gaze kinder, more genuine.

“Fine,” he replied automatically. “Why does everyone keep asking?”

“You're one of us,” Renee smiled. “Being a Fox means family.”

Nathaniel grimaced. He had a family, somewhere far away. He hated his father and clung to the hope that Andrew spoke the truth about his death—no more tears, no more beatings or relentless shouting. He and his mom could finally live free from oppression’s weight. But if Andrew was right, his mom was gone too. The thought stabbed his heart like a knife. He wrapped his arms around his knees, head bowed, yearning to disappear.

Andrew hadn’t lied—Nathaniel knew it in his bones. His true family was gone. Life without his mom felt unbearable, the mere thought so alien that tears welled in his eyes. He fought desperately to choke back sobs, clutching the coarse denim of his jeans.

From the hallway came sounds—muffled footsteps and fragments of voices, as if someone tried whispering but couldn’t hold back. A few minutes later, the door swung open, and Nathaniel jerked his head up, hoping to see a familiar silhouette.

Andrew stood in the doorway, battling the flood of anger that surged within. A spark of irritation could flare at any moment, tearing everything in its path. Nicky, as always, played the fool, incapable of fulfilling a simple request on time.

Almost. One sec. Be right there.

Andrew didn’t need to repeat himself—his gaze, sharp as a blade, spoke volumes. The upperclassmen hurried to retreat, their footsteps echoing down the hall. Nicky mumbled endless apologies, as if unable to bear disapproval—or terrified of pushing Andrew too far. It was futile. Head bowed in dejection, he tugged Kevin by the sleeve, snatched a vodka bottle from the table, and the Foxes shuffled into Matt and Aaron’s room.

Andrew exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly, as if shedding an invisible burden. He moved toward the couch, wrestling down the last traces of irritation. Nathaniel, now awake, watched him with curiosity tinged with caution.

“Don't you want to sleep anymore?” Andrew asked.

“I want to.”

“Then let's go to our room.”

Nathaniel glanced toward the hallway, giving a faint, hesitant nod. Then he looked back at Andrew and nodded again, more firmly. Soft sounds from the corridor—muffled voices and the sound of closing doors—signaled that Andrew had quieted the Foxes. The thought brought a wave of relief: silence promised calm, and calm meant sleep would come easier.

***

In the bedroom, Andrew leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and silently watched Nathaniel. The boy seemed to be making an important choice—perhaps an incredibly difficult one, one that would profoundly affect his life. For several minutes now he had been pacing the room, shifting his gaze from one bed to the other. Shadows from the desk lamp’s light slid across his face, underscoring his concentration. Andrew didn't interfere, leaving the boy to sort out on his own this strangely drawn-out choice of sleeping place.

After Neil moved in, the bedroom underwent a minor rearrangement. Nicky had been the one to initiate the changes; his energy ignited Neil, who enthusiastically set about helping to move the furniture. Even Kevin—ordinarily indifferent to such alterations—joined in with unexpected pleasure, contributing his part to the chaotic reshuffling. The old, battered wardrobes that took up too much space were sent to the dump, and in their place stood a massive three-door wardrobe with a mirror. It rose proudly in the far corner, capable of holding the entire wardrobe of the residents. Beside it remained only a narrow space, into which Kevin somehow managed to wedge his bed, as if deciding to challenge the laws of geometry itself.

Nicky seemed to have planned the layout of his space in advance and had simply been waiting for the chance to carry out his plan. His bed, desk, chair, and nightstand were lined up in strict order, and the small dresser, which contained everything most essential, took its place with surgical precision. Andrew watched the commotion and merely shook his head. He doubted his cousin could fit everything without encroaching on anyone else’s space. But Nicky acted decisively—while Andrew was out of the room.

The old bunk bed was sent to the dump and was swapped for something smarter. Bottom tier: a desk bristling with shelves. Side: a compact dresser that fit like it was born there, swallowing Nicky’s vital clutter. The top bunk hung overhead like it defied gravity; the ladder—bolted on with more zeal than skill—drew a dry smirk from Andrew. He was sure his cousin would sooner or later eat the floor, forgetting caution.

Neil arrived with no furniture of his own but still tacked up a pair of fresh shelves. Nicky pounced: study books on one, towers of CDs on the other. Neil, who had nothing to shelve anyway, shrugged and let it go.

Andrew watched the whole circus with half-lidded boredom, barely lifting a finger. His bed stood untouched—an island of calm in the storm. He saw no point in swapping out furniture or sprucing things up; what he had worked just fine.

Neil took the only free spot—Andrew’s top bunk—but lasted no more than a couple of nights. Soon, he accepted Andrew’s unspoken offer to share the lower bed, a change that unexpectedly wove comfort into both their lives. The chance to stay close even at night—watching each other’s backs, feeling the warmth of a nearby body, hearing faint breaths in the dark—had seamlessly blended into their routine. Pausing to reflect, Andrew caught himself wondering: could he even fall asleep without Neil now? A slight shake of his head chased away the heavy thought. Sleep wasn’t an option anyway—not until he tackled the translation waiting in the next room.

 “Can I really pick any bed?” Nathaniel clarified.

“Yes.”

“And your t-shirt?”

“You can.”

“Where do you sleep?”

Andrew pointed to his bed silently. Nathaniel nodded but stood in the middle, eyeing beds. Silence stretched.

“I don't get it... That bed's definitely Kevin's, plastered with exy posters. Bottom one's yours. The two left are tops. I don't get where Neil slept, or where I go now.”

Nathaniel threw up his hands in frustration, words tumbling fast. Andrew frowned slightly—he didn't buy the bed choice as the real holdup. It was obvious which was free: no pillow, though bedding waited neatly.

“You've been thinking about this the whole time?”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel paused, then added, “not exactly. Why did Nicky and Allison say I wanted the bottom?”

“What?”

“Matt said I switched rooms, and I asked why...”

“Neil traded with Aaron.”

“But why? Matt seems cool. I bet Neil liked rooming with him.”

Andrew shrugged vaguely. Matt was a solid roommate—even Aaron, perpetual grumbler, had no complaints. Nathaniel ranted on, and Andrew let him. The kid didn't need answers—just venting, echoing Neil's expressiveness, though with a smaller vocabulary. Andrew noted how Nathaniel moved surer when emotions took over, navigating the room confidently on impulse. The book they'd translated mentioned it in passing:

The body may not know,
The mind may not remember,
But the soul retains every phase of its incarnation.

“So where did Neil sleep?” Nathaniel asked, cutting his thoughts.

Andrew pointed to his bed without hesitation. The boy's mouth opened for clarification, but his eyes landed on the two pillows side by side.

“You both couldn’t share the bottom bed?..”

“We did,” Andrew said calmly. “My turn for a question. You talk about Neil like he's someone else. Is he a separate person to you?”

“I don't know,” Nathaniel scratched his head. “It's... complicated. What about you? Are Neil and I different people or the same?”

“You're the same person, but from different times.”

“Got it... What does ‘we shared the bed’ mean?”

“We slept in it together.”

“Because... it's safer?”

Andrew shrugged lightly, but it sufficed for Nathaniel.

“I always wanted to sleep on the top bunk. Can I?”

“Yes.”

Nathaniel climbed up nimbly, and Andrew handed him a pillow silently. He flicked off the light and headed out to rejoin the translation. Renee waited next door, buried in the book; together they'd progress more. The text was starting to make sense, though Andrew wondered if it was wishful thinking.

“You're not sleeping?” Nathaniel said quietly.

Andrew looked at the boy, preparing to give an honest answer. Even in the half-darkness, he felt that piercing gaze upon him, which seemed to cry out: don't leave me. Nathaniel had asked dozens of questions, expressed his indignation, but had never uttered that simple plea aloud.

That gaze, brimming with unspoken emotions, shattered the mask of calm Andrew clung to. All day he’d been fighting to fix this, to bring Neil back to his true age, shoving down the void swelling in his chest. The thought that he might never see his Neil again clawed at his heart, his fingers curling into fists against his will. He wanted to slam his fist into the doorframe, to keep hitting until the pain smothered every feeling. He knew he couldn’t survive that emptiness if Neil was gone for good.

But the rage had to be suppressed—at least for now. He didn't want to scare the child. A deep breath, a slow exhale, and Andrew regained control. Nathaniel was still watching him, waiting for an answer.

“I will,” Andrew finally said. “Later.”

“Mom used to read to me before bed to help me fall asleep faster...”

Andrew looked at Nathaniel with skepticism. The boy just wrapped himself tighter in the blanket and looked away. Young Neil lied so poorly it almost brought a smile to Andrew’s face. The heart-wrenching feeling in his chest didn’t fade. He took another deep breath, exhaled slowly, and kept himself in hand.

He focused on the boy’s simple request, but soon faced reality—there wasn’t a single book in the room that could interest a child. Besides, Andrew didn’t want to stay alone with Nathaniel longer than necessary, constantly hit with the realization: this isn’t Neil.

In the next room, Renee kept working on her translation, sorting through the aftermath alone. That old book was meant to hold answers that would explain everything. Andrew knew he’d be more useful searching for a solution to Neil’s mess than reading some textbook aloud—the kid wouldn’t understand it anyway.

“We don’t have any books,” Andrew said dryly. “Go to sleep.”

“Okay, then… will you leave the light on?” Nathaniel said with a hint of sadness.

Andrew didn’t answer. He turned on the desk lamp and went to the door. He felt the boy watching him, as if about to say something else. No words came. Leaving the bedroom, Andrew headed to Renee’s room to return to the translation.

Nathaniel pressed the blanket tighter to his chest and shut his eyes tight, trying to get used to the strange feeling in his chest. He’d stretched the truth about his mom reading to him—she usually didn’t have time for such things. Maybe Andrew saw through his lie, and that’s why he left him alone.

Though he was used to falling asleep alone, Nathaniel still felt upset. Covering himself with the blanket over his head, he said quietly to himself, “Goodnight, Nathaniel.”

He hugged his shoulders tightly and tried to fall asleep quickly, hoping that tomorrow, when he woke, everything would be back in its place.

***

Deep in the night, Renee finally gave in. Sleepiness overtook her, and after wishing Andrew luck, she headed off to bed.

Not wanting to linger in the girls’ room, Andrew returned to his own, taking the book with him. His first stop was the bedroom—Nathaniel was still asleep. Soundly, tucked under the blanket with his head covered. Before leaving, Andrew locked the dorm room door, just in case the boy tried to escape. It didn’t matter if Nathaniel had ever attempted to escape; what mattered was that he was in the bedroom now.

Andrew pulled back the edge of the blanket, freeing the boy’s face from its stifling trap. His auburn hair was damp, his face beaded with sweat. Sometimes, Neil would sleep like that too: stealing the whole blanket, pulling it up as high as it would go, and always complaining in the morning about a sweltering night.

With a breath, Andrew cracked the window open slightly, letting in a breath of fresh air—enough to do the trick.

Closing the bedroom door behind him, Andrew walked to the kitchen. He reached for the drawer where, among containers and packets, a bottle of whiskey lay hidden. Uncorking it, he took three greedy swigs. Warmth spread through his chest, leaving an oaky taste on his tongue, sharp with a faint bite. He hoped it would dull the gnawing emptiness, as it used to, when alcohol would softly blur the edges of reality, letting him escape for a while.

But tonight, the whiskey’s warmth only turned to heaviness. A couple more swigs, and instead of relief, he felt the pain he’d been shoving down all day break free. Andrew screwed the cap back on tightly and shoved the bottle to the back of the cupboard. It was a bad idea—trying to drown his thoughts in liquor when they already clung to every corner of his mind.

He pulled out a worn, crumpled pack of cigarettes. Opened it, closed it, opened it again. Just two cigarettes left—Neil was supposed to buy a new pack. He’d promised to swing by the store after class, tossing the words out casually, as always, with that easy smile of his. Andrew flung the pack onto the windowsill, where it landed beside a cracked mug, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to shake off the tension creeping in.

Fucking Neil Josten.

With every translated sentence, the hope of Neil returning to his normal age dwindled. Andrew didn’t have a clue what he was doing or how to fix what Neil—or his recklessness—had caused. His mind was empty of leads, not a single hint of a solution. The book he and Renee had been slaving over for hours kept harping on “love”—that vague, almost mythical concept the fanatic author imbued with sacred meaning. But could those words be trusted? The only method it hinted at, without ever saying outright, involved “innocent love”—a phrase that made Andrew inwardly cringe. Nonsense. He needed Neil like a drowning man needs air, but… love? Was he even capable of that feeling, steeped in other people’s expectations and clichés?

Love, love, love.

The word echoed in his head like a scratched record, stripped of meaning from endless repetition. People threw it around so easily, as a greeting or a goodbye, wasting its weight on trifles. Andrew let out a heavy breath, pushed the window open wider, and the cold night air rushed into the kitchen, carrying the scent of wet asphalt. He pulled out a cigarette, rolled it between his fingers, but didn’t light it. Nicotine wouldn’t help either—it couldn’t fill the void. But Andrew would’ve given anything to stand here, by the open window, and share this slow, bitter death with the one person who was truly close to him.