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Andrew meets the love of his life while said man is breaking into his car.
The scent of damp grass and limescale on the lawn sprinklers hits his nose as he walks, doesn’t stumble, out of his teammates’ house. He can still hear the inconsistent hum of music through the blown out speakers inside, and pulls the collar of his letterman jacket up and around his nose to fight off the chill.
It’s a mistake, since the smell of booze and weed managed to seep into the fabric over the course of the past few hours, despite Andrew not bothering to take more than a singular shot at the behest of his brother. He grimaces, and knows he’ll have to run it through the laundry twice.
It’s the least of his worries when he hears the screech of metal from his rust bucket’s door. The car is a classic, but old, and he’s not exactly financially able to fix the car up and restore it to its former glory. As a result, the old racer creaks like wooden floorboards, and the harsh sound cuts through the night’s silence.
It’s like a beat of a song that shouldn’t be there. The pop of the lock, a pause, a creak, and then the record scratch once the man realizes he’s not alone.
Andrew’s sneakers skid across the uneven sidewalk as the stranger freezes, hand tightening around the door he has expertly forced open. Not a broken window or scratch in sight.
Impressive, but that’s the least alluring thing about this man.
Andrew’s heart rattles and pops like the shoddy lock on his car door. He should be stronger than this, for all his reputation says about him, and yet…
It’s not so much how the stranger looks, though he is hot. In fact, that’s a disservice. He falls outside of the realm of Andrew’s high standards for hot men, just not comparable to anyone he’s seen before. Even trying to match him to a celebrity seems like an injustice, with his electric blue eyes and faded, lightning-strike-scars mapping his features.
But no, it’s not his looks. It’s the total lack of apology or surprise in his face.
After he spots Andrew there, literally catching him in the act of stealing his car, there’s not a trace or worry or panic. Instead, his shoulders sag, impossibly disinterested and annoyed. His expression scrunches up like he’s eaten something too sour, and he looks at Andrew with such disdain and unfiltered contempt that Andrew’s heart stops and restarts.
He never stood a chance. Like a threat to his goal on the court, but worse, because here, Andrew actually isn’t sure where this will go. He can’t deflect the feelings like a fast shot or detach himself enough to no longer care.
He can’t make sense of why this boy is different. Why Andrew gives even a fraction of a damn.
But he does, and he knows for once, he’d rather not think about why. If he does, he’ll lose his chance for…something, maybe nothing. But that’s more of a risk than he’s willing to take.
The silence surrounds them as Andrew tries to remember how to speak, or breathe. All his years of landing men at bar counters have left him; he doesn’t have a syllable to offer.
It doesn’t look like that’s something he has to worry about.
Eventually, the stranger huffs, slamming the door shut. It creaks again, mockingly, as he puts his hands on his hips.
“What?” The stranger asks, eyes bugging out wide in aggravation, waiting for Andrew to explain himself. Like he’s not the one breaking into Andrew’s car.
Andrew’s besotted.
Andrew has never dreamed of the future, doesn’t find it very lucrative or meaningful. What happens, happens, within reason. Within his rules. But he finds himself already imagining what their life will be like, what a story they’ll tell about this night they met.
Given the other’s penchant for stealing…maybe it’ll be more Bonnie and Clyde-esque, but you know what? Andrew can work with that, and survive.
But before Andrew can open his mouth to deliver a cool first line, therefore solidifying this as the perfect meeting, there’s a flash of light as the door to the house behind him swings open.
He’d know his brother’s rushed footsteps anywhere.
There’s only a brief pause where Aaron stops, takes in the situation, and reacts.
“You motherfucker, I’m calling the cops!” Aaron screams, and the stranger books it.
It’s almost cartoon-like, so much so Andrew expects to see a cloud of dust left in his wake.
The boy kicks up asphalt from the strength he puts into the sprint, racing down the road into the darkness.
Oh, he’s fast, and from the state of those legs, there was a lot of work put into building that skill.
Andrew sucks in a sharp breath as he watches the boy vanish. He doesn’t want, he doesn’t want, he doesn’t want—
“Shit,” Aaron mutters beside him, pacing back and forth along the curb. Andrew doesn’t move a muscle as Aaron dials the cops. To think, Aaron’s pettiness even outweighs his hatred of pigs.
Andrew wishes he’d never brought Aaron.
“I can’t believe that just fucking happened,” Aaron huffs once he hangs up with the police. He shakes his head, finally looking at Andrew. He raises his arms expectantly. “I mean, right?”
“How could you?” It’s all Andrew says.
Aaron balks, and makes a sound akin to a chicken. “Fucking excuse me?”
—
Neil Josten is apparently a resident delinquent, and a ghost. No one knows where he came from, nor do they know where he lives. He goes to his classes and then slips away into the shadows. This is the first time he’s ever gotten caught, and will probably be the only time.
He’s not traceable, and bringing him into the station was a mammoth undertaking.
Rumor has it he tried to bite an officer.
Andrew’s surprised they even got him, but they shouldn’t pat themselves on the back too much.
Someone who’s able to steal a car that effortlessly doesn’t slip up often, and has probably robbed this town of more things than it’s probably aware of.
If Andrew were anyone else, he might just swoon.
Neil’s punishment for the offense of trying to steal a car? Either community service, a fine, or proof that he can be a productive member of society.
Ultimately, word makes it around the small community college campus that Neil’s foster parents made him get a job at the local fast food drive-in.
Naturally, Andrew starts eating there all the time.
“What the fuck do you want now?” Neil asks as he turns around to come face to face with Andrew from behind the food counter. Neil begins furiously wiping the sparkling white surface, which Andrew has seen him do four times now in a bid to put zero effort into anything else.
The manager chokes on some of his spit as he glares at Neil, reminding him to be nicer in a warning tone. Neil only rolls his eyes, and Andrew bites his tongue.
He wants to say he really wouldn’t mind.
They all know Neil is incapable, anyways. Andrew thinks he should be meaner.
The manager sighs and walks away, shooting a wary glance in Andrew’s direction. Okay, maybe he has been coming here too often, but no one can blame him.
The sight of Neil in this stupid uniform is enough. It’s a simple white button up with a tri-colored apron wrapped around his waist, matching the tiny and demeaning paper hat atop Neil’s head. It’s too colorful, too happy, for the scorn radiating off of Neil.
Andrew quirks a brow. “Just waiting for my order. I don’t recall asking you for anything.”
Neil scoffs as one of the other workers drops Andrew’s paper bag of food in front of him. Neil peers down at it with disgust. “Aren’t you some kind of jock? How do you not get sick of this shit food?”
A mother with her children shoots Neil a disgruntled glance. Neil waves at her.
Despite Andrew’s constant presence, Neil still hates him because of the whole ‘calling the cops’ thing. It’s very hard to distance oneself from a twin.
Stupid Aaron. Ruining my shit.
But, Andrew’s heart does skip a beat at Neil’s words. Neil’s never noticed anything about him before. Or at least, he hasn’t made it known.
Neil takes his pause the wrong way, standing up defensively. “What? Going to accuse me of stealing your fries?”
Gingerly, Andrew unfurls the curled top of his bag, letting the steam of grease and fried foods waft out in Neil’s direction. Even with all that smack talk, he sees Neil lean into it, no doubt starving from all the time on his feet. “Want some?”
Andrew shakes the bag a little, for good measure.
Neil reaches forward instinctively before freezing, pulling his hand back in suspicion. His stunning eyes narrow, trying to slice Andrew down the center. He might just manage. “Why?”
Andrew tilts his head as Neil’s stomach rumbles. Neil closes his eyes tight, cursing the betrayal of his own body. For the first time in weeks, Andrew finds himself wanting to smile. “Are you not hungry?”
Neil bites his plush bottom lip, and Andrew tries, he really does, to not imagine biting them himself. He wishes the fantasy away, as something about it doesn’t feel quite right.
He won’t have such thoughts unless Neil allows it, won’t entertain the future any further.
The present is so much more lively these days.
Glaring, Neil grabs his washcloth and spins on his heel. “I don’t need anything from you.”
—
During his next Exy match, they play a team who’s never made it past the first round of qualifiers.
It’s a piss poor excuse of a game, and Andrew only has to defend the goal twice as their school demolishes the other team. Andrew thinks he could even let a few balls past him, it wouldn’t matter.
He’s more bored than usual as he scans the small stadium’s bleachers. Due to the match-up, it’s not a very crowded game, with most people scrunched up near the front rows.
That was Neil’s great mistake it seems, as it’s easy for Andrew to find the one lone figure, sitting in the very top section.
Andrew’s chest tightens, and he finds himself wondering if Neil is watching him too.
—
“Do you like Exy?” Andrew asks the next day as he orders his milkshake at the register. Neil stutters as he punches in the order, the hatefulness morphing into intrigue.
It’s the kind of wide-eyed spark Andrew knows all too well, he sees it in people all the time, like his brother when he talks about his cheerleader. He’s hit the right nerve, a sign that he’s successfully name-dropped something someone is obsessed with.
Oh, the laugh this will get one day…
Neil recovers quickly, furiously typing in the order. “It’s alright…”
Neil touches his face a few times, messes with his hair, as if the urge to go off about the sport is nearly impossible. It reminds Andrew of Kevin. Give their striker an inch, he’ll take a mile when it comes to talking about what he loves.
It’s clearly more than alright, to Neil.
Andrew hums. “I saw you at the last game,” he says, explaining. “Not sure why you bothered.”
Neil pauses again as Andrew’s receipt prints. He looks almost offended, and can’t help himself from leaning forward. “What do you mean?”
“It was boring,” Andrew says, and Neil rips the receipt. “More than usual, anyways.”
“It wasn’t boring,” Neil bites back. His tone turns a few heads, but Andrew pays them no mind This is the most expression he’s gotten from Neil, and it’s somewhat addicting. His eyes light up with the need to defend, to indulge himself with words about this sport Andrew could give less than two shits about.
Honestly, he thinks he might just listen if it’s Neil going on and on, and he’s scared of what that means.
Neil’s ferocity, as alluring as it is, is on equal footing to the shyness he displays a moment later. There’s a dusting of red across the bridge of his nose as Neil clears his throat, twisting more of the life out of Andrew’s receipt. “It’s nice to watch your team win.”
Andrew can’t help it, he smirks. He knows what Neil means, knows it’s a misspeak, but he’ll take it.
Catching himself, Neil throws the receipt at Andrew, raining snow on him. “My team, I mean. The school’s team.”
Andrew snorts. “I’m supposed to believe you have school spirit. How many textbooks have you stolen?”
At that, Neil smirks. It’s sharp and dangerous, Andrew can’t help but mirror it. It pulls him in further into the depths of whatever this feeling is, and he doesn’t care.
“Not enough for anyone to prove,” Neil says, immeasurably proud.
They share that smile for a moment, not even five seconds, but the moment will probably sit in Andrew’s head for the rest of the day, no matter how hard he tries to be rid of it.
Then, Neil remembers who he’s talking to.
The smirk falls, replaced by shock and uncertainty, but regardless of how hard Neil seems to be trying to glare, he doesn’t manage.
“I-I have to go,” he rushes out, leaving the register unmanned without any care. “Bye—or, whatever.”
And then he’s gone, a ghost once again.
—
When he was first drafted to his college’s team, the athletics department gave every starting member a custom keychain. Andrew never had much use or care for the thing, and it sat in its plastic wrap at the bottom of his sock drawer for months.
When he finds it later that night, it still looks like new. It has a gleaming Exy raquet with small jewels at the end, overly gaudy, but proud. The bright orange team colors are nearly blinding, complete with a small cartoon fox and Andrew’s jersey number shining under his lamplight.
The next day, Andrew gives the keychain to Neil on his way out of the restaurant, and doesn’t stick around long enough for Neil to see him blush.
The next day, Neil actually waves to him as he finishes his shift, catching Andrew sipping his milkshake at one of the tables.
The keychain hangs securely on his shoulder bag.
—
“How many of these can you have?” Neil asks as he hands Andrew a milkshake refill. It’s a Saturday, which means Andrew is free from most obligations.
He decides to bring his schoolwork to the restaurant to get ahead in some of his classes, and certainly not to talk to Neil all day.
That is what ends up happening though. Damn.
Thank God for Neil’s desire to not do what he’s supposed to while on the clock.
“Don’t challenge me,” Andrew says as he brings the milkshake to his lips.
Mm. Cookies and cream.
It gets a laugh from Neil, a sound Andrew is becoming quite familiar with. He seems to know just what to say and do to coax the sound out of Neil’s mouth, and likes that Neil doesn’t seem to find his deadpan and morbid humor off-putting.
Over the past week, the dripping hatred Neil had for him has tapered off, though Neil is still wary. Andrew’s coming to understand that’s just how he is though.
Skittish and squirrely, Neil doesn’t trust anyone easily. His reputation as a delinquent seems odd now, with how Neil flinches at loud men or jumps at abrupt sounds. He never has his back turned from a crowd for too long, always moves with purpose and precision.
Andrew wants to be able to tell him he can relax, Andrew’s watching his back.
He locks that thought away though. It’s not time, and he doesn’t care. Andrew’s never bothered to take things slow, but this time, he can’t say he hates it.
He’s learning more and more about Neil despite his reservations, as Neil becomes more comfortable with his presence, with his questions. They trade them often.
Little insignificant things Andrew wouldn’t normally care about if it were anyone else. What classes they hated, what recipes Neil tried at home, movies that looked stupid.
Andrew’s memory leaves him no choice but to store every piece of information in the endless file cabinets of his mind, but with Neil, he doesn’t hate it. It’s not tedious or torturous to recall Neil’s botched rolled oat recipe or gardening tips.
In fact, he hopes one day there’s a whole library of Neil in his head.
Because of this, Andrew takes another chance today.
“Anything else?” Neil asks mockingly, bowing with the tray at his side.
It’s their usual routine. Andrew will roll his eyes and shoo him away to do his job, which Neil won’t do at all.
But today, there is something else.
“Why were you breaking into my car that night?” Andrew asks, and to his surprise, Neil becomes neither huffy nor incensed.
He blushes.
Full-face, sheltered school-boy style.
Over car theft.
Neil stutters out some excuses for a little bit, and fumbles with the handle of a nearby mop. Andrew’s pretty sure Neil was supposed to be cleaning the floors…hours ago.
But eventually, through all Neil’s delaying, Andrew gets his answer.
Neil sighs as he sinks into the seat across from Andrew, and this time yes, he does steal a fry.
“You had a limited edition comic book on your passenger seat,” Neil admits glumly, breaking the limp fry in half. “I wanted it.”
He mumbles the last part, like a petulant child on Christmas.
Andrew’s neutral facade has taken years to perfect, and years longer to no longer think about, but right then it’s a struggle to keep it in place.
“The Cabin Chronicles?” Andrew can’t help but let a trace of his own excitement leak into his words. The child in him comes reaching through, almost defiant. It was a comic series he grew up with that he never was able to shake, even through all his edgy rebellions. It was underrated, and he’d yet to find someone else who still kept up with it.
Neil nods excitedly, leaning forward. “Yes! That issue’s been sold out for months, and I hate just reading the spoilers online.”
“You could just wait for the next movie,” Andrew says with a smirk.
And like a true fan, Neil shudders. “You know there’s not going to be another one of those shitters. What were they thinking? It was barely even based on the comics.”
“I know, right? So out of character,” Andrew agrees. He had been joking, but sometimes it does still sting. He’d been such an excited twelve year old when that movie came out, but it was all kinds of horrible. He’d barely been able to make it through the eighty-five minute runtime.
Neil stabs the table with his finger, stressing every word. “And on top of it, they made Ary so intolerable when he started out being so cool, yet we’re supposed to believe he would just sell Maurice out like that?”
It takes a lot for Andrew to not yell. “Yes. I thought they were just going to end up together and that was going to be the big twist, not the betrayal. Worst decision.”
Andrew’s gay ass was rightfully pissed, even at twelve.
“I could’ve written a better ending,” Andrew mutters, and at the time, he really believed it. For a while, his dream job was to be an author, but he could never get a concrete idea. The plotting and world-building seemed too overwhelming, and with all the other issues he had to work through in therapy, he never got to tackle the issue.
Nowadays, his writing consists of poems, drabbles, and journal entries for his therapist. And that’s all he needs, truly. He won’t ever be a great author, and that’s okay. He still enjoys it.
“Do you write?” Neil asks, perking up.
“Sometimes,” Andrew says with a shrug, fidgeting in his seat. He never talks about his writing, and the old insecurity from his younger self rises up. “Not seriously.”
“Still, that’s cool,” Neil says softly. He lays his head down on his folded hands as he stares up at Andrew, and his small smile stays in place. Neil doesn’t try to cover it up or hide it this time, and his shoulders lose some of the long held tension.
It’s such a nothing statement, one that could even be just out of politeness. But Andrew knows it’s not, because Neil would never do that. Neil is blunt and rude and mean. Neil is so much, and Andrew wants it all.
“Neil! The toilets are clogged again!” One of Neil’s coworkers yells from across the empty restaurant.
Then, and only then, does Neil’s smile fall.
“My hell continues,” he whines as he drags himself up, sighing as he gives Andrew a small wave. “But…tell me about it sometime. Okay?”
And what can Andrew do, except say yes.
—
When Andrew goes to order his usual the following week, the worker behind the counter turns around, and is definitely not Neil.
The man smiles, and Andrew is instantly blinded by sparkling white teeth and wavy blond hair. “Hello, how can I help you today?”
If the man’s brightness wasn’t enough to send him toppling over, the peppiness in his tone almost finished the job. Andrew squints, then blinks, each taking slower than the last.
Maybe part of him hopes that if he blinks enough, this dream will end and Neil will appear.
But nope, ‘Mr. Straight Out Of a Teen Comedy Beach Drama’ still stands in front of him.
The fuck?
Other people can’t just work here.
Andrew might laugh at himself later. This man is attractive enough to be his type on any other day. He’s clearly an athlete, with toned muscles and the outline of abs underneath his hideous, but tight, uniform. His eyes are a pale blue with other shades Andrew can’t name leaking through, and his skin has been perfectly kissed by the sun.
Andrew wonders if he’s ever had a sunburn in his life.
And to top it off, what would be a delicious array of freckles dusts the tops of his cheeks, and probably flow in an uneven stream down his body.
Andrew would be more than intrigued, more than satisfied.
However, that was before Neil.
And because Neil exists, and Andrew orbits around him, Andrew couldn’t care less about this man in front of him. Instead of beaming radiance, he sees an inconvenience.
“Who the hell are you?” Andrew asks, not bothering to keep the bite out of his words.
“Oh! I’m Jeremy Knox,” the man answers, oblivious and still as peppy as ever. Andrew decides he hates him. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
What is this, fine dining? He’s not paying for good service.
Andrew shakes his head, not even caring that he’s totally dropped his cool and uncaring persona in favor of a frustrated stutter. “Where’s Neil?”
Jeremy’s eyes widen. “Oh, they moved him to the drive-thru for insubordination.”
Andrew glares in the direction of the manager. “Those bastards.”
He doesn’t need to know what Neil did. Whatever it was, probably justified.
A few more seconds of heated silence go by, in which Andrew tries to burn a hole through the restaurant with his gaze, before Jeremy clears his throat.
“Would you like to order, sir?”
Like hell.
Andrew turns on his heel in an instant, already halfway out the door. “Not from you.”
“Okay!” Jeremy calls as the door shuts behind Andrew. “Have a nice day!”
—
Neil brightens as soon as he sees Andrew drive up to his window, and Andrew tries not to just offer to kidnap him right then.
Neil would probably do it, considering he was slouched halfway out of the window already when Andrew pulls up.
Neil smiles as Andrew rolls his window down, and rests his head in his hand as he leans in.
“About time,” Neil says, and the sigh in his voice makes Andrew’s toes curl.
In his two second quest from the parking lot to the drive-thru, Andrew had chosen to dawn his new pair of sunglasses. For reasons. Cooly, he flips them up to rest on his head. “Insubordination, huh?”
Neil rolls his eyes. “It’s a long story, but the manager deserved it.”
“I’ve got time.”
And time is always well spent, listening to Neil.
Andrew doesn’t order until it’s been a good twenty minutes, and a car honks behind him.
—
Weeks later, Andrew’s fast food intake has slowed.
His visits to the fast food restaurant, however, have become almost daily.
Mostly because he no longer needs the excuse to see Neil, he’s pretty sure Neil can see right through him.
And well, Neil’s not any better.
Neil gives him free milkshakes, feeds him fries during his breaks like it’s nothing, and whenever Neil does work inside the restaurant, he’s glancing at Andrew’s table every other minute.
Andrew always feels an unknown, traitorous feeling in the pit of his stomach when he has to leave, when he has to stop listening to Neil talk. It’s a pain to admit, but he realizes it’s more of a pain to prolong.
In all this time, he’s yet to get Neil’s phone number or see him outside of this weird routine they’ve formed. In the beginning, it was partly to keep up Andrew’s delusion.
That maybe this would pass, or it wasn’t as serious as he thought.
Now, he knows better.
So, today’s the day.
But some problems never change…
“Why are you here?” Andrew grumbles from behind the steering wheel, impatient as the car in front of him takes forever to receive all their bags of food.
“You act like I wanna be. Mom said we need to spend more time together,” Aaron replies, taking breaks between reading his chemistry textbook and hanging his head out of the window for a breath of fresh air. If you get car sick that easily, don’t read in the car, oh my fucking—
“You could’ve just lied to her and said you took me home, but you didn’t want to do that.”
Andrew sinks lower into his seat. “…Ican’tlietoMom.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are we here anyways?” Aaron asks. “Didn’t you have lunch?”
“Yes, now shut it.”
Aaron dives back into his textbook for a record-breaking minute and a half before having to stop again, and Andrew thinks if he does it one more time, he might chuck the book into the nearest pothole puddle.
But by the grace of something or other, the car in front of him moves, and then Neil is before his eyes.
It’s all worth it, even Aaron’s endless bitching.
“Andrew,” Neil says, and Andrew can’t get enough of how he does it. His name has always been something plain and inconsequential, but the care Neil puts into it makes Andrew appreciate it a little more.
As soon as Aaron looks up and realizes what’s happening, he reaches for the car handle, preferring to take his chances with a hitchhiker murderer. Unfortunately for him, that passenger side door has a faulty lock.
“Seriously?” Aaron says as he tugs on it. “Fucking piece of shit!”
Andrew and Neil both pay him no mind.
“I was waiting for you,” Neil says.
Andrew arches a brow. “Oh?”
He would think his face wouldn’t look as hot as it is anymore, but who knows. Who cares.
Neil smiles wider, reaching back behind him to reveal a milkshake, extra large. “They have your favorite flavor today.”
“Are you actually encouraging me to eat Oreos for once?” Andrew asks as he stares at the cup. Neil’s even doodled little bears with devil horns on the styrofoam.
Neil rolls his eyes. “My opinion still stands, they’re gross. But…”
But they’re limited time usually, and he knows Andrew likes them. Andrew fixates on the way Neil bites his lip, the unspoken gesture fizzling like mentos between them.
It’s a blessing and a curse, because for a moment, Andrew forgets his whole reason for being here. Forgets about the pen in his jacket pocket.
Instead, his brain, and…something else, makes him lean in. “How do I know you’re not just getting my hopes up?”
It’s a callback to the days where Neil would intentionally get his order wrong, and Andrew would frustratingly not complain. Sometimes Neil still does it, only to tease.
And as usual, Neil sees right through him.
Neil smirks and pops the bright red straw into the lid. He holds the milkshake out for Andrew, and instead of taking it by the hand, Andrew leans out and takes a few long sips.
From the way Neil never breaks eye contact, Andrew can tell it was the right choice.
“Can I leave,” Aaron begs from the passenger seat. He’s given up with the door, judging from the lack of noise, and his tone echoes defeat. “I’ll walk home. I swear. I won’t tell. Just let me out.”
Andrew basks in the moment, and the delicious sugar coursing through his veins, for another second before popping off the straw with a pleased sigh.
“Stop being dramatic,” Andrew says as he leans back into his seat, and takes the cup from Neil’s hand.
“Ask him out already then,” Aaron spits out, and Andrew tenses.
He expects an awkward silence at best, a flat-out rejection at worst. But he should’ve known better.
He hears Neil hum, and then the tell-tale sound of paper ripping.
“I agree,” Neil says, and before Andrew can reach for his own pen, Neil’s already scribbling his number on a receipt. Andrew’s not sure whose it is. He doesn’t care.
He just stares down at the horrible handwriting, complete with an even worse doodle, and commits it to memory.
“I don’t work tomorrow,” Neil says, weirdly shy for someone so hostile, so difficult. “Just so you know.”
And Andrew wouldn’t have it any other way.