Sometimes Andrew believed Neil Josten was more self-destructive than he was.

No, maybe not as self-destructive. Andrew doubted that.

What was Neil, then?

Neil was a coward. He was always running, always hiding, always lying. It surprised Andrew that that tactic had worked for Neil for so long. Running and hiding had never helped Andrew.

Neil was a snarky little shit. Every other word out of his mouth was smart-assery or sass. Or both.

Neil was an idiot. For having spent such copious amounts of time on the run as he had, he acted like he had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. He seemed to have almost as much of a death wish as Andrew did.

Overall, Andrew's first impression of Neil was far from the best. Neil seemed to have a total of zero redeeming qualities. As long as he didn't make it any more difficult for Andrew to keep his promises than it already was, Andrew couldn't see why he should waste his energy caring about Neil Josten.

When he found Neil's binder – his Kevin Shrine – Andrew's mind changed. Neil was dangerous, potentially. If he was a mole for the Moriyamas, he could kill Kevin faster than Andrew.

Andrew refused to break a promise. He would not be like them; he would not let anyone else be him. Andrew would not let himself fail to protect someone he had sworn to keep safe.

Confronting Neil did not go as planned. Neil was willing to tell the truth, for starters. Andrew hadn't believed Neil was capable of that sort of honesty. The night before he had been so desperate that he had paid a bus boy to knock him out, but in Wymack's apartment, he was willing to open up at least a little. Andrew could tell he was still hiding certain aspects of his story, but Andrew had already predicted that, in all honesty. Old habits died hard. Andrew knew that all too well.

Now Andrew had another person to protect. First Aaron, then Nicky, then Kevin. Now Neil. How soon until someone else managed to worm their way into exploiting Andrew's protective streak? There was no way to tell. All Andrew knew – all Andrew cared about – was that he would not let the people he had the power to protect be him.

When Higgins 'visited,' Andrew felt like the floor was falling out from beneath him. Drake. Now there was a name he had never thought he would hear again. The name alone almost made Andrew vomit, right there in the hallway, all over Higgins. Andrew could feel Neil watching him, careful and observant. It almost felt like he could see through Andrew and watch every memory that the mention of Drake drug up.

Rough hands, heavy bodies, tattoos like symbols pulled straight from a satanic ritual, angry eyes, AJ, AJ, AJ—

No. No, please, no.

Andrew cut his unwilling speculation off immediately. If he let his memories get out of control, he would end up falling apart and he couldn't afford that. Not in the middle of a hallway in front of everyone. Not in front of Neil. One memory would lead to another and soon enough it would be not only Drake's revolting words ringing in his head, but it would be Jesse's and Samuel's and Steven's and all the rest, too. Andrew despised the idea of his teammates knowing what he had endured under the care of his so-called foster families. Best case scenario, they'd try to protect him and they would make Andrew look weak. He could not look weak. He refused to be prey again. Worst case scenario, they'd tell him what Luther had: "It's just a misunderstanding," and "You just don't understand normal brotherly love," and "Boys can't be raped."

Once Andrew had finally kicked Higgins out of the building, he shut himself in the dorm room and sat on his bed, locking every door between the front of the dorm and the bedroom as he went. That would ensure him a few hours of privacy unless Neil decided to pick the locks. Somehow, Andrew doubted that he would. If there was one thing Neil wasn't, it was invasive. Neil had enough secrets of his own that he respected other people's. Perhaps that was why Andrew couldn't quite hate him anymore.

Andrew did not turn the lights on. Instead, he curled with his knees to his chest on the bed, closing his eyes and letting his despicably detailed memory tear him to shreds. He knew that if he gave into it later rather than sooner he would end up exploding and he was not going to hurt someone he had sworn to protect. He'd be no better than them if he did.

If Andrew spent the next hour and a half sobbing into his palm, that was nobody's business but his own.

Thanksgiving break was hell. Not all of it, per se, just…

No, that was inaccurate. All of it was hell.

The worst part, though, was Drake. Drake had always been the worst part of any situation and time had not changed that even remotely. Andrew went upstairs with the promise of much-needed alcohol ringing in his ears and found Drake leaning against the wall with the bottle swinging from between his fingers. Andrew froze. Drake had barely changed, if at all. Taller, maybe, and with a few more tattoos, but it was very definitively Drake. The same cold eyes, the same ghoulish smirk, the same predatory expression that coiled revulsion tightly in Andrew's gut.

Andrew tried to bolt, but the sickening sight of Drake had paralyzed him for too long. Drake grabbed Andrew and Andrew lashed out, raking his nails down Drake's cheek. The gouges started to leak blood; a jolt of rather sadistic pleasure ran down Andrew's spine with the knowledge that he had finally managed to inflict at least a fraction of his pain on Drake.

Unfortunately it didn't slow Drake down even a little. Andrew's defiance only seemed to enrage Drake. He bought the bottle up – Stoli, Andrew noted in the back of his mind – and his vision went black.

When he came to, for a moment, the revolting nostalgia of the situation managed to convince Andrew that he was twelve, still living under Cass' roof. It was all too familiar – wrists pinned above his head against the headboard by Drake's iron grip; face shoved into a pillow to muffle his pained cries; the harsh burning where Drake's cruel whim had torn him open; Drake's disgusting breath brushing over his ear as he whispered disgusting words – You're so good at this, AJ, you look so pretty underneath me where you belong. Then reality crashed back into Andrew and he clenched his jaw around his agonized pleas. He would not give Drake the satisfaction of hearing him beg ever again.

Instead, Andrew did what he had always done: squeeze his eyes shut and wait for it to end. He half wanted to cry, but his drugged mania made him laugh instead. Drake did not care. Andrew hadn't thought he would.

When he refocused, it was quiet and Drake's weight was no longer pinning him to the mattress. He ached from head to toe, but that was normal. Slowly, Andrew unclenched his fingers from where they clutched the headboard, flexed them once to work the stiffness out of them, and shifted to plant his palms against the mattress. The sheet slid from his shoulders, then gentle hands tugged it back up. Andrew wasn't sure who had covered him, but he was also not quite certain he wouldn't vomit if he tried to find out. Instead, he pushed himself up, pausing at the sharp pain that shot up his spine. He started laughing again.

"Oh, oh, that's unpleasant. I am not a fan of this at all." Andrew found himself saying. Damn his medication for obliterating his brain-to-mouth filter.

Once Andrew was finally able to sit up fully, he realized that it was Neil who had wrapped a bloody sheet around him. Neil looked ghostly with how pale his face was. For a moment, Andrew almost wondered if Neil had worried about him, then shut that idea away immediately. He adamantly refused to accept the fact that people worried about him. He wasn't worth that.

A strangled noise that might've been a mangled attempt at Andrew's name sounded from beyond Andrew's view. He turned to see Aaron, shell-shocked and covered in blood. His face was almost as white as Neil's.

Fear bolted through Andrew, white hot and terrible. He beckoned his brother over, hoping and praying to any god that might've still been listening that Drake had not touched Aaron. He had done everything he physically could to keep Drake and Aaron apart – he had given up Cass to keep Drake and Aaron apart. He would kill Luther for putting Drake in the same place as Aaron.

Thankfully Aaron hadn't been injured. Neil said Drake was dead. Andrew hoped so, but doubted it. Drake wouldn't die. He would pretend and then he would come back to fuck Andrew up again. He always did, apparently.

For a moment, a fleeting, barely-there moment, just after Luther left and the police arrived, Andrew felt almost safe. Neil was at his back and the rest of his group – not family, never family, family was dangerous – surrounded him. They wouldn't let anyone else hurt him.

For a moment, Andrew thought that maybe family wasn't such a dangerous concept after all.

"We're taking you off your meds."

For the second time in two days, Andrew's duct tape and tissue paper world crashed down around him in a shower of hell tinged confetti. First Drake, now this bullshit.

No. Andrew did not want to get taken off his meds. As much as he hated them – as awful as withdrawals were – there was no way of knowing how he would manage without the emotional crutch they offered. Yes, he was manic most, if not all of the time, but the drugs made it easier for him to keep up his apathetic front. He knew he would fall apart without the drugs, but he wasn't about to explain that, not in front of anyone. Bee, yes, and maybe Neil. Maybe Neil.

That also scared Andrew out of his wits. He was beginning to trust Neil. At first, he had thought that their little game of secrets would end up with Andrew's being exposed, but Neil had kept his mouth shut and that sort of loyalty was dangerous. Andrew hadn't bothered to hide his sexuality, but it had never mattered to him before. There was no one that he came even close to having enough confidence in to consider a relationship with. Roland had been his rebound; it had been a quick and simple fuck, nothing more, and Andrew still hadn't been able to handle being touched.

A romantic relationship was the last thing Andrew wanted or needed. He would not inflict himself and his issues and his strict boundaries on anyone else. No one would want the mess he was, and certainly not Neil. Besides, Neil was leaving. Neil was planning on running. Andrew knew he couldn't convince him to stay and Andrew himself was no motivation.

Andrew just smiled that awful, awful smile he always wanted to tear off his face and refused. Kevin was his excuse, and it was a valid, true statement that he did not think it was the best idea to leave Kevin alone, but he wouldn't voice his real reason. He probably didn't need to. Bee was always able to hear what he couldn't say.

"I'll watch him."

That was a far cry from what Andrew had expected to hear out of Neil's mouth, followed closely by what came next: "So trust me now if you can."

It was like Neil had no idea what he was asking of Andrew. Trust him? Neil was a liar and a rabbit and a Fox. No part of Neil Josten inspired that sort of confidence. And yet, Neil offered another small secret – Abram. Abram was the truth. Abram was not a lie.

Could Andrew have faith Abram?

He was already halfway to relying Neil, despite how hard he fought it, so in theory, Abram should have been easy to trust. But Andrew was Andrew and he did not know Abram. He could not be sure of a person he did not know.

Neil seemed to see his hesitation. He pulled Andrew's hand beneath his shirt. At first, Andrew was immediately going to pull away, uncomfortable with the near-intimacy of the touch, but then he realized that beneath his fingers was a latticework of scars, oh-so-similar to the raised skin lining Andrew's own wrists. With his breath stuck in his throat, Andrew slowly pressed his palm flat to Neil's stomach. He could feel Neil breathing.

This was not what he had expected. This sort of nearly-intimate faith bordered on too much for Andrew to handle, especially with the way it set his finicky heart fluttering. It's your drugs, Andrew told himself. Don't get your hopes up.

He did it anyway. He had always been a rebel.

On his way to Easthaven, Andrew let himself think it: I trust Neil Josten. It sounded like the sweetest of daydreams, but it felt like bitter reality.

It took all of Andrew's willpower not to flinch when the door open. He managed to quell the urge and continue staring blankly at the wall. Nothing he could do would stop Proust, anyway, so what was the point in struggling? At this point, not responding was a better option. Maybe Proust would leave him be if he didn't react.

He knew that wouldn't work. Proust always found a new way to make Andrew panic. When the prospect of being forcibly drugged stopped making Andrew fight tooth and nail, he sent him to a padded room in a straight jacket. When Andrew stopped struggling, stopped trying to keep Proust from biting and bruising and destroying his scars – the one thing he had ever truly owned – Proust moved on to the choking. After that it was Say 'Please' and I'll stop. After that it was the constant repetitions of you want this you fucking whore you fucking want this I know you do, then the tickling and the AJ, AJ, AJ.

Andrew hated every second of it. Every new form of psychological torture Proust came up with made Andrew flinch and fight and sob. He hated crying to begin with, but in front of someone who was in the Moriyama's pocket and knowing that Riko would hear about how he had bawled and begged for it to stop, please, just stop made everything worse. By the time Andrew's release from Easthaven rolled around, all he wanted was to sleep for the next forty years without a nightmare. The last thing he wanted was any sort of physical contact.

The only people who had bothered to show up for his release were Kevin, Nicky, Aaron, and Neil. Big surprise. Andrew knew that, in reality, the rest of the team didn't give a damn. They just wanted him to play and as long as he did that, they'd ignore him. He walked past his teammates, biting back questions about what had happened to Neil and why Nicky looked sick. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

Andrew was furious. Neil had lied again and Andrew had made the mistake of trusting him. This is the last time, Andrew swore to himself. You can't afford this disappointment again.

He knew it was a lie as he thought it. Neil's behaviour was starting to bleed into Andrew's mentality.

Andrew closed his eyes, trying to refocus. He was mad at Neil. He did not want to kiss him. He was going to rip Neil to shreds. When he opened his eyes again, Andrew focused on how far up he was, dully pleased at the little thrill of fear that ran through him when he saw his feet dangling precariously over the edge. Andrew hated heights, but that was why he was up there. At least fear was something other than anger or the desperation to feel anything but anger. Andrew found that while sober, he had two emotions: blinding rage and complete emotional deadness. It sucked, but there was nothing Andrew could do to change it.

The door opened behind him, but Andrew didn't turn to face Neil until he sat down. Up close, Andrew could trace the bruises on Neil's face as they spread crept down onto his neck and disappeared into the collar of his shirt; it reminded Andrew of the purpling bruises lining his wrists and his thighs. The thought made him sick. Now there was guilt and failure curling in his stomach. Andrew didn't like these emotions. He reached out and held his hand an inch from Neil's cheek, not wanting to hurt Neil further. It took him a moment to force the words past his dry throat, though they came out sounding steady and normal.

"Did I break my promise or were you keeping yours?"

"Neither."

Andrew didn't like that answer or the one that came after. He hated the one that came a few minutes later.

"Riko said if I didn't, Dr. Proust would—"

Andrew couldn't let Neil finish that sentence. He clapped a hand over Neil's mouth, thankful that his fingers weren't shaking. He despised the thought that Neil would willingly give himself over to Riko, to the family that had killed his parents, just to protect Andrew. Andrew simply didn't see the point.

It hadn't worked, anyway.

Everything Neil said after that point just made Andrew feel worse. Neil had tried so hard to protect Andrew, had wanted so much to protect him when he wouldn't protect himself, that it made Andrew want to pitch himself head-first over the edge of the roof. He didn't want to put Neil in harm's way and he had ended up doing exactly that anyway. Andrew wasn't certain if he could hate himself any more than he already did in that moment.

"I hate you," Andrew said. What he meant was I hate myself so much that I can't allow myself to not hate you.

"You were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs," Andrew said. What he meant was I wasn't supposed to have emotions while I was sober but you make me feel and it scares me.

"I'm not a hallucination," Neil said. Andrew couldn't tell what he meant.

"You're a pipe dream," Andrew said. He meant it.

Beneath his words laid the terrible, terrifying truth. I might be in love with you. Love wasn't something that Andrew knew. Cass had loved him. Andrew hated love. He hated himself. He hated heights. He hated Neil Josten.

But hate had never stolen Andrew's breath like love did. Hate had never made Andrew want to wake up next to someone who didn't want to violate him. That had only ever been love, and Neil invoked that and so much more. Neil made the ice that flooded Andrew's veins thaw a little.

Andrew hated Neil Josten, but he loved him more, and it was for this precise reason that Andrew hated him.

God damn it, Roland. He never had learned to keep his mouth shut.

For once, Andrew was speechless. He didn't know how to respond to Neil's blunt accusation. He knew what was being implied, and didn't like where it was going. For a moment, he considered lying. It would be easier, surely, and less painful, but Neil, a practiced liar himself, would be able to smell the lie a hundred miles off. Andrew didn't like decisions, so he stuck to his simplest rule for himself: only lie by omission.

"Every inch of you. That doesn't mean I wouldn't blow you."

Andrew braced himself for the explosion, for the disgust, but it didn't come. Neil just looked thunderstruck. It was understandable, Andrew supposed. Andrew Minyard, psychopathic apathetic secret-keeper, having any sort of romantic attraction? It was nigh unimaginable. Nicky would flip his shit if he knew.

"You like me," Neil said, breathy and unsteady. Half of Andrew vaguely decided that it annoyed him that the notion was so surprising. The other half liked that Andrew could unbalance Neil like that.

No. Andrew didn't like anything about Neil. Admitting to like could all too easily turn into admitting to love and love was a dangerous, disquieting thing that Andrew didn't want to ever experience again. Cass had been hellish enough. Andrew couldn't handle losing Neil like he had lost Cass, so he would not let himself want Neil.

"I hate you."

Even as he said it, Andrew knew it was a lie. He was lying to himself relatively often, these days. Hopefully Neil was too shell shocked to notice it.

Andrew didn't know why he had decided to kiss Neil. Maybe it was the way he looked at Andrew, like he was the only thing that mattered in such a majestically fucked up world. No one had looked at Andrew like that, not ever. Maybe it was how he managed to drive his words between Andrew's fragile ribs with the implication that to Neil, Andrew was home. Maybe it was the way the sunset reflected off Neil's eyes and turned them a soft, forgiving purple-ish color that was the same shade as redemption. Whatever it was, it tipped Andrew over the metaphorical edge and everything went blank except for the burning desire to kiss Neil, to take him apart bit by bit and help him back together.

Neil's mouth burned against Andrew's. It was a soft sort of burn, nothing at all like the sort that Drake and the rest had caused. Neil's lips parted in surprise as he locked up; Andrew didn't take it as an invitation no matter how much he wanted to. Even as intoxicated by Neil as he was, Andrew didn't want to cross a line. He probably already had, but he didn't want to push Neil any further until he gave Andrew some sort of go-ahead. Neil hadn't given any indication of whether he hated it or not.

Neil's fingers brushed against Andrew's jaw, then diverted to knot in the sleeve of Andrew's coat. The touch made Andrew pull back. This was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea that he had already executed.

Andrew did the only thing he could and shoved Neil away, leaning back. Neil looked dazed. Andrew felt sick. He picked up his cigarette butt, then tossed it away and pulled another one from the pack. He hoped Neil didn't notice the way his fingers shook. His heart was thudding so hard against his ribcage that Andrew almost thought it would beat right out, ripping through bone and tissue on its way.

The second cigarette wasn't satisfying. He put it down beside the first and grabbed a third, needing something to do with his hands. That one Neil plucked neatly from Andrew's hand; maybe he could tell that Andrew's hands were shaking so hard that there was a fairly high chance that he would burn himself if he tried to light it.

Neil spoke like Andrew had hit him over the head, unsteady and stuttering. Andrew couldn't meet his gaze.

"This isn't a yes. This is a nervous breakdown. I know the difference even if you don't." Andrew dragged his thumb across his lips, trying to forget the way that Neil's had felt against his. It didn't work. Andrew's mouth still felt scorched from the heat of the kiss.

"I won't be like them. I won't let you be me," Andrew said numbly, a sick sort of thrill running through him as he finally voiced the phrases that had been his internal mantra since he had found out that Drake had wanted to put his filthy hands on Aaron, too. He would not inflict that anguish on anyone else.

Silence from Neil, then, "The next time one of them says you're soulless I might have to fight them."

Oh, Neil, Andrew thought. If only you knew.

Disappointment was a dull sort of hell and Andrew despised it. Neil hadn't said anything about the kiss, even though he was constantly staring at Andrew like he was an alien. Andrew hated this uncertainty, the constant guessing. All he wanted was a firm, certain yes or no. Andrew hoped for a yes but it felt illicit. What right did he have to hope for anything anymore, much less something as monumental as a truthful yes from someone like Neil?

Andrew rolled his point of ice cream between his hands, partially to warm it up a little and partially to distract himself from the fact that he was alone in the room with Neil. For a few minutes there was tense but appreciated silence. Then Neil ruined it with his annoyingly attractive voice and his annoyingly kind words that Andrew didn't expect or deserve.

"Question," Neil said. "When you said you don't like being touched, is it because you don't like it at all or because you don't trust anyone else enough to let them touch you?"

That took Andrew by surprise. Why did Neil care? Was he considering a yes? His silence for the last several days was probably a no, so what did it matter? Andrew looked over to check if Neil was being cruel and stringing Andrew along just to disappoint him in the end, but he appeared to be completely serious. Another tiny thrill of unproductive hope ran through Andrew. He pushed it away, determined to ignore it; but it happened again when Neil insinuated that Andrew was necessary for his survival and a third time when Neil said he trusted Andrew. It bordered on too much for Andrew to handle.

"You shouldn't." Andrew was not a trustworthy man and he had one nothing to deserve Neil's unwavering loyalty.

"Says the man who stopped." Neil paused, but continued when Andrew couldn't find a valid argument to counter with. "I don't understand it, and I don't know what I'm doing, but I don't want to ignore it just because it's new. So are you completely off-limits or are there any safe zones?"

It took Andrew a few seconds to find an appropriate comeback. This felt so tantalizingly close to a yes that Andrew could barely stand it. He wanted to kiss Neil until their lips bruised, wanted to push him down and take him apart and give him affection in the only way Andrew knew how anymore. But he didn't. Andrew needed to hear that yes out loud; needed to know that Neil wanted this as much as Andrew did.

And then Neil did say yes and Andrew froze. It felt like a cruel dream. Andrew had never received what he wanted in a matter as significant as that one, so it couldn't be real. Neil must've noticed Andrew's hesitation; he took the ice cream away and leaned in, stopping just shy of kissing Andrew. He was so close that Andrew could feel his breath ghosting nervously across his face. When Andrew still didn't move, Neil lifted his hand toward Andrew's face. Andrew caught at his wrist, knowing that he couldn't handle the touch right now. Neil didn't fight it.

"It's fine if you hate me," Neil said, quieter than he probably realized. That was what broke Andrew's resolve.

Neil was a liar; that yes was probably another lie, but Andrew chose to believe him. It was incredibly selfish, he knew, but he needed this, even if it was for just a little while, as much as he needed oxygen. It was probably an unwise decision, but at the moment, Andrew didn't care. Andrew responded – he wouldn't remember what he said later – and pushed Neil back onto the carpet. Neil didn't resist, not even when Andrew pushed his hands down and told him not to move. This was why Andrew was so afraid of Neil: he wasn't afraid to respect Andrew's limits and that sort of deference was new and terrifying. Andrew wasn't used to being allowed to set his own boundaries, much less having them abided by. It was disconcerting, but not unwelcome.

When Andrew kissed Neil, it felt like something had fallen into place. Neil's heartbeat thrummed against Andrew's wrist, their pulses equally uneven. For once in his life, Andrew knew he this wasn't taboo, knew that this was safe and this wasn't sacrilegious and this wasn't going to hurt him because this was Neil Josten. It was dangerous, but so was Andrew, and he was the only thing that he was afraid of anymore.

Neil is gone. The words rang through Andrew's mind, bouncing off his the walls of his skull. Wymack's words from hours before laced through his blood like poison, worse than anything any of his foster families had told him. It hurt; it hurt so severely that Andrew wanted to cut it out of his veins and let it drip to the ground with his blood. It had been so long since Andrew had wanted to destroy himself to keep someone. The last time had been Cass, but losing Neil was a thousand times worse.

Gone. Gone. Neil is gone. Neil is gone and he lied. He lied. Neil is Nathaniel. Nathaniel is gone. Andrew's thoughts were a jagged, broken loop, slicing deeper into him than any knife ever could. Andrew did not care that Neil had lied in that moment. He didn't care about the Nathaniel Kevin had talked about, voice low and rough and a hand wrapped around his own neck as if that would stop Andrew from killing him if he wanted. Kevin was not Andrew's concern. Andrew would not allow Kevin to be so nonchalant about Neil's disappearance. It was bound to happen eventually, Kevin had said. I don't know why you're all so upset.

Andrew had nearly torn his throat out for that. He did not get to dismiss Andrew's terror over the fact that Neil had mysteriously vanished into thin air and Andrew didn't know where to find him. It was as unforgivable as it was awful. As much as Andrew hated to admit it, he needed to know what had happened to Neil. Neil was important and leaving Andrew in the dark would no doubt end in everyone's deaths.

Neil was a liar and a rabbit, but that didn't make him any less necessary. Neil was a Fox. Neil was kind. Neil was fine with Andrew's discomfort with touch. Neil was everything Andrew could never bring himself to want and everything Andrew could never be.

And now the damned feds had handcuffed him to Wymack for threatening them. At that point, anything short of stabbing them wasn't a threat. But now Andrew couldn't go find Neil and sitting still was going to kill him slowly.

They had found Neil, but Andrew couldn't see him. Andrew was furious. He snarled and growled, but he and Wymack still wore the handcuffs and he wasn't allowed to talk to Neil. Wymack said that he'd have to come with him to move the bus. Andrew did not have a choice.

When they returned to room, there were two feds outside. One of them was the one that had handcuffed Wymack and Andrew together. Andrew didn't like him. Wymack asked what they were doing, but Andrew only heard the response: "Nathaniel is in there."

Andrew didn't think. He slammed himself into the door, forcing it open with his shoulder and dragging Wymack in after him. He'd be damned if he couldn't see Neil.

By the time Andrew reached Neil, he had bent double with gauze-wrapped hands clutched to his stomach. Bandages nearly completely obscured his face, but Andrew knew it was Neil. Andrew sank to the floor with Neil and tilted his head up so that he could look at his face. Neil didn't resist. He never had and the thought made Andrew sick.

"They could have blinded you." Andrew wanted to punch Neil for that. What business did he have worrying about Andrew when he had disappeared and come back looking like he had been through the wringer?

Instead Andrew started peeling off bandages. First he pulled off the one covering long slashes, clearly made by a sharp knife and an intentional hand. The stitches holding them shut were neat and even, clearly professional. It wasn't too awful, though, and surely nothing Neil hadn't already lived through if the scars on his stomach were anything to go by. The next bandage came off, though, and Andrew almost choked on his breath.

Neil's left cheek was mangled and red, burnt nearly to the bone, it seemed. Rage boiled in Andrew's stomach. Whoever had done that to Neil was going to die a slow, painful death. Andrew clenched his fist in the collar of Neil's hoodie to keep himself from pulling Neil any closer and causing him any more pain than necessary.

And then Neil apologized, as if it was all his fault. As if he had done that to himself. That time Andrew almost did punch Neil because it was not his fault in any capacity. This was the his father's fault, his mother's fault, the Moriyamas' fault, Andrew's fault for not keeping him safe, but not Neil's. Never Neil's.

It took so much effort not to smash Neil's face in. But it was already going to scar enough, and Andrew had already caused him enough pain. He wouldn't add to Neil's suffering.

When the fed threatened to take Neil away again, something in Andrew snapped. He moved to stand up, but Neil stopped him, reaching out and framing Andrew's face with his hands. Neil didn't touch Andrew, but Andrew knew what he was doing and allowed himself to let Neil handle the fed. The feds needed Neil's testimony and he wouldn't give it if they took him from Andrew.

The handcuffs finally got removed. Andrew dropped his hand, not wanting to reach out and touch Neil. He didn't want to hurt Neil any more. When Abby approached, though, Andrew did tug Neil closer. No one touched Neil without his consent ever again. No one. And for the moment, no one came any closer to Neil than absolutely necessary without Andrew's permission.

"If you tell me to leave, I'll go." Neil sounded hopeless.

Something in Andrew's chest broke. As if he would willingly let Neil out of his sight again. As if he would give Neil up that easily. Andrew tugged gently on Neil's sweatshirt and said, "You aren't going anywhere."

The look of undiluted relief on Neil's face made the wrath boiling Andrew's blood burn a little less. Neil still looked at Andrew like he was the answer to everything but right then, Andrew didn't mind it.

Months later, Neil was okay. Not fine. He was never fine. Thankfully, he had expanded his vocabulary a little and learned some other adjectives for that word. But Neil was okay. He was great, even. Andrew was just grateful that he was safe.

Neil's nightmares had even abated a little. They were still there, of course – they probably always would be, just like Andrew's. But they weren't as violent and Neil had learned to turn to Andrew when he awoke from one.

He was sleeping, then, with his back to Andrew, but his breathing was soft and steady and there was no tension in his shoulders. Andrew would be asleep soon, but he wanted to keep his eyes open for as long as possible. Drake was still alive in Andrew's dreams, but in the darkness of the dorm room, the only person who mattered was Neil Josten.

Neil was many things. He was a liar and a runner and a Fox, but he was fixing a fair portion of those. He wasn't keeping as many secrets. He wasn't running for anything but recreation anymore and he always invited Andrew. He would always be a Fox, but Andrew would be, too, so that was more forgivable than others of Neil's worst habits. And above all, he was Andrew's. Andrew's boyfriend, if you wanted to be like Nicky and assign tacky labels on their relationship. Boyfriend didn't quite encompass what Neil was to Andrew. Neil was Andrew's lover, yes, but he was also Andrew's source of comfort and Andrew's confidante if and when he needed one. Neil knew Andrew. Neil respected Andrew and he hadn't broken under the full weight of Andrew's issues. Then again, Andrew hadn't broken under the weight of Neil's past, so he supposed Neil was just returning the favor. Either way, Andrew was fine with it. Grateful for it, even, despite the fact that he would never admit that outside of his own head.

Andrew would never admit to anyone else that he loved Neil, either. Hate was a safer word to use because hate came with fewer expectations. Even so, Andrew had stopped denying to himself that he had fallen head over heels for Neil Josten and that no one else would ever come into the picture. Andrew didn't trust anyone else like he trusted Neil, so there would never be anyone else. Neil was more than enough to make Andrew content.

Sure that Neil was asleep, Andrew reached out and slowly traced the phrase onto the bare skin of Neil's back. I love you. Neil would probably never hear the words out loud, and he certainly wouldn't hear them any time soon, but Andrew could do this because who else was there to see it?

After a moment, Neil rolled over with a sleepily lazy smile. Andrew's heart froze. Neil reached out and gently carded his hand once through Andrew's hair, then hovered his palm over Andrew's cheek.

"Yes or no?" he murmured ever so softly. Andrew nodded and Neil let his hand fall, pressing his palm against Andrew's cheek lightly.

"I love you, too, you know," Neil breathed quietly. Andrew felt his cheeks flame against his will; he was glad it was dark and Neil couldn't see his blush.

"A hundred and seventeen percent, Josten," was Andrew's only response, but he reached up to set his hand over Neil's despite his gruff tone.

Neil only smiled that infuriatingly sweet smile and drifted to sleep.