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Neil spent a good amount of time watching his neighbor out of his living room window, glaring at him ineffectively anytime he crossed the small parking lot outside their building. They lived in a three story pre-war walk-up; Neil’s one bedroom apartment encompassed half of the second floor, and Neighbor lived upstairs. Neil knew that Neighbor lived upstairs because he listened to him stomp up those stairs at 3am almost every morning, followed by the sound of a door slamming.
If Neil was inclined to be generous, he would admit that he was a light, twitchy sleeper, and that the stairwell splitting their building in two was prone to echo, and it may - may - be the case that Neighbor wasn’t actually stomping up the stairs. He may in fact have just been walking normally. And it may - may - be the case that Neighbor wasn’t slamming the door. He may in fact just be closing it normally. But Neil was rarely inclined to be generous when he thought of Neighbor, and so when he startled awake at 3 he scowled, spewed curses into the dark, and oftentimes didn’t manage to fall back asleep.
It didn’t help that Neighbor wore big heavy black combat boots reaching up to his mid-calf, laced tightly around camo cargo pants - sometimes his pants were red plaid or black check, but most of the time they were a deep muted camo green. His shirt was always some ragged black band tee with holes in it or the sleeves cut off, highlighting his defined biceps. His forearms were covered in odd black armbands, and his belt consisted of bullets lined up in a row and wrapped in leather. Bullets .
But the bullets and the armbands and the combat boots weren’t the worst of it. The worst of it was the hair - bright blue and gelled straight up into a quasi-mohawk, complemented with heavy eyeliner and copious amounts of piercings littering his face. If Neil was inclined to be generous - which has already been established, he was not - he would admit that something about Neighbor’s face was interesting if you could get past the metal and the outrageous hair.
There had been in-person sightings, too - not just from Neil’s window. In fact, Neil had actually passed Neighbor on the stairs on three different memorable occasions before it became a regular thing.
The first time, Neil had been on his way out the door for a run. Running wasn’t really his thing, to be honest. Well, it used to be his thing, but now his thing was yoga - hot and heavy heated power flow classes where he could sweat and focus and push his body, always somewhere further to go.
Neil knew this wasn’t really the purpose of yoga - he was a fucking yoga teacher after all - it was supposed to be all kind and centered and accepting and, yeah, he could do that part too. He taught his classes like that, his students loved him (they really did). But personally? He was in it for the sweat, for the burn, for the bliss that came from pushing his body so far that his mind shut down, shut off. Sometimes though, on bad days, nothing but the pound of the pavement against his sneakers would do.
Really, he wasn’t supposed to be running - residual injuries from the torture he’d survived and whatnot. Some days it was harder than others to heed his doctor’s orders, but yoga helped. Friends helped. The surgeons told him he was lucky; at least his father hadn’t managed to actually sever his tendons. Whatever. But that day - the first time he’d seen Neighbor on the stairs - had been a bad day, and on bad days Neil went running.
So, as Neil came tearing out of his apartment, ready to pop in the earbuds Matt had gotten him, he crashed face-first into Neighbor. It wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose, but somehow he’d walked out his door right on the schedule of when Neighbor left each night - always the same time, 8pm, always in the same semblance of an outfit. Neil crashed into him, and in turn he crashed Neil up against the wall, a knife - Neil was pretty sure it was a knife - pressed into his side.
Before Neil could even register what was happening, before panic could set in, it was over. Neighbor stepped back, sheathed the knife, started to run a hand through his hair and then paused, dropping it back to his side.
Neil stared.
Neighbor stared.
Finally Neighbor huffed and said, “Sorry, I startle easily.”
Neil’s eyes had widened at that. For some reason he hadn’t expected an apology. “Clearly,” he intoned, a little out of breath from being slammed up against a wall and threatened.
Neighbor had cocked his head, regarding him. Neil stayed frozen against the wall, like an animal that thinks if it doesn’t move the hunter can’t see it. Finally, Neighbor graced him with a two-fingered salute before shuffling down the stairs and out the door into the parking lot below.
“Asshole,” Neil muttered to himself, but somehow the word didn’t quite fit. Eh, whatever. He put on his running music - Eminem circa 2000; he knew it was awful but the running beat was perfection - and jogged out the door, his nerves pushing him into a full sprint across the pavement.
The second time Neil ran into Neighbor, Matt was picking him up for dinner - he’d called Neil wanting to gush about some new girl he’d met (Dan or Jenn or something or other). Anyway, Neil was heading out, pulling on his jacket - slightly better dressed than he normally was, in a floral button-down and jeans that actually fit - when suddenly Neighbor was coming towards him up the stairs. It was 8:30, dude should have been long gone, but here he was stomping (okay fine, it wasn’t really a stomp) up the stairs.
Tonight his pants were red plaid and they were...tight. Neil was momentarily distracted by Neighbor’s thigh muscles as he took each step up, flexing under the fabric - fabric which Neil thought must have some stretch to it because how did they not rip with each step? Neil stood dumbfounded in the stairwell until Neighbor was two steps away from him. He paused and raised an eyebrow at Neil, and Neil realized he was blocking the way. He blamed the pants.
Neil stared.
Neighbor stared.
Neil sputtered stupidly, “You aren’t supposed to be here.” Oh god. Neil felt the flush working its way up the back of his neck as Neighbor’s other eyebrow lifted to meet the first.
Thankfully the man seemed inclined to let the implications of that statement slide, finally just shrugging and saying, “I forgot my phone.”
Neil forced himself to step out of the way, and as Neighbor reached the landing he realized that the man was actually a few inches shorter than he was - impressive since Neil only barely clocked 5’3’’. He must have missed that fact last time what with the distraction of being slammed into the wall and all. Neighbor gave him that two-fingered salute again, this time from close up, and Neil caught a hint of cigarette smoke and something herbal, and then he was gone - stomping (stepping) up the stairs.
“Asshole,” Neil muttered for some reason, and headed out into the night to climb into Matt’s waiting car.
The third time might - maybe - have been on purpose. Neil had crawled into bed at a reasonable hour, but sleep hadn’t been inclined to be reasonable. The next day was his birthday, and birthdays for him meant anxiety and stress and sadness. He was safe now; all the men (and women) who had hurt him were dead or in jail. But. The last time he’d been kidnapped, it had been on his birthday. Happy fucking birthday, Junior.
Most days he was past it, most days he was fine, most days he had Matt and Allison and yoga and a whole life. Most days weren’t his birthday. So Neil had tossed and turned, kicked blankets off, pulled them back on again. He might have been just drifting off into a fitful sleep when those goddamned boots started echoing on the stairs. Step, step, stomp . Neil glared at his clock by the bed. 3am. Of course it was.
So, maybe he wasn’t really thinking clearly when he threw his sheets off, stormed to his door, and flung it open to find Neighbor just reaching the landing. He was wearing his camo pants, his blue hair a little tired and pushed back, his eyeliner smudgy. Neil was wearing...boxers. Neil was only wearing boxers. Fuck. Oh, fuck.
He took a step back and slammed the door, stood stock still, squeezed his eyes shut. Waited. A knock sounded - three short raps. Neil held his breath. Then again, three sharp raps. It was too late to hide the damage now, but Neil couldn’t help it - he darted back to his room, grabbed a hoodie, pulled it over his head, bumping into the walls as he scrambled back to the door and opened it.
Neighbor’s hand paused, clearly raised to rap at his door again. “What?” Neil grumped at him.
Neighbor’s brow furrowed. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Neil said, glaring at him balefully before looking down needlessly to make sure his torso was covered. Neil was angry. He wasn’t angry at his neighbor really, yet here they were; he was pretty sure the man had plenty of time to see all of his scars before he’d slammed the door in his face. The hoodie felt clingy and transparent against his skin and he wanted to scream, but he steeled himself, counted his breaths, and looked up.
Neighbor was staring.
Neil stared back.
Finally Neighbor sat down on the steps, his eyes still trained on Neil as he unlaced one boot, then the other, pulling them both off. He twined his fingers into the laces as he stood, offering Neil that two-fingered salute with the other hand before continuing his (silent) climb up the stairs. Neil felt the tips of his ears burning as he watched the man retreat until he couldn’t see him anymore.
“Asshole,” he huffed, but an odd smile tugged at the side of his mouth as he closed the door, pulled the hoodie off, and collapsed back into his bed.
After the third time it seemed like Neil couldn’t avoid his neighbor, and, even more strangely, he didn’t want to for some reason - a fact he pointedly ignored. Neil found a reason to be coming home or going out at 8 most nights, passing Neighbor in the hallway, exchanging a word here and there. Depending on the timing, sometimes Neighbor would hold the door to the stairwell open for Neil, his face impassive, his eyes intent, flicking a two-fingered salute Neil’s way when he passed. It was so annoying. Neil wasn’t sure why but it was absolutely infuriating. He hated those piercings. He hated that blue hair. He hated everything about the man.
Their weird dance went on for months before everything changed, and it was all because of a bank holiday. Or maybe it was a beach holiday? Whatever holiday it was, Neil hated it, just like he hated his infuriating neighbor and pretty much anything that wreaked havoc on his schedule.
Neil always worked a full schedule on Mondays - he taught a 6am Vinyasa followed by a 9am Power Flow, an hour lunchtime class, then three more to close out the day. It was a lot, but he loved it - at the end of Monday he tended to get the best sleep of the week as he was so exhausted from interacting with so many eager yogis. But this particular Monday was a Memorial Day Monday, which meant the studio was closed, which meant Neil was stuck at home, bouncing off the walls.
He’d spent time on his mat in the living room working through a new sequence, he’d started a stew simmering with half the ingredients in his fridge, and then he’d almost gone for a run, but instead managed to talk himself into calling Allison and they’d gone for tea and scones - the closest thing to a cookie Neil would eat.
“He’s just so annoying ,” Neil complained, swirling his spoon round and round in his matcha latte.
“Mmmm,” Allison agreed, grinning at him a little. “And what is so annoying about him again?”
“Everything!” Neil nodded emphatically. “He goes out almost every night, in this like - punk uniform. It’s stupid. Where is he even going?” Neil took a sip of his drink and winced. He’d forgotten to tell the barista he didn’t want sweetener.
“And why do you care where he is going, my little fox?” Allison asked
Neil glared at her. “I hate when you call me that,” he said, starting to pull his hoodie over the auburn hair that reminded him of his father.
Allison reached out and stilled his hand, “Stop that,” she said. “I am going to keep calling you my little fox until you stop being stupid about your hair. You don’t look like him. You look like you, and you’re gorgeous.” She winked at him. “Now answer my question, why do you care where he is going?”
“I don’t,” Neil huffed, his cheeks hot.
Allison leaned back in her chair, watching him, and then suddenly her mouth curved into a delighted smile. “Oh Neil,” she laughed.
“What?” Neil demanded, glaring at her some more.
“Oh Neil ,” she said again. “I think you have a crush.”
“Shut the fuck up, I do not.” Allison laughed again and shook her head slightly. Neil stuttered, “I do not. I don’t have crushes. I - I hate him.”
Allison arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him, “Do you now?”
“Yes!” Neil said firmly.
“Okay,” Allison agreed, letting it go.
Yet now he found himself stuck back in his apartment, and Neil couldn’t seem to let it go. He’d never had a crush. He didn’t swing like that. It was a ridiculous suggestion. And really, if he was going to have a crush on someone it wouldn’t be on Neighbor. The guy was an asshole - wasn’t he? Fuck.
He couldn’t clear his head, and to top it all off, someone upstairs was having a party or something. The sounds of wailing electric music, reminiscent of a dying cat, had been pumping down the hallway and into his apartment ever since Allison had dropped him off with a resounding kiss on his cheek and a ruffle of his hair.
Neil tried to distract himself with a novel Matt had given him (what was this book even about? foxes and lacrosse? the fuck?), but it was hard to focus on with the music pounding discordantly through his ceiling. The screaming cat music was all around him and he knew his damned punk rock neighbor was responsible and he thought he might just murder him this time. Neil kept thinking it had to stop soon but it went on...and on and on. When he realized he’d read the same goddamned paragraph three times he slammed the book closed. Enough was e- fucking- nough.
He stormed out his door and up the stairs. There were two apartments on the third floor, but he knew that the closest door must belong to Neighbor - there was no way he’d hear the door slam so loudly each night if it was the farther door. (Neil refused to acknowledge that ever since the night Neighbor had pulled his boots off three months ago, he actually hadn’t heard the man stomping up the stairs once, hadn’t heard his door slam once).
Neil pounded on the door, waited, pounded again. Then he noticed a doorbell - why did he have a doorbell? Neil didn’t have a doorbell - so he pressed that, too. Neil waited a moment and was about to press the doorbell again when suddenly the door swung open. The music hadn’t stopped, it still wailed around them, and Neil realized with startling clarity that it wasn’t coming from this apartment.
Neighbor stood in front of him, but he also didn’t. This was….this was him, but. But. He stood in front of Neil, wearing faded black jeans, a soft looking grey sweater draped over his muscular upper body. He had a pair of tortoiseshell frames perched on his nose and a book in his hand. Most importantly though - most shockingly - was his face. All of the metal was gone, save for one small stud peeking out of the shell of his ear, and his hair - his hair - was blond - so so blond - flopping over an undercut, with only the very hint of a shadow of blue if you strained to see it. Neil’s mouth dropped open and he just. Stood there. Holy fuck.
“Hey,” Neighbor said, dropping the book down at his side.
Neil said nothing for a moment, scrambling. Then, “Your hair is blond!”
Neighbor looked at him impassively.
“And your...where are your piercings?”
Neighbor didn’t answer, just looked at him for another minute, then looked down at his feet, then looked over Neil’s shoulder. “Ah,” he said. “It’s Memorial Day. That’s why you are home.”
He closed his book with a finger trapped in the middle, and then brushed past Neil. Neil felt the contact of shoulder against shoulder like a brushfire. He turned, and Neighbor was pounding on the door across the hall.
A minute passed, and the godawful music shut off. The silence was almost overwhelming in contrast. Then the door slammed open, revealing a tall scrawny man with a bass guitar slung around his neck, a scowl stretched across his face until he registered the man in front of him. “Andrew!” The man shouted, pushing out his knuckles for a fist bump.
Neighbor - oh, well, Andrew apparently - met him obligingly with his own knuckles before nodding his head behind him at Neil.
Tall dude looked past Andrew’s shoulder and grinned at Neil. “Oh sorry dude, too loud?” he asked affably.
Gaping still at the whole damn situation, Neil snapped his mouth closed and nodded.
Dude grinned back and said, “Yeah sorry man! You aren’t usually here on Mondays so we have band practice at mine, and Andrew well, you know,” Dude laughed. Neil’s jaw was in danger of dropping open again so he clenched his teeth and nodded once more, even though he had no idea what the guy meant by that.
Dude slung his guitar all the way around his back, freeing both hands to make a few motions at Andrew. Neil startled. That was sign language. The fuck? Andrew signed something back and dude grinned, threw a peace sign at Neil and then shut the door.
Neil’s feet were plastered to the floor - this was a whole lot different from the picture of Neighbor - of Andrew - he had in his head. Andrew turned back to him, pausing to pull something out of each pocket before reaching up to fiddle with his ears. He tilted his head for a second then pinned Neil with a look again.
“Seth and I have an agreement on Mondays - his band comes to practice here, because no one is here during the day except me.”
“And you don’t care because-”
“Because I am deaf,” Andrew interrupted.
“But-” Neil started.
“I read lips really well.” Andrew said, taking a step back closer to Neil. “And the hearing aids help, when I wear them.”
Neil felt his ears reddening again. “Your hair,” he started again weakly. He knew maybe he should be focusing on something else right now, but he just couldn’t get past the hair.
One side of Andrew’s mouth ticked up in amusement. “What is your name?” he asked.
“Neil.”
The other side ticked up in what could almost be a smile. “Neil,” he repeated carefully. “I am Andrew. Do you want to come in?”
Oh shit. Neil really did. Goddamned Allison.
The inside of Andrew’s apartment was cozy - there was no other word for it. Bookshelves lined practically every square inch of the walls, and there was a desk shoved up under the main window in the living room with an actual desktop computer - who even had those anymore? - along with scraps of paper and Moleskin notebooks lining most of the space around the keyboard. A beat-up old corduroy sofa sat in the middle of the room, and a giant, clearly state-of-the-art, flat-screen TV hung on the wall.
Andrew set his book down on the coffee table. Neil glanced at it but he didn’t recognize the title. He hummed a little nervously, then looked up to find Andrew standing with a hip propped against the back of the couch, watching him curiously. “So. You can go ahead with the questions if you want,” Andrew said. “Get it out of the way.”
“Where did all of your piercings go?” Neil blurted out in response.
Andrew’s face tensed for a minute then smoothed out. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh. What did you mean then?” Neil asked. He felt a bit unmoored, not even sure what conversation he was in.
Andrew waved nonchalantly at his left ear, “About my hearing, idiot. Or lack thereof as the case may be.”
“Oh,” Neil said again, then shrugged. “I’d rather know where your piercings and your hair went.”
Andrew gazed at him for long enough that Neil started to worry he’d fucked up, and then suddenly, surprisingly, Andrew laughed. It was a quiet thing, a soft huff of sound, but he laughed, and for a moment his face transformed. It was over before it had even registered, and Neil found himself already missing it. Whatever even that was about.
“Sit down Neil,” Andrew said, tilting his head towards the sofa before walking around to settle on one end of it. Neil sat at the other end, his feet planted firmly on the floor, a whole couch cushion separating them. Neil stared at the wall in front of him.
“Neil,” Andrew said again. He drew out the sound of his name carefully and Neil liked it.
“Yeah?” Neil asked, distracted by the fact that he liked hearing Andrew say his name.
“Neil you have to face me, I need to see your lips,” he said. He sounded amused.
Oh fuck. Neil adjusted his position quickly, tucking one leg up underneath him and facing Andrew straight on. He wasn’t normally this stupid, and he felt his cheeks burning again. He blamed it on the chameleon in front of him.
“I work as a bartender downtown,” Andrew finally said. “At the Dashing Pony.”
Neil nodded at him. It was a music venue - mostly punk and metal and whatnot. Nothing Neil had ever been into so he’d never been inside.
“The clothes and all of this,” Andrew waved a hand over his face and hair, “it is just for work.”
Neil nodded again. “Okay. It’s just a little confusing is all.”
Andrew gazed at him. “What is confusing?”
Neil spoke before he could think about what he was saying, “I don’t know; I thought I hated it but now I miss it.”
“You miss it,” Andrew repeated.
Eh, fuck. Maybe Neil shouldn’t have said that, but around Andrew he kinda didn’t know what he was going to say before it fell out of his mouth. “It’s like you are a whole different person from the one I have been…” Neil trailed off, dropping his gaze down.
“I did not catch that, Neil. I need to be able to see your face.”
Neil snapped his head up. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
Andrew shook his head, “You do not have to be sorry, it takes time to get used to.” Neil nodded again, careful not to drop his gaze from Andrew’s. It was a bit - intense - like this. “Now,” Andrew continued. “I am a whole different person than what?”
Neil searched for words but he couldn’t find them. “Just different than I thought,” he finished lamely.
Andrew nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Is it a bad different?” he asked.
Neil shook his head just as slowly. “No.” It wasn’t bad but, well, he just wasn’t sure what it was.
“Okay,” Andrew said after a minute, and he reached to the table for the remote. “I was going to watch Lord of the Rings. Do you want to stay?”
Neil hated movies. “Yes,” he said, without hesitation. What?
“Okay,” Andrew said again, scrolling through titles on the screen he’d just turned on. “I hope you like subtitles.”
Eh, apparently Neil did not mind subtitles one bit. He settled back against the couch and watched the whole damned movie without twitching once. They sat in silence until the end, and though Neil could feel Andrew’s eyes on him here and there he didn’t say another word. When it was over Andrew jumped up rather quickly, telling Neil he had to get ready for work and pushing him out the door. Well, okay then.
After Memorial Day and their impromptu movie, Neil couldn’t stop thinking about Andrew. It was disconcerting. He was covering Robin’s Hatha yoga class for the next three nights because the studio owner was out of town, and the poses were too slow, held for too long to be able to keep his brain distracted from thinking about his neighbor. The worst was savasana though; all his little yogis laid out in a row, at peace (always at least one of them dropping off and snoring) while Neil fought to keep from bouncing up and down on his toes.
Fucking Andrew, he thought, as the slow sitar music floated around him. Except no. Andrew was calm, and earnest, and distractingly fascinating. Neil glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost 8pm and time to pull his yogis up and out and send them on their way.
Almost 8pm, meaning he wouldn’t run into Andrew tonight or the next night or the next.
But there was something else he could do. When the last student had thanked him and drifted out the door, Neil locked up the studio and hurried home, dropping his bag off just inside his apartment before heading up the stairwell to the third floor. Passing Andrew’s door, he knocked twice on Seth’s before he could talk himself out of it.
The door swung open and Seth grinned down at Neil - Jesus he was so fucking tall, almost as tall as Matt. “Will you teach me sign language?” Neil blurted out before he could say anything.
Seth’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Um, hi?” he laughed.
“Oh fuck,” Neil blushed. God he was doing that a lot lately. “Hi, I’m Neil. I live downstairs.”
“Yeah I know dude. I’m Seth,” Seth proffered his knuckles and Neil bumped them awkwardly.
“Sorry, I just - I saw you signing with Andrew. I want to learn. Would you teach me? I can like,” Neil paused, searching for something to offer in return. “I can like, buy you beer or something? Teach you some yoga?”
Seth laughed again and shook his head. “No man, it’s cool. I don’t drink and, eh...I don’t think I yoga either.”
“Oh,” Neil replied, disappointed, starting to turn away.
“Naw, wait. I can teach you the alphabet and a couple of things, okay? But I’m not like, a teacher. My sister’s Deaf so, yeah, I can hook you up with some resources to learn. There’s a fantastic community center not far from here that has great ASL classes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, totally,” Seth looked over his shoulder and then back at Neil to grin, taking his voice down an octave, “Um, so, I’ve got a girl in yeah? So tomorrow, same time?”
“Oh,” Neil said, wincing at apparently what was his new favorite word. “Yeah, okay, thanks - I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Seth winked at him and closed the door, and Neil let out the breath he’d been kinda sorta holding before he headed back downstairs.
On Friday Neil propped himself up in his open doorway at 7:55, waiting for Andrew to come down the stairs. He didn’t know what he would say, but he was going to say something. At 8:05 Andrew still hadn’t come down, and at 8:10 Neil pulled his door closed, and started up the stairs.
He didn’t bother to knock this time, pressing the little doorbell to the left of the door. After a moment he heard the bolt slip, the door opened, and there was Andrew - the non-punk version of Andrew - with one hand trailing behind the curve of his ear as he settled his hearing aids into place.
“What are you doing?” Neil asked before his neighbor could say anything. “It’s 8:10, you should be on your way to work,” he informed him.
“Hi Neil,” Andrew smirked at him. “Are you keeping tabs on me?”
“Eh,” Neil stopped. Oh fuck it, why not? “I just wanted to see you, I was waiting for you at my door.”
The smirk dropped off of Andrew’s face, his breath pushing out in what looked like surprise. “I’m not working tonight.”
“Oh,” Neil said stupidly. “Okay, so what are you doing?”
Andrew didn’t answer, just stepped back and opened his door wider. “Come in,” he said when Neil hesitated at the threshold.
Neil stepped inside and then stopped, standing still while Andrew closed the door behind him, not sure what to do now. Andrew slid the bolt then stepped around in front of him again. They were only a foot apart and from this close Neil could see the gold flecks in Andrew’s hazel eyes and the tint of blue in the waves that fell over his temple.
“What do you want Neil?” Andrew asked him quietly.
“I don’t know,” Neil said. “I liked hanging out with you the other day.”
“I see,” Andrew said.
“I don’t even like watching movies,” Neil continued, “but I liked watching that weird movie with you.”
“Lord of the Rings is not a weird movie,” Andrew said, the side of his mouth quirking up.
“Okay.” Neil shrugged, nervous for some reason. “So, do you want to watch a movie or something?”
Andrew narrowed his eyes at him thoughtfully. Neil knew his cheeks were flushing, but he kept his chin up, kept his face open. Finally Andrew nodded. “Are you hungry? I was going to order Thai, and we might as well watch the Two Towers.”
Neil smiled, “Yeah okay. What’s the Two Towers?”
“Oh my god,” Andrew muttered, but he didn’t answer him.
That was fine, it all was fine, and for some reason Neil was giddily happy to settle into the corner of the corduroy couch as Andrew typed their order into an app on his phone and queued up what was - apparently - the second movie in a whole series of films with the hobbits and the elves. This time Neil was invested in the story - there was something different about actually knowing what happened before this part began - and, to be honest, it was really fucking adorable how Andrew muttered some of the lines along with the movie next to him. Huh.
Three hours later it was over and Neil suddenly realized it was almost midnight. Fuck, he had to teach a 6:30am class tomorrow. He yawned and stretched and pulled his legs underneath him so he could turn directly to face Andrew as he clicked the TV off and turned to look back at Neil.
“What did you think?”
“It was really long,” Neil teased. Andrew frowned at him, and Neil laughed. “I’m kidding, I liked it. But it seemed like a strange way to end a movie.”
“Oh my god,” Andrew said, “that’s not the end, idiot. There’s one more movie.”
“Oh,” Neil said, surprised. “Well that makes so much more sense.” He felt languid and full and content and he didn’t want to go back to his apartment; he was just so comfortable sitting here next to Andrew. Neil wondered if Andrew felt the same, or if he just considered him a nuisance from downstairs.
“I can hear you thinking from over here,” Andrew said dryly. “Spit it out.”
He looked down for a minute, then back up at Andrew, gathering what he wanted to say. “Is it hard, the lip reading?” he finally asked. “Because I feel like I should be doing something to - I don’t know, meet you halfway?”
“Is that what you really wanted to ask me?”
Neil nodded. “Yes, I was just thinking that I feel really comfortable around you. I wanted...I want you to feel really comfortable around me too.” Andrew stared at him, and he looked a little gobsmacked. Oh fuck, maybe Neil had fucked up again.
But then Andrew stood up, moved closer, sat down on the cushion right next to Neil. He was so close that Neil could count his faint freckles, and he stared intently at Neil’s lips before flickering his gaze back up.
“Yes, reading lips is really fucking hard. It helps that you are so expressive.” His lips quirked again. “My hearing aids help a lot too,” he said, hesitating before he added, “but I don’t catch every word that you say.”
Neil nodded, a little distracted by how close Andrew was to him right now. “Okay. Is there something else I can be doing?”
Andrew held his hand out, palm up. “Give me your phone.” Confused, Neil complied, pulling the iPhone out of his pocket and handing it over. “You have ten percent power left,” Andrew chided as he held the phone up in front of Neil’s face to unlock it.
Neil watched Andrew type rapidly across the screen of the smartphone. He hated the damn thing but he’d conceded the point that he needed to carry something after that one time he’d gone running and his scarred tendons had given out on him, leaving him stranded on the side of the road with no way to call Matt or Allison. The earful he’d gotten from both of them after hitchhiking to the hospital with a stranger and then calling them to come meet him there had been - well, convincing enough that he didn’t argue when Allison had dragged him into a Verizon store a few days later.
Andrew dropped the phone back into his lap after a minute and then picked up his own phone from the table. Neil’s almost immediately pinged, and he saw that Andrew had saved his number in Neil’s phone.
If you want me to catch every word, just text me.
ah, yeah. okay
And when we watch movies you can talk to me this way too.
when - oh, so we are doing this again?
There’s one more movie Neil. Come over Sunday afternoon?
i work sundays. wednesday is my day off
Fine, Wednesday. 2pm?
yes :)
“I’m right here, you can look up and smile at me,” Andrew said out loud. Neil did, but his smile devolved into a yawn. It was definitely after midnight now.
Andrew stood up, pocketing his phone and ushering Neil up too. “Go home Neil, go to bed.”
They made it almost to the door before Neil turned around, stopped. He wanted - he wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he wanted something. He looked down at Andrew’s lips for a moment, his breath caught, he started to speak, but before he could say anything Andrew reached up and pressed his thumb against Neil’s mouth.
Neil froze. Andrew shook his head, but left his thumb against Neil’s lips for a moment longer before pulling away, taking a step back. “Go home Neil. Charge your phone.”
Neil nodded, suddenly having lost all of his words. He ducked out the door, headed down the stairs, and back to the safety of his own apartment, still feeling the heat of Andrew’s touch against his lips.
On Saturday, Neil kept his phone charging while he taught three morning classes. At lunch he pulled it out, opened up his texts with Andrew from the night before. Hmm. Fuck it.
hey andrew
Neil.
truth for a truth?
Okay, sure.
what do you do all day? when you aren’t watching movies?
I write.
what do you write?
I’m working on a novel.
what’s it about?
Zombies.
it is not
It is. And you? What do you do all day Neil?
i’m a yoga teacher
The fuck you are.
i am
Oh my god.
On Sunday, one of the other teachers was out with a cold, so Neil was stuck covering her 7pm Yin class - which, in Neil’s opinion, was even worse than Hatha (and which, according to Robin, meant it was good for him). His normal Sunday schedule of classes ended at 6pm, so he had an hour to kill and it wasn’t worth heading home and then back to the studio. Instead, he pulled out his phone.
hey andrew
You know you don’t have to say hey Andrew right? You can just text.
okay. hey andrew?
Hi Neil.
truth for truth?
Yes, fine.
do you have any friends?
What the fuck Neil.
wait, I didn’t mean it like that. i only have two. so not a lot
i don’t usually like people
Yes I have friends.
what are they like?
Kevin is an asshole and Renee is a pain in the ass. And my brother Aaron.
oh wait, so you only have two friends too?
And Aaron.
but he’s your brother it doesn’t count
I didn’t meet him until I was 15. So I say he counts.
okay then. i don’t have a brother, but i have an allison - she’s mean to me like a brother. and i have a matt - he’s perfect
Is Matt your boyfriend?
no
Okay.
okay
On Monday Neil’s nightmares woke him. They didn’t happen as much anymore, but. Sometimes. Usually he could call Matt or Allison, but it was almost 4am, and they’d panic if he called them this late. Neil thought about Andrew and figured it couldn’t hurt.
hey, you up?
Uh, Neil? What exactly do you mean?
i mean are you awake? well clearly you are. nightmare woke me up
Oh. Okay. Yeah. Shit, Neil.
what?
Just...google ‘hey, you up?’ later.
okay. wait, I’m going to do it now
um. fuck
Neil?
that’s not what I meant
I figured that out. Truth for truth?
okay
What was your nightmare about?
my father. and knives
Ah. Okay. Your turn.
what are you afraid of?
Idiots who text me in the middle of the night.
oh
Joke, Neil, that was a joke.
oh!
Heights, to answer your question. And people behind me.
oh
You good now?
yeah.
Goodnight Neil.
goodnight andrew
On Tuesday Neil worked a half day as usual, then grabbed a late lunch with Allison before doing his grocery shopping for the week. He wanted it to be Wednesday already. He wanted to see Andrew. Allison teased him mercilessly at lunch, but he didn’t even care, he’d just grinned back at her. Back at his apartment, his fatigue from lack of sleep kicked in, and he curled up on his couch to nap for a few hours. He woke and stretched from the awkward angle his head had ended up in, and then pulled out his phone, sitting up quickly when he realized he’d missed a text from Andrew an hour before:
Why yoga?
It was only 6pm, so Neil knew Andrew wasn’t at work yet.
hey andrew. sorry I was asleep
You don’t have to be sorry.
sorry
Neil.
:)
Why yoga?
truth for truth?
Okay.
i used to run, all the time. i can’t run much now because...an injury, but yoga is okay. i started doing a lot of it when i couldn’t run anymore. and well, i’m good at it. i needed a job of some sort, and i just fell into it. it’s fine, though. i actually really like it
You don’t seem like a yoga person.
i know. don’t tell my students, they’d be devastated.
You’re an idiot.
so i’ve been told
Your turn.
why the bartending gig?
Ah. A few reasons. It leaves the day for me to write. And at this club, the music is so loud that it is a requirement for people to write down their drink orders.
oh!
Exactly. And I can feel the music, it vibrates the whole club. Music is the thing I miss the most.
oh
I’ll see you tomorrow?
yes!
Good.
:)
On Wednesday Neil didn’t bother to press the little button next to Andrew’s door, instead sending him a text that he was there. The door swung open and Neil grinned, holding up the cardboard carrier in one hand; two matcha lattes and some scones and cookies tucked in around them.
Andrew almost smiled as he stepped back from the door. “Hey,” he said. Neil could see he’d already put his hearing aids in before opening the door.
“Hi,” Neil said, feeling a bit shy but pushing through it. “These are my favorite - Matcha lattes and, um - some scones…” he trailed off because Andrew was looking at him with confusion.
“What kind of lattes?” he asked, his voice even.
“Matcha,” Neil said again. Andrew shook his head at him and pressed his lips together in a line. “You don’t like them?” Neil asked, feeling stupid.
Andrew shook his head again, “No, I don’t know what you said and…” he paused, turned to close the door behind Neil. “I don’t know what you said and I don’t want to ask you to repeat it again,” he bit out.
“Oh,” Neil said, and then, brighter, “OH!” He sat the carrier down on the coffee table and turned back to Andrew, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth as he concentrated, raised one hand and carefully signed the letters, “M - A - T - C - H - A.”
Andrew’s face had gone completely blank as he stared back at Neil. Neil dropped his hand back down, feeling his ears heating up - why were parts of his face always on fire around Andrew? “I-” Neil started to say, but Andrew took two big steps towards him, pressed his thumb against his lips to stop him, and Neil stilled.
Andrew pulled his thumb away and dragged it across Neil’s cheek right under his burn scars, then wrapped his fingers around the back of his neck. Neil thought that hand might be the only thing keeping his knees from buckling.
Andrew’s golden eyes flicked down to Neil’s lips and back up to his eyes and he said, so softly, “I want to kiss you.”
Something clicked into place in Neil’s chest. “I want to kiss you too,” he said.
Then Andrew was leaning towards him, and Neil softened and leaned down to meet him, and it was Andrew’s lips on his lips where his thumb had been and Neil sighed into it, his mouth opening just a little as Andrew captured his bottom lip. He pushed his fingers into Neil’s hair, as he swept his tongue hungrily against Neil’s and stole a small moan out of his throat, and then, just as quickly, it was over.
Andrew pulled back, dropping his hand from Neil’s hair. “You learned the ASL alphabet,” he said.
Neil nodded, not sure he could speak yet.
“You are quite the pipe dream, you know that?” Andrew huffed quietly.
Neil frowned, feeling a bit dazed. “I don’t know what that means.”
Both sides of Andrew’s mouth quirked up at that. “And I still don’t know what matcha is.”
Neil laughed a little, and ran his hand through his hair, still thinking about Andrew’s mouth on his. “It’s um, green tea. Sort of.”
“Green tea,” Andrew repeated.
“Yeah,” Neil winced. “I could have just said that huh?”
Andrew shook his head. “No, I wanted to know what you said, exactly.” He stepped back towards him, and Neil’s breath caught. “Besides, it led us here,” Andrew said, his head tilted in a question, and Neil nodded and Andrew pressed in and kissed him again. And. It was brief, but it was...yeah. Yes.
They made their way to the couch, Andrew sitting a bit closer to him than usual but not touching, and Neil watched him take his first sip of the matcha latte. His eyes went wide and he coughed. Neil laughed as Andrew went to his kitchen and came back with what turned out to be a sugar bowl, dumping about half of it into his latte and glaring at Neil while he stirred it. Eventually he took a cautious sip, nodded approval, and leaned back against the couch to turn the movie on.
The Return of the King was epic and Neil was immediately engrossed. He realized he didn’t hate movies, he had just been watching the wrong movies - with the wrong people. Andrew’s hand crept towards his during the first fifteen minutes of the film, until he carefully tangled their fingers together. It was something Neil had never thought he wanted to do, but now that he was, he didn’t want to ever let go. Every so often Andrew would rub the tip of his thumb across Neil’s knuckles and it sent shivers up his spine. At some point they both tucked their legs underneath them, and Neil was keenly aware that the back of his left foot was pressed up against Andrew’s shin. When the movie was over Andrew clicked the screen off, and they sat still in the darkened living room, one of Andrew’s fingers running softly along Neil’s.
In the dark, in the quiet, Neil felt bold enough to bring up what he’d wanted to all week in their texts. He withdrew his hand carefully, dug out his phone, tapped the passcode and waited for Andrew to pull out his phone too. Holding his breath he started typing.
do you want to know about my scars?
If you want to tell me about them.
i know you saw them that one day. i mean the ones not on my face
Yes I did.
and you’ve never asked
You never asked me about being deaf.
okay
Truth for truth then?
yes, okay. so
my father was a nasty man. they called him the butcher. most of the scars are from him, but some are from being on the run when my mom tried to get me away from him. she died though, and i went to the feds, they put me in witness protection. but. my father’s people found me. that’s when i got the rest of them, the scars on my arms, on my face
“Neil,” Andrew interrupted out loud. “Where is your father now?”
Neil didn’t know if Andrew could see his lips in the fading light, and he didn’t know if he could talk right now. So he kept typing.
dead. they are all dead now. i’m not even in witness protection anymore, there is no one left to protect me from
Neil set his phone down for a minute, closing his eyes. No one else knew all of that except Allison and Matt, and that was because they’d been there for half of it. But it was okay. He was okay. He let out a sigh.
“Neil,” Andrew said again, pushing his shin against Neil’s foot. “Pick up your phone.” Neil opened his eyes and saw that Andrew was already typing.
Before Aaron and I found each other I was in the foster care system, bounced around a series of bad homes, pretty much each one worse than the last. At the last home...my foster brother had a thing for me, and when I fought back he hit me. When I was 14 he was holding me down from behind and hit me too hard. I blacked out, woke up in the hospital. My hearing never fully recovered.
fuck. andrew…
Yes. Back at you.
fuck. where is he now?
Dead.
good
Yes. Neil?
yeah?
Will you show me your scars?
Neil thought about it, then deliberately leaned forward to set his phone on the table, and Andrew did the same. Neil reached out carefully, slowly, and tapped the back of Andrew’s hand. He flipped it over and Neil tangled his fingers in his, stood up, pulled Andrew with him, all the way to the lightswitch by the door. Neil flipped the switch on and they blinked at each other in the sudden brightness.
Neil’s heart was pounding as he let go of Andrew’s hand, took a step back, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one quick motion. Andrew stepped closer and lifted one hand towards Neil. “Can I?” he asked.
Neil nodded. “Yes.” He reached out and grabbed Andrew’s wrist gently, pulling him forward, pressing his palm against his abs and the lines carved there by his father.
“Do they bother you?” Andrew asked, searching Neil’s face.
Neil struggled for a moment to answer that question. Did they bother him? He didn’t really think about them. It was more that he didn’t want the attention they brought - the stares, the questions. He couldn’t hide the scars on his face, on his hands, but he could keep the rest of himself covered. Even when he taught, he wore long sleeve fitted t-shirts over loose yoga pants. Covered. Hidden. And here, in front of Andrew he was uncovered, unhidden. And it was okay, because it was Andrew.
“Not really,” he finally said. “I don’t think about them most of the time.”
Andrew nodded, then looked down, moving his fingers from one scar to the next - lines cut too straight to be an accident, the rough burn of road rash, the shiny taut circle of a bullet wound, the unmistakable imprint of an iron. Andrew paused with his fingers on Neil’s shoulders and looked into his eyes to ask the question again: Can I? And Neil knew his eyes said: Yes, anything .
Andrew’s fingers drifted down Neil’s biceps, paused in the crook of his arms, before tapping softly down the circular burns and cross hatched scars lining the inside of Neil’s forearms. When he reached Neil’s hands he twined their fingers again, looked into Neil’s eyes, and then he let go.
Neil watched Andrew reach for the armbands he always wore, as he slid a finger into the top of the fabric, and started to tug, holding Neil’s gaze the whole time. His breath caught when he realized what Andrew was doing and he held up a hand. “Wait,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t have to.”
But Andrew didn’t stop, pulling off one armband and then the other. “Truth for a truth,” he said calmly, and after he dropped the black cloth on the floor next to Neil’s shirt he reached over, mirrored Neil’s own move by circling his wrist, pulling his hand forward, placing his palm on the inside of his forearm. Andrew shivered under his fingertips, and Neil tried to pull back, but Andrew held him firm, said “Yes,” before Neil could ask, and then dropped his hand from the back of Neil’s.
The scars lining Andrew’s arms were densely packed and angry, overlapping each other, fighting for space, but they were also old, silvery-white lines that had long since healed over. Neil felt raw, cracked open, and vulnerable as he looked down at the scars on his own hands, healed and brown and dark against the pale skin of Andrew’s.
When he raised his eyes again he realized Andrew wasn’t looking down, that he was instead watching Neil’s face intently. Neil let out a breath and so did Andrew, and then Andrew lifted his other hand, pressed it into the side of Neil’s face, fingers trailing under his ear. It was intimate and intense and overwhelming.
“Okay?” Andrew asked.
“Okay.” Neil agreed, and it wasn’t for a kiss or for anything concrete.
It was for them, for just standing there.
For it being okay to just be.
After that, movie nights became a weekly occurrence, their Wednesdays spent curled up on Andrew’s giant couch, working their way first through the Avengers movies (that had taken a while as there were a LOT of them), then the whole Star Wars series (except three of them which for some reason Andrew demanded they skip). They mapped out each other’s bodies and boundaries, usually after the movie, but sometimes before - and sometimes during - and the day Neil realized Andrew had permanently changed his schedule at the bar to spend Wednesdays with him, he stayed all night in Andrew’s bed for the first time. After that, on most nights when Andrew didn’t have to work, Neil could be found sleeping over at Andrew’s - or not sleeping as the case may be.
In between movie nights and kisses and you know, work , Neil jumped into learning sign language head first - though he kept it as a surprise for Andrew for a while. The first time he showed up for their Wednesday movie date and was able to sign a bit more than the alphabet, his boyfriend had all but tackled him onto the couch and they never made it to watching a movie that night. Neil’s signing had gone over just as well a month later - although with a slightly different outcome - when Neil met Kevin and Renee (who were both Deaf) and Aaron (who was hearing, but charmingly protective of his twin brother).
Andrew came to one of Neil’s classes once, dragging Aaron along with him to interpret, and Neil was so distracted he lost track of his sequence at least four times. In retaliation, Neil went to Andrew’s bar one night, after letting Allison dress him in tight black clothes and eyeliner; the result was a bottle of vodka slipping out of Andrew’s hands and breaking on the floor as well as more than one draft beer overflowing when Andrew poured it. When they had tumbled into Andrew’s apartment that night, they both agreed that yoga wasn’t for Andrew and loud music wasn’t for Neil - and then they proceeded to take each other apart in Andrew’s bed until the sun came up.
Neil wasn’t entirely sure when it happened, but he also became that person who kept his phone charged and nearby because on days when their schedules didn’t align, he and Andrew texted nonstop. It was sweet and funny and warmed every corner of his heart. Matt and Allison both teased him for how attached he’d become to his phone - and by phone they meant Andrew - but Neil just smiled, because he was happy. He was happy.
On the morning of Andrew’s birthday, Neil woke up in his boyfriend’s bed, Andrew curled against him, his blond hair tickling the side of Neil’s neck, their legs intertwined.
Memories of his own sleepless birthday earlier that year, when he didn’t even know Andrew’s name yet, drew a smile across Neil’s face. Everything had changed since then, everything had blossomed. His life had gone from black and white to technicolor all because of one lone asshole, all because of his chameleon punk rock neighbor.
Neil unwound himself carefully and slid off the side of the bed, pulling on a shirt on his way into the kitchen. He started milk steaming for matcha lattes; with a whole lot of simple syrup and copious amounts of vanilla added, Andrew had become obsessed with them. He gathered ingredients for waffles, although he wouldn’t start making them until later. For all that the man could eat, Andrew never woke up hungry first thing in the morning. When Neil heard shuffling behind him he turned around, leaned back against the counter, and waited. A few more steps and sleepy Andrew reached him with a yawn and lay his cheek against his shoulder, sagging into him.
Eventually - after Neil started to worry that Andrew had fallen asleep against him - he pulled back, and Neil handed him his latte. Andrew looked down at it and back at Neil, and Neil cheekily signed, “M-A-T-C-H-A.” Andrew rolled his eyes at him as he took a sip, and then shuffled over to the couch.
Neil followed behind with his own mug, setting it down on the table so he could sign “happy birthday,” to his boyfriend. Andrew rolled his eyes at him again, and leaned forward to press his thumb against Neil’s lips. Neil caught the tip of that thumb between his teeth and grinned, and then Andrew was setting his own mug down, crawling over to Neil, capturing his yes on the way down.
Later would be friends and Thai food and laughter and chocolate birthday cake. Later Andrew and Aaron would argue about who was born first, and Allison would flirt with Kevin while Renee flirted with Allison, and Matt and Seth would compete to be the nicest person in the room. Later Neil would give Andrew three new Moleskin notebooks and a zombie bobblehead to sit on his desk, and Andrew would tell Neil that what he really wanted for his birthday was for Neil to move in, and Neil would say yes, yes .
But for now, in the quiet morning, it was matcha flavored kisses, wandering hands on warm skin, soft huffs and louder gasps, and just the two of them tangled together on a corduroy couch as the sun filtered in softly through the windows.