Work Text:
Andrew Minyard’s soulmate is depressed.
Of course he is. He’s Andrew Minyard’s soulmate.
To be fair, there’s a chance that the soulmate doesn’t know. For sure, Andrew doesn’t know who his soulmate is. What Andrew does know is that his soulmate almost never laughs. And, generally, that laughter is short, the humor short-lived. Andrew recognizes depression.
It takes him some time, to realize that Neil Josten is his soulmate. Neil laughs, sometimes—but Andrew doesn’t always know. And once Andrew realizes that his awareness of his soulmate’s laugh syncs up with Neil’s honest laughter, he understands just how often Neil lies, and now Andrew is depressed because Neil Josten is his soulmate, and that’s just—lovely.
It’s not funny, but Andrew’s drugs buzz through him so hard he can’t not laugh, and he does, because of course his soulmate is a Fox, of course his soulmate has two of the world’s worst parents, of course his soulmate is on the run from the mafia. And Neil Josten is stupid, god, so stupid. Although, perhaps the drugs have thrown him off; the ping at the back of the brain doesn’t go off unless the laughter is honest, and so little of Andrew’s laughter comes from him.
Andrew doesn’t bother trying very hard. He wants to—fuck, he wants to, because he’s becoming attached to Neil, which is unfortunate, because Andrew isn’t supposed to become attached to people, but maybe it’s just the way Neil’s honesty comes blaring through his lies, the way Neil’s fury burns away every lid Neil tries to put on it. Maybe it’s the fact that Neil doesn’t seem to care that Andrew lives in a world with much more doom and gloom than people like to pretend exists. Regardless—Neil. Andrew, perhaps, likes him.
Andrew isn’t a fan of this. How much of it is Andrew, himself, being attracted to Neil, and how much of it is predestined?
Andrew will not make Neil laugh. He’s heard things—he’s heard that, when a person makes their soulmate laugh, the ping isn’t just a ping, it’s a wave of endorphins so strong it’s been known to make people propose on the spot.
Andrew is right to avoid it.
He gets sideswiped by it—he’s busy telling Neil that they don’t have a relationship. That it’s nothing. Nothing, nothing.
“And I am nothing,” Neil says. Andrew waves a hand—yes, that is also true. “And as you’ve always said, you want nothing,” Neil says.
Andrew freezes.
He hadn’t been trying to make a statement. Hadn’t wanted to do that.
Neil doesn’t laugh—not out loud. But he experiences something like laughter. And it had been partially caused by Andrew.
Neil has to take Andrew’s drink out of his hand, which is nearly too much—Andrew feels like he’s on drugs again. It shouldn’t be this strong. Not for an almost-laugh, not for partially-caused-by—but Andrew’s brain isn’t used to endorphins, isn’t used to serotonin, and even what little his body is producing is too much. Too much.
He kisses Neil until the feeling fades, and vows never to let it happen again.
Neil’s soulmate is dead.
He remembers having one—remembers being a child, knowing his soulmate, somewhere, was laughing. It had been an odd counterpoint to his life; somewhere, there was a person who was happy, and Neil was aware of it even when his life struck him as utterly devoid of happiness. Except—then, his soulmate laughed less. And less, and less, and Neil could track it—perhaps his soulmate had parents like Neil’s, parents who were mean to them. And then, one day, they stopped laughing, and—they never laughed again.
Neil was 9, and he was still Nathaniel.
It’s a good thing his soulmate died when he was young. If they’d survived, their laughter might have distracted Neil from the all-important task of running away.
Neil kisses a girl, one day, to find out if it matters at all, that she’s not his soulmate, that he has no idea when she laughs, has to wait until she makes a noise to figure it out.
Maybe it matters, because Neil feels nothing. Nothing at all.
Well, that’s one distraction gone.
Neil doesn’t mourn. He doesn’t grieve this soulmate he never knew. When he finds his way to Palmetto State, and people ask him questions about attraction, he tells them he doesn’t swing, and feels nothing. He doesn’t tell them his soulmate is dead. And he has no idea if this “not-swinging” thing is because his soulmate is dead, or because that’s just who he is, so maybe it’s a good thing his soulmate is dead, anyway.
When Andrew kisses him, it’s a shock.
In one sense, it’s a shock because Neil feels something—that kiss was something. And it’s a shock because Neil’s soulmate is dead, so Neil is not Andrew’s soulmate, so Andrew is cheating on his soulmate.
But maybe Andrew doesn’t care. Or maybe Andrew’s soulmate is dead, too. Neil doesn’t have the courage to ask. Doesn’t want to know. If he asks, and Andrew stops kissing him—
Neil doesn’t want that.
It’s cowardice. But Neil has always been a runaway.
Neil isn’t stupid. He knows that Andrew doesn’t laugh—knows that Andrew’s story matches up with the story of Neil’s soulmate, who stopped laughing forever when Neil was 9. But Andrew had laughed, while drugged, and—it’s not possible, that Andrew hasn’t found anything funny in years. Nothing at all. And Andrew would have figured it out, if they were soulmates, and he hasn’t said anything.
It’s the end of the year when Neil’s world upends itself.
Because Neil is at breakfast, with the Foxes. The last weekend before finals. Nicky is a wreck—or, anyway, his notes are, and he doesn’t know what’s happened at all this year, and doesn’t know what to do, and he’s going to fail and he’ll never be able to move in with Erik, and just because Neil doesn’t understand that train of thought doesn’t mean he’s not up to help cheer Nicky up. And he is, he tells Allison and Dan and Matt. He is, he swears, he’s just not good at jokes. Nicky picks at his pancakes and mopes, Neil receives several pleading glances, and he says the first thing that comes to mind—“You should eat pancakes in a pan.”
“Why?” Nicky asks.
“Otherwise they’re platecakes.”
There’s a split second of silence before Nicky gives in—not, Neil is certain, because of the quality of Neil’s joke, but because of the stupidity of it, but Neil doesn’t hear what Nicky is saying as Matt pounds his fist against the table, because his soulmate laughed.
His soulmate is alive.
His soulmate is alive, and his soulmate is at this table—or, at least, within earshot, because Neil is the one who made them laugh, because this isn’t the gentle ping of his childhood, it’s a rush of joy that leaves Neil breathless and grinning, so happy he doesn’t understand what sadness is, desperate to keep this feeling going, years worth of training the only thing standing between him and whatever stupid thing he can say to make his soulmate laugh again, but—
Who is it?
He glances around, but the only people paying any attention to him are Foxes, and—
And—
This isn’t the first time any of the Foxes—except Andrew—have laughed, since he met them. He doesn’t know when any of them laugh. Not so much as a ping. It’s not even the first time he’s made them laugh.
Which would mean that his soulmate is someone who hasn’t laughed in years.
Neil looks at Andrew.
Andrew’s drugs—is it possible that that laughter never counted? And—Andrew hadn’t laughed outwardly, just now, but maybe—
Andrew raises an eyebrow.
Neil doesn’t know how to test this. How to manufacture honest laughter from either of them, right now.
Does Andrew know?
He’d have said something, wouldn’t he have?
Unless Neil is wrong? He hasn’t made Aaron laugh before, either, but—but Aaron definitely laughs. And, also, definitely has a soulmate, sitting right next to him. So—
“I think,” Neil says, in slow, quiet German, “we might be soulmates.”
The look Andrew gives him is so absolutely annoyed, disgusted, that Neil knows he’s wrong. Should never have brought it up. Should have figured it out—
“You think?” Andrew says scathingly. “You’re just figuring that out?”
Neil’s brain pauses, rewinds, reconsiders. Is that an admission? Agreement? “I—my soulmate hasn’t laughed in years.”
“And how many people like that do you know?”
“I thought my soulmate was dead.”
“Well, I’m not. Get over it.”
“What are they talking about?” Nicky complains. “I can’t hear them.”
Aaron picks his head up off the table. “Neil has only just figured out that he and Andrew are soulmates.”
And that’s it for breakfast, for a little while.
That night, though, it’s different, because Neil knows.
The problem is that Andrew, also, knew.
“Did you really just figure it out today?” Andrew asks, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “We’ve been making out for months, and you didn’t even know?”
Neil shrugs. “Again, I thought my soulmate was dead. Thought maybe yours was, too, and I was—I like you, I was happy to keep it going until I died. Or until you cut me out. Did you know before we started hooking up? Is that why? Or—did you figure out around the time when you stopped insisting we were nothing?”
“Before,” Andrew says, staring calmly out into the darkness. “Trust me, I tried not to let it affect me.”
“What, worried you’d fall in love with me?” Neil asks, grinning.
“Didn’t want to ruin my look.”
Neil tosses him a curious glance.
Andrew waves at himself. “Fashion incarnate.” He waves at Neil. “Recently emerged from a trash can.”
Neil laughs.
Andrew takes a deep breath.
And then he takes the cigarette from Neil, stubs it out, and kisses Neil until Neil knows exactly how Andrew feels.