Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Neil mentions the arcade, no one really reacts. It’s after practice, more muttered to himself than anything. Something about lights and sounds and how the rhythm of the games reminds him of something. Andrew hears it but doesn’t care.

The second time, Neil actually looks at Andrew when he says it. “There’s an arcade near campus. I want to go.”

Andrew shrugs. “So go.”

So Neil goes. And then he keeps going.

At first, no one really questions it. Neil has never been predictable, and if he wants to spend his time somewhere that isn’t the court, no one is going to stop him. But then he starts going a lot. If he’s not at practice, with Andrew or class, he’s at the arcade. He stops by after workouts. He goes late at night when he should be sleeping. He ditches movie nights. He even shows up to practice looking way too awake for someone who claims he just woke up—but when Dan asks, he admits he’s been at the arcade since it opened.

That’s when they start to question it.

“What do you even do there?” Nicky asks, watching Neil, expecting a real answer.

Neil blinks at him. “Play games.”

“I get that,” Nicky says. “But what games?”

Neil shifts slightly. “DDR.”

A pause.

Kevin looks personally offended. “Dancing?”

Neil scowls. “It’s not just dancing. It’s pattern recognition. Timing. Footwork.”

Kevin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You think playing Dance Dance Revolution is making you a better Exy player?”

“I think it’s fun,” Neil says simply.

The lounge goes quiet.

“Fun,” Kevin repeats, disgusted.

“Are we just gonna ignore the fact that our nineteen-year-old teammate has an arcade obsession?” Allison asks, sipping her water like she’s above all of this.

“Guys, come on,” Nicky says. “Neil’s just got an obsessive personality. He does this with everything. It was running before, then Exy, now—" he gestures vaguely. “Beeping lights and loud noises, I guess?”

“It’s nice,” Neil says. “It’s quiet when you focus on the games.”

The Foxes all exchange glances.

Dan sighs. “Look, I guess it’s not the weirdest thing about you, but you know you’re spending an excessive amount of time there, right?”

Neil shrugs. “It’s not excessive if I’m enjoying it.”

Kevin groans. “You could be watching Exy replays!”

“You could be doing anything else,”Aaron mutters.

“Okay, but, Neil, really,” Allison cuts in. “You’re telling me you’re spending all your time at an arcade like some middle school kid?”

Before Neil can answer, Andrew, who has been silent the entire conversation, finally speaks.

“You’re all annoying. It’s none of your business what he does in his free time,” he says flatly.

Kevin glares. “You’re enabling him!”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “So?”

Kevin scowls, but Andrew doesn’t care.

Neil still goes to the arcade that night, and when he gets back, there’s a protein bar on his pillow. He doesn’t ask, but he knows where it came from.

—

After a week, Andrew starts going with him. Not every time—just sometimes, when everything is too loud or the Foxes are too much. He doesn’t play, just watches, leaning against the machine while Neil moves like he’s weightless, completely absorbed. It’s almost impressive, how focused he gets, how he can clear perfect scores without looking away from the screen.

“You’re ridiculous,” Andrew tells him after watching him breeze through another expert-level song.

Neil, slightly out of breath, grins. “But you still come with me.”

Andrew doesn’t respond, but later that night, there’s an extra bag of tokens in Neil’s jacket pocket.

—

The next time Neil bails on a team hangout to go to the arcade, the Foxes talk about it.

“Okay, I know we’ve already addressed the weird arcade obsession,” Allison says, stretching across the couch, “but are we actually letting this happen?”

“It’s Neil,” Dan says tiredly. “You try stopping him.”

“I think it’s cute,” Nicky says. “Let the boy have his beeping lights.”

“Let him have his obsession,” Matt corrects. “I swear, he’s got one for everything. I caught him watching speedrunning videos the other day.”

Kevin groans. “If it’s not making him better at Exy, then it’s a waste of time.”

“You’re a waste of time,” Andrew says flatly.

Kevin turns to glare at him. “You let him do this!”

Andrew stares at him, unimpressed. “And?”

Kevin throws his hands in the air. “It’s like you want him to be a mockery.”

“He’s not a mockery,” Andrew says. His tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it now, sharp enough that even Nicky shuts up. “If he was, you’d know.”

Kevin clenches his jaw but doesn’t argue.

—

The next time Andrew goes with Neil, he actually watches. Really watches.

Neil doesn’t just play DDR. He studies it. He leans against the machine between rounds, watching other people, tracking patterns. He hums under his breath sometimes, moving his fingers in the air like he’s committing the rhythms to memory. He talks to the guy behind the counter about how the inputs work, how the machine calibrates timing.

Andrew doesn’t say anything, but later that night, he orders Neil a DDR pad for the dorm.

Neil finds it a few days later. He looks at Andrew like he doesn’t know what to say.

Andrew just shrugs. “So you don’t have to leave every time you want to play.”

Neil stares at him for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiles.

Andrew ignores the way his chest feels too tight.

Chapter Text

Andrew doesn’t talk just to fill space. Bee knows that. She waits.

He stretches out on the couch, one arm draped over his stomach, the other tapping fingers against his knee. “I bought a DDR pad.”

It had been an impulse, but not in the usual way. Not the reckless kind, not the kind that ends with blood under his nails. It was something else—something steady.

Bee tilts her head. “You don’t like dancing.”

Andrew shrugs. “No. But Neil does.”

She doesn’t press. She never does.

He exhales, staring at the ceiling. “He plays it every day.”

Bee nods like this makes perfect sense. It does. Andrew isn’t here to state the obvious.

“He doesn’t just play,” Andrew continues. “He gets stuck in it. He forgets to eat, gets mad if anyone interrupts, stays up too late just to keep going.” His fingers stop tapping. “It’s not just a game.”

Bee considers this, then says, “It sounds like a hyperfixation.”

Andrew narrows his eyes. He doesn’t like words that turn Neil into a theory. “Meaning?”

“Hyperfixation is an intense focus on something, sometimes to the point of neglecting other things. It can be a symptom of autism.”

Autism.

Andrew sits with the word. Turns it over.

Bee waits, letting him. “Has Neil ever been tested?”

Andrew almost laughs. “Yeah. Because Neil loves doctors.”

Bee’s voice stays level. “Trust issues aside, he might not even want to know. But some people find answers helpful.”

Andrew’s fingers start tapping again. He trusts Bee. Neil doesn’t. If Bee had told him this two years ago, he would have ignored her. But now—Neil is his problem.

Bee lets him think. Finally, he exhales and sits up. “I’ll ask him.”

Bee doesn’t look surprised. “Good.”

---

Neil doesn’t like being ambushed. Andrew knows this. That’s why he waits until after Neil is finished playing for the night, sprawled on the couch, sweat-damp and loose-limbed with exhaustion.

Andrew flips a page in his book. “Bee thinks you should get tested.”

Neil snorts. “For what? A DDR addiction?”

Andrew doesn’t bother looking up. “Autism.”

Neil goes still.

Andrew turns a page. He doesn’t have to look to know Neil’s knee is bouncing.

“For what it’s worth,” Andrew says, “she’s not diagnosing you. Just saying it’s a possibility.”

Neil’s voice is wary. “And you believe her?”

Andrew finally glances up. “I trust her.”

Neil looks away, fingers pulling at a loose thread in his hoodie. “Doctors are useless.”

Andrew expected that answer. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Neil scoffs, but it sounds more like deflection. “Does it even matter?”

“Maybe not.” Andrew shuts his book. “But it might explain things.”

Neil exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. He’s thinking about it, even if he won’t admit it.

Finally, he says, “I don’t want to talk to some doctor about my brain.”

Andrew shrugs. “Then don’t.”

Neil studies him, searching for some kind of catch. When he doesn’t find one, he relaxes slightly.

Neither of them say anything else.

Andrew doesn’t mention the silence, but sighs instead, putting his book down.

“Come here, Neil,” Andrew orders, voice softer than usual.

Neil moves closer towards Andrew, slightly hesitantly.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asks, hand raised between them in offering.

Neil glances at Andrew’s hand, and back up to meet his eyes, lips tugging in a familiar smile. “Yes.”

Andrew interlaces their fingers and presses a chaste kiss to Neil’s mouth.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, ever.” Andrew mutters, moving away ever so slightly, resting his forehead against Neil’s.

---

A week later, Neil, shockingly is sitting across from Bee in her office, beside Andrew.

Neil doesn’t fidget, but he wants to. He keeps his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, fingers curled tight.

He doesn’t trust shrinks. He doesn’t trust doctors. He doesn’t trust people who think they can pull him apart and tell him how he works.

But Andrew is here.

He sits on the couch beside Neil, legs stretched out, eyes half-lidded in boredom. If Neil wasn’t so alert, Andrew would look asleep.

Bee, across from them, is waiting. She’s good at that.

Neil doesn’t want to be the first to talk, but Andrew sure as hell won’t.

So finally, he mutters, “This is stupid.”

Bee doesn’t blink. “That’s fine.”

Neil exhales sharply through his nose. “Andrew told me what you said.”

Bee nods. “About autism?”

Neil clenches his jaw. “Yeah.”

Bee doesn’t launch into some rehearsed spiel, and Neil hates that it throws him off. She just says, “Do you think it fits?”

Neil hesitates. His first instinct is to say no, because if it’s true, what does that mean? But the word has been gnawing at him ever since Andrew said it. Ever since he started looking things up and seeing himself between the lines.

Bee must see something on his face because she says, “You don’t have to decide right now.”

Neil scoffs. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Bee gives a small shrug. “Plenty of people go their whole lives without knowing. If you don’t care about the label, that’s fine.”

Neil’s knee bounces. “Then why am I here?”

Andrew answers before Bee can. “Because you asked me to come.”

Neil glares at him, but Andrew just raises an eyebrow, unbothered. He’s right, which is worse.

Bee shifts, setting her notebook aside. “Can I ask you something, Neil?”

Neil doesn’t answer, but she takes his silence as permission.

“Do you ever feel like you get stuck?”

Neil frowns. “What?”

“You fixate. You get locked onto things and push everything else aside. Exy. Running. Now DDR. Have you ever wondered why?”

Neil stiffens. He hates that she’s right. He hates that Andrew noticed it too.

“I just like to win,” he says.

Bee nods like that’s fair. “That might be part of it. But obsession—hyperfixation—can be a trait of autism too. The way you move, the way you focus, the way you get overwhelmed by certain things—those aren’t random. Your brain works in patterns.”

Neil’s chest feels tight. “I’m not broken.”

“No,” Bee agrees easily. “You’re not.”

Andrew tilts his head, watching Neil, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s letting Neil sit with it.

Neil swallows. “So what? I get a label and suddenly everything makes sense?”

Bee smiles, just slightly. “Maybe it already makes sense. You just never had a word for it.”

Neil hates how much that gets under his skin.

He stands up abruptly. “I’m done.”

Bee doesn’t stop him. Neither does Andrew.

But when they leave, Neil doesn’t walk ahead like he normally would. He stays next to Andrew, shoulders brushing.

He doesn’t say anything until they get to the car. Then, quietly, he mutters, “I’m not going back.”

Andrew hums, unlocking the doors. “Okay.”

Neil climbs into the passenger seat, arms crossed tight over his chest. He stares out the window.

But later that night, when he opens his laptop, the first thing he types into the search bar is:

‘What does autism feel like?’

And when Andrew glances over his shoulder, he doesn’t say a word.

He just sits beside him. Silent support.

---

Neil isn’t sure why he comes back.

Maybe it’s because the word hasn’t left his head since Andrew and now Bee said it. Maybe it’s because he’s spent too many nights scrolling through articles, taking online tests he doesn’t believe in, seeing himself in descriptions he never thought applied to him.

Bee doesn’t look surprised when he walks in. She just gestures to the couch like she’d been expecting him.

Neil sits. This time, Andrew stays by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He doesn’t say anything, but Neil can feel him there.

Bee waits, giving Neil space to speak first. He exhales sharply. “You thought I was autistic.”

Bee tilts her head. “I think you might be. But you don’t have to take my word for it.”

Neil clenches his jaw. “And if I want to know?”

Bee studies him for a moment, then nods. “We can go through some assessments, if you’re comfortable.”

Neil isn’t sure if he is. But he nods anyway.

The process is slower than he expects. Bee asks questions, gives him forms, watches how he reacts. She asks about his childhood, about patterns, about things Neil never thought twice about, things he thought were normal from his trauma—why he struggles with social interaction, why he hates certain textures, why he paces when he’s overwhelmed.

At one point, she asks, “When did you start talking?”

Neil hesitates. He doesn’t know. His mother never told him. She wouldn’t have cared.

Bee doesn’t press when he doesn’t answer. She moves on.

Eventually, she leans back in her chair, thoughtful. “Neil,” she says, “I feel confident saying you’re autistic.”

Neil’s fingers twitch in his lap. He doesn’t know how to react. He thought knowing would make a difference, but he doesn’t feel any different. He’s still him.

Andrew watches him, quiet.

Bee’s voice is steady. “This doesn’t change who you are. It just gives you a framework to understand yourself.”

Neil swallows. “And if I don’t want to?”

Bee shrugs. “Then don’t. The label is just information. What you do with it is up to you.”

Neil exhales, pressing his hands to his knees. His chest feels tight, but not in the way he expected. It’s not a trap. It’s just—

It’s just something new.

Andrew pushes off the wall. He doesn’t say anything, just offers Bee a two fingered salute. Neil stands. He doesn’t look back at Bee when they leave.

They don’t talk in the car. But when they get back to their dorm, Andrew disappears for a while. Neil doesn’t ask where he goes.

Later, he finds a bag of his favorite fruit and weird snacks sitting on the couch.

He eats them without a word.

Andrew comes back, drops onto the couch beside him, and leans back, stretching his arms along the top of the cushions.

Neil sits there, silent, the weight of the day pressing on his shoulders.

Then Andrew shifts. Without a sound, he turns his head and presses a kiss to Neil’s temple. Just a small thing, a barely-there press of lips against skin. It’s not a question. It’s not a demand. It just is.

Neil exhales slowly. He leans into Andrew’s space.

Andrew doesn’t pull away.

They don’t talk about it. They don’t have to.