Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It hurt. And it was terrifying.

Hurt from numerous physical — and not only physical — injuries. And scary because it could all happen again. After all, Drake had only just fallen asleep, and was breathing right into the back of his head. And also because of how resilient he was.

Even though Andrew couldn’t see his small naked body in the darkness of the room, he couldn’t feel it at all. There was hardly a single living spot left without horrible marks on it.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. And this with the vow he had made to himself five years ago. That he would cry no more. It’s just a body. But at the same time, it’s supposed to be himself. He wanted to be like all the other children at his twelve, rather than trying with all his might to silence his sobs and thoughts.

At the touch to his back, he flinched so suddenly he accidentally fell off the bed. He must have made an incredible noise, though he didn’t hear it himself because of the ringing in his ears and the pain pulsing through his whole body. Especially in his lower back.

He woke him up. It’s going to happen again now.

But swallowing the initial panic, Andrew still noticed his stepbrother’s closed eyes and lack of any movement.

Drake was asleep.

And Andrew still tried not to breathe more than he had to. Carefully, he stood up on legs that barely held his body, leaning on the wall. His hands were burning, but that was hardly the biggest problem. He made it to the bathroom, and only after locking the door did he allow his knees to give in, and himself to fall.

Quiet sobs were heard, most of which he suppressed, pressing his hands tightly to his mouth.

The touch of his skin to the cold tiles on the floor calmed the wounds a little, but as soon as Andrew looked at it with his poorly focused gaze, it only got worse.

From a small window near the ceiling, moonlight fell directly on his bare and bloodied thighs.

He wanted so badly for this simply not to be happening. For it not to be happening to him. For his small body not to hurt just as much, or even more than it had years ago. But his damned eidetic memory remembered everything and kept it all in detail. Every bruise, scrape, smear of blood, patch of skin that hurt. And it was painfully familiar.

Again.

Breathing became truly difficult. Before, he had just tried to do it as quietly as possible, but now he was openly scared. He seemed to feel all his pain at once, many times stronger, and phantom sensations appeared all over his body — all those unfriendly hands that had once touched him without asking, let alone consenting. And the rescue oxygen still wouldn’t enter his lungs, making him remember how they used to choke him to make him go quiet. And that somehow made it even worse.

What’s wrong with him?

And then his gaze caught on the glint of a pack of replacement blades. Without realizing what he was doing, he grabbed one with a trembling hand, and then sharply slashed his left arm.

And in an instant, everything became clear.

He took a gasping breath, then another, and another. Doing it was hard, but possible. The pain in his whole body dulled, and he clearly felt only his forearm, pulsing from the slowly leaking blood. And why hadn’t he thought of this earlier?

The mind became clear, thoughts did not scatter, the body no longer ached as intensely as before.

The wound on his arm was completely shallow, probably just split the upper layers of skin.

Unknown how long he sat like that, but everything he had managed to get rid of with difficulty gradually returned. He wanted to get rid of everything completely, to escape. And so he slashed the skin again nearby. And the same emotions returned. Then again. Just a few not-too-deep cuts, from which blood dripped to the floor in small streams.

He wanted to run away. If not forever, then at least until morning — just not spend the night in the same house with him.

After washing the blood off himself, he started wiping it from the floor too — after all, he didn’t want Cass to worry and think something was wrong with him. Then he took a hoodie and jeans from the laundry basket — the same ones he had tossed there just a few hours ago.

That was definitely better than trying to look for something in the room where Drake was sleeping now. Then just as quietly, he slipped past him, into the hallway, and then outside.

***

He had probably been wandering aimlessly for only about an hour, but it felt like much longer. His whole body still ached the same, and the wounds on his arm had simply joined the rest.

It was dark, and the less fortunate areas of the city were lit only by the occasional streetlamp. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t surprised when he saw someone sitting on a bench in the park. The boy looked about the same age as Andrew himself.

But that immediately raised the question — what was he doing out here at this time of night? And the only answer that made sense was that his situation was somehow similar to Andrew’s own.

Using that as a reason, he approached him. Stopping just a few steps away, he began to examine the boy carefully for any sign of threat — and at the same time, the other boy did the exact same thing. He looked incredibly worn out, and his unusually dark eyes seemed... off. There was no way — absolutely no way — anyone would guess from that look that he was still just a kid. And Andrew recognized that look. He’d seen it many times before in the mirror, staring back at him.

Maybe that was why he didn’t leave.

A voice broke the silence — hoarse from disuse, but surprisingly pleasant to the ear:

"And what are you doing here this late?"

Andrew scanned him again carefully, noting the clear suspicion in the boy’s eyes. Interesting.

"Same question to you." And as he said it, Andrew realized just how hoarse his own voice had gotten. In an instant, he remembered trying to scream.

The boy in front of him frowned slightly.

"Sit down," Seeing the surprised look from Andrew, who clearly hadn’t expected such an offer, the boy shifted slightly toward the edge of the bench, as if understanding the other needed space. Andrew cautiously accepted, sitting down carefully — but still unable to fully hide the pain. And from the look he was given, it was obvious the boy had noticed. "And I asked first."

They exchanged careful glances again, and Andrew started to feel more and more like prey. And he really didn’t like that.

"Truth for truth?" Surprisingly, the stranger nodded. That made things interesting again. Not even adults always understood him, and yet here was someone — whose name he didn’t even know — who somehow did.

"I ran away from my mom for the night."

Andrew looked at the boy, who seemed pleased with his little trick. After all, he’d only given a partial truth — without actually lying.

Well then. Andrew would do the same.

"I ran away from my foster family."

To his surprise, no follow-up question came. Just like that, the next few hours passed with them sitting there together, saying almost nothing, until the sunrise began.

Then the stranger stood up silently from the bench, casting only a brief glance back in farewell. Andrew stayed sitting there for about another hour, before heading home — knowing that by then, Cass would probably be up already.

***

The next evening, Andrew left the house even before it got dark, when the sun had only just started sinking toward the horizon. Because it was simply unbearable to stay in the same house with Drake, who kept throwing him predatory glances. And there was no doubt how the evening and night would end if he stayed.

Since it was summer, the night outside was fairly warm and light, thanks to the moon.

And so he was simply walking, unhurriedly, in the direction of that boy from yesterday, feeding an unclear and completely stupid hope that the boy from last night would be there again.

And somehow, it actually made sense.

When he arrived at the same bench, the boy wasn’t there — which shouldn’t be surprising or disappointing.

But Andrew stayed anyway.

And he didn’t know what he was supposed to feel when, several hours later, closer to midnight, he saw a familiar silhouette approaching.

Just like the night before, he sat down silently on the same part of the bench and gave Andrew the same look — from head to toe. They both did it.

This time, surprisingly, Andrew was the one to speak first:

"What’s your name?"

The boy visibly hesitated and shrank into himself. Which made it even more interesting. Because that sort of reaction wasn’t something a normal kid — one with nothing to hide — should have had.

"Abram." It sounded like the truth. But before Andrew could properly process this new bit of information, the boy asked in return: "And you?"

"Andrew." Preferring not to look into the other’s eyes anymore, he turned his gaze to the sky.

"Can it be shortened somehow?" Abram next to him puffed out his lips in a funny way, which Andrew noticed out of the corner of his eye.

His heart skipped a beat. No one had ever asked him anything like that before. And it seemed like such a small thing, but it could’ve been important in the long run. Though that “long run” probably didn’t even exist.

"You can–" he didn’t even manage to finish listing the versions not to use, when he was cut off:

"Drew?"

His heart skipped another beat, but he wasn’t about to turn his head or react in any way. Apparently, the new acquaintance correctly interprets the other boy's silence, because he also looks up at the sky.

"The stars are making funny patterns." Andrew glanced at him again, secretly amazed by how unfamiliar the boy seemed with something so simple. And came to the conclusion that he really didn’t know anything.

"Those “patterns” are called constellations." he pronounced the last word very clearly, catching the boy’s attentive gaze — one clearly ready to listen. For the first time, he didn’t curse his memory, because he wanted to lock this moment and that gaze in it forever.

He then let his eyes skim over the most noticeable ones, realizing for the first time that he wouldn’t actually mind explaining something to someone else.

He pointed at the brightest and most obvious stars with his finger, tracing the shape lightly:

"That’s the Big Dipper," and seeing the other boy’s enthusiasm, he kept going, more confidently now. "Above and a bit left — Draco, Canes Venatici a bit down and to the left, Leo and Leo Minor a bit down and to the right."

And it was the first time anyone had listened to him with such awe and attention. And, he had to admit — it felt good. Then, until the end of the night and the next sunrise, they continue talking about the stars, and then the conversation somehow smoothly flows into a discussion of colour theory.

Who knew it could be so interesting to discuss something with someone who was actually attentive.

And then they part ways, without saying goodbye, because they know they will meet again the next day. And it seems like they have only known each other for two days — or rather, two nights — but it feels like they have known each other for a long time.

Back home, Andrew can only sleep until lunchtime, when Drake wakes him up, coming into his room to tell him that Cass has gone out for the day and they are alone in the house.

And then hell began — and lasted until the deepest part of the night.

***

In this time, it takes much more than a few dozen minutes come back to himself in pieces and more or less pull himself together.

Andrew spends all that time lying curled up on the cold tile floor in the bathroom, choking on his own tears, mixed with gasping attempts to breathe, and then slowly begins to regain control over his body with every new cut on his arm — far more than before.

He barely makes it out of the house closer to three in the morning, and he doesn’t know why he’s going to that damned park again. That boy — Abram — he’s no one to him. But, as it turns out, the feeling of being understood and safe is something you can get used to. And that is unbelievably infuriating.

He doesn’t know whether or not he should be surprised when he actually sees him there. And he also notices a faint bruise on the other boy’s neck — like a mark left from someone trying to choke him. Before sitting down, he hesitates a little, which clearly doesn’t go unnoticed.

For a while, they stay silent, but Andrew can clearly feel the boy’s gaze on him. So it was only a matter of time before he spoke.

"Can I ask?" He watches him from the corner of his eye, a little surprised by the question. Because asking for permission was definitely not what he had expected.

And once again, an previously unfamiliar warmth spreads through his body, because this boy is the first person in his life who really asks. So there is no reason to refuse, and he does not feel a strong desire to share the truth. So the decision was made rather quickly.

"Yes. But then I will ask something personal too."

Abram nods.

"Who did this to you?"

Andrew looks over at him, carefully weighing how much to say. Also thinking about the fact that this new acquaintance — who’s known him for only a couple of days — was able to notice it.

"Foster brother," He doesn’t miss how the other’s eyes widened and darkened, but there was no other reaction. It felt too much like understanding — with no pity or sympathy in sight. "Drake."

This time, the boy nodded. Is he really memorising the name?

For a while, silence settled between them again.

"You were going to ask who hits me?" Andrew raised an eyebrow slightly, because his guess had clearly hit the mark. And confirmed everything. So, seeing the reaction, he went on, shrugging slightly. "Right now, it’s my mom.:

Andrew couldn’t help but latch onto the wording, and he clearly guessed right about what was worth focusing on.

"Right now?"

Abram slouched noticeably, clearly not wanting to keep the conversation going — or at least not on this topic.

So Andrew let it go.

The night was more overcast this time, and the frequent clouds almost completely hid the constellations they had been talking about just yesterday. For a while, there was silence, until the new acquaintance got up and left. This time earlier than usual, and all Andrew could do was wonder if he himself had been the reason, and whether or not the boy would come back.

***

They really did meet the next night, just like they kept meeting for the next few weeks. The only difference was that Abram started coming closer to midnight and left three hours later. Sometimes bruised, sometimes exhausted, but he always came. It became a kind of unspoken promise between them.

Most of the time, they talked about the most neutral topics, simply enjoying each other's company. Though more often than not, it was Andrew who talked about something, and Abram listened silently, or with rare questions. Telling someone something turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. Usually, it was retellings of books or movies he’d read or watched during the day, but there were also far less pleasant days. Twice, they just sat in silence the whole night, when Andrew was both mentally and physically unwell.

And surprisingly, there were never any questions—only silent support and understanding.

Sometimes Abram would talk about different topics. Most of the time, these were stories about the differences between states, food, and people's mindsets.

A couple of times, he told him about the German language he had started learning with his mother. After hearing that, Andrew made a mental note to look into that language and maybe learn a bit of it himself.

Each time the boy showed up with new bruises, Andrew grew angrier at his mother. And deep inside, he started comparing her to Cass.

After quite a long time, Abram also began to share fragments of the truth about his life. Perhaps the reason for this was the realisation of how similar they were, even though they were different. And Andrew felt that too, fighting harder with each day not to overshare and not to trust. His trust had already been betrayed way too many times. It was after some time that Abram, in passing, told him about his father and showed him a scar from a burn made with an iron.

He told him about when they started running, and about meeting the two sons of exy, when his own father killed another person right in front of them.

Abram also said that sooner or later, he would have to run again.

He warned him that one day he’d just disappear, and most likely they would never see each other again. That same night, for the first time, there was a trace of real worry in his eyes when he made Andrew promise he wouldn’t come looking for him.

That night, Abram gave him a small set of lockpicks and a similarly small, light knife, and also explained how to hide it all in the folds and seams of clothing and showed him how to use it.

He taught him how to draw the knife quickly and hold it right, told him which places to aim for to hurt someone badly without killing them, and where to strike if you wanted to end it in just a few moves and seconds.

He taught him to use the lockpicks in practice too, thanks to the many old cars they could find without much trouble.

***

It happened literally just last week.

In one of those late August nights, he immediately knew something was wrong. At the very least because it was already past midnight, and the boy he considered his only friend — the one he'd grown attached to — was nowhere to be seen.

Subconsciously, he had always known this would happen eventually, but that didn’t make him any more prepared. It turned out to be unbelievably painful to lose someone who was the only one capable of brightening up his existence. But Andrew still held onto the hope that someday, they’d meet again.

***

The days that followed turned into absolute hell. Drake, who only had a few days, practically didn’t let Andrew out of his sight, and Cass persistently refused to see what was happening. Still, she was the only adult who actually loved him, so he made the decision to stay. Maybe even let her adopt him — because Drake wouldn't be in the house forever. But even then, he kept sneaking out almost every night, clinging to an empty hope.

It went on right up until his birthday, when he promised himself he wouldn’t go back. He wouldn’t get attached again, wouldn’t hold on to hope, and he wouldn’t trust anyone like that ever again.

And then, a few years later, his twin brother showed up, and the whole story with his biological mother came to light. That was also when Drake’s even more twisted fantasies came to light. That was when he was sent to juvie, and Andrew turned down Cass’s offer to adopt him. Later, he made a deal with his twin and killed their mother. Without a drop of sympathy or regret.

After that, he ended up under the guardianship of his older cousin, and life started to get a little better. The three of them began working at a club, and Andrew was finally understand his sexuality. The only bad thing was that he almost got put on psychedelics for attacking and beating the bastards who went after Nicky—but thanks to Nicky himself, the court only gave him probation.

Then the two sons of exy showed up and invited him to the Ravens. Some time after turning them down, the Foxes offered him a spot at university and an athletic scholarship. And, since three places were offered, he agreed.

Some time later, a broken Kevin showed up, and from there, everything started going downhill. Not to mention the fact that, thanks to the ex-little-raven, he heard the full story — the one his old friend had once told him.

So Kevin ended up under his protection, too.

And a year after that, that same star striker found them a new recruit. A player who looked way too much like someone he had doubted was still alive all those years after the escape.

Chapter Text

To get to that small, forgotten-by-everyone town — Millport — they had to take a plane due to the thousands of kilometers between them. So, as one might expect, the mood, which hadn’t been the best that morning either, had completely soured by then. And for that, the blame could be placed squarely on the two men sitting beside him.

Kevin had taken the window seat, Wymack sat by the aisle, so Andrew was stuck between them.

Wymack kept throwing annoyed glances his way, tearing himself away from yet another player profile, clearly irritated by the fact that someone was distracting him — most likely the loud clicking of Andrew’s pen. It seemed the coach had figured out at least one aspect of Andrew’s personality, what pissed him off beyond words.

But whatever. Who cares.

Kevin, on the other hand, had buried his eyes in his laptop, which had a file loaded with one of the possible new recruit’s game recordings. Not that Day’s ability to convince people was ever in doubt.

Even Andrew had to admit that the recruit was interesting — and at the same time, boring. Also weird. Such strong performance on the field, yet such terrible, even contradictory numbers on paper.

He spent most of the flight trying not to launch that damn pen into Kevin’s face, who kept trying to talk to him about the game, ignoring Wymack’s silent warnings. When Andrew was already close to pulling out a knife — just for preventive purposes — David finally told Kevin to shut up.

Only once he was firmly back on the ground did he allow himself to relax a bit. On a weekday, there weren’t that many people around.

The town they ended up in, after driving a while in a car Wymack had rented, was nothing remarkable. Regular, slightly worn-down houses and a noticeable lack of people, though some could be seen here and there on the streets. The whole atmosphere was tense. Definitely not the kind of place where you’d want to raise a child, let alone live and somehow end up a talent.

Andrew tensed up even more when he saw the man who had come out to meet them and introduced himself as the local high school Exy coach — Hernandez. He was tall and well-built, and the edges of tattoos peeked out from beneath the sleeves of his shirt. Age-wise, he was a bit older than Wymack. But there was one thing about him — his demeanor. Too much like someone shaped by years of military service at sea.

When the coaches went off to the locker room — where, according to the suspicious man, the striker was sleeping — Andrew finally caught his name from the conversation: Neil Josten — he and Kevin stayed in a small room filled with equipment. It was located right between the locker room and the exit.

Kevin started yapping about Exy again, but the appearance of a knife in someone’s hand quickly shut him up.

The room they were in looked just as old and worn-out as the rest of the town.

At first, only Kevin was inspecting the equipment, spinning one of the obviously poorly made sticks in his hands. But soon and Minyard grabbed another one, already sensing this meeting would not end well.

Honestly, he wasn’t surprised when he heard fast footsteps in the hallway, heading for the exit. A second was enough to realize those footsteps were too light to belong to any of the coaches. Andrew quickly held out the stick into the hallway — off to the side and just in front of himself.

Just in time, because a second later a boy—obviously the same Neil Josten — ran straight into it. And, as expected, collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.

A second later Andrew stepped closer, mentally noting that the boy was not much taller than he was, and looked as plain and ordinary as this town itself. And then, just moments later, he noticed the coaches rushing over to them.

Wymack’s gaze burned with righteous fury.

“Goddamn it, Minyard. This is why we can’t have nice things.”

Oh, he was right. The coach was pissed. The other man, however, froze in the hallway, like he had no idea where to put himself.

“Come on, Coach,” Andrew noted how Josten looked up at him at those words, studying him. “If he was nice, he wouldn’t be any use to us, would he?”

He tried to get up, but all he managed to do was crash back down to the floor and end up on his knees — yet he kept trying. But he didn’t seem angry or pissed. More like confused. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, though Andrew himself couldn’t shake the thought that this was the same boy from all those years ago.

But Wymack did not allow him to develop or refute this impossible theory.

“He's bo use to us if you break him.”

“And what, let him run off?” Andrew gave the boy another look. “Slap a band-aid on him, he’ll be good as new.”

"Drew?" that word, that single syllable slipped from the boy’s lips, barely audible and breathless. And if Andrew hadn’t already been on edge and looking straight at him, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed it.

Just like coaches and Kevin.

Only one person had ever called him that. And Andrew couldn’t afford to believe. Hope was far too dangerous a thing.

But given the suspicions he’d already had, he yanked the guy to his feet, staring at him more closely. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hernandez finally moving toward them — only to be stopped by Wymack, who, as usual, had started piecing things together.

The boy didn’t even try to pull away or do anything else — he just looked back into Andrew’s intent eyes.

And yes. Even if he was older and taller now; even if his eyes were a darker shade and his hair, on the contrary, lighter — it was him.

It was him.

In realization, Andrew whispered a barely audible, “Abram,” and the boy nodded.

Andrew took a step back, staring in disbelief at Abram standing before him, whom he had not expected to see. He couldn't believe what was happening. He had mentally buried him in his own mind years ago, and then almost convinced himself that he had simply imagined such an acquaintance. But every time in such moments, he looked at the knife and convinced himself otherwise.

But good moments don’t last — Wymack cut in.

“You two know each other?”

He looked at them, observing them carefully. There was a period of silence. The question remained unanswered by both of them.

"Neil Josten." Andrew said it as if he were tasting someone else's name now that he knew who it belonged to.

“Neil Abram Josten.” The correction came with a nod, and Andrew allowed himself a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth in a hint of a smile, knowing full well he had his back to the others and they wouldn’t see it.

No sooner had Neil finished speaking than Day decided to remind everyone of his presence. At times, he was all too reminiscent of a coach.

“Andrew!” he snapped, all outrage and complaint. Andrew didn’t even look at him.
“You should’ve told us you knew him!”

If he kept yelling like that, people were going to get a headache.

Kevin moved closer, so Andrew regained his impassive expression when he finally looked at their superstar striker.

"I don't owe anyone and anything." The threat was clear in his voice, so Kevin backed down and tempered his enthusiasm. Minyard also noticed David rolling his eyes and Abram smiled at his words. For another second, they studied each other in silence, which Andrew broke first. "German?"

Abram's eyes seemed to shine like stars when he smiled broadly. If anyone was surprised, they chose to remain silent.

Andrew didn't even know what he was hoping for when he started speaking in another language, but Neil supported him.

“Oh, yeah. But when did you learn it?” Wymack threw his hands in the air, and  Kevin stared at them in shock, as if he had seen the eighth wonder of the world.

Andrew nodded, indicating that he had taken note of the question, before turning his whole body towards the audience, leaving Neil behind him.

“We’ll talk in private.”

“No way!" Wymack stepped in. He looked at Josten, then back. "I’m not letting you break him again!”

Neil also took a step, positioning himself shoulder to shoulder with Andrew. It was obvious that he was about to respond — but Andrew tugged his sleeve lightly toward the field exit.

“Everything will be fine with him.”

Neil got the hint and followed, leaving the rest behind. Of course, it wouldn’t be long before they followed, but by the time they appeared in the hallway, Andrew and Neil were already seated on the bleachers.

Unsurprisingly, the court looked just as rundown as everything else.

But now Andrew understood. This is why the talent Kevin saw ended up in a place like this. An invisible, forgotten town — for a boy who needed to be invisible and forgotten.

They sat just a few rows up from the bench meant for reserve players, leaving one seat between their bodies. Wymack and Kevin settled on those very benches, although the coach sat in such a way that he could see them perfectly and, if necessary, get there in time. The other coach didn’t show up; apparently, he gave them a chance to talk, or something else.

Andrew silently pulled a cigarette out of the pack under Day’s disapproving look and lit it. A moment later, he repeated the action and offered it to Neil. Something told him the latter smoked. He was right.

Sitting like that with someone, smoking together, was unusual, but at the same time it felt so right.

When the first cigarettes burned out and Neil refused the offered second, they continued the conversation in German, since unwanted listeners were nearby.

No one bothered to turn on the lights, so the only source of illumination was the moon and stars above.

Apparently, their thoughts and memories matched.

"Just like back then." Neil turned his gaze directly into the other’s eyes, and it felt like he was looking right into his soul. For some reason, that look sent chills down his spine.

Minyard shrugged.

"Yeah." How strange that just Abram’s presence was able to calm him down, even though they hadn’t seen each other in seven years. Giving in to the urge, Andrew continued "Those “patterns” are called constellations." Neil blinked amusingly, showing he remembered those words too, even though they now sounded in a different language. "That’s the Big Dipper, above and a bit left — Draco, Canes Venatici a bit down and to the left, Leo and Leo Minor a bit down and to the right."

And neither of them cared that those constellations couldn’t be seen right now.

Josten’s face and gaze indicated that something dawned on him. Funny how some things don’t change over the years.

"And why didn’t I notice earlier what a genius memory you have." Since it wasn’t a question, Andrew didn’t respond. But he slightly corrected the phrasing.

"Eidetic." Neil blinked again, so Andrew had to explain, though without the irritation he tried to portray. "I remember everything down to the smallest detail. Sensations, sounds, images."

He admitted it for the first time, and he really didn’t want to see the reaction. He hated seeing sympathy or pity.

Minyard was already about to turn away and focus on something else — like the court layout, or constellations that were visible now — but he noticed the darkened look in Neil’s eyes and his slightly hardened facial features. Not a trace of what he didn’t want to see. And something told him that it wasn’t the light casting that look.

This time, the voice sounded more annoyed.

"What?"

Neil tried to avert his gaze and become as inconspicuous as possible, shrinking back, but under the intense stare he finally responded.

"It’s just..." He was clearly trying to find the right words, and that was annoying. The way he tried to care. The fact that he understood him. "Considering your past."

Andrew took a deep breath and exhaled. If someone else had said that, the reaction would definitely not have been so calm.

"It’s all fine now." Neil did turn his gaze to him.

Silence fell, during which Andrew managed to finish his cigarette, and Neil was choosing his words — which was far too obvious from the concentrated expression on his face. Just as he was about to bring a freshly lit cigarette to his mouth, it was snatched away by someone else’s fingers. Neil took it, took a drag, then returned it.

Andrew glanced at the spectators, but they seemed too distracted. Kevin had found something on his tablet, now poking it into Wymack’s face. They saw nothing.

It was only after this that it occurred to him that if anyone else had done something like this, he would have at least held a knife to the suicide's neck or stomach. Whereas Abram... just passed through his boundaries without breaking them.

They hadn’t seen each other in seven years. He definitely wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

But the thoughts were interrupted by a question.

"Were there others after that?" and they both understood what he meant.

Minyard knew he didn’t have to answer, and his refusal would be respected.

"No." Though that wasn’t a lie, Andrew still revealed more. "I stayed with the Spears until I was sixteen, then my biological mother and twin were found."

Neil nodded, asking no further questions. Understanding that it was too much. Clearly processing who he’d been living with all those years. But in any case, it was Andrew’s turn to ask a question.

"How did your mom let you play Exy?" although he had already come to a certain conclusion, it wouldn’t hurt to confirm it.

The sharp, broken inhale said it all.

"She’s dead." the other nodded.

Since, apparently, neither of them had any more pressing questions, silence settled.

Now that Andrew had again met the one he had for years considered his pipe dream — a hallucination, a mirage, a delusion — he desperately didn’t want to let him go. Even though he understood all the risks and factors.

Also, Andrew hadn’t spoken this long with anyone in a very, very long time. And all the previous times it was also Josten.
Abram evoked irritation and a feeling close to hatred — but also the opposite.

Some time later, Wymack and Kevin began glancing at them occasionally. Well, occasionally in David’s case, whereas for the other, it was more like poorly concealed irritation. Apparently, they’d been silent for too long.

"Do you think I should sign the contract?" Andrew looked at him again, and couldn’t suppress the comparison to a stray kitten. A kitten you want to shelter and give the utmost care and affection, even if you’d never felt that before.

Of course he wanted him to. But Neil deserved to know the truth.

"That’s your choice." Neil nodded, but with a look like he really expected a clear answer. "But do you know who you’re running from?"

He nodded, confused. And Andrew could clearly see the gears turning in his head. That kind of expression was amusing.

Eventually, he carefully responded, lowering his voice to a soft whisper. A shiver ran down Andrew’s spine again.

"My father."

So he didn’t know.

It was a strange feeling — knowing something so personal about someone, and yet something he didn’t even know himself.

"When Kevin came running to us like a broken puppy, I questioned him about that day." both of them again knew what he meant. Neil nodded, still in confusion. "Back then, your father was supposed to sell you to the Moriyamas, but the deal fell through because you were stolen."

Neil looked even worse than before. His shoulders tensed, his eyes darted around. Classic flight response.

"Abram." he flinched but came to his senses.

"Damn, Drew..." Andrew wasn’t supposed to feel warmth inside from just that nickname. Wasn’t supposed to. "I don’t know what to do."

He looked lost. Andrew completely understood the reasons. Everything he believed in had crumbled, plus the unspoken things from his mother’s side came to light. And many, many more.

Neil was sitting slightly turned, and his long hair fully covered his eyes from those standing farther back, so Wymack and Kevin noticed nothing again.

Neil didn’t refuse the newly offered cigarette, taking it with slightly trembling fingers. Andrew noticed a small, thin scar peeking out from under the hoodie — one that hadn’t been there years ago.

While Neil was processing everything, Andrew couldn’t shake the thought — how easily he had believed him. Just words, without a single proof. He remembered how his words had once been called a misunderstanding.

With a new drag, he pushed those thoughts away. That was the past. Now he had the present.

Neil spoke again, much more quietly, his voice sounding as if it had been broken several times — which wasn’t far from the truth.

"I want to stay." Andrew turned his usual gaze on him, which was taken as an invitation to continue. "But it’ll be dangerous for you. Very."

Andrew blinked, processing what he heard. Was a runaway like Abram really worried about that?

"Then stay." he said without thinking.

The words, spoken so suddenly, sounded like a confession.

"Can I?" No, he was definitely an idiot.

"You can."

Neil nodded.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

Andrew carefully considered the question, really going over everything that might qualify. But nothing came to mind.

"Kevin is our drama queen." At first, Neil was clearly confused, but then realization appeared in his eyes along with a slight smile.

Hard to believe, or even imagine, that Andrew can joke.

"I’ll keep that in mind." The warm and downright enchanting smile Neil sent him again sparked a feeling of warmth inside.

Andrew hadn’t felt that in a very, very long time.

Only now, when Neil stood to go to the coach, did he notice that Wymack had been watching them closely this whole time.

"So, kid?" The coach looked at each of them in turn.

"Yes" Neil spoke quietly, on an exhale, then repeated louder and clearer: "Yes."