Chapter Text
Overlapping beeps drilled sharply into his head, dragging him to the edge of consciousness. The pain was what kept him from slipping back over; pain meant trouble. It was a fight to pry his heavy eyes open, and he squinted against the minimal light that filled the room. His surroundings were an unfamiliar haze of sterile white. A curtain was pulled across large doors, light streaming in around the sides of it. To his left an IV was running something to his arm, presumably some kind of narcotic.
Hospital. The thought startled adrenaline into him.
Hospitals meant danger. He and his mother didn’t do hospitals: not when he got shot, not when she’d broken her leg jumping from a balcony, not for anything. Places like this asked too many questions and left too much of a paper trail.
Panic threatened to crawl up from the pit of his stomach and a deep breath, to push it back down to its proper place, had his ribs screaming. He took stock of his injuries. Broken ribs, at least two, maybe three. A hell of a concussion, up there with the one he got from jumping out of a moving car. He’d spent days puking his guts out while he recovered from that one. His mother’s voice was a comforting, if strained, consistent that got him through it. They were in danger staying in one place after narrowly escaping, but Neil wasn’t capable of being moved, even his mother had recognized that. So, she’d soothed him and brushed gentle hands through his hair as he sat on the dingy, motel bathroom floor. If this concussion was worse, with drugs in his system no less, he was not looking forward to the nausea that would come with standing.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do it though. He could put himself back together when he was far, far away from the stench of Clorox and prying eyes.
His best guess was that he and his mother were separated, neither of them would’ve allowed this willingly. Maybe he was pulled from a car wreck; that certainly would match these injuries. Being admitted as a John Doe would likely have kept him safe from his father’s people, but there weren’t any guarantees. The two of them had contingencies for if they were separated. He could handle this as long as he could get moving.
He yanked the IV in his arm out. A deep breath (owch, his ribs), then he was pulling himself to a sitting position with help from the bed railing. The pulsing in his head made itself known as the room jittered and swayed. It took a moment for the black to retreat from the edges of his vision. He didn’t need to see his legs to feel the tension of bruises littering them; they ached and strained, much like his head, as he pushed to his feet.
A belongings bag was left on the chair. He snagged out clothes he didn’t recognize, an orange jersey and athletic shorts. Pretty conspicuous, definitely not his. Hung across the back of the chair were neatly folded black sweatpants and a big black t-shirt. He abandoned the jersey and shorts in favor of these. Changing was a feat, the room threatened to topple more than once, and nausea burned at the back of his throat. Relief won out at being freed from the vulnerability of the hospital gown. With these clothes, he could slip out of here largely unnoticed. There were tennis shoes in the bottom of the belongings bag. He had just dropped them to the floor, when the curtain pulled back and light from the hallway flooded the room.
Shapes and colors danced around his vision from the burst of light, and he grabbed onto the bed railing to keep himself from falling.
“What the fuck, Neil?” The voice was too loud. He didn’t recognize it, nor the name tacked onto the end.
He blinked hard, forcing the world back into focus. There were two men standing in the doorway. The shorter one was fast approaching him, steady eyes searching his face, and hands ready to break his fall. The taller man stayed behind, near the door, his posture seeming ready to run back out and get help.
His heart stopped. The taller man, he’d know that face anywhere. He’d spent too long focused on this man’s career, too much time pawing over a distant memory of them playing together as children, too many pictures of this man printed out in the binder that contained his entire life’s worth. If Kevin Day was here, then his father’s people likely wouldn’t be far behind.
He jerked back away from the both of them, failing to keep the fear off his face, and slammed into the wall behind him. It sent black spots sprawling across his vision, but he gritted his teeth to remain conscious. He pushed hard into the wall, forcing it to hold the weight he couldn’t, wishing he could disappear right through it.
Both men stilled, which was odd, because his obvious show of weakness and terror should have been a green light, a clear sign that they had the correct runaway. The blond — who had seemed so intent on reaching him moments prior — took a step back, hands held up disarmingly, as if to soothe a wild animal.
“Look at me,” the blond commanded, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the clear threat of the taller man. “Abram, look at me.”
That pulled his attention from Kevin Day’s tense, concerned face. He met golden-brown eyes that held too much recognition in them, too much warmth. No one but his mother looked at him with this kind of familiarity, and certainly, no one but his mother called him Abram.
“You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Doubtful, but he would play along until he had a better idea of what was going on here. Silence was his best tactic to not give anything up. Hopefully, they’d show their cards while they thought he was docile and compliant, then he could make himself scarce.
“Do you know where you are?” The blond asked. Hospital, clearly, but he couldn’t even narrow down what state he was in. Where had they been last? Nevada? No. Washington? The further he waded into his memories the more intense the throbbing behind his eyes got. Vertigo was an all-consuming force, and blackness took over his vision. The wall behind him was gone, and any semblance of safety went with it.
He didn’t hear the blond move, but suddenly sturdy hands were around him sweeping up his limp body. Everything was still dark, but he was pretty sure it was because he was squeezing his eyes closed now. He thrashed, sure that violence was going to follow the strangers’ touch, but all he was met with was the hospital bed cushioning around him. A gentle but firm hand gripped his nape, and that even voice was back. “You’re safe now. It’s alright. You’re safe, Abram.”
When the static buzzing in his ears and the pulsing ache in his crown finally quieted some, he forced his eyes back open. The man who knew his name was sitting on the edge of the bed, no longer touching him, but still in reach. A quick glance around told him that Kevin Day was gone, and he was considering the possibility that he’d hallucinated the Exy star when the blond spoke.
“Kevin went to go talk to your nurse,” he answered the question that hadn’t been asked. Abram didn’t like feeling so vulnerable, like the blond could peek into his mind and see the gears turning. And there was a familiarity in the way the man said Kevin Day’s name, like that wasn’t Perfect Court, Exy Legend Kevin Day but a friend, that set off alarm bells.
Silence hung between them for a minute longer as he assessed the room for any hints he might’ve missed as to his circumstances. The orange and white jersey sat on the chair, he could see the number 10 on it, but it didn’t spark any recognition. Nothing else, besides a set of black arm bands, had been in the belongings bag. An analog clock hung on the wall, reading half-past eight. His duffle was nowhere in sight, meaning he had no phone, no binder, and no safety net for when he got out of here.
“Hospitals aren’t your favorite, rabbit, I know. Do you remember the hit you took?” Abram let his gaze wander back to impassive eyes but was set on silence. They stared at one another for a while. The man was looking for something on his face, maybe the answer to his question or maybe a return on that familiarity he was wielding so freely. Abram was happy to stare back.
The steady eyes that took him in had initially looked to be an almost golden shade of brown, but now that they were closer, he saw a hint of green mixed in. There were bags under his eyes from restless nights, and a smattering of light freckles covered his nose. His hair was short and had the soft, silky look of a natural blond. A texture that he’d never been able to replicate when he’d had blond identities. His ears had several different types of piercings, not just on the lobes, and all the jewelry was black.
Their stare-off was broken when Kevin Day made his way back into the room, followed by a woman in scrubs. Nurse, he guessed. She smiled at Abram as she approached, but he ignored her in favor of keeping an eye on Kevin Day’s movements.
“Hi, Neil.” Her perky voice was a cheese grater to his concussion. And there that name was again, it must have been his chosen name for his current identity. He’s missing time then, between this and the blond clearly having a fond familiarity for him… not to mention knowing his real middle name. “I’m Rebecca; I’m going to be your nurse for tonight. Can you tell me where you are right now?”
Kevin Day was perched on the arm of the chair. He was staring back at Abram — Neil, these people knew him as Neil. His dark eyebrows were pinched together, and a sick look was painted across his face. Neil’s attention snagged at the chess piece tattoo in the exact spot there should have been a number two. This would have made headlines, covering up his Perfect Court tattoo was a big deal. Maybe Neil had fallen through to some alternate timeline where he’d never gone on the run, and he and Kevin stayed friends through childhood, maybe there was no Perfect Court here. The concussion, or perhaps the drugs, were evidently taking their toll.
“Are you in pain?” The nurse tried again, coming closer to the side of his bed.
“Of course he’s in fucking pain,” the blond growled. He turned a vicious look on the nurse that had her retreating a step. Oh. That protective gesture stirred something deep inside Neil’s aching skull.
“Andrew.” The quiet rebuke came from Kevin. “She’s just trying to help.”
The blond — Andrew — got to his feet and took up a spot near the door. An urge from somewhere in his chest had longed to reach out and snag Andrew’s sleeve when he’d moved to leave. It was a funny, contradictory feeling to have about a stranger. Andrew ran a hand through his hair, frustration pulling at the lines of his mouth. A phone materialized from his pocket, and he was dialing out.
“Neil, I’d like to check your pupils.” The nurse was closer again, now that Andrew had moved out of her way. Neil hesitantly took his attention from the left side of the room but made sure that Kevin was still in his peripherals. For the moment, he didn’t think Day wanted to hurt him, but he was prepared for it all to go to shit. He nodded at her, which made his head hurt worse, but her smile spread wider at his acknowledgement.
The nurse flashed light in his eyes. She took his blood pressure and temperature, then typed vigorously at a computer on wheels for several minutes. Andrew was talking quietly on the phone when he returned his attention to the two men. Kevin hadn’t moved, but he was listening to Andrew on the phone rather than watching Neil now.
“Yeah, he’s awake but not talking.” Andrew waited a beat for a response. “I’m not sure.”
The nurse came into vision on his left side, fiddling with the IV he’d pulled out, saying something about a ‘little pinch.’ Neil was trying to tune her out in favor of catching more of the phone call that was obviously about him. Any insight he could gain about these people was valuable. The twinge of the IV going back in was barely noticeable over the other injuries, but there was the passing worry that the IV meant more drugs, which would make him hazier than he already was. He would pull it the next time there weren’t eyes on him.
“Your doctor’s gonna come and see you here soon. Hang tight, okay?” The nurse made her way out of the room, past Andrew who was no longer on the phone. He bit his lip, irritated that he’d missed most of the call.
“Get out,” Andrew said to Kevin as he jerked his head toward the door. Kevin’s mouth opened, a protest on the tip of his tongue. He glared at Andrew for another moment, then he was on his feet, slipping out of the room. Just who was Andrew to be able to order superstar Kevin Day around like that?
Andrew came closer, slowly, like he was looking for protest from Neil. When he didn’t find any, he settled himself back on the bed. Unease tingled at the base of Neil’s neck at the realization that his weight at the edge of the bed was more comforting than unnerving.
“You don’t remember, do you?” And there was that laid bare feeling again, like Andrew, with his careful steady hands, was peeling back every layer of lies Neil was built on. “I haven’t seen you scared of Kevin since Millport.”
Millport. Sounded like the name of a town him and his mother would melt into, hiding themselves among small town niceties and miles of empty stretches of road. As far as he could remember, he’d never been to a Millport. How much time was he missing?
“Your name is Neil Abram Josten. You’re twenty.”
Twenty? No, his seventeenth birthday was right around the corner. Vivid memory of being in a moving car, his mother driving, and discussing the upcoming date prickled at his mind. He was sure. They never did anything for his birthday, but it was a reminder that they’d made it another year. That the running was worth something. That chances were high he’d make it to adulthood with a semblance of freedom.
Maybe they’d picked an older age for this identity, but could he pass for twenty? And using his real middle name was unreasonable. Any connection back to his father was dangerous waters. Why would he take such a risk?
“You play for a college Exy team, here in South Carolina. You’ve stopped running, and no one is looking for you. You’re safe here.”
“You’re lying.” It came out jagged and gravelly. He hadn’t meant to speak, not really, but the absurdity of these words had his sharp tongue betraying his vow of silence. Playing D1 Exy was ridiculous to begin with, but there was no world in which Neil would ever be able to stop running from his father — no world his mother would ever have allowed that. His stomach sank.
“Where’s my mom?”
Andrew’s face was a wall of stone. He didn’t flinch away from this loaded question, didn’t even seem to acknowledge the panic soaking Neil’s words. Nothing flickered over his face, not at Neil finally finding his voice or the confirmation that Neil couldn’t remember him. He was an impenetrable wall, unreadable and unforgiving.
“Both your parents are dead.”
Even as he was lashing out against this bold-faced lie, the truth of it simmered in his stomach. His mother not being around — his mother being dead — would lead to fatal, glaring errors like the ones he’d seen so far: giving out his middle name, allowing himself to end up in a hospital, being around long enough to have someone look at him — know the intricacies of his mind — like Andrew did. These things betrayed everything his mother had ever taught him. How else would things have been allowed to spiral this far?
His father being dead was much more improbable. He was the villain of the bedtime story that was Neil’s life, an undefeatable, immortal kind of force. The man had garnered more loyalty than anyone on the east coast, and no one had gotten close to an attempt on his life since before Neil was born. His father would not go down so easily. Neil wouldn’t believe it without laying eyes on his lifeless corpse, even then he’d have doubts. If anyone was likely to have a deal with the devil and be brought back to life, it was the Butcher of Baltimore.
“Rabbit.” Andrew’s voice, and this curious pet name, brought him out of his mind. He gave a subtle shake of his head as he said, “You aren’t going to run.”
It wasn’t a command but an inevitability, as if, Andrew was acquainted with the future. Instead of following his gut instinct of scoffing and turning back to plans of escape, a question ached in his chest. “Why?”
“Because I know that stupid, rabbit brain of yours. The temptation of safety, of staying, outweighs every lesson your mother ever beat into you.”
“She doesn’t—” The defense of his mother was quick to slip out but quicker to cease at the knowing weight of Andrew’s gaze. To admit to his mother’s heavy-handed nature, he must really have been comfortable with the man in front of him. There was a level of trust he’d put in this person that went against everything he knew, but he found himself desperate to explore the ordeal of being known. A version of himself thought being here was worth the risk. Maybe, he could stay, at least till things started to look sideways.
“How do I know you don’t work for my father?”
“You don’t. But context clues should tell you it’s unlikely. You’re recovering in a hospital, not chained up in a basement, for starters.”
“What about Kevin Day?”
“Kevin is harmless.” Andrew flicked a dismissive hand. “That’s a long story, for another time. For now, I’m going to sit in that chair while you try to rest before the doctor shows up.”
He moved to get up again, and this time Neil’s hand acted of its own accord and latched onto Andrew’s sleeve. He eyed Neil’s fingers gripping the fabric, a flash of surprise crossed Andrew’s face before it melted back to indifference. He eased down onto the edge of the bed, “Or here. I can stay here while you rest.”
Neil hadn’t intended to truly rest, too nervous about all of the unknowns around him. But before long, the silence lulled his sluggish eyes closed. The drugs swirled around his veins, and the throbbing of his head and sharp pain of his ribs, every time he took a breath in, dulled.
He must have dozed, because when the sound of an unknown voice filled the room, he woke with a start, jerking to sit up. White, hot pain shot from his ribs to his hands, stopping his upward jolt. The middle-aged man in a lab coat, who must have been his doctor, only screamed threat to Neil’s foggy mind.
There was a shift to his left and a blur of blond hair in his peripherals. A firm hand wrapped around the back of his neck, it tugged at his mind as familiar, safe even, and he relaxed into the touch without further consideration.
“You’re safe. I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” The murmur came a second after the hand, and Neil wanted to believe it.
He drudged up where he was, and who the voice belonged to. The stranger, not stranger, was Andrew, who was all protective hands, calm eyes, and promises he couldn’t possibly keep. Neil was in a hospital in South Carolina. This was a doctor, and though Neil wasn’t entirely sure these people didn’t want to hurt him, he forced himself to lay back into the bed. He clenched his tingling hands to calm the lightning storm of panic surging through him. A gentle squeeze on the back of his neck grounded his static-filled mind further.
The doctor didn’t seem to notice Neil’s state, too caught up in a stack of papers attached to a clipboard. Neil answered the doctor’s questions and did his best not to flinch every time the man touched him without warning. Andrew had taken his hand back but was still watching Neil with careful consideration, casting brief but sharp glares at the doctor every time Neil jumped at his touch.
According to the doctor, amnesia wasn’t uncommon for this level of head injury. When Andrew told the doctor Neil was missing years, the doctor hesitated but reassured them that this alone was not a cause for concern. The thought that he couldn’t remember years of his life sent a pang of something through him, but he pushed it aside as quickly as it came. Regardless of the amnesia, his CT was clear of brain bleeds, and the doctor optimistically predicted that Neil’s memories were likely to return within the week
Once they were alone, sleep swiftly took Neil again. The pain in his head chased him into his dreams. He was inside a carnival fun mirror, everything twisted and out of proportion. His father was comically large, towering over Neil’s helplessly tiny body with an unnaturally wide menacing smile. He squinted against the vivid colors that filled the impossible world around him. He wanted to run, but his limbs wouldn’t behave. When he looked past his torso, where legs should be, he only found a pool of neon blood. A strangled scream escaped him as his father’s weight pinned him to the ground, blocking the view of his missing legs, and his signature cleaver dug hot and sharp into Neil’s skull.
Neil jolted awake to a hospital room devoid of any of the haunting colors of his nightmare. He welcomed the sterile white after the thralls of horror that were soaked in neon bloody hues. Even more welcome was the wiggle of his toes, and he suppressed the burn of tears threatening his eyes. As he worked on evening out his shallow breaths, the twinge of his ribs brought him crashing back to his present reality. All this wouldn’t leave as easily as the nightmare of his father had.
The ticking of the clock warred with the consistent beeping outside his dim room. The clock read four and based on the absence of sun creeping through the windows, it was four in the morning. Usually, the stillness that accompanied the earlier hours of the morning was a comfort to Neil, but without the soothing snores of his mother sleeping at his back and a loaded gun beneath his pillow, he found the quiet hour suffocating.
In the distinct absence of his mother pressed into the bed beside him, he realized the hospital bed was different to when he’d fallen asleep. The edge of the mattress was no longer compressed under Andrew’s weight, but there was a figure in the chair.
Another moment and his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room to find it wasn’t Andrew or Kevin. No, instead a middle-aged man was slouched in the chair, head propped on an elbow with his eyes closed. A coffee was clutched in his other hand, balanced on his knee. Dark tattoos peeked out of equally slouching sleeves. He was relaxed, but probably not asleep based on the strong grip on his coffee.
As silently as Neil could, suppressing a hiss of pain, he scooted himself to the edge of the bed. When he leaned to get up, an alarm sounded, and Neil sat back, shooting a wild look over his shoulder at the older man. Eye contact with him took the flight out of Neil, leaving his body paralyzed with the terror.
Rebecca appeared in the blink of an eye, hitting a button on the bed to make the blaring stop. He cursed mentally at himself. They’d probably put this precaution in place because he’d all but passed out the last time he got up. At least he wasn’t alone anymore with the unknown man.
“Hey, Neil. Where ya going?” Her chipper greeting was at odds with the small hours of the morning.
Explaining his escape plans would only put him in hotter water, so he pointed towards the bathroom door instead.
“I can get up on my own.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’ll be right here in case you get dizzy.”
Neil got to his feet at a sloth’s pace, hoping to spare his ribs any added strain, as Rebecca pulled the IV pole around to the other side of the bed. It was only about five steps to the bathroom, but shuffling there exerted more on his body than he was willing to admit. Once he’d stepped through, he closed the door in Rebecca’s face. If she was offended by Neil’s rude behavior, she hadn’t shown it. There was a nagging guilt that was promptly overridden by an all-encompassing fear.
He didn’t actually have to go to the bathroom, instead he anchored himself to the sink and was met with his father’s reflection — almost. His father’s auburn curls and icy blue eyes clashed with the marred skin of his cheeks. A knife clearly made some of these marks, possibly a different kind of gift from his father. The other side’s weapon was harder to determine, but it was distinctly burn-marks. He brought a shaky hand to skim across the raised flesh and caught sight of more marks trailing down his arms. They were similar to the ones on his face, stripes of knife wounds that were carved like art rather than being defensive in nature, and there were circular burns between them. The rings of scars at his wrists were different to the rest of the wounds, made by something duller.
Instead of horror surfacing or that urge to run returning, he disconnected entirely from the man looking back at him in the mirror. These scars didn’t belong to him. This face didn’t belong to him. A wave of numbness swept over him, muting even the fear of the man outside the bathroom.
He pulled the toilet handle, and let the water run as he mapped out every inch of the older, harder version of himself. Andrew had been truthful when he said Neil was missing years, these wounds were well past healed and obviously had been attended to with more care than any of his other scars.
As much as he tried to prepare himself to face the stranger outside, he still flinched when he found the man idling near the door in place of Rebecca. Open concern pulled at the lines around his eyes as he gave Neil a once over. The look didn’t sway his gut instinct to flee. The man stood between him and the only exit. Neil was working on the probabilities of him being able to maneuver past unscathed when the man spoke.
“Andrew needed a cigarette.” His voice was every bit as gruff and raspy as Neil expected. “Haven’t seen that boy fidget like that since before he came off those godforsaken meds.”
He took in Neil’s unwavering deer in headlights expression a beat longer and ran a nervous hand through his thick, black hair. “You really can’t remember me, can you, kid?”
Neil shook his head, spikes of pain shot through his skull and nausea roiled in his stomach at the movement.
“Wymack.” He tipped his head in greeting. “I’m your coach. Do you need help with…?”
He gestured between Neil and the bed. Neil stared back at him blank and wide eyed, not wanting to put himself in an even more vulnerable position by laying, but acutely aware of his ribs protesting everything involved with holding himself upright.
“Haven’t seen that frightened look in your eyes in quite a while, either.”
“Sorry,” he barely whispered.
“None of that now.” Wymack waved him off. The movement made Neil involuntarily tense, a sickening pulse thudding through his injured head. “You told me once it was my age that put ya off, to do with your dad, I’d guess. But I’m here to help, if you’ll let me.”
Wymack took a step back, giving Neil more space, but it did nothing to take the lingering tension from Neil’s frame. The nod Neil gave him lacked any conviction. Wymack’s face faltered, but he didn’t call Neil on the blatant lie.
Wymack’s attention was pulled away by the creaking of the door. The panic coiling up his insides rapidly unfurled when he met Andrew’s exhausted gaze, and a tug deep in his gut told him Andrew wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. He scraped at the blank space in his mind that was withholding the memories that must pair with this surety. Andrew ran a hand through wind ruffled hair, assessing Neil from his matted mop of curls to the way he was steadying himself with the IV pole.
Without taking his eyes off Neil, he gave Wymack a dismissive wave.
“Anything comes up, you’ve got my number. Use it.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Andrew. “I’ll see you both at Abby’s.”
Wymack grabbed his coffee, then he slipped out, pulling the door closed behind him. The world was much stiller with the absence of the imposing older man and the closed door blocking some of the beeps and voices coming from other places in the hospital.
“C’mon, dumbass,” Andrew said. Despite his flippant tone, he approached cautiously, watchful eyes gauging Neil’s reaction. When he didn’t flinch away, fingertips brushed along the small of his back as Andrew encouraged him back towards the bed. He smelled like smoke and the leather of his jacket. Bolts of lightning zapped against the back of his mind, nagging with familiarity that was just out of reach, and his head spun as much with déjà vu as it did with the ache of pushing his injured body too hard.
He let Andrew tuck the blankets up around him. The muddle of pain and narcotics made it too hard to scratch at the barrier in his mind with any meaning, and no part of him wanted to return to the hellscape of his dreams, so he focused on Andrew.
“Who’s Abby?”
“Team doctor. You’re going to be recovering at her house, instead of the dorms.”
“I live in a dorm?” Neil asked, dumbfounded.
“Yes.”
“Do you live in the dorms too?”
“Yes.”
“Are we roommates?”
“Go to sleep, rabbit.”
“Can’t.”
A flicker of understanding passed over Andrew’s face, and the set of his shoulders softened. Too much insight was held in the firm line of his mouth.
“I should have been here when you woke up,” Andrew said.
Neil shrugged.
A beat of silence took over that left Neil too vulnerable. He hadn’t intended to give away so much with a single word, but it seemed Andrew was all too familiar with the ridges and bumps of Neil’s psyche. Something flitted across Andrew’s face, before his jaw unclenched.
“You, me, and Kevin share a dorm.”
All Neil could manage was a quiet “oh” because puzzle pieces were moving around in his mind. There was a passing fear that he must attend Edgar Allen, followed closely by a reminder that he played in South Carolina, which meant the three of them couldn’t possibly go to Edgar Allen. Kevin’s covered Perfect Court tattoo made the most sense in this context. He wanted to ask about that longer story Andrew alluded to earlier, but a more pertinent thought pushed forward.
“Mom would wring my neck if she heard that. She’s really dead, huh?”
Andrew nodded.
“How sure are you about my dad being dead too?”
“You were there when it happened, so pretty damn certain.”
“Okay.”
Neil mulled this over. The question was no longer whether he trusted Andrew but if he trusted himself. Was being present for his father’s death something he’d lie about to Andrew? Maybe. But Andrew had been privy to other hard-won truths about his life: the name closest to his heart, his complicated relationship with his mother, the propensity for running but the desperate desire for a reason not to. He was sixty-forty, in favor of his dad being dead. Wishful thinking he knew he couldn’t afford but clung to all the same.
Andrew rubbing at his eyes reigned Neil’s attention in. Doing his best to keep off his face the strain that moving caused, he pulled one of his two pillows out from under his head and offered it to Andrew.
“Just because I can’t sleep, doesn’t mean you can’t.”
Andrew quirked an eyebrow at Neil, before taking the pillow. He propped the pillow against the footboard, kicking off his shoes and shimmying out of his jacket, before he laid back. His legs crossed at his ankles, near Neil’s shoulder, and when he folded his arms over his chest, his sleeves drifted to reveal black arm bands just like the ones that were in the belongings bag.
Neither of them slept. Neither of them talked. There was only the comforting quiet that left Neil pulsing with a kind of ease he’d never been afforded.