Man on the Inside

29

There are multiple problems Neil still needs to solve. The same goes for Art. Both of them are procrastinating on these problems, and Neil blames Art entirely. If Art was more productive, maybe it would've forced Neil to do what he needed to do. But both have been as stuck with the other.

They've talked about things that don't matter. A lot of their communication has happened non-verbally, one could say, to the point where Neil's dick hurts. But they've also just laid there, at times; Art on Neil's chest, where Neil's had to look down at him and think to himself, where's the obvious clue that I'm missing, here, that proves you just want me dead?, and he's had to walk it back, only because if Art wants him dead, there's no point in fighting. He just won't survive.

It's only on Wednesday that Art actually suggests even leaving the house. Neil didn't send Art home on Monday- he just couldn't- and he didn't feel the need to do it Tuesday night, either. Why would he? He'll need his own space eventually. But not now. Now, he needs to not be as alone as he's felt for his entire life.

"We've got to go to the precinct," Art mutters, after a long moment of drawing circles on Neil's bare chest. He's lying naked on top of Neil, as comfortably as if he's always done it every single day for years. "At some point. I ended up calling in what PTO I have, too, but we've still got to leave our jobs properly."

Neil runs a hand through his hair with a groan. His muscles are heavy and he's not convinced he can move ever again. "Unfortunately," he says. "I don't want to face everyone."

"You don't have to face them. We just collect our shit, and then leave." Art turns, leans his chin on Neil's chest. "I guess we don't have to, it's just unnecessarily suspicious. Like we were chased away."

"Why? You're worried that whoever replaces us in the investigation will know that we both randomly abandoned the post because you were the person we were looking for the whole time?"

"Of course not." Art grins at him. "Why would they ever need someone to replace us? You found me, after all."

Neil pushes Art's hair behind his ears, makes sure he can see his grey eyes. They're fully open, not a single lie kept behind them- and yet, Neil isn't sure he can ever be convinced that he isn't just seeing things.

"You found yourself," Neil argues. There are a lot of things he could say, things he wants to let spill forth, locked inside his throat- but when he looks at those eyes, he still can't quite see Nimm, still can't quite believe he could have been fooled so thoroughly.

He wants to believe it's all this simple, that everything's fallen into place. But Art is completely capable of lying to him, and of having reasons Neil could never comprehend.

It's the same thing Neil has been thinking for days, now. That this isn't as simple as a respite. This is a test. Neil's letting him in, and when Art turns his back Neil doesn't get the feeling he's looking back over his shoulder. The problem is, Art would know not to look back.

Neil watches the muscles in Art's shoulders as he's pulling his shirt over his head. Are they tense? Like he's aware he's being watched? Neil saw that tension in Nimm constantly, always- but the moment he sees it rise in Art, Art's shoulder shrugs in a tic, and then the tension is gone. Was it lying, all that time, that had him so tense- or can he lie as easily as he can turn and smile at Neil, and all that tension is purely physical?

"What do you have to get?" Neil asks as they're driving up to Art's apartment, first. "What did you bring home?"

"I have to get my disguise," Art says, and there's a twinge of guilt in his words. It stings for Brontë to realise what he means. "It'll take me a while to get it on. I'm sorry."