heartbeat ~ a f t g

Andrew

Being completely honest with himself, Andrew wasn't surprised to see Neil Josten standing in the kitchen doorway at 2 in the morning.

"You would've thought," he drawled, a touch of amusement in his voice, "That you would prefer to actually get some sleep. Playing the victim must be exhausting."
It was mean, Andrew knew it, but he was still angry at Neil for what had happened in the corridor, when Neil had, inexplicably, blushed. At Andrew, of all people.
He liked holding grudges, they made the whole life business worthwhile, so he felt rather put out when Neil ignored him in favour of darting over to the coffee machine. When it was finally ready, he cradled the cup like it was the only thing keeping him upright, and turned around to meet Andrew's eyes.

If Andrew had been half-expecting, half-hoping that Neil would show up, he really should've expected the lost, hopeless expression that had invaded his face. Dark bags made his piercing blue gaze seem heavier and resigned, and his hair was rumpled in a way that Nicky would call adorable, but right now looked despairing and wretched. Andrew recognised the downcast slope of Neil's shoulders and, heart sinking, asked the question that he already knew the answer to. "Nightmare?" Neil nodded and lifted himself onto the counter-top, draining his mug with the same fervour that Kevin exhibited whenever there was a bottle in his hand. Andrew noted with an irrelevant displeasure that Neil was taller than him.

"I was bleeding." Neil's voice cut Andrew out of his taller-than-thou reverie and he looked up.  "And burning. And I think, at one point, that I was dying. But it was hard to tell."

"Well, that seems like the worst dream ever. But I truly can't say that I'm surprised, runaway."    

It was probably the emptiness in Andrew's voice that made Neil take so long to realise what he'd said. But when the words sunk in, his whole body jerked and spasmed, the empty mug falling out of his grip and smashing into china shards on the floor.
Andrew strode across the room in seconds, but by then Neil had already started towards the door, panic clear in his laboured breathing and flailing limbs. Andrew closed a hand around his neck, feeling the pulse beating faster than he'd ever felt before, pounding, shaking and rattling around inside his brain and flickering across his skin. "Calm." He kept his tone flat and even, knowing that it would help Neil more that raw emotion. He had enough of that himself. "You need to breath, Neil. It will help."

It was astounding how much of an effect Andrew's words had on the taller man, or how much of an effect Neil listening to him had on Andrew. He sunk down onto the cool tiles and Andrew followed suit, relinquishing his hold on Neil's neck. The feeling of his heartbeat didn't fade from Andrew's palms, but he didn't want them to disappear. They were comforting, in a strange way.

"Why the armbands?" Neil's voice was soft. Andrew crossed his legs and glanced at the man beside him, who was sucking in deep breaths, but apparently still had the strength to be incessantly annoying. He raised an eyebrow, and apparently Neil caught on, because he began to explain. "I saw them when you were, you know, beside my sickbed. You haven't taken them off, so they must be special to you, am I right? This- this can be a trade," He added hastily, probably seeing the way Andrew's face had tightened. Andrew sighed. "Fine," He reached inside one of the bands of stretchy black material that wrapped his wrists, and pulled to a long knife. Neil's eyes widened. "But- you can defend yourself with your powers, why do you need to keep knives hidden up your sleeves?" Andrew scoffed. "As I'm sure you know, there are ways for powers to be dampened. I like to be prepared for whatever happens, knowing that I can defend myself." It was a reasonable explanation, but only a half-truth. Everyone knew that he kept knives hidden, so there was no reason that Neil shouldn't.

Now Andrew had questions of his own. He decided not to ask the one about Kevin, but- "What's up with the bleached hair?" Neil blanched and his face whitened, but Andrew slapped a hand on his knee before another panic attack could begin. He took a deep breath and raked a hand through his blonde strands, still out of place from whatever nightmare he'd been suffering. Andrew could see the reddish roots. "You called me a runaway, yes? Well, technically, that's true. I'm running from someone- or rather, a group of people." He was stalling, using an assortment of useless words in a futile effort to delay the inevitable. Andrew was used to it: Kevin did it all the time, whenever conversation turned to Evermore, the Ravens, or Riko.
"They know what I look like. The Patch was so they can't track me, the hair and this," he gestured to the nose ring, "Is so they can't use super-recognisers, or people like Nicky, to find me." He sucked in a deep lungful of air, as if speaking had drained him of all energy, and closed a fist around one of the China shards on the floor.

Andrew watched him for a while without saying anything, but he couldn't keep quite forever.
"I can protect you."