Chapter Text
Wymack’s hell begins when he finds condoms buried under a bag of gummy worms in Neil’s room.
There are a few boxes. Sealed, unopened. Like the buyer didn’t know what kind to get and decided to raid the pharmacy.
Wymack’s not sure how long he stands there, the realization dawning on him. He’s no fool. He was young once. It’s easy to put two and two together, with prom coming up in less than a week. Neil’s been over the moon about it, not openly, but Wymack can tell.
Fathers know these things.
The brightness in his son’s eyes had brought his heart so much joy that Wymack had to push it away with an eye roll and a grumble into his coffee. Neil’s well past the age for Wymack to be taking pictures of him like he did on Neil’s first day of kindergarten.
‘Neil’s first prom invitation!’
He would just have to retain the memory for himself, of Neil floating throughout the house and hiding smiles in the sleeves of his sweater whenever a new text from Andrew came through about prom outfits or pickup.
And Andrew couldn’t hide either, not behind all the usual facades. There was something different there, the nights he stayed for dinner. Neil’s chair would end up pressed to his, edge to edge. A playful nudge there, an excited glance here. Feet kicking each other under the table like no one else could see past their bubble. Like it hadn’t shone, an amphitheater, all their lives.
Wymack was happy for them, as infuriating as they made his life. It lulled him into a false sense of security, seeing them giddy and excited.
And he, maybe naively, thought that joy and thrumming undercurrent of nerves in Neil’s every step had solely to do with the dance.
Taking pictures, slow dances, hand holding. All that good, modest shit.
He remembers the reality as soon as he sees those boxes.
And it comes crashing down, the innocence lost. He remembers he is the father to teenagers, and at a certain point, there was a high possibility of this.
A small bundle of nerves settles in Wymack’s stomach, slowing building before he’s even aware of it.
Wymack stares at the boxes. Breathes. Thinks.
For all his bravado and show, Andrew’s touchy. Always has been. Holding Neil’s hand when they were little, poking and prodding for injuries if Neil got hurt creek hopping or camping. Dating only solidified it. Andrew is all over Neil whenever he can be.
Wymack’s had the misfortune of walking in on one too many make outs, has caught Andrew’s wandering eyes and Neil’s blushing face after reading a text. Each time, Wymack washed his brain out with soap and convinced himself it would never go beyond that.
He’s getting old. Delusional.
He knows better. He tells himself he does.
And for as long as Andrew and Neil have been in love, is this not the natural progression?
Yes. Of course it is. Stares. Thinks.
Their relationship is good, healthy.
Breathes.
He covers the condoms back up, but the thought doesn’t leave his mind no matter how hard he tries. He finds himself checking on Neil in his room throughout the night, tries not to feel a sense of overwhelming fondness and panic when he sees him kicking his legs behind him on his bed. Doodling. Little hearts. Foxes. Andrew’s name.
Yes, this is normal. This is how things are supposed to go.
But he can’t calm the nerves.
And it’s more than them just planning to have sex. Wymack knows Andrew and Neil haven’t gone that far. This would be Neil’s first time for sure. Wymack can tell, in the way his son still blushes at sex scenes on TV, in the still sometimes hesitant hello and goodbye kisses he gives Andrew.
Neil is smart, strong, a real pain in the ass.
But Wymack knows underneath all that little shit behavior, Neil is sensitive. He has a lot of feelings he sometimes can’t contain, and his heart can be hurt far too easily.
Has Neil really thought this through?
Wymack shakes his head.
Not his business…
It’s a no brainer, he tells himself. He has given the tools needed for his kids to not make stupid decisions. He was a good dad. An attentive dad. Both Neil and Kevin received a mortifying sex talk years ago. Their humiliation had been a delight then. It was so far away still. And by the time Kevin had a serious partner, Wymack wasn’t worried.
His oldest is responsible, realistic.
Neil’s a smart kid, too. He was given the same tools. The same resources. He knows he can come to Wymack for anything. Hell, with how close their families are, Andrew could come to him for anything.
Clearly, this is a decision they’ve made, confidently, together.
So, why does it feel like the walls are closing in?
Later, still lost in his deep water, Wymack overhears Neil’s excited whispers on the phone, up past curfew.
“Did you get the room?” Neil whispers in the dark. There’s excitement there, but Wymack hears the rest too. Anxiety. Insecurity. But then, Neil’s voice still holds a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
Wymack stays up far past his own mandated bedtime. Doesn’t even take his multivitamin. He ends up at the kitchen counter, a cookie bag wrapper shining ominously under the yellow light as he munches away.
Thinks. Breathes. The ticking time bomb in his head close to detonating on a bad decision.
He’s watched Andrew and Neil grow up alongside each other, every step of the way. He even dealt with the horrible onset of puberty, giving fuel to the fire of their feelings and stupid teenage insecurities that kept them apart. It’s good they’re here now, at this place. Comfortable.
Wymack taps his fingers on the counter. Pause.
Andrew and Neil are good for each other. Therefore, he should let this happen. Let things play out how they are meant to, be there in the aftermath for his son if he needs him.
There’s no reason for him to do anything more.
The bomb ticks on.
Kicking legs. Doodles. Hearts. Condoms. Neil’s anxious, inexperienced voice and his fragile heart.
Andrew, with the power to crush it in his hands. Andrew, who Wymack also half-raised. Just as sensitive as Neil, deep down. This could hurt him all the same. Damage all their progress.
It feels like something pushed to the edge too soon. Growing up too fast, running too far. And in that moment, Wymack’s not self-aware enough to realize he’s the only one with that fear.
They’re not ready.
Boom .
Okay. So, Andrew and Neil want their first time to be on prom night? The irritational, fatherly side of him only has one thing to say: hell no.
He crumbles the bag of cookies in his hand and throws them towards the trash. The fucking thing is empty, so it floats to the ground instead.
Fuck .
He doesn’t take it as the clear sign of his delirium.
Sue him. He’s an overprotective dad. His kids are his everything. Logic got clouded the moment he realized his baby son might make a mistake he can’t take back.
And the fire of that in his chest is enough to burn away everything else, leaving scorched earth where reason once stood.
Not on my watch .
--
It actually took Andrew quite a long time to be able to do that with his face.
Time flies in different ways for parents. Sometimes it’s a blink, and months have passed. Other times, it feels like Wymack never left elementary school drop off.
Wymack remembers Andrew as a child, so sensitive and over-emotional. His feelings were not hard to miss. They nearly screamed off him. Big, blubbery tears over any little thing. He would cry over a lost toy, a scraped knee, Neil being out sick. He was an endless supply of tears, and only Neil could make him stop.
Andrew had a steep frown, an invisible clip pinching his eyebrows together when he was seconds from a tantrum. All of that, accentuated by chubby cheeks, red half the time.
Those things nearly cease to exist now, though Wymack thinks he can detect them still, underneath the hard lines and put-on apathy. Chubby cheeks gave way to a strong, set jaw that pissed Wymack off in its stubbornness. Andrew’s eyes would crinkle in amusement, in distaste, or whatever slice of emotion he would allow. A singular arch of a brow, a huff of a laugh. No tears. Not even a sniff.
Never too much, God forbid.
Trained. Practiced. Unrelenting.
It made Wymack want to roll his eyes each and every time. But he knew what caused it, tried his best with Betsy to get it squashed at school. Andrew had been a target for bullies, as small, sensitive kids often are. Neil would get slapped with detentions and write-ups for fighting the other kids once he found out. Andrew’s little defender. Neil was taller, much taller then, so it worked. He always took the brunt of the abuse so Andrew wouldn’t have to.
Wymack has many a memory of Andrew crying while applying band aids haphazardly to Neil’s cheeks.
Even after getting the kids switched to a different class, the effects remained in Andrew’s psyche.
At a certain point, Andrew got tired of Neil being his protector. He wanted to protect himself. He must’ve convinced himself, stupidly, that Neil wouldn’t always be there to chase the bullies away or push them into the dirt (Neil was never grounded for that, thank you very much).
Andrew’s defense was distance and intimidation. If he looked scary, acted uncaring, no one would mess with him. Wymack hated how he was right.
Andrew lassoed his emotions, perhaps too well, spent more time in the gym. Soon, that scrawny, weepy kid looked every bit the stereotypical delinquent. Wymack heard the whispers, saw the way would-be bullies stepped out of Andrew’s way. Little did the student body know that Betsy would have a conniption if Andrew’s grades were not stellar, that this boy kissed his mom on the cheek every morning, that this boy loved Wymack’s son something fierce.
It’s crystal clear to Wymack then, watching Andrew walk through the door to pick Neil up for prom. In an instant, Wymack is back, young again, and Andrew’s emotions are written all over his face.
Andrew sees Neil. That’s all it takes.
Neil and Andrew always have to be different. Their “suits” are coordinated, black enough to be funeral wear if the cuts weren’t so trendy. It’s most likely Andrew’s doing, Neil was never one for fashion. High waisted trousers for Neil, tied up in a dark brown belt. His blazer is a little too big on him, but Wymack supposes that’s in nowadays. Neil’s got a soft vest over his button-up, the tie adding a sprinkle of boyish charm. He’s what the girls probably call devastating. For Wymack, well… maybe he’s the one becoming a crier again.
The suit is picked out to compliment Neil in every way, the only pop of color being the blue in the tie, the perfect match to Neil’s eyes. It’s clear evidence against Andrew’s uncaring attitude. Andrew’s jacket is fixed with a flower, one Betsy would’ve picked out, something with meaning probably. Blue to match. A sensitive little boy, picking dandelions for him and Neil to share.
Andrew’s got his beaten leather jacket thrown over a turtleneck, but his trousers are tailored and fitted. He looks older now. Stronger. His shoulders are almost too wide for his body, like a shield rests on the back. When did that happen?
Neil crashes excitedly down the stairs, nearly missing a step as he rounds the corner. And they both just…stare.
Wymack watches Andrew’s façade fall. It’s not as open as it would’ve been as a child, of course. Habits die hard. But Wymack can read him, and has known him too long to not. Andrew’s eyes widen a hair and go glassy. His hands clench at his sides, too intent to reach out, and Andrew stubbornly stuffs them in his pockets. He looks nervous, like it’s their first date all over again. Like he can still fuck this up. Fear, longing, anticipation. Andrew has to sweep his eyes over Neil several times, as if to convince himself he’s real. He’s able to stop the twitch in his lips, but not the swallow in his throat.
Wymack knows what this is. He’s known it since the two became best friends. Pure adoration. Borderline obsession. Love.
Wymack feels his resolve being tested.
Neil’s no better. His nervous tic has always been messing with his damn hair. Kevin spent an hour styling it for him, and for what? Neil keeps running his hand through it, bouncing in place. He looks like he wants to fly down the stairs.
Wymack clears his throat, and the bubble pops.
Neil’s face flushes as he stammers. He mumbles something about forgetting his wallet, tripping over a step as he goes. He looks back at Andrew too many times.
For the briefest moment, Wymack considers taking his plan back. But then his father sirens blare, reminding him sure, Neil’s happy now, but later —
And besides, it’s true. That look on Andrew’s face seems pure, but based on their plans, there’s definitely more beneath the surface that Wymack refuses to dig for.
Not happening.
“When do you think you’ll be back?” Wymack interjects, no doubt cutting off the string quartet in Andrew’s head. He sees it happen in real time; throwing Andrew Dobson off is a feat he cherishes. Andrew’s face scrunches, eyes unable to peel away from the place Neil once stood until the words process.
Then—
Hmm. Is that a suspicious look, Wymack sees? It could be all in his head.
Andrew turns to him slowly, and still lost in Neil la-la-land, forgets to not scrunch his brows.
He’s silent for a moment as Wymack stares him down. Wymack tries to feign innocence, to seem aloof. It’s hard. He may have cleaned snot from Andrew’s nose, but the kid has the whole crippling intensity thing down .
Andrew clears his throat before he answers. “The prom goes until midnight so—”
Wymack nods, pretends to be a forgetful old man. Like he won’t be watching that clock like a hawk for both his sons.
“Oh right, and it’s not like you guys can stay later,” he says with a laugh. Joshing. Kidding. It bounces off Andrew like a dead fish. “No hotel rooms, right?”
He almost doesn’t catch it. But it’s there. A tiny, awkward stretch of silence. It’s weighted, adding to the bulk on Andrew’s shoulders. They twitch as he rolls them. No tells on his face, but Wymack doesn’t need that.
Got you.
Andrew huffs a laugh. It feels like a challenge. “Right.”
--
Andrew thinks, immediately upon seeing the flower arch in the hotel lobby, that it looks like shit.
Neil was right. It’s the same one they use for all major dances, spruced up or accented here or there with whatever elements match the theme. Despite that, it’s clear to Andrew that it’s falling apart. The pink flowers aren’t as vibrant as they once were, several of the fairy lights are out, and the draping is all wrong. The empty branches, once tasteful and artfully arranged, can’t be distinguished from the damaged ones.
Andrew knows if he were here with anyone else, he wouldn’t give a fuck.
He looks up at Neil’s face as he finishes fixing the matching blue flower to his blazer. Andrew’s mom had it right. It’s a near perfect match, and Andrew’s favorite color.
Andrew’s fingers stumbled a bit as he fixed it on, feeling Neil’s eyes on him, never leaving. Scanning . He’s always done it, always stared too intensely, too long. It’s worse now that they’re dating. Neil’s easy to read. His gaze jumps from Andrew’s eyes to his lips, caresses his jaw, swipes gently at the eye bags he has after a cram session. They are a salve, sometimes too strong. Blue and clinical grade.
Andrew sometimes wants to ask when Neil will stop looking at him like that, if there’s something in particular he’s looking for that he just hasn’t found yet in all their years together.
But then, Andrew thinks he might curl up and die if Neil isn’t looking at him. So instead, he pokes Neil’s cheek to get him to stop, if only to feel the skin stretch with Neil’s grin.
“There,” Andrew says quietly. He taps the boutonnière softly, his hand coming to rest on Neil’s chest after, unable to put his damn hands away. Yes, if Neil has a staring problem, Andrew has a touching problem.
Neil’s answering grin, somehow brighter and more dreamy, dreamy over Andrew of all people, solidifies it in Andrew’s mind.
He’s not letting Neil be seen under that thing. Not after Andrew plowed through three malls and two shopping centers finding him the perfect outfit.
“Thank you,” Neil says, and has the audacity to plant a lingering kiss to Andrew’s cheek. He pulls away once, only to land another, softer, a ghost. The only evidence of it is Neil’s lips, chapped from the cold, sticking to it. It should not excite him the way it does. Andrew’s toes fucking curl when Neil’s nose brushes against his skin.
Neil looks over at the arch, at the god-awful line for pictures, mouth already twisting up a storm as his inability to stay still takes over.
Neil’s never been patient, but he wanted this. He wanted this and all the shitty, cliché things that go with it. It’s not just his patience that he’s warring with. Andrew senses it, his over consideration for Andrew’s comfort level. Never selfish, never taking. Always asking what Andrew would want, wondering if Andrew would hate waiting in the line more than he loves seeing Neil lit up.
Blue eyes dart to Andrew’s hand, wanting to take it and pull him to the line, but even now, he’s stopping himself.
Andrew has had to swallow down too much emotion on this one night already, interrupted only by a whiplash of panic when Wymack tried to sniff out their hotel plans. Impossible, Andrew told himself. They were too sneaky.
But he’s a bit tired of keeping it all at bay. This is their night, his and Neil’s, and Neil’s the one person who gets to see all of him. It’s on Andrew, if Neil doesn’t realize it by now.
Clearly, Andrew’s still fucking up this boyfriend thing at times like this. Because the reality is, Neil would never make Andrew do anything, and that’s precisely why Andrew would do everything for him. And yeah, he may not like to admit it, but he’ll enjoy whatever the dance brings too.
If that’s still not clear to Neil, then Andrew will have to convince him once and for all.
He grabs Neil’s hand, dragging him off towards a separate wing of the hotel. Neil follows, because of course he does, and Andrew kisses the confusion off his face.
“This way,” Andrew whispers against his lips. “Trust me.”
Andrew had the chance to scope out the hotel earlier in the day, on account of getting a room. He checked in and found the hotel garden tucked away in a courtyard by one of the other ballrooms. It’s small, but it’s empty, with real flower arrangements sitting in the large soil plots inside. A small creek of recycled water runs through it, the ambience calming and quiet despite the chaos outside.
Neil spots a mix of blue and white flowers immediately. They’re in full bloom, and if they angle the camera correctly, it’ll look like a flower wall behind them.
Neil runs to the spot just underneath, a makeshift bench made out of cobbled stone. He sits pretty, too devastating for Andrew to breathe in correctly. He chokes on his spit.
“Look! These ones kind of match,” Neil says, unaware of the warfare he’s inflicting and making grabby hands in Andrew’s direction.
Cuteness aggression isn’t real, he tells himself.
“Like you would know anything about that,” Andrew says, narrowly dodging Neil’s responding kick.
“Yeah, yeah,” Neil says with a smirk that’s too dangerous, too sexy for how naïve Neil can actually be about that kind of thing. “If I wasn’t such a mess, you wouldn’t be able to dress me up.”
Andrew, by some miracle, prevents himself from saying some cringe teenage boy shit about how he can’t wait to undress Neil later. But from the way Neil’s eyes widen, the feeling must be apparent regardless. Andrew ducks his head before Neil has a chance to. Fuck .
Neil’s the virgin here, not him. Yet, Andrew can’t calm his heart or stop the rush of heat.
Sex is one thing, sex with Neil is another. Everything having to do with Neil is an entirely different beast. Dating itself has never felt like this for Andrew. Embarrassing, uncomfortable, but in the best way. It feels like a trap, for something so overwhelming to also be so intoxicating. A push, push, push out of Andrew’s comfort zone, the payoff better and better.
He clears his throat and tries his best to get a grip. But he lets Neil see it. All of it. The bumbling, the nerves. Things reserved only for each other since the beginning of time.
The pictures are shockingly easy for all that. Andrew thought they’d be terrible at posing, at forcing smiles. But posing isn’t an issue if neither of them try.
Neil laughs as he wraps his arms around Andrew’s shoulders, chasing the blush with his lips. Andrew glares at his phone as he angles the camera, snapping at random as Neil distracts him more and more. Neil keeps kissing his face, his neck, burning sweet nothings into Andrew’s memory for eternity to come. It’s basically attempted murder.
Andrew closes his eyes when Neil boldly sucks on his neck; the feeling of it isn’t harsh, but it nearly does him in. It’s the hesitation, the shyness, the Neil of it all. And when Andrew sighs, Neil kisses the spot more firmly, a quiet acknowledgement. ‘Oh, you like that? Okay.’
At one point, Andrew probably loses the camera angle completely. He turns to kiss Neil, and time flees. He’s trying his best to keep snapping photos, but his hand falls further. Half the shots are probably of their torsos. What does he care? Neil is holding him.
Eventually, Neil grabs Andrew’s phone and sets it aside for him, content with their messy photoshoot. He takes Andrew’s face in both hands and kisses him deeper, and yeah, it’s unfair. Andrew should be the one doing the seducing, right? Andrew is comfortable with this, practiced. He has boys still pining for more than the casual fling Andrew propositioned them for.
But it’s Neil’s tongue making his head spin as it teases his, and it’s Neil who has Andrew aching to get on his knees. Andrew tries not to feel too jealous. It’s not all his doing, the fact Neil can kiss like this.
Andrew lets his brain turn to mush as Neil kisses him senseless, cruelly pumping the brakes by teasing the roof of Andrew’s mouth.
Dammit . I will eat you alive later.
But Neil must realize he can’t wind them up this tight before the dance even starts. He breaks away with a breathy laugh, but his hands don’t stop caressing Andrew’s jaw. Andrew chases him, defiant, having to have some kind of victory after all that. Neil hums a cheeky apology and lets Andrew take back some of the control.
I hate you . Kiss. Can’t stand you . Kiss.
Andrew doesn’t stop until Neil feels just as putty-like in his arms. Andrew taps against his spine until Neil arches closer, fully in Andrew’s lap.
Neil breaks the kiss for good, drunk off it as he slouches against Andrew’s shoulder. Lazily, he reaches for Andrew’s phone, entering the passcode (a combination of their birthdays) and swipes through the pictures. There actually end up being some decent ones. Some are PG, good enough to give their parents. Neil kissing Andrew’s cheek, Neil just about to lean in for a kiss.
Andrew’s favorite ends up being one of the torso pics, tastefully blurry, just catching the edge of a searing kiss. It screams desperate, out of sorts. It’s everything Andrew hates to see about himself. It’ll be his home screen for months, at minimum.
They sit, catching their breaths and listening to the slow trickle of the water. The dance is starting; Andrew can hear the faint thump of the DJ set through the walls. He finds he’s not dreading it as much as he thought. But he thinks he could sit here all night and be fine too.
Neil scooches closer to him, not unlike how he did as a child on a playground. Ready to conspire, to share a secret.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Neil says shyly. Nothing dramatic, nothing life or death. Still something for only Andrew to keep.
Andrew is learning that Neil is only ever shy around him. He can’t decide if he hates it or not. He definitely hates that he never caught onto it, that he could’ve had Neil on cloud nine all this time.
Andrew squashes whatever insecurities may have forced Neil’s words. He grabs Neil’s hand before hoisting them up, leading them towards the dance.
He finds it really is the truth when he says it. “I wanted to.”
--
Andrew will admit, those stupid line dances are infinitely more fun when his boyfriend is intentionally fucking them up.
Neil doesn’t force him to dance, knowing Andrew’s brand wouldn’t allow it, but Andrew pushes him to not miss out when his friends inevitably tug him towards the dance floor. No matter how uncomfortable the thought of doing the Cha Cha Slide might make him, Andrew will be damned if Neil doesn’t get the full prom experience after all Andrew’s angsting.
It ends up being a tag team situation. Andrew steals the good food from the refreshments table and eavesdrops on all the gossip he can to share with Neil later.
In the meantime, Neil ruins decades old choreography.
Andrew watches Neil dance with his friends through a few songs, purposefully doing the wrong steps and leading to a mass of teenagers bowling themselves over. He’s skilled in his avoidance, in how he somehow knows just when to misstep to cause the most damage. From the sidelines, Andrew feels like he’s cheering on some sort of sport. Chaotic Asshole Olympics.
Neil’s friends kick him off the dance floor in no time, but he walks away a champion. He’s slow, stumbling, high off the adrenaline that shit stirring brings. He takes a while to spot Andrew from across the ballroom, but when he does, Andrew swears the rotating lights have no choice but to linger.
Andrew hates how his life turned into one of those Lifetime movies he and his mom like to watch, where neither of them can admit how invested they truly are. Neil beelines for him excitedly. He lets his smile turn giddy, mischievous. It reminds Andrew too much of recess, of finding each other at some other kid’s Chuck E. Cheese birthday party. Like oh, there’s my best friend, what will we get up to today?
Neil can only go so fast through the crowd and Andrew taps his cup impatiently. He’s already at prom, why waste time pretending?
Halfway across the room, the lights change over Neil’s frame. From a mix of neon, electric shades, they turn to soft blues. Andrew thinks of making the comment to Neil that it feels like an aquarium, dark but otherworldly. He thinks Neil will get a kick out of that one. He lets it sit on his tongue. Waiting, waiting.
That’s when it hits him, the reason for the change. Andrew feels a foreign surge of anxiety as the slow notes start playing. Harsh beats and thundering techno dissolve into something gentler. The lights dim further as people disband their groups to pair up.
Andrew’s not an idiot. He knows slow dances are intrinsic to any dance. He knew this, was prepared to sit on the sidelines with Neil and sweaty palms, trying to ignore the increasing pressure of each romantic lyric through his ears.
Andrew doesn’t dance. Neil knows he’d prefer not to, and Neil’s not aching to either. Andrew knows, Andrew knows, Andrew knows .
Always things that he knows, but they give little care to how he fucking feels.
Because Neil looks damn good in that suit as he walks, now a bit shyer, through the throngs of couples. He dips his head when he meets Andrew’s eyes, his smile sheepish. Sorry , it says, as if it’s at all Neil’s doing that Andrew can’t make up his mind. It has Andrew’s throat closing up.
A slow dance is nothing but holding each other close. It’s teasing whispers and nervous glances and trying not to touch too desperately. And hasn’t that just been Andrew’s life with Neil all along?
Neil will sit out, is fully prepared to sit it out for him if Andrew says so. But that’s a non-issue at this point. The real, utterly pathetic question is, how does Andrew work himself up enough to ask Neil to dance with him?
The universe, whether as a good deed or an evil one, gives him the kick in the ass he needs.
Neil is stopped in the middle of the dance floor by his ex-boyfriend, and while it doesn’t matter at all , this one is Andrew’s second most hated of the Neil exes. He won’t even speak the name of the first.
But Jaime is unique. He’s arguably the only ex that Neil ever really liked, and that genuinely liked Neil. They dated the longest, a record four months. He treated Neil well, like a proper high school boyfriend, with dates and locker surprises and casual affection. He was there when Andrew wasn’t. He maybe wasn’t as obsessed as Andrew, Andrew will hold onto that title for life, but it was a near thing. There was love there, one sided, but still.
Neil’s fond of Jaime.
Andrew has to crush him into the dirt.
As soon as he sees Jaime waltz up, hand reaching for Neil’s forearm, Andrew books it. He thinks he topples at least two couples on his way. He’s not overthinking for once, doesn’t care that the ballroom cameras are no doubt catching his obnoxious and desperate behavior. Don’t get him started on the school chaperones. The gossip in the lounge next week will be enough to make him want to drop out.
But he has to get there.
He’s out of breath when he nearly crashes into Neil’s side, yanking him back none too subtly from Jaime’s touch. And then, the bastard smiles . It’s a faint thing. Like Andrew, Jaime’s far from the open, golden retriever type. He doesn’t give much away, except when he wants to gloat. Andrew squints at the twinkle in Jaime’s eyes.
Oh. He’s been had. Fuck.
Andrew’s too committed for it to matter. No one’s taking Neil’s first slow dance but him.
“You can leave now, I’m here,” Andrew grits out. Jaime was never one for his threats, but Andrew will keep trying. The asshole takes it in stride, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Then unable to help himself, he lets his smirk bloom in full.
“I can see that. Finally ,” he says, glancing back at his date. Andrew is vaguely aware of her, the new transfer student, trying to smother her giggles into her hands. He decides he hates her too.
Jaime winks down at Neil. “Later.”
Confused, Neil waves goodbye. It’s a cute wave. Jaime doesn’t deserve it. Andrew glares at his back until he disappears in the crowd, and when he looks back, he has Neil’s full, undivided attention.
“Do I want to know what that was?” Neil asks, voice pitching an octave higher. It’s the proverbial poke to Andrew’s stomach.
Up close, Neil is no longer devastating, he’s ruinous, catastrophic. His styled hair has started to come undone, and somewhere, Kevin is no doubt agonizing over it. Neil’s out of breath and slightly sweaty, his tie askew. When one of the yellow spotlights in a sea of blue catches on his face, on his dimples, the blue of his eyes seems almost fake.
For a moment, Andrew doesn’t feel like Neil’s boyfriend. He’s back in middle school, nerdy and stuttering all over the place, unsure of what to do in front of a cute boy.
Andrew still has to ask him to dance.
He keeps it as cool as he can manage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Neil rolls his eyes. Then, reality hits, because Neil tangles their hands together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And Andrew remembers. He’s Neil’s boyfriend, he’s exactly who he’s supposed to be.
“Sure. Come on, you can not tell me over by the punch.”
When Neil starts to drag him away, Andrew knows it’s a chance he can’t miss. Andrew tugs back, spinning Neil around and dragging his arms up and onto his shoulders as the next song starts. It’s slower than the last, almost boring in how generic it is. Good. Andrew needs all the help he can get.
Neil, ever insufferable, stops himself just before his chest brushes Andrew’s. His gaze is unsure, expectant. Like yes, there’s certainly an explanation for why this happened, one that doesn’t involve Andrew wanting to dance.
Andrew’s glad the lights probably hide the heat on his face.
“Stay,” he manages to utter. He drags Neil closer; it’s not an accident , his movements say. I want you here.
Tentatively, Neil melts against him. It’s as Andrew thought. There’s nothing to this. It’s how it’s supposed to be. Neil’s weight is a comfort, manhandling him is second nature. He rights Neil’s arms into something more comfortable, inviting Neil to step closer, closer until their foreheads can touch.
It’s then it sinks in, it’s then Neil starts to sway.
“Why?” He asks quietly. It rides the notes playing beautifully.
Neil just has to set Andrew up for vulnerability. Andrew shrugs, but it’s not believable. Neil’s arms jump too shakily with the movement. Andrew wishes his voice came out more confident, but it doesn’t, and he’s not going to deny it any longer. “We’re dancing.”
Neil’s mouth makes a little ‘o’ as his forehead knocks against Andrew’s. Then, they zero in. Neil can be kind of scary sometimes. His gaze can flay bone from skin in their intensity, searching for the lie, the discomfort. Andrew’s martyrdom. But this time, he’ll find none. Andrew’s shit at expressing it, shit at embracing it, but he wants .
I want to hold you and sway stupidly to this overplayed Ed Sheeran song.
With his detective work done, Neil slumps. He bites his lip, already ravaged by Andrew’s mouth, and ducks to hide in Andrew’s neck. “I told you, you didn’t need to dance. It’s not like I’m good at it either.”
Andrew’s grip on Neil’s waist tightens enough for him to wince.
Neil said that about their first kiss too. ‘Just letting you know, I’m probably bad at it. Or…not as good as you.’
Leftover insecurities from others, from guys who wanted too much and wanted to hurt him when they didn’t get it. Guys who weren’t Andrew. And neither of them can take back that past, the dodging and avoiding they both did. Years spent longing uselessly when they could’ve had this .
But Andrew will be damned if he doesn’t try and do better every day from now on.
“Impossible,” Andrew says. He rubs his nose against Neil’s just to hear that flustered intake of breath. He kisses his cheek as he rocks them, and yeah, the song is okay actually.
When he peers at Neil, Neil’s pupils do something funny, like they’re locked into the boring brown shade of Andrew’s eyes the same way Andrew melts under gorgeous blue. They crinkle at the edges, and Andrew mostly stops thinking about his movements after that.
If Neil’s that happy, Andrew will go on, swaying awkwardly as long as he likes.
It turns out, neither of them are great at it, but who is? Andrew has the sway down, a turn or two. They make it their own. They conspire and gossip in their little bubble, kisses exchanged in between words. Their lips are close enough that Neil basically breathes his theories into Andrew. It’s hazy in the best way.
They make up things about the other prom goers or discuss prom themed horror movies. They trade gossip and watch as drama unfolds in their periphery. Whatever gaps they can’t fill with knowledge, they invent fantasy.
“Who would be the killer between us?” Neil asks at one point. They’ve long since moved on from Ed Sheeran. In fact, Andrew’s lost track of what song they’re on. At a certain point, Neil’s voice mattered far more than counting.
Right now, it’s some Christina Perri mashup, and they’re discussing a scenario akin to Sorority Row mixed with Prom Night. Fitting, for the song.
Andrew pretends to think long and hard before poking Neil in the ribs. “You, maybe.”
Neil’s snort is ticklish against his neck, but Andrew’s knees truly buckle when Neil kisses the tender skin there. Neil hums, and the vibrations almost send Andrew on his ass. “Maybe in another life. I can barely grate cheese, and you want me to handle a knife?”
True. Neil has gone through an entire pack of band aids from mac n’ cheese fiascos.
At the thought, Andrew reaches to grab Neil’s hand from behind his back. There’re still some scars there, tiny and unassuming. They’re the most he ever wants Neil to have.
The song changes again, and then one more time. Their conversation fades naturally, welcoming the thrum of the music. Neil relaxes to a point he never does; everyone knows him to fidget, to jump, a layer of anxiety lingering beneath the surface at all times. Here, in Andrew’s arms, he’s boneless, sleepy. Andrew rests his head on top of Neil’s to keep watch, swaying and moving them out of the way of any traffic. Anything to keep Neil like this.
And, Andrew’s brain traitorously thinks, he doesn’t even have Neil in bed yet. He can’t suppress the shiver that causes. It’s something he should’ve been obsessing over all night, and in the back of his mind, he was. How could he not? He’s been having wet dreams about Neil since the beginning of high school, latching onto the slightest hint of skin or flirty glance. To be able to touch him, to make him come undone for the first time…Andrew craves it.
He wants to do it right, so that it’s good for Neil. And maybe he wants to know for himself how good it can be, when it’s with the person he wants most in the world.
Andrew finds, despite all that, despite his waiting, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if it didn’t happen tonight. Neil said it best. They would be together forever; it was the most idealistic bullshit, but Andrew wanted to believe it so badly. And he couldn’t believe it if he didn’t do his best to think that way.
Andrew wanted them both to be ready, and sex or not, the dance would be a good memory. He didn’t need more, not right then.
Andrew’s swaying slows as he kisses Neil’s head, hoping all that stubborn belief pours out of him and into Neil.
In the middle of the next song, Neil tenses up in his arms. He snuggles closer, hiding even when Andrew tries to raise his head. The words are quiet, but monumental.
“I love you, Andrew,” Neil says. It’s not the first time. Neil has told him that since they were kids. It’s a fact of life, one Andrew has been too conditioned to not to accept. At school drop offs, pick-ups, playdates. ‘I love you, Andy!’
But this is different. This is not something Andrew wants to respond to with a nod or a grunt. He knows if he did, it would be alright. Neil would understand, because Neil knows. Neil has to.
It’s evident now, as Neil relaxes again. There’s no tense beat, or expectant lull. He doesn’t think Andrew will say it and doesn’t need him to. He just wanted Andrew to hear it, and honestly, damn him.
Andrew grabs the back of Neil’s neck and pulls him back. Neil blinks up at him, surprised but sated as he smiles at whatever is on Andrew’s face.
It’s like Neil can hear it, Andrew screaming it from the rooftops while in reality, Andrew can’t get past a hiccup.
He clears his throat and his grip tightens. He talks himself up, stops and starts over and over. He knows the words, they’re branded onto his very being. He feels them each and every day, every moment he is with his person. “You know I…”
Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck me.
And in the midst of his crisis, Neil has the nerve to giggle .
Oh, I love you. It’s so easy to love you.
Andrew deflates, face on fire, and Neil cups his head in his hands just to feel the heat. Asshole. “Shut up,” Andrew mumbles. “I do .”
“Mmm. I know,” Neil says, smile teasing. He kisses Andrew’s nose, just to make it worse. “Are you ready to go up?”
Andrew blinks. He can’t take this many direct hits. How did he get more lost in the prom vibes than the one who wanted to go in the first place?
“Already?” Andrew asks dumbly. They’ve been dancing for a while, but in the grand prom scheme, they’ve barely passed the two hour mark. The slow dances start to transition back to pop music, people more likely to reform their groups than to sneak away. Andrew didn’t want Neil to cut things short for his sake.
However, it seems to be far from the case.
Neil buries his laugh in Andrew’s shoulder to hide his own blush. He glances around them, lingering on the spiked punch and avoidant teens. The bad decorations seem worse somehow, cheaper, the lights too chaotic. The songs worm their way into Andrew’s brain, sure to haunt his dreams. When he looks at it like this, it’s far from remarkable. For once, his brain turned it into something far more magnificent than it deserved.
The sentimental urge hasn’t died after all.
Neil smirks. “I’ve had my fill. Prom’s not really our thing, is it?”
“Wow,” Andrew huffs. His heart races, second by second. “After all that…”
Neil shrugs. “It’s fine. It was never about prom,” Neil says, confession after confession. One day, Andrew will be as smooth with it. “I wanted to go with you. I want to do everything with you.”
Neil’s voice skips over the word everything . Andrew remembers where they are, the hotel room key burning a hole in his jacket pocket. He sees through the teasing glint in Neil’s eyes and inhales the excitement, the insecurity. It’s all for him, now until…
He meets Neil’s hopeful look head on. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Come on,” Neil whispers in his ear, laughing as he links their pinkies together.
They don’t let go the entire time they run through the halls.
--
Wymack takes advantage of Betsy’s goodwill to get a copy of the room key.
She’s too trusting, too open minded for his tastes. She supports this. Enough to get Andrew the hotel room where innocence will be lost. Is she out of her mind?
Wymack wants to scream his panic at her, but he’s not in the mood to be told why he’s wrong. No, he needs to be chill, as the kids say. Composed. He tells her he wants to check out the room, is all. Make sure it’s safe. It would be good for more than one of them to have the key, you know, in case something happens.
Emergencies only.
“I agree,” Betsy says. “You’re a good father, David. Just…don’t get carried away. We don’t want to invade their privacy if we don’t have to.”
He should’ve listened to Betsy.
Wymack only needs to be in the room for a few minutes to realize he’s an idiot. He sees the care Andrew put into it, the gestures and gifts so tailored to Neil’s tastes. Even the room itself, nicer than most, is probably something he used all his chore savings for.
And to top it off, the couch bed is pulled out. Bed made, pillow fluffed. Another stash of candy sits in a basket on top. A reassurance, a way out. It says they don’t have to do this, if either of them has second thoughts.
It’s romantic, it’s sincere. It’s a big moment that he almost ruined.
All the fight drains out of him.
What is he doing ?
Andrew would rather die than hurt Neil, and after all their bullshit, he can’t see either of them giving up on each other. They’re a team, and they always have been. This decision had to be one made together, planned out, with all the care and affection wrapped into it.
Wymack shouldn’t have doubted it. It may not be his ideal choice for how Neil spends his prom night, but he’s old enough to know when something’s out of his hands. And really, if there’s any couple he should trust to take this step responsibly, it’s those idiots.
He lingers for a minute, willing a tear not to come to his eye at the thought of his youngest growing up and finding someone who cherishes him like this.
Unfortunately, it’s a minute too long.
He hears the card reader unlock the door, and reacts. The panic sends him into overdrive, and it’s either hide or vomit.
Wymack didn’t think he could move this fast anymore. He doesn’t dare breathe, driven solely by instinct.
Without many other options, he jumps into the closet.
--
Neil’s first instinct, upon seeing the hotel room done up like it is, is to think about Andrew.
“This is so nice,” he whispers, hand playing with the blue flower petals on the bed. The room is filled with his favorite snacks and sodas, and in the corner, Andrew starts to fidget with his laptop. Soon, Neil hears old episodes of their favorite show drift around the room, the perfect background noise. It somewhat helps dull the thumping bass from the ballrooms below.
The room is more than he was expecting. The budget in his head did not include a king bed or spa-like bathroom. It certainly didn’t include this view of downtown. If they remember, they might just catch the fireworks from the nearby amusement park…
It hits Neil then, and he spins around on Andrew, hands stuffed in his pockets. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to touch anything, lest he ruin it. “Is it really okay? I mean I can pay for—”
“My mom’s work gets a discount,” Andrew says, effectively stopping Neil’s consideration. Neil sees through it, wants to go flick one of Andrew’s red ears. Andrew stares at the farthest wall, purposefully avoiding looking at him. Neil rolls his eyes fondly. As if Andrew wasn’t laser focused on him seconds ago, taking in his every reaction to the room.
Andrew methodically empties his pockets of his house keys and other junk; something about it is shy, careful. Sometimes when they were little, not yet best friends but nearly there, Andrew would do things like this. He’d be doing his own thing when Neil arrived, trying not to seem too eager or desperate. Never assuming Neil wanted to play with him. He would continue on, collecting roly-polys, watching Neil out of the corner of his eye. Waiting, hoping he would come over.
Dummy.
Andrew gently removes the boutonniere from his jacket, and Neil goes to set his own next to it when the words register.
His face pales. “Your mom knows?”
Defiant, Andrew grabs Neil’s wrist and pulls him closer. He plucks the flower off Neil’s blazer and lays them down. Neil wonders if he plans to press them for his mom.
“Don’t even start,” Andrew says. “It was the worst conversation of my life.”
I bet.
But if they were here, it couldn’t have been all bad.
Thank you, Bee. Let’s never mention it.
Neil laughs at Andrew’s haunted expression and flops back onto the king bed. It spits him back into the air a few inches, and he kicks off his shoes as he cozies up. He sinks comfortably into the plush sheets. A hotel mattress will never be luxury by any means, but Neil feels so at home, it may as well be a cloud.
It’s probably just Andrew.
Andrew’s eyes on him, swathing him in warmth as he stands at the edge of the bed. Anywhere feels like home with Andrew, a shitty, seedy motel might’ve done the trick too. But Neil knows Andrew would never allow it. The thought makes the bed even softer. Neil can’t help but wonder how it’ll feel against his bare skin, if the bed will creak with the force and weight of them both.
How much different will it be, sleeping next to Andrew after they do that ? How will it go? Will it be good? Will Andrew like it?
Neil shivers and turns away. Eyes clamped shut, he knows he’s not being subtle. His thoughts are written all over his face as he bites his lip. Andrew’s still looking at him, a non-traditional staring contest. How long before Neil caves?
Not long at all. He meets hazel eyes, chases the specks of green and gold. Andrew doesn’t realize how handsome he is, that Neil feels exposed just like this, clothes on.
Neil realizes they’ve gone quiet. He hears the show continue to play, but Andrew’s thoughtful gaze is thunder in comparison. Neil’s laughter fades into deep breaths, and he wonders if Andrew can hear his heart stammer.
Andrew clears his throat as he tosses a duffel bag onto the bed. “I packed us sweats to change into.”
Oh, right. Neil sits up, his formal wear suddenly scratchy, unbearable.
“You’re the best,” he says, reaching for his clothes. Andrew packed Neil’s favorite set, which funny enough, belongs to Andrew. He smiles as he reaches for the buttons of his shirt, then stops.
Should he…should he change here?
They’ve changed in front of each other loads of times throughout their lives, but this feels different. Is Neil supposed to do something special?
For all the boys he’s dated…this…this is still new. He could never wrap his head around doing this with his exes, so he never went that far. He doesn’t know how to be cute, or seductive, or confident.
In a way, he thought Andrew having that experience would help. Now, he realizes it may just make Neil look even stupider. What does Andrew find hot? What would get Andrew’s heart racing?
Stalling, Neil deals with the knot of his tie. Kevin did it, so of course it’s like an army caliber knot. He fights with it a little, and yeah, any hope of that being sexy is gone as he nearly hits himself in the face.
Andrew snorts, flopping onto the bed in front of Neil. When Neil looks up, he has to pause. Andrew’s jacket is off now, turtleneck tight to the skin. Neil fists his hand in the comforter to resist groping the muscles in front of him.
Andrew wouldn’t mind, he knows. Neil’s done it countless times. So why? Why does any move Neil could make feel so risky? He doesn’t want to ruin this, he doesn’t want to shatter this feeling in the air between them. If he ruins it, it’ll all end.
“Let me help, loser,” Andrew says as he reaches for Neil’s neck. And oh, Neil hates that when it comes to Andrew, he has no control of his emotions. Any poker face is gone, all masterful lies sound like a child’s. His tongue trips over itself and honesty is the only option.
Neil inhales sharply as Andrew’s hand brushes against him, and he only just resists curling into a ball to hide how open he feels. But he stands firm. He lets Andrew see and have all of him. Neil peers up through his lashes and lets Andrew have his fill of Neil’s excitement, his fear, his self-doubt.
He knows it’s a risk with anyone, letting them see so much. They could shame him, laugh at him, ignore him. But he wants Andrew to know, for no other reason than Andrew is his person.
Andrew’s hands fall away, pressing down flat on the comforter. Neil should feel caged, but it’s a hug. No strings attached, no ulterior motives. Andrew keeps his hands there for Neil to see.
“Neil, if it’s a no, it’s okay,” he says. He’s stern with it. Neil wants to poke the crease between his brows. “We can watch movies and get fake drunk instead. I wouldn’t be angry.”
A laugh bubbles out of him. He tries to catch it, but it grows louder when he sees the confusion on Andrew’s face. Open, exposed just for Neil. An equal exchange.
Neil covers his mouth, embarrassed but no longer unsure. Yes, he will probably be bad at this. No, he doesn’t think it matters.
He grabs Andrew’s hand and finds it to be downright clammy.
Nervous, huh babe?
“I know you wouldn’t,” Neil says with a grin. “That’s why I know I want to.”
Neil can be forgetful, but he’s never doubted Andrew’s love for him since they’ve started dating. This is his first time, sure, but it’s Andrew’s first time too, in a way. His first time with Neil, after all their years, all their stupid pining. Neil never considered how nerve-wracking that might be until he felt Andrew’s sweaty palm.
It makes everything so much better.
It seems Andrew has to reboot a few times before he can find words again. Neil thinks of his botched attempt at saying ‘I love you.’ Cute .
Andrew stammers then, eyeing the slow arch of Neil’s back, the way Neil starts leaning in for a kiss. “I forgot to check out the bathroom.”
Andrew grabs his own sweats in a hurry as he jumps off the bed, leaving Neil sitting there smirking. But he’s not getting away so easily. Neil follows close behind, a skip to his step as he crosses the threshold of the bathroom.
Something in the room behind him clicks, but he chalks it up to the AC.
Neil’s about to pounce when Andrew turns around, eyes scrunched up in suspicion.
“Did you hear something?” He asks, but Neil’s already making quick work of his own clothes.
In an instant, it seems Andrew forgets all about the noise.
“Nope,” Neil whispers, and tugs on Andrew’s belt.
--
Wymack doesn’t stop running until he’s a block away from the hotel.
He slows down, looking back at the bright lights and laughing teenagers.
Safe.
That was way too close a call for his liking, and he’s dead set on renewing his vow to stay home with his ass glued to the couch from now on.
He smiles to himself, hailing a cab. Neil’s nights will be better for it too.
He’s learned his lesson.
No more dances for him.