Chapter Text
Andrew had never seen what, apparently, others called blue.
He could see the faint blue of water and had no problems with the various shades of light blue. But stark, pure, electrifying blue he had never seen. To him, the sky was a greyscale of nothingness. To him, those warm and clear California skies, where not a cloud could be seen for miles and the sun shone bright, held instead the promise of yet another gloomy day of darkness and sullenness. And to him, California had been cruel enough on its own — crueler than those colorless, ruthless skies.
Andrew had never seen the color blue and he probably would never see it in his life. Because the idea of Andrew having a soulmate was bullshit; it was like believing in Santa Claus after the age of six. Like wishing for rain in the desert. The idea of Andrew, of all people, having a soulmate felt like a dumb, sick joke.
So, Andrew rarely looked at the sky — it held nothing for him. He rarely turned his head upwards, to gaze at the utter nothingness; he didn’t need to do so when he was reminded of it by everything else in his life. He lived in nothingness already, he refused to hold the sky as yet another reminder of the humorless jokes fate had pulled on him. Sometimes though — on really bad days, when apathy chilled even the blood in his veins — he would allow himself to give into the pull of the sky and would climb on top of the roof of Cass Spear’s house to watch the sunrise. Before anyone was awake, before anything — anyone — could get to him, he’d sit on the roof and gaze at the reds and pinks filling the sky.
The clear day blue mocked him, taunted him, but he could find an ally in the sincere colors of the sunrise —irrefutable and untainted. The morning sunrise was a universal truth; just like death was. They were there —unchangeable, unstoppable. Beginning and end; nothing in between mattered. Andrew didn’t care about anything else; those were the only reminders he needed,.
Andrew had never seen blue and no one knew about it. When asked, he’d reply that it was dumb, that he saw all the colors, that soulmates were stupid anyway — and, unsurprisingly, no one had ever questioned him. No one had ever called bullshit on him. No one had ever looked enough at him to spot the lie, no one had ever noticed his aversion for the sky. Eventually, people even stopped asking; assuming right away that a monster like him could not have a soulmate.
Yet, everyone around him seemed to be obsessed with the concept: Nicky would talk at great length about the beauty of the color green; leaves, grass, vegetables. Sometimes, Andrew would even catch him crying at the sight of green apples because, apparently, they reminded him so starkly of Erik. When asked about it, Nicky described the first time seeing bright green (“Not emerald, mind you, not even yellow-green, but bright forest green.”) as an all-encompassing experience, overwhelming and heart shattering. Like the world finally made sense, like every piece of a puzzle had finally fit into place. Or so he claimed, at least.
On the other hand, Aaron had walked into their shared dorm room one of their first days in Palmetto, eyes wide and hands quivering. Had proceeded to lock himself in the bathroom for hours on end, refusing to speak to Nicky with such vehemence that his cousin had, in turn, locked himself in his room. It hadn’t taken Andrew long to realize that he had, in fact, met his soulmate. Aaron had done everything in his power to hide it and his twin hadn’t asked any questions, only muttered a vicious “Remember our agreement.” and moved on.
The topic of soulmates seemed to be of extreme relevance between the Palmetto Foxes as well. Everyone spoke of it buoyantly: Allison greatly enjoyed betting on other people’s, although fiercely reluctant to talk about her own. Matt and Dan, apparently, had found out they were each other’s soulmate on their first day of practice and absolutely thrived in telling the story to everyone that was unlucky enough to mention the topic of colors and/or soulmates (“Did you know I had never seen the color of dark-chocolate before in my entire life? I couldn’t eat snacks without feeling bad, man.”). Renee — alongside Kevin who, admittedly had bigger things on his mind than stop and speculate over color shades and love (“the only color I care for is the red of a goal after I scored”) — was the only one who’d quietly refuse to talk about the topic. Andrew had yet to figure out if she did it out of respect for his blatant distaste for the subject matter, or because she had something to hide.
Renee had, for a long time, been the biggest conundrum in Andrew’s life. She was open and willing to speak about herself and her past, but no matter what, she always withheld her aura of mystery. Renee had been the only — mildly — interesting matter in Andrew’s life for a long while, until Neil Josten had turned up to Palmetto.
It hadn’t come as a surprise, in fact, when the new guy’s arrival had sparked yet again a new wave of soulmate-themed conversations. The foxes had begun pestering him with questions the second he had set foot in the Fox Tower. The new striker had frowned and, scratching his head, had refused to answer. That had, of course, sparked even more interest surrounding who was or could be his soulmate. And, as clear as day with the foxes, with speculations came an array of bets. Since then, every so often, one of the foxes would hold up or point to an object with a “Is this your soulmate’s eye color?” completely unyielding to the idea that Neil could be one of the rare cases in which a soulmate doesn’t exist.
While everyone else was busy with their exciting new interest for the new kid, Andrew was busy trying to actually figure him out. Figure the real him out, not the fake, made-up version that he had been effortlessly feeding his teammates. In a few weeks Neil Josten had already sewn an intricate design of a life that Andrew knew wasn’t his own. Neil Josten, with his lies and secretiveness, was a definite threat for the foxes and Kevin’s safety; on top of that, Neil was also hiding his own eyes from the world. He disguised them carefully underneath plain brown contacts he passed off as his own. Everyone else seemed to be oblivious to it, too enamored with the newcomer to see right through his fraudulent demeanor. Instead, Andrew had noticed it the second he had laid eyes on him — the little reflection on his irises gave him away. Alarm bells blared in Andrew’s mind ever since, because hiding your eyes means to hide your whole being, it’s a shield that few people choose to put up no matter the circumstances, yet Neil Josten seemed adamant on keeping himself as concealed and clandestine as he could manage. Despite all of his dishonesty, Andrew felt intrigued. He felt a newfound purpose in trying to unravel the fabricated skein that was Neil Josten. For the first time in years, Andrew wanted something: he wanted to solve Neil, he wanted to pick him apart and leave his pieces out in the sun. He didn’t care what it would cost to achieve it, he knew he’d eventually do it. He’d eventually break him, find his weak spots and strike; and he wanted to gaze into his real eyes while doing so.
He had tried to unravel and decipher him on many occasions, but Neil Josten was a shifting enigma, he was a rubik’s cube impossible to solve: the second Andrew believed all the tassels were finally in place, he’d turn it around to find one mismatched colored tile. When he believed he had figured him out, Neil did something unexpected to throw off Andrew’s balance. Neil Josten was candid and a liar all at once, he would open up on the most unthinkable matters and stay closed like a seashell on the most futile ones. Andrew had tried to pry him open, had tried to coerce him as well, and all he had obtained had been lies and fables. Andrew had tried to pressure him into taking off his contact lenses through Nicky and had ended up blatantly ignored. He had broken into his room and found things that confirmed his suspicions and had been found out with a velocity that had thrown him off. On the night he first took Neil to Eden’s Twilight as his rite of — let’s see just how dangerous you are and if you’ll survive the night — passage, he had attempted to use wits and intimidation. Instead, he had ended up with a knocked-out Neil with two blueing bruises on both his eye sockets. Right when Neil Josten had begun to look unpliable, inviolable — right when Andrew was beginning to think he’d really have to forcefully pick him apart to figure him out — Neil Josten had decided to open up by himself.
Like an oyster you think will never open, just when you’re ready to chuck it out, Neil Josten began to open himself one stitch at a time. And that was what made Neil Josten even more of an enigma, a human contradiction. He wanted to run away, yet did anything in his power to stay. He wanted to hide himself, yet gave himself away slowly with every small breath and word. He was meant to keep a low profile, go unseen, yet he fought loud and proud to defend the people he knew. Refused to stand back and dodge.
And, like a hazard and a curse, in his attempt to figure Neil Josten out, the boy had actually begun to figure Andrew out. And Andrew hated it. What had begun as a mutual agreement, a rather passive way to learn truths — a secret for a secret, instead of a punch for a punch — had mutated, built into what looked like a routine, a habit. It had grown right in front of their eyes, had built into a whirlwind of promises and trust. Andrew had been scrambling for purpose and Neil had whispered a request for protection. Their relationship was transactional and honesty was their coin — disbursed in bedrooms, with bleeding knuckles and broken windows. In clubs, with alcohol and drugs as their sole witnesses. In exy courts late at night, sitting on benches under bright overhead lights. Neil made curiosity bubble in Andrew’s mind like few things had in his life; he was intriguing and blighted at the same time, a soother for his tedium and a menace for that same ability.
Andrew loathed those moments of vulnerability they shared with each other but, almost in a sick way, he couldn’t stop relishing in them. Sometimes, Neil would dangerously test his luck — pushing and prodding in places so dark Andrew himself would regret looking, if he only believed in regret — yet, the boy was also surprisingly good at reading the situation. Neil knew how to back off lithely and skillfully, he’d retrace his steps with an ease that unnerved Andrew.
It was a stimulating back and forth, like a skillful game of chess. Waiting for your opponent to make a move whilst also calculating their further moves. Sometimes, their exchanges were predictable — thus immediately turning boring and insignificant in Andrew’s mind. Some other times, Neil turned out to be somewhat interesting. The two of them were standing outside of the Foxhole Court one night, when Neil initiated one of their games; from the smug look on the striker’s face, Andrew sensed that he would prove himself to be the latter that night. They were sitting on the hood of Andrew’s car, holding a cigarette each. Inside, Kevin Day was busy practicing all on his own, after a rather harrowing fight between the two strikers that had resulted in an annoyed Neil sauntering outside towards Andrew’s car. The two were therefore waiting outside in the fresh nocturnal air, in utter silence, until a smug expression snaked its way onto Neil’s face.
“What.” Had spat Andrew, his mind a blank slate thanks to the lack of drugs in his system. His hands were beginning to tremble already.
“I noticed,” a moment of silence in which Neil just waited for whatever sign from Andrew “that you never look at the sky.” a nod towards the multitude of stars shimmering over their heads.
In an act of apathetic defiance, Andrew slightly turned his head upwards — a small enough movement that someone inattentive wouldn’t be able to catch, but Andrew felt the other boy’s vigilant stare on him.
“So, it’s only a day thing.”
“Is there a question in there?” Neil shrugged; his gaze now fixed skyward. Both of them knew a question was coming indeed, Andrew could even hear Neil’s gears working in his head — probably scheming around the many ways he could handle the situation.
“Why?” it was a simple and innocent question, Andrew knew he could simply get off of his hood and go sit inside his car instead and Neil wouldn’t prod any further. Andrew knew that that’s what he would’ve done with anyone else. He knew that, had that been anyone else, he would’ve already threatened them. But Neil Josten was a menace, he was an annoyance and a discomfort that would persist. So, Andrew flicked his finished cigarette on the ground and grudgingly lit a new one right away.
“Because,” a drag of smoke “I see nothing.”
Neil frowned, clearly not expecting such a cryptic answer. Andrew didn’t know why he was saying it, maybe it was the weariness from the withdrawals, maybe he just was too bored not to stir up chaos.
“It’s grey.”
Slowly, Neil’s face contorted into careful understanding. Andrew waited for the snide comments or for the sheer shock of finding out that Andrew actually had a soulmate somewhere. Instead, Neil just nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.
“My turn to play.” said Andrew once his cigarette was over. He felt almost hungry, staring at Neil like a bunch of disorderly puzzle pieces. “Why the contacts — I already know your little runaway sob story so save that excuse.”
He watched Neil struggle for a couple of heartbeats, but still:
A secret for a secret.
“My mother… she always told me it’s a sign of weakness. The lenses are a last line of defense.” A groan from Andrew at the exy reference, but he kept quiet “She stayed with my father because they were soulmates, made me vow to never let my guard down.”
And, just like that, another thread had been unraveled.
Andrew caught sight of a slouched Kevin Day walking their way and sighed. Before he moved off of the hood, though, he made sure to look Neil straight in his eyes before saying “Your mother is dead and you already let your guard down.” He let Neil find meaning in it by himself.
Andrew hated the sky, but once out of Easthaven he let himself quickly flicker his eyes upwards, the grey vastness a reminder that he, at last, was out of there. He stepped away from the building that had hosted his demise — the building that had endorsed the weeks of mental and physical atrocities that he had endured. He stepped away from it, without a backwards glance. With a steady pace, he approached the familiar car he had bought years before — an emblem of his freedom, his first and real possession. To him, that car was defiance and obstinance, a symbol of his promises and commitments.
He faintly acknowledged the four shadows that followed him outside, into the warming, blinding midday sun. He didn’t need to turn his eyes to them to know they were there; he could feel them, spot them, see them from miles away. He didn’t need to spare them any glances, their mere presence assuring enough. Andrew sturdily fought the instinctive urge to put as many miles between the clinic and his family as he could and cast one, scrutinizing, glance towards Kevin — assessing and analyzing. He took in the bruises on one side of his face, bright and fresh enough to be recent. Took in his trembling lips and his worried eyes, constantly flicking back towards a mass of red hair Andrew didn’t have time nor resolve to acknowledge just yet. Instead, he put all of his strength into willing himself inside the driver seat and focused on leaving Easthaven behind for good. Minutes later, they were riding at full speed down Columbia’s roads, the radio blaring music loudly – so he wouldn’t have to listen to Nicky’s sad attempts at conversation. It was all a blur after that: the drive back and Nicky’s summary of what he had missed were barely stimulating (or noteworthy, even) enough to hold his interest for long. Instead, his mind drifted to several different places, his eyes focused on familiar shadow of Fox Tower, on the parked cars around him and, unnervingly, on a particular shade of red — warm like those California sunrises and unruly like the boy who now donned them.
“You’re done?” he finally got to ask, once Nicky closed his mouth for good. His cousin nodded, hesitation and fear clear in his demeanor. “Then go. Tell Josten we need to talk.”
Nicky scurried away almost instantly, in a way that Andrew would’ve found cruelly amusing, had he still been on his drugs. But Andrew wasn’t anymore — days of agony, torture and pain made sure of that — so he simply stared at the silhouette of his running cousin, feeling absolutely nothing.
Ever since they had left Easthaven, Andrew had made it a point not to look at Neil Josten. He had caught sight of his now-auburn hair because they were impossible to miss and had spotted the white gauzes covering part of his face out of the corners of his eyes. Other than that, Andrew had refused to look at Neil Josten, because he had already been enough of a menace to his then-fogged brain. With his sharp tongue and nosy attitude, he had gotten through the drug-induced wall that had been built in his psyche. He had managed to catch his interest, to still his volatile and hectic mind. And Andrew had no intention to discover what it would feel like to have Neil Josten pick him apart without the barrier that had previously served as a shield. He was adamant on keeping his resolute and unyielding restraint in check.
He managed it quite well in the time it took him to collect the now-redhead boy and wordlessly climb the flight of stairs to the roof; Andrew could feel Neil following him without any complaint or question, his mere presence somewhat of a familiar relief. There was no doubt that Andrew had missed the roof’s peace and quiet — had missed the chance to taste his privacy whenever he wanted or needed. And, even after more than a month, his customary procedure fell perfectly in place: walk to the edge of the roof, survey the campus, feel the thrill of the height, cigarette. It was almost like an automated, pavlovian response; his feet following through the motions without him having to think about it. Except, this time there was a disruption to his own establishment, an expecting, mouthy disruption. That Andrew had willingly let into his own, private haven. That Andrew had willingly shared and traded secrets with. As yet another disruption to his own, personal routine, Andrew fished his cigarette packet out of his pocket and shook two cigarettes — instead of the lonesome one he would’ve taken out had he been on his own.
Finally, he let himself turn away from the four-story drop awaiting him and he offered Neil his cigarette.
“I’ll take an explanation now.”
Andrew finally raised his gaze to meet Neil’s battered face, the stark color of his eyes dazzling enough to halt any thought in his mind. Neil’s real, shattering eyes were staring back at him — hurt, damaged, confused. Truthful.
A daunting feeling crept over him as he analyzed those irises, careful not to shift his gaze anywhere else but those eyes; they were filled with a hue that Andrew had never quite seen before. An electrifying shade of blue he had never come across before. The light blue he had always known and seen held nothing in comparison to it. Oceans paled in the face of those stark, real, candid irises.
A daunting feeling crept over him as he still refused to shift his gaze — somehow, he could sense that something had changed around him. A delicate, quick shift in the universe; a minor, trivial star dying light-years away in a corner of the universe. An insignificant alteration to the cosmos, yet weighty enough to impact him, Andrew Minyard — the unmovable, impervious Andrew Minyard. A change weighty enough to make him stutter on his feet, make him vacillate. He ignored the electric-shock waves filling his body and tried with all his might to reel himself away from that sinking feeling and towards what he knew best, apathy. He welcomed the anger and annoyance that came with finding out the truth of just what Neil had done during winter break. He welcomed the way they fought back and forth, Neil’s utter stupidity enough of a distraction from the luring blue right before him. Andrew did everything he could to fight it — focused on the newly tattooed 4 he had just uncovered on Neil’s cheek, focused on his stupidity, focused on his promises and on the familiar words coming from Neil’s mouth: deal, Evermore, Riko, and then, stark, electrifying and unforeseen just like Neil’s eyes, Dr. Proust.
And Andrew’s resolve shatters, his apathy falters.
His hands shot to Neil’s mouth before his brain could even fully comprehend the implication or the extent of what Neil just said; truthfully, Andrew didn’t even want to know about them anyway. He didn’t care about implications, didn’t care about reasons, Andrew just didn’t care. He waited just enough time to make sure Neil would take the hint and, in the meantime, indulged in that newfound blue.
When he finally lowered his hand, he reprimanded Neil with a “Do not make the mistake of thinking I need your protection.”
Andrew hated him, hated his unpredictability and stubbornness. He hated his overconfidence and his need to assume what Andrew wanted or needed. Andrew hadn’t asked for him. Hadn’t asked for his protection, hadn’t asked for his attention. He had only asked for — pretended to receive, really — the truth about Neil’s identity, and instead had gotten secrets shared for the sake of sharing them. Had gotten someone willing to listen to him, to really listen to what he was saying.
“You spend all this time watching our backs, who’s watching yours? Don’t say you are because you and I both know you take shit care of yourself.”
Andrew had gotten trust and understanding when he had never asked for it.
“Next time someone comes for you, stand down and let me deal with it. Do you understand?”
Neil’s eyes were determined, sparkling in the same way they did on the court. Purposeful, resolute, ready to strike at a goal. There was no stopping that Neil. “If it means losing you then no.”
Andrew hadn’t asked for it, yet, he had gotten warm reds and deep blues and he hated it.
“You were supposed to be a side-effect of the drugs.” Despite the fact that not even the medicine-induced haziness had been able to withstand Neil’s purposeful forays.
“I’m not a hallucination.”
“You’re a pipe dream. Go inside and leave me alone.” Andrew was done talking, he was ready to put that conversation behind. Finally, Andrew averted his gaze from Neil’s irises.
When asked about his soulmate, Nicky described the first time seeing green as an all-encompassing experience, overwhelming and heart shattering. Like the world finally made sense, like every piece of a puzzle had finally fit into place. Yet, as Andrew caught sight of his first ever blue sky, he didn’t exactly feel the overwhelming, heart shattering experience his cousin had been gushing about. Instead, Andrew briefly allowed himself the chance to contemplate the vast expanse above him — of a clear, candid blue; plain and dazzling at the same time.
Andrew also remembered the day in which Aaron had walked into their shared dorm room one of their first days in Palmetto, eyes wide and hands quivering. Remembered the shock apparent on his face. Yet, as Andrew took it all in, he simply felt acceptance; there was no shock for what he was witnessing. Neil’s eyes had been surprising, a secret uncovered for everyone to see — a universal truth, loud, unclouded, unmistakable — and the sky above them simply couldn’t compare.
“You still have my keys.” Reminded him Neil and, ultimately, Andrew looked away from the sky. In a matter of heartbeats, he threw his cigarette off of the side of the building and he watched as it made its descent onto the grey concrete — now in blatant contrast with the blue overhead. Neil’s set of keys followed the cigarette a second later, thrown in a perfect arc. He listened as the redhead scrambled inside to retrieve them and Andrew welcomed the silence with a sigh.
If the idea of Andrew, of all people, having a soulmate felt like a dumb, sick joke. The idea of Neil, of all people, being his soulmate felt even more like a dumb, sick joke. A stunt that the universe had, apparently, enjoyed pulling on him. The universe was probably having a laugh as Andrew surveyed once again the sky, nose turned upwards and eyes squinting at the blinding sun. Its brightness now all-the-more unbearable and endurable at the same time. Andrew had never seen the sun up in the middle of the sky, he had seen its origin at sunrise, with its reds and pinks of an early California sky. Had seen its death at nighttime, black and merciful. And, now, Andrew was seeing that something in between that he had never believed in: a menace, a runaway, a liar; with its sharp blues and truths.
As Andrew’s gaze shifted on the road below, he caught sight of Neil staring right back at him, his discarded cigarette between his lips. And, truthfully, Neil Josten looked even more like a menace, standing right underneath a stark blue sky.