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If there was ever one thing Andrew could admit to, it would be that he had a problem when it came to strays. He wasn’t sure why they flocked to him and he wasn’t sure why he kept finding excuses to take them in, but he could acknowledge that it seemed to happen. A lot.
It wasn’t all bad, he supposed. He was still on good terms with Kevin and Neil was someone he couldn’t imagine not having in his life anymore. Then there were the cats.
He had found them his first year playing pro exy, two pairs of eyes watching him from the bushes when he was coming home one night, takeout in hand. He had tossed them some chicken, thinking nothing of it at the time.
A week and a half later he had found himself in a pet store buying an excessive amount of cat toys and climbing trees. He had sent a photo of the two creatures (fresh from a trip to the vet) hiding in a box to Neil that night.
He had made the mistake of telling Neil he wasn’t planning on naming them because he didn’t care. Now he was stuck with “King Fluffkins” and “Sir Fat Cat McCatterson”, although he refused to refer to them that way. He still had some dignity.
When Nicky had come for a visit, he had spent the week cooing over his “grand-babies” and teasing Andrew about the several cat towers (a few that were homemade) that littered his apartment. His cousin was lucky Andrew had stopped carrying his knives.
At the end of the week, Andrew had accepted a mug a coffee from Nicky, and at closer inspection saw “#1 Cat Dad” printed onto it. He had glared at Nicky’s bright smile over the rim of it.
He would never tell him he used it more than any other mug.
When Neil had gotten a contract on a team on the other side of the country, Andrew had gifted him King. The bastard of a cat glared at everyone and sunk his claws into everything. Neil loved him because he “reminded him of Andrew”. Idiot.
Sir, on the other hand, had turned into a lap cat. When he was home they were inseparable; where Andrew went, she followed. She curled up in his lap whenever he sat down, when he was making dinner she would either drape herself over his shoulders or wait on her stool for scraps, and she slept in the crook of his knees when he went to bed. She was Andrew’s cat, hissing at anyone else who tried to get too close to her. She reminded him a little of Neil.
If Andrew hated one thing more than anything else, it was nosy reporters. By now his PR agent had pretty much banned him from pre or post-game interviews, but would still sign him up for “personal” ones.
Usually, they centred their questions around one of three topics. The most popular was the Minyard-Josten rivalry that his idiot had started with an off-handed comment after a game. If the interviewer was stupid, they would try to pry into Andrew’s past. The third (and in Andrew’s opinion the most useless) topic was Andrew’s personal and or love life.
The rivalry had calmed down a bit in the past month, both Neil and Andrew a little calmer after being able to spend a week together. It was only a matter of time until one of them sparked it up again, but that meant reports started focusing on other topics. Andrew hated it. At least when it was about Neil he had something to say.
Unfortunately for him, this meant that this interview was in the third category.
Usually, he liked to ignore the questions asked of him or give vague one-worded answers. The interview would end early and he could go home. They had already tried to ask him about his brother and cousin, but if they wanted to know how they were then they could ask Aaron and Nicky themselves. Andrew was about to just zone out completely when the woman across from him batted her eyelashes, a sly smile creeping across her face.
With false innocence dripping from her voice, she asked him if there was a “special lady” in his life.
Normally, Andrew would say ‘no’ or nothing at all. But, he was getting a little bored without his junkie around to entertain him, and he had always been one for chaos. He had never cared if people thought he was straight, it kept people out of his business well enough until Neil came around.
Squaring his shoulders, he stared down the interviewer until she began to fidget. Picturing Sir’s orange eyes and rumbling purr, Andrew said, “Yes.”
It was chaos after that, people wondering who exactly Andrew’s mystery girl was. People questioned teammates, his coaches, the Foxes, but no one could find a definitive answer. When the news had first been released, he had received a call from Renee that turned out to be Allison who proceeded to just laugh for two minutes straight.
Neil also called to ask how Sir was, clearly amused by the latest developments. Andrew flipped the camera to show her hunting Andrew’s socked feet.
It was more entertaining than he first thought it would be, the world asking about Sir. He would only ever answer one question per interview, and only if he could be vague enough to not give anything away.
When did they meet? After he finished college. Where? Atlanta. How long had they been together? Two and a half years. Did they live together? Yes. How did they meet? She and her brother stalked him for a week. What's her favourite food? Tuna.
One night, when Sir had stolen his food right out of his hands and ran off with it, he Tweeted out “She stole my sandwich. Next time I’m eating she’s getting locked in the bedroom”.
That had caused quite a stir.
Neil transferred to Andrew’s team at the end of that season, and finally Andrew had his family back. King ignored him for three days before Andrew woke up with him sleeping on Andrew’s hip.
It took another two for Neil to find the mug Andrew had hidden at the back of the cupboard. It was handmade, a little lumpy, and had “World’s SECOND Best Cat Dad” painted on it.
He spent five minutes staring at it before looking up at Andrew, who was sipping out of his “#1 Cat Dad” mug feeling very smug.
“Did you make me this?” And oh. Andrew hated when Neil looked at him like that. So fond and happy it made Andrew’s chest hurt.
“Don’t look at me like that. Second place is just the first loser,” he said, doing his best to seem grumpy so Neil didn't know he was desparetly trying not to melt into a puddle in the middle of their kitchen floor at that look.
Neil laughed, bright and loud. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a photo of himself and his mug, absolutely beaming.
Stepping forward, Neil ran his hand through Andrew’s hair and pressed one, two, three kisses on his mouth and then one more to his nose.
“Thank you,” he said, eyes shining. “I love it.”
“Junkie,” Andrew huffed, thoroughly pleased with himself.
Neil hummed, his thumb stroking Andrew’s jaw. “I’ve been thinking,” he started.
“Did you strain yourself?”
Neil pinched his ear lightly in retaliation. “I’ve been thinking,” he said again, “that I want to come out.”
Andrew cocked a brow at him, waiting for him to continue.
“I’m fine with it if you don’t want to,” Neil said with a shrug. “But I wouldn’t mind people knowing about us.”
Andrew thought about it. It would cause quite a scandal. And if they did it now they could get the worst of it out of the way before their later years. By the time they retired it would be old news.
“How are you planning on doing it?” He asked, and he felt his heart beat a little faster at Neil’s answering grin.
That morning Neil sent out his picture of himself and his mug. There was immediate speculation on who was “first”.
On their next day off, when Andrew was still half asleep and sitting on the couch with Sir wrapped over his shoulders and King curled in his lap, Neil snapped a photo of him. Andrew was rumbled and had clearly just gotten out of bed, his glasses slightly crooked and his hair still messy, but most importantly was the mug in his hand, clearly labeling him as the superior cat dad.
Neil captioned the photo “World’s Best Cat Dad, Best Exy Goalie, and Best Husband”.
Andrew had to kiss the stupid grin off his face.
One thing they didn’t plan for was people crying for justice for Andrew’s supposed “ex-girlfriend”. Knowing how some fans could get, Andrew snapped a photo of Sir scarfing down the chicken she had stolen from Neil’s plate. They would really need to work on that soon.
Sending it out, he made sure to caption it “My 'special lady' strikes again. At least this time she stole my husband’s food”.
He didn't really care what people thought after that.
Andrew had a bad habit of collecting strays, but lying in bed with his husband tucked against him and two furry bodies curled up behind his knees, Andrew didn’t think he minded very much at all.