Work Text:
When Neil wakes up, he's feeling too much and too little at the same time.
His arms fall limply at his sides like jelly, and while he's able to crook his fingers just fine, his brain feels detached from his body nonetheless. He feels like he's simultaneously floating and plummeting, with all the dissonant sensations that are warring within his guts. It didn't make sense to feel all of this at once — was he high? He had to be high.
It takes an inhumane amount of will to force his eyes open, but he manages to push through eventually. A bright light overhead near instantly sears his vision, and he blinks rapidly in a feeble attempt at recovery.
He's in what seems to be a hospital bed, a thin sheet carefully laid atop him. Neil winces, stubbornly clamoring to peel it off, despite the fact that every bone in his body was thrumming with the need to lay still and lull back to sleep. He barely even begins the feat before he catches sight of him.
There's a man seated at his bedside, eyes fluttering open and closed, as if he's struggling to keep himself conscious. Neil forgets everything he had just been thinking about in favor of ogling this mysterious stranger, with blonde hair and piercings and the pinkest lips he's ever seen.
"Hi," Neil breathes, the word blowing out of him before he could even try and think harder about it. At the moment, the only thought occupying his mind was that he needed to strike up a conversation right now.
At the sound of his voice, the stranger jolts forward in his seat, suddenly appearing more conscious than ever. Rather than dignifying him with a response, he clambers to his feet and stalks forward until he's leering directly over him. From this angle, Neil can drink in the glint of his hazel eyes, the color heightened by the pale shade of his eyelashes. He eventually comes to the conclusion that he must've died from a failed operation, and an angel had descended to escort him to the afterlife himself — but, wait, no, that couldn't be right. Neil's brain was foggy, and he could barely discern any memories at all, but he was certain that not once had he even come close to doing something worthy enough for this. One would have to be an utter saint to be graced with a presence this divine.
"How do you feel?" the beautiful blonde stranger asks, and the first response that comes to Neil's mind is stellar, because his voice is somehow just as hot as the rest of him. His gaze sears into him, and a few moments pass before Neil can manage to formulate his next words.
"Great," he slurs, and just for good measure, he says it again. "Hi."
The man stares him down for a moment, and Neil swears he can see faint amusement flit across his expression. "Hi."
He then tears his gaze away from his, leaning further forward in order to brush Neil's hair from his face. If the sensation of his hand against his skin wasn't enough to make him short circuit, the eyeful of his toned torso definitely was. He was wearing a sheer back, sleeveless compression shirt that covered his neck, accompanied by armbands of the same shade. That probably wasn't nurse attire, but why else would he be here?
"Do you model?" Neil blurts, just as the man retracts.
"Eat this," he says, pointedly ignoring his question and pulling out a small package of crackers from his pocket. He tears the plastic open, taking one out and pressing it against Neil's palm. He begins to lift it to his lips, but he finds himself distracted by the stranger again before he can even put it between his teeth.
"I…" Neil starts, unable to do anything but gape in utter awe. It nearly takes him an eternity, but he eventually finds the means to use his voice again. "Who are you? What's your name?"
His lips twitch downward, before a sense of realization seems to wash over him. "You're coming off anesthesia. You know who I am."
"Uh, no." Neil answers too confidently, because there was definitely no amount of anesthesia that could make him forget a face like that. "I think I'd remember you."
The stranger only scoffs. "You thought wrong."
"Come on, tell me," he urges, because he feels himself going crazier with every passing second that he remains unaware of this man's name.
The man seems unimpressed, and Neil is prepared for him to ignore him and slouch back into his seat. However, much to his delight, he parts his lips to speak.
"It's Andrew," he states, lingering on the words before proceeding. "I'm your husband."
Every nerve in Neil's body stutters. The heart monitor picks up rapidly.
"What?" he exhales, his eyes blown wide. "There's no way that's true."
"Unfortunate, isn't it," Andrew drawls, and Neil thinks that he might pass out all over again because there's no way he got lucky enough to have someone that gorgeous as his husband.
"Are you serious?" he mutters, still plagued with pure disbelief. "How long?"
"A few years," he replies, reaching forward to nudge at his hand. "Eat the damn cracker."
Neil shoves it into his mouth whole, because he'd be insane to not immediately obey. He chews slowly, staring long and hard before swallowing and speaking again. "You're really, really beautiful. Can I touch you?"
"What, do you think I'm not real?"
"Can I?"
Andrew sighs before breathing out a low "yes," and Neil can't help but notice the way the tips of his ears are flushed pink. He faintly wonders how pretty he would look with that color suffused in his cheeks, and he promises himself that he'll draw that reaction out of him the moment he's out of this bed.
Neil outstretches his arm, reaching for his hand. Moving is a lot harder than it should be, but much to his delight, Andrew brings his hand closer. Neil easily inches his arm forward so he can loosely intertwine their fingers. His palms feel like heaven against his own callused ones, and he can't help the lopsided grin that lines his lips.
"You're like, really sure? You're my husband?"
"It's your ring," he says, and only then does Neil process the stark cold of the silver band on Andrew's finger. He blinks wildly, realizing that he possesses a matching one.
"Oh," he says, and he can't believe this is real life. He couldn't come off the anesthesia any faster — Neil wants to remember it all, the way Andrew feels with his weight slumped against him, or when he's too tired in the morning. He wants to remember the way his lips must naturally slot against his, and how his sweetened breath would seep into his throat. He mind unravels with the possibilities of his favorite color, what he hates the most, if he prefers cats over dogs. Neil can't remember how Andrew tastes, or anything, for that matter, but he's certain that he's his favorite flavor.
"Can you say it again?" he pleads, wishing that he had the will to caress his hand with his thumb.
"Say what?"
"That you're my husband," Neil answers, and a halfhearted giggle slips from his lips as he says the words. Husband.
Andrew's eyes narrowed, but Neil could easily guess that he wasn't nearly as disdainful as he appeared to be. "I was hoping that the anesthesia would make you less insufferable."
"Can't help it," he says, lolling his head to the side. He doesn't ask again, but it only takes a few beats of silence for Andrew to comply.
"I'm your husband." Andrew affirms, and Neil finally believes that this is real.
"Wow," he breathes, only grinning wider when he sees the corner of Andrew's mouth twitch. "I really got lucky."