The first time Andrew saw Neil without his medication blurring his judgment, he thought, This could be a problem, but he did not take it seriously then.

For the longest time, Andrew thought this was something he could back out of. He’d had “relationships” with people since juvie, a necessary step in exploring his sexuality in the wake of everything that had been done to him. Neil was just another notch on the belt, so to speak, another handsome face that would be interesting for a while. And yeah, maybe Andrew looked a little longer at Neil than he did at anyone else, but Roland had lasted, right? And besides, Neil was bound to be different, because Neil was family, and so Andrew had to take the extra steps to protect and provide. Right?

But Neil was–problematic. Neil kept looking at him like that, even when Andrew told him to stop. Neil said things he wasn’t supposed to, things he wasn’t allowed to say, kept blurring the line between here and there and digging his way in where he wasn’t allowed.

If Andrew knew what was good for him, he’d just call it off and move on. He stayed because he had a promise to keep, or so he told himself. He stayed because although Neil felt like falling, Andrew was sure he could keep his balance this time.

90%. 91, 92, 93.

And then there was Binghamton, and that dead look in Neil’s face, that tension in his smile when he said I’m sorry and You were amazing

And then Neil was—–gone

And Andrew wanted to–wanted to burn the world, wanted to shove aside everyone standing in his way, wanted to tear the stadium down bench by bench and bolt by bolt, until he figured out where Neil was, and was this fear, was this fear, because he hadn’t felt this since—

He searched the crowd, lapped the stadium once, twice, looking for any sign, looking for anything besides a bag and a battered racquet, looking at a cell phone with a call from a number not saved into Neil’s phone and a text message from a different number that just said 0

And he remembered telling Neil he’d stand down and let Neil solve his own problems and don’t come crying to me when someone breaks your face

((but then someone did break his face, with a knife and a lighter and fists and a cleaver))

and kneeling on the floor of a dingy hotel room in Baltimore, MD, staring at the wrecked remains of what Neil used to be, Andrew knew there was no going back from this, he was lost, he was lost, he was found