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It’s been a whole year since the Baltimore incident.
One year without the threat of his father and his henchmen tailing him.
365 days since he was free from additional scars.
The scars are there, less prominent, but still there. Constantly serving as a reminder of what he had survived.
Neil always finds a way to avoid looking at his scars before covering his body with long sleeves and baggy sweaters. Mirrors are non-existent to him.
His current dilemma is wondering about how Andrew finds all of this okay. They’ve been together for a year and Andrew has been nothing but understanding towards his fair share of trauma. How could he possibly find this attractive? Neil’s chest is a road map of scars, each one earned from the hands of his deceased father who was once known as the merciless Butcher of Baltimore following the consequence of a childhood of equalised disobedience and silence.
The seed of doubt and insecurity over his appearance has been planted in his mind for the past week ever since he overheard a random passerby whispering unkind words as they caught sight of the horrifying marks on his face; old healed burn scars on his right cheek and the knife scars resembling a poorly attempted cross on his left.
The foxes were present for the catastrophe that went down, they were there to witness the aftermath of the kidnapping that went down in Baltimore. They’ve seen the scars on his face when it was still fresh but Andrew–Andrew has seen it all. He knows every inch of every scar that marred Neil’s body and the stories that followed. That's precisely what triggers Andrew's protective nature when it comes to Neil.
They complement each other in ways no one can imagine, always making sure their nightmares wont engulf them into the dark corners of their mind.
Relapses are much less likely to happen nowadays, but sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly stressed or overwhelmed, the urge to peel his skin off his body comes back hitting him like a freight train. Every burn, cut and bruise, specifically sharpness against his skin when it grazes against his clothes, to be followed by an itching, burning red, is still very much felt. Neil does whatever it takes to avoid it, usually distracting himself with something else but sometimes he just can't help it, after all it’s an itch he can scratch.
Ever since the incident on the streets, Neil is terrified of how others perceive him and he started to wonder whether his appearance bothered his friends. Mostly he is terrified of Andrew getting tired of what they have together. ‘This’ was nothing to Andrew before Baltimore happened, but eventually he got tired of denying the attraction and mutual understanding that beat all odds.
Recently Neil’s thoughts have been plagued with the possibility of Andrew staying with him out of obligation or a misplaced sense of guilt. That thought sent a bolt of worry and hurt through him and an unhealthy dose of fear down his gut.
Neil’s recovery has been going well. He knows it’s not a linear process, but he doesn’t enjoy hurting himself; even if, in a twisted sense, it makes him feel good. In the end, he’ll always feel terrible about it. He’ll become sick, and just the thought makes him want to scream or beat his head repeatedly on the wall.
Today happens to be one of these days.
Sunlight, escaping from the borders of the curtains and barely shining through the curtains, cast a faint yellow glow in the dimmed room.
Neil has been awake for the past ten minutes, lying on his side facing Andrew, who was on the chair next to the window, sketching a masterpiece no doubt. He felt all kinds wrong in his own skin, the self hatred felt familiar but it’s been awhile since he felt this way but his triggers these days come in all forms of sizes and shapes. Neil knew there was something off when he woke up, some feeling unsettled into his mind of which he knew all too well.
However, waking up to the scent of sandalwood and the subtle hint of strawberry and cigarettes, brought a smile to his face. Neil tried his very best to stave off the nausea that was clinging on at the back of his throat. Andrew meant everything to him, he didn’t want to shove his trauma onto Andrew hoping that he would be there for the fallout. Neil constantly made sure he did his best to remind Andrew how important he was to Neil. But in this moment all Neil could do was admire the way Andrew’s usually apathetic face was filled with concentration.
Neil trails every inch of Andrew's face: arced nose, chiselled jaw, sculpted cheeks, and honeyed lips. His eyes linger on the lips. Lips he tastes at least a hundred times on a daily basis and still never gets tired of it.
Andrew is not a morning person. He never has been. He hated the mornings, despised having to wake up early for classes. He loathed the idea of Neil waking up the odd hours of the morning just to go for his daily runs.
Neil, on the other hand, loves the mornings. But it looks like today wasn’t his day.
Neil bet Andrew was aware that he was awake because that's how much Andrew was attuned to his body language. It would be seconds before Andrew realised today wasn’t a good day for him. So Neil tried to put on his best smile, getting the energy needed to sit up and place a kiss to Andrew’s cheek after a quick customary ‘yes or no’.
-/-
Andrew sat in the silence of the morning as he listened to the faint scratching of his pencil on paper and the shallow sounds of Neil’s breathing. Mornings like this were a particular kind of beautiful, a domestic and simple aspect of his new life that he could have never imagined would one day be his. He glanced constantly between Neil’s sleeping form and his sketch. There were hundreds of these by now, drawings he’d made of Neil Josten. He’d drawn so many in the time that the two men had known each other. The ones left in their Columbia house, the ones he’d done in his time in Easthaven rehab centre and the ones he had kept aside for his eyes only.
The change in rhythm of Neil’s shallow breath followed by a gentle stir on the bed caught Andrew's attention. He looked over to find his boyfriend stretching slowly awake, eyes still closed. There was something about his movements that remained so fluid even in his sluggish state. His skin was so smooth, flushed ever so slightly from the heat of the sun filtering through the window.
Last night, following their activities under the sheets, Neil hadn’t bothered to put clothes on and Andrew gave a silent prayer for the view he was provided with. Neil’s head was turned towards him, lying on his stomach with his head on the pillow, sheets draped lazily over his legs. His eyes flickered open and when he noticed Andrew watching him, he smiled.
Andrew would never outright admit this but he would never tire of seeing that smile. Just a tiny flash of crooked pearly whites and eyes as piercing blue as the sky were enough to lighten his mood by a mile. In moments like these his heart gave the tiniest flutter, Neil Josten being the only person to ever affect him this way. He wouldn’t want it any different.
"Are you watching me while I sleep?" Neil rasps, jolting him.
Andrew felt heat up in seconds but he didn’t deny Neil’s claim. He was already caught in the act so he proceeded to turn his stare into a glare.
The edges of Neil’s mouth automatically curl up into a debonaire smirk as though saying ‘caught ya’. The little menace.
"You are terrible at hiding it," Neil says, his voice hoarse from sleep.
Andrew tilts his head towards the window trying to gauge the scenery that morning. "I can’t hide something I wasn’t even doing." He’s feeling defensive this morning.
Neil arches an eyebrow, blinking the sleep away from eyes.
"I wasn’t."
“Sure, Drew.”
Andrew didn’t bother to give him a response and proceeded to sketch away.
Neil had seen hundreds of these sketches by now, moments they’ve shared brought to life by Andrew's talented hands in the form of sketches. From the little Neil had seen, Andrew had drawn so many in the time that the two men had known each other. He would never ask Andrew to show them to him unless Andrew brings it up first. All in due time but today he was more than curious to get an exclusive sneak peek into Andrew’s mind. He glanced constantly between his partner’s form and his nimble fingers creating art.
“Are you going to let me see the drawing?” Neil asked, excitement evident in his tone.
To his surprise, Andrew just looked at him content to keep up their staring contest. Eventually he nodded.
Neil wanted to rid himself of these self deprecating thoughts by indulging himself in Andrew’s new sketch. Before Andrew changed his mind, Neil stepped out of his bed and walked toward with every intention of basking in the heat that Andrew radiated. Once he reached Andrew’s side, he started scrutinising his partner’s work but the second he laid his eyes on the sketch, there was no mistaking that drawing for anyone else.
Andrew had drawn him.
Neil was all too aware of Andrew’s eyes on him, awaiting any reaction that Neil had to offer.
No, no, no this–this was beautiful.
Andrew had drawn him, raw and genuine, not shying away from the scars that littered every inch of skin on his body. Anyone with two working pairs of eyes could tell that Andrew was intimately acquainted with Neil with one look at it. He had drawn Neil Josten in the flesh. The boy he had given his home key to. The boy he had told to stay a year ago.
Neil unconsciously rubbed his scar on his right shoulder, the burn scar courtesy of getting smacked by a hot iron at the tender age of seven. It was fully healed, the skin stark white of old wounds. If Neil’s back was a battlefield, his entire front torso was a different warzone altogether; a stab wound here and a stray bullet wound there, knife wounds littered his body like a carelessly used canvas. His face on the other hand reeked of a monster.
Neil certainly didn’t see his own scars the way Andrew did, with precision and tenderness. Neil knew Andrew’s eidetic memory had helped him to sketch his scars into perfection, every stroke was drawn with utmost care with a margin of reality. Perhaps Neil got the occasional pang of shame at allowing himself to be compromised by another, but the feeling was quickly overwhelmed by pride in his partner.
Andrew stood up and walked over to Neil, taking the drawing from his hands gently.
“Stop it.” Andrew was reprimanding his habit of scratching his old scars until they bled.
‘I hate them, Andrew.”
“These are proof that you’re alive because you survived.”
“They’re scars, Andrew. There’s nothing beautiful about them.”
Neil couldn't control the verbal vomit that was taking over him.
“I hate how I look. How my scars look. It's usually fine when it's just me, but even you looking at me makes me want to rip the scars right off my skin. And looking in the mirror right now, I just feel– disgusting.”
At that last word, Neil’s voice broke.
Neil couldn’t remember the last time he truly cried but right now he was not far from bawling his eyes out or punching something. Maybe both.
Suddenly, he hears a rustle of clothes before he feels Andrew press up against him from behind.
Something felt different.
One, he realises that Andrew isn’t wearing a shirt.
Two, his armbands are gone.
Three, Andrew had left his sketch on their bed, abandoned but not forgotten.
Andrew was baring his vulnerabilities for Neil’s sake.
“Neil, yes or no?” Andrew’s warm breath grazed the back of his neck sending shivers down his entire frame.
‘Always yes, Drew.” Neil could hear himself breathing heavily but he couldn’t figure out if it was due to his impending panic attack or Andrew being in close proximity. He suspected it was the latter.
Andrew guided him to the long mirror they had in their room. Neil immediately closed his eyes when he understood Andrew’s intention. He refused to look at his father’s reflection staring back at him. Blue eyes and red curls taunting him in ways he longed to forget.
‘Eyes open, Neil.” To anyone else, Andrew tone sounded like a command but Neil knew better.
The choice was left to him, all Neil had to say was ‘no’ and Andrew would step away from his space.
‘It’s always yes with you.’
A year ago, Neil gave his yes to Andrew and that wasn’t going to change because he was in the safest place he could ever be in this lifetime.
He sighed and slowly opened his eyes to the sight of Andrew standing next to him, a rather odd but beautiful sight nonetheless. His boyfriend was three inches shorter than him but he was built like a man sculpted by the gods. Neil Josten got lucky. He thought they looked good together but the heavy scars on his face and torso really ruined it all. He was sure that many would agree that Andrew was better off without Neil.
Sensing the direction of his spiralling thoughts, Andrew pinched his bony hips reeling him back into reality.
“Focus.” That was all the warning Neil got before Andrew’s hands grabbed his hips
“I see a man” Andrew’s hands move from his hips to his chest “who has been dragged through hell and back” his fingers tracing the thick, ugly scar that runs down his torso “but survived to tell the tale.” What took Neil by surprise is when Andrew starts kissing his neck, fingers pressing against the scar on his right shoulder.
“Are you trying to seduce me into self confidence?“ Neil groans as he licks the skin beneath his ear.
“Is it working?“ Andrew’s gravelly voice sends a shudder down his spine.
“Maybe.” Neil teases. Oh it is working wonders alright.
“Then I guess I'll have to try harder, hm?“ Yup, this is where Neil dies.
Andrew then proceeds to trace and kiss every single scar on Neil’s body, never missing any stray marks. He treats Neil’s body akin to worship, it’s the most sensual experience they’ve shared together.
Once Andrew is done with the scars he returns to his original attack point, the expanse of Neil’s neck.
Andrew sucks at the base, and holy shit Neil is going to lose his marbles if this continues. One of Andrew’s hands reaches up to tilt his head toward his own in the mirror.
As they lock eyes in the reflection, and Andrew fucking bites him.
“Fuck who has a neck fetish now?” How Neil can be an asshole even in these times should be studied in research.
“Shut up.” Andrew has had enough and he wants to pleasure Neil without the addition of his smart mouth joining them.
Neil’s resulting chuckle was swallowed by Andrew's mouth sealing his own, kissing him like the world was running out of oxygen and Neil was the last remaining pipeline.
It was bold with a hint of desperation.
-/-
“Do you hate my scars?” Andrew asks.
Andrew always wore his black armbands to cover the lines of old self inflicted scars on his forearm. Neil was sure that he was the only person who knew about them. To think that Andrew could even consider the possibility of Neil hating them was absurd.
“What? Of course not, what makes you think that?” Neil responds, clearly shocked by the question.
“You being stupid this morning.”
Oh. Neil felt a pang of guilt. He was being selfish this morning and it didn't ever occur to him that Andrew would've felt insecure about his own scars.
"I'm sor-" Neil was about to apologise but Andrew stopped him spouting nonsense.
"Don't." And that was final.
They lay in contented silence, the stillness of their bedroom providing a safe haven from the world that tested them from time to time for a year now.
And then Neil’s voice breaks it. "Thank you."
Andrew’s eyes echo the sentiment, his mouth moving against Neil’s own chasing the same high and reassurance they both crave. Neil feels the words more than he hears them. He feels the words with every fibre of his being. They are engraved on his forehead and under his veins and in his heart.
Just like that, his monsters are kept at bay.
Neil really loves mornings, today being one the best on his list.