Actions

Work Header

fugue in red

Chapter 19: a new year

Summary:

andrew helps aaron move into his new place with katelyn. the foxes celebrate a new year together.

warnings: there is some implied past child abuse (very vague and not explicit), discussion of scars, and past self-harm/self-injury

previously: after his concert, andrew figures out where he stands with neil. they spend a few days of winter together in andrew's place. he and neil decide to continue with their relationship!

Notes:

hello! sorry this took so long again! i hope you enjoy this - a lot is happening very soon here. i'm very excited and hope you are too!!! thanks for sticking around and thinking of this story, i look forward to hearing your thoughts <3 we are #rollingthecredits in this chapter

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Aaron and Katelyn's new apartment was on the fifth floor, which was unfortunate for unwilling volunteers like Andrew who were tasked with carrying all their boxes up the stairs.

"I do not understand how you could have so much shit. You are a violist," Andrew said as he dropped another box onto the ground. His brother scoffed and opened the window, letting a chilly gust into the living room. 

"I take what I can get," he said. "Not all of us can be principals."

Before he could do anything else like hurl another insult at Andrew in return, Katelyn called for him from the bedroom. Aaron followed her voice, leaving Andrew to his own devices for a moment.

The new apartment was bigger than Aaron's last place, but somehow smaller at the same time. Maybe it was because there were more people in it to break apart the negative space. Winter slipped through the cracks of the window, but the cold shied away from the warmth lingering in their bones. 

Andrew looked around. The walls and rooms were still mostly blank, waiting to be decorated. Stacks of moving boxes littered the floor, but already, Andrew could see the imprints of his brother everywhere - the color he'd chosen for his bedroom, the small box on the couch stuffed to the brim with photos and other trinkets, the viola case sitting safely on the kitchen counter. 

A loud burst of laughter emanated from the bedroom. When Andrew glanced over, he caught a glimpse of Aaron's wide grin as he chuckled at something Katelyn had said to him. 

Where years ago, he might've felt something bitter and corrosive, he could only think that if he were to reach inside himself and open up a wound for light, there would only be a starry brightness. Andrew had grown enough to know that Katelyn somehow made his brother happy - and that was something Andrew refused to take away.

(Not like the others had before).

Sitting down on the couch, Andrew flexed his fingers. When Aaron didn't come back out immediately, he decided to reach into the box of photos beside him. 

The first one Andrew took out was a picture of him, Aaron, Bee, and Nicky that they'd taken years ago. They were standing on the street just outside of Bee's home, bathed in the buttery glow of a South Carolina sunset. It was right before Andrew and Aaron were going off to conservatory, and even then, they'd refused to leave their instruments out of the photo. Only Nicky and Bee were smiling, but Aaron's shoulders were relaxed, and he held his viola like it was an extension of his own body. When Andrew glanced down at himself, he could recognize that the blankness in his eyes was boredom - just that. Not the crushing void of numbness anymore. 

The next photo he found was one of Aaron and Katelyn in Germany - this time, his brother was smiling. Awfully predictable. Andrew let the picture go, ready to sit back and move on to something else - maybe scratch one of the brand new walls as a housewarming gift - when something else caught his eye.

When he held it up, it was a new picture. Of just him and Aaron. A candid, probably something Bee had taken and never showed them. 

Yet, Andrew could recognize the memory, like he'd just accidentally walked into the wrong room and fallen right back into it. 

It was on one of the rare days back in high school when Andrew and Aaron practiced together (well, one of the rare days that Andrew practiced at all). Not as an ensemble, but just in each other's presence. Aaron had tucked his viola underneath his arm, lips quirked slightly as he said something lost to space. The Andrew in the photo had his bow down, pressed against one knee, and his chin in the other hand. He was watching Aaron intently. 

Sunlight streamed in through the back window and ignited them in golden constellations. And maybe it was because of a trick of the light that Andrew could see - 

There was a smile on his face too.

It was a sorry excuse of a smile, half-formed, like a ghost just barely caught on film.

But it was still there, as unmistakable as that liminal space between winter and spring - when the coldness just began to lift and old scars hurt from the changes in the air and lungs grew infinitely bigger, because breathing just felt that much more beautiful and worthwhile. 

Andrew sighed like that would dislodge the tightness in his chest. He stepped back out of the room, closed the door on that memory, but its gold stayed with him just a little while longer.

When Aaron finally returned from the bedroom, he spotted Andrew on the couch. Something flickered across his face, but he didn't hesitate before heading toward him.

Wordlessly, Andrew handed him the photo. He watched as the same emotions passed through Aaron's eye, reflecting himself like a mirror - the surprise of stumbling into an old, dusty room, the bittersweet nostalgia of tumbling back into a tangible past, the relief of seeing that recovery had been leaving its traces upon them long before either of them had even noticed it.

After a long moment, Aaron blinked and cleared his throat. He looked up and met Andrew's gaze, fingers tightening around the frame.

"Help me put these up first," was all he said. 

And so he did.

Katelyn was happy to play music from the new speaker Aaron had bought for her while they worked to carve a house into a home. After what felt like hours of shifting things around and tacking things onto the walls, they'd filled the place with memories and hidden rooms and unfinished symphonies, waiting to be written.

Andrew took off his hoodie and tossed it aside while Aaron wiped the sweat off his forehead, sighing roughly. "I am not going to work out for the rest of this week," he grumbled. 

"How about we take a break?" Katelyn suggested from the kitchen. "There's a new coffee place right next door."

"Alright, babe." Andrew wrinkled his nose at the pet name and Aaron shot him a death glare.

"Not a word," he warned.

"I didn't say anything." 

By the time they reached the main lobby, it was snowing again. Katelyn and Aaron went inside first to order their drinks, and Andrew tucked his hands into his pockets, silently cursing the cold that nipped playfully at his nose.

It was that stupid part of the year again, between Christmas and the New Year, where everything was a limbo and moved too sluggishly. His family had celebrated a rather uninteresting Christmas day - the way he liked it - with Andrew spending most of the time video-calling Bee and showing her the absolute mayhem Aaron and their other fellow Foxes were bringing to his home.

(For professional musicians with such deft hands, none of them knew how to actually prepare a decent dinner). 

They'd spent that day nursing glasses of cheap wine while exchanging the Secret Santa gifts that Dan and Allison had insisted they organized for one another every year. Andrew gave Kevin a brand new tuner, which earned him both a dirty look and begrudging smile, while Renee gave Andrew a new pair of black sparring gloves. She beamed at him when he lifted an eyebrow at her - but they fit on his hands perfectly.

Neil had somehow gotten Matt as his Secret Santa, receiving both a new set of tea and kettles along with a giant, Matt-certified bear hug. Andrew wondered if the bassist had purposely rigged the exchange just so he could hug Neil like that.

(But if that meant Andrew got to see and memorize Neil's confused but genuine smile, then he figured a little cheating was alright).

They ended the evening watching some new show Nicky had insisted they start - something about a good place. In place of shitty Christmas music, they blasted Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite, so loudly Andrew was sure his neighbors were getting turned off from classical music for the rest of their lives. The whole time, Neil hummed along under his breath, hand just barely brushing against Andrew's as his lips quirked up. 

Later, just before everyone left, Andrew had stolen Neil away for a few moments. The shadows of his unlit bedroom swept Neil's face with blue and violet.

"Yes or no?" Andrew had asked quietly. When Neil immediately nodded, whispering his consent, Andrew shushed his quiet giggles with a quick kiss that felt like he'd swallowed champagne and ambrosia. 

And finally, Bee was coming back in just a couple days - just in time for the ball to drop and to put an end to the year's limping misery.

The shop doorbell behind him tinkered gently, and Andrew glanced over to see his brother step up beside them. Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Andrew turned his attention back to the snow-dusted streets. 

"It's weird to be moving somewhere else," Aaron murmured after a while. "It feels like everything is changing but also isn't."

Andrew recognized the feeling - the single gnawing thought that, even when you knew the things behind you wouldn't change or go anywhere as you stepped forward, when you looked back, everything would be gone. 

"Do you remember what you said to me?" Aaron lifted an eyebrow, and Andrew continued on, "You said you already figured out all the subway routes to my place. You said that I would be seeing your ugly face around for a long time." You said you weren't going anywhereand I'm holding you to it.

The last part went unspoken as his brother huffed lightly, breath billowing out in front of him. But the tension in his face collapsed, and he nodded with a minute smile. 

"I remember," he said. "Of course I remember."

(It turned out - 

Permanency came and went with the seasons. It always changed, but still dependably marched on every year. And every year after that, too).

When Katelyn came back out with their drinks, Andrew accepted his hot chocolate without a word. She still grinned at him like he'd done something marvelous, then took her place at Aaron's other side. For a long while, they stood there, just the three of them, an unlikely bunch. Snow blanketed starving skyscrapers while the few cars with drivers foolish enough to go out that day passed them by in the streets.

After a few minutes, Katelyn turned to face him.

"Are you still in the same place, Andrew?" she asked lightly.

He glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. It was a question that probably was innocent, but also could've meant many things. How far are you from square one? Which season is in your heart?

Are you alright?

Instead, he just replied, "I have no reason to move, unlike my brother."

"So, no new developments? People?"

Katelyn did this annoying thing where she said things without actually saying them. As a consequence of spending so much time with Aaron, Andrew had gotten annoyingly good at interpreting her. 

And the answer was - 

Yes. There were.

New had blanketed Andrew in every way. Came into his home as an uninvited guest along with peace, made itself a place right near his heart and his hearth. Brightened up the place, sprouted in his garden like a flower he hadn't even remembered planting. Kissed him on the lips and touched his hands and held onto him tightly without suffocating him.

But at least in that moment, he refused to tell them about Neil, or even think about him - Neil, and his sea-song irises and nocturne smiles and always-asking and brilliant spring bursting through his chest in a way that even Vivaldi himself couldn't capture.

Looking away, Andrew let the heat of the paper cup seep into his hands instead, taking off the cap so he could get to the whipped cream. The steam started to fog up his glasses.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he deadpanned. 

Aaron shot Andrew a questioning look while Katelyn just laughed it off, linking her arm around his and resting her head against his shoulder. They fell back into silence.

(Peace had returned to Andrew's home, pushing aside the shadows for another time).

((Just then, with Aaron standing between him and Katelyn, between two people he loved - and two people who loved him back - Andrew knew peace had come home to his brother, too)).

--

"I'm really glad to see you here again, Andrew," Emile said. "How have you been?"

"We don't go back to rehearsals until next week, so not much has happened. Things are settling," Andrew replied. He waited a moment, glancing out the window where white had dusted over the city, before adding, "I helped my brother move in with his girlfriend a couple days ago."

"That sounds fun, assuming you wanted to," she said, mirth twinkling in her eyes. "How did that make you feel?"

Sitting back and crossing his fingers over his knees, Andrew paused as he tried to find the right words.

"I never liked change," he said, "but I grew up with it. I know it's just a physical location and I will still see Aaron way too many times when the season starts again. Sometimes it feels like when I look back, everything will have disappeared without me noticing."

If Emile could tell how strange, even awkward, it was for him to offer up such vulnerabilities immediately, she didn't give any indication of it. She just hummed, taking his words in stride. 

"Life transitions are like that, especially when you grow up with impermanence. You might think that things will escape you because you've become so used to it." Leaning forward, she asked, "But you trust your brother, right?"

(It was an easy answer).

Andrew thought about the way his brother had vowed to tear the world apart for him even before Cass had reappeared, the way he'd sworn that he'd somehow make up for all the time they'd lost as kids even though it wasn't his own fault. 

((It was so obvious)).

He would trust Aaron with everything he had now.

"Yes," he said to Emile, who grinned at his answer. She then held up her two hands, palms facing toward the ceiling.

"Change and trust go hand-in-hand. You have to trust that even if there are storms ahead, which there will be, the people you have now will remain at your side for better or for worse," she said. "Of course, that trust has to be earned, and your trust is a very valuable thing. For those who you've decided to give it to, you must believe that even if you have to leave them behind for a while, they'll still be there when you catch up. It's a hard process, but I can see that you're on your way there already."

Everything had been changing lately, really, Andrew thought as he let her words settle in. This year in particular had ripped open old wounds, torn him apart and let the blood and ghosts flow. Yet, in the aftermath of war, Andrew had found his strength hadn't waned. The world was still heavy on his shoulders, but he had others to bear the weight with him. 

"It's easier said than done, though. When I feel that way I like to make a list of the things that have always remained a constancy in my life, regardless of where I've gone," Emile continued when Andrew didn't say anything. "So, tell me. What has been a permanent fixture in your life?"

Of all the things and names Andrew could've said, the one word that floated from his lips was, "Music."

Emile tilted her head to the side. "The first time we met, you said that music should be important to you. Has something changed since then?"

The truth was: Andrew couldn't pinpoint exactly when music had become so big in his life, so deep that he couldn't map out its sea floor if he even tried.

But he did know when the last time was.

It was at Carnegie Hall, when he'd cleaved himself open onstage and let the pain spill forth into a story people couldn't look away from. It was that night, when his mother came to watch him and told him with an embrace that he could unlock his door, leave it open for peace to come back home. It was the hours before the concert, when his family surrounded him the entire time, refusing to let any gales disturb the tentative calm. And it was that moment when he kissed Neil outside of the darkening hall, just the two of them, tasting stage fright on the tip of his tongue for the first time.

Because suddenly, music wasn't just his cello or what he played anymore. 

It was everywhere.

Motifs. You belong here, Kevin's respect disguised behind barbed words. You came back, Renee's soft and constant smile. You were amazing, Neil's breaths caught upon his mouth. I see you, Aaron and Nicky's quiet and flaming pride. I love you, Bee's arms and yellow roses.

Waltzes. The steady one-two-three of his pulse onstage, Wymack's baton flying firmly through the air. Cadences. One movement of his life, over, and another movement just beginning. 

Symphonies of applause and fiery contentment in his coach's gaze as he shook Andrew's hand and showed him to the rest of the world. Symphonies of laughter backstage as Nicky did Andrew's hair and he traced his fingers down the hallway of past performers.

And a fugue. One that wasn't so unforgiving and cruel. One where winter still lingered, but the overlapping voices of spring and family and recovery intertwined with one another and stole away the melody. 

Andrew glanced down at his hands, letting his fingertips drag across his palms. 

"I have spent so much of my life denying that music means anything to me," he said slowly, "that I think I've forgotten how to save a place for it."

It took Emile a moment to answer, though her gaze was every inch serious as she put down her pen and sat forward.

"With something so big and so vast, it can become really exhausting to pick it apart all the time," she said thoughtfully. "You know, asking yourself: what does this all mean? Why do you stick with it? What are you doing? You don't need to find all the answers immediately.

"Evidently, it's a part of you now. There's not much you can or should do about that. So don't pick yourself apart to find that place for it. You do know what music means: it's a part of everything. It's in you. And it is your life, on a literal level." Then, she smiled again. "Maybe think of it like gravity, or some other natural law: you know that it governs the universe. That's all you really need to understand. It's everywhere, it's always. You won't always see it, but you know it's there, and you have felt its power many times. You don't need to step any further. It'll stay with you, and eventually, it won't become so hard, and you will find that place."

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, pictured himself in his own home. Music, everywhere, like gravity -

Where peace tinkered around in the kitchen, where newness opened the window and let the breeze rustle through. Where ghosts and past hauntings slowly died down, where kindness occasionally rang the doorbell and brought bouquets of flowers. Where brokenness still remained, where healing put it back together and let golden sundowns shine through the cracks.

(She was right). 

It was everywhere already. He didn't need to hear it to know it was right there - and he wouldn't be able to get rid of it.

((He didn't think he'd want to)).

"I will try that." It was a tentative promise, but Emile wore an expression like she too was proud of him. It didn't entirely make sense, because there was still so much to him that she didn't know yet, but Andrew figured it was alright that she felt that way.

The hour ultimately finished with Emile telling him more about her three guinea pigs, and Andrew listening and trying to imagine holding them without breaking them.

"Thank you for talking to me today, Andrew," she said as she walked him to the door. He nodded, tucking his hands inside his pockets.

"I'll see you soon."

"You can call me anytime if you need anything," she said, before lifting her hand in a wave. "Have a happy New Year, alright?"

"You too."

The walk back to his car, he felt awfully lighter.

Like he could drift with the snow itself.

Andrew was supposed to pick Bee up from the airport in a couple hours before taking her to see Aaron's new place, so he passed the time texting back and forth with Neil - the junkie was practicing, again, even on New Year's Eve - and watched the thick clouds cling to the sky for another day.

--

Bee came home with a smile on her face and a chaste kiss to Andrew's cheek. He sped away from the curbside, dodging traffic as she glanced playfully at him.

"How was the move-in?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice - she knew full-well that Aaron had practically forced Andrew into it.

"Five hours of torture," he replied. She laughed and sat back, turning the radio on to a classical channel. Music quickly saturated the air, vibrated in every single part of them, and Andrew did nothing but up the volume. 

Only when he'd reached another stoplight did Bee turn and ask him, "How are you holding up?" 

Humming quietly, he murmured, "I had another session with Emile."

Bee watched him intently. "Is she helping?"

(Like with all things concerning recovery - it was hard to tell).

((But Andrew knew that if he looked back, he'd see remnants of it - unmistakable like footprints in the snow)).

"I think," he replied. "So far, yes."

Reaching out, Bee squeezed his hand. She didn't say anything else, but the warmth of her expression and the gentle swipe of her thumb across Andrew's knuckles said everything.

They reached Aaron's apartment complex half an hour later, where he was waiting for them outside. He wrapped an arm around Bee's shoulders and insisted on carrying her luggage, as she chuckled and rubbed his back. 

The interior was still a bit rough, but it was Aaron's place entirely now. His brother showed their mother around, pointing out all the parts of the apartment that either Andrew or Katelyn had helped decorate and put together. Bee nudged Aaron along the way and teased him about having to get used to the hellish traffic soon.

Andrew watched as Aaron led her to where he stood in the living room. There was a little shelf pinned to the wall, just underneath the television, where Katelyn kept a few of her potted plants and where they'd lined up many of the photos Aaron had brought. 

"This is the one you took of us," Aaron said after a moment's pause.

Amusement slid off Bee's face as she looked down, and in its place grew something too soft and too bittersweet. She picked up the photo she'd taken of Andrew and Aaron years ago, bathed in melting stars of buttery yellow and tentative youth.

"I never realized I'd had it," Aaron continued. "Kate was the one who helped me pack up all the pictures, and she found it."

Bee huffed softly, tracing her thumb around the edge of the frame. 

"I'm guilty of taking a few photos of you when you weren't looking," she said. She held the photo like it was the most precious thing she'd ever seen. "You two rarely practiced together back then." 

A beat of silence flitted by, and for a moment, the three of them were back in that photo. Andrew and Aaron were still in high school, and Bee stood in the kitchen with her hands coated in flour, watching them practice and occasionally talk. 

Sighing, she shook her head. "You know, I wish I could tell you, back then, where you are now," she said quietly. "You've made it so far. I just want to go back and tell you, so you would know just how far you'd go."

And there was that wistfulness again, tinging memories and wrong rooms with bitterness. That fuzzy nostalgia that came with having arrived in the future and looking back, and not being able to say - 

You will fail, and you will heal. You will get worse, and you will get better.

Andrew gazed at himself in the photo, at the ghost of a smile on his face. He knew that even when the curiosity and innocence had been crushed from him far too soon and far too much, even when he'd shut himself away and painted himself numb in its aftermath, there was still some part of him that had kept asking -

Where will I go from here?

He knew those answers now. And he wouldn't be able to answer himself from years ago, no matter how many times he stepped back through the door, stepped back into his memories. 

But, then again, he figured that Bee, like the miracle worker she was, had somehow captured the moment where even he, in the past, had started figuring out -

That some days, he would actually want to practice, just for the sake of hearing himself. That his brother would always keep his promises. That he couldn't shed his brokenness, but he would learn to live with it.

That spring would always come, inevitably.

(And that was enough).

Aaron met his eyes, and maybe he was thinking the same thing: he'd already started to put it together back then.

Breaking the quiet, Andrew said, "We know now."

Bee let out a laugh that sounded a little too watery and nodded. "You do know. I'm glad." Setting the photo back down, she turned to the two of them and smiled widely. "You two make me so proud, every day."

Andrew squeezed her hand, while Aaron returned her smile and added, "We're proud of you too, Mom."

(They stepped out of the room, closed the door, and locked it gently).

((They let it sit to be rediscovered for another time)).

Looking away from the photos, Aaron turned on the television and continued, "I'm beginning to think that maybe I shouldn't be letting everyone come over tonight."

"Oh, but you should show them your new place," Bee countered.

"I'm not keen on Kevin immediately finding out my new address," his brother complained. "He'll probably be drunk too. Nicky's having another one of his pre-apocalypse parties before he visits Erik."

The two of them drifted to the kitchen while Andrew sat down at the counter, taking out his phone and letting the cadences of their voices wash over him. The weight of the year steadily lifted and lifted, and light seemed to drench every dark corner of his - at least, in that moment.

He found himself texting Neil again, the corner of his lip twitching when his response came just a few minutes later.

You: where r u

Neil: Rooftop @ Foxhole Hall.

He slid off the stool and grabbed his jacket as soon as he read the message, only pausing to look at his family in the kitchen one more time. They were arguing over what to make for dinner - which was looking more like a glorified midnight snack at this point - and the light in him seemed to flare even brighter.

"I'll be back," Andrew said, cutting over their quarrels.

"Drive safe, Andrew," Bee made him promise, while Aaron shot him a halfhearted glare.

"Do not leave me alone when Kevin and Nicky are getting drunk," was all he said, and Andrew threw him a two-fingered salute before heading out. 

The drive down to Foxhole Hall was longer than usual, thanks to the snow that kept drifting down, but by the time Andrew climbed up onto the roof, Neil was still there. Flecks of white dotted his hair like a crown as he turned around, and his lips quirked when he spotted Andrew approaching him. 

"What are you doing," Andrew asked once he'd stepped up to Neil, close enough that he could almost feel his warmth. 

Neil shrugged, glancing around. "I missed this place." 

For a long while, they stood together and watched the space below. Andrew wasn't sure if his stomach was swooping because of an instinctive years-old reaction to being so far up, or if it was because of Neil. 

But he didn't try to pick it apart. He only listened to soft sounds of Neil breathing beside him and watched as the snow began to dot his eyelashes as well.

"Neil," he said after what could've been hours. When he met Andrew's gaze, he said, "Come to Eden's with us."

"Eden's?" he repeated. "That place Nicky wanted me to go to?"

"To commemorate the last vestiges of our free time," Andrew said flatly. 

Mirth flickered like little flames in Neil's eyes as he snorted. "Okay," he agreed, "as long as your cousin doesn't try to set me up with someone else." At the unamused look Andrew gave him, he dissolved into softer laughter - a sonata that Andrew just wanted to drink and keep bottled up forever.

Turning, he muttered lowly, "Yes or no?"

Neil's face lit up as he replied easily, "Yes," letting out a quiet gasp when Andrew wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him closer.

"You can touch my shoulders," Andrew murmured after a moment, trying not to think about whether or not Neil could feel his heartbeat raging through his chest. Careful hands rested over him, so light that the touch was barely present, and Andrew started leaning in. 

Before he could do anything, Neil drew back. "I can't kiss you with your glasses on," he suddenly said.

His treacherous heart stumbled and fell. 

"I'm trying to see," Andrew said, but he didn't move even when Neil carefully lifted his glasses up, letting them perch on top of his head. 

"You don't have to." Neil waited for his nod of consent before finally closing the distance between them, smiling hard against Andrew's mouth as he closed his eyes. 

Neil tasted like creamy coffee and symphonies that flowered upon his lips. Music seemed to thrum through their veins, and Neil shook with it. Andrew only held him closer. 

--

Eden's was a mess of adolescents and jaded adults trying to convince themselves that they could afford to get blackout drunk one last time before getting their shit together for another year. Nicky and Aaron had drifted off to catch up with Roland down by the bar while Renee was swaying to the beat with Dan, Matt, and Allison. Andrew watched them from the table on the top floor, beside Neil - well, Neil and Jean, who'd been dragged out upon Neil's request.

"I don't understand this. Is this the pre-gaming that Kevin always talks about?" Jean was muttering to Neil, who scoffed and ran a finger along the rim of a half-empty glass of whiskey.

"Whoever thought getting plastered before actually getting plastered was a good idea must've been - "

"Drunk," Jean said. 

"Drunk," Neil agreed, before pushing his drink toward his friend. "Could you finish this for me?"

"One of these days you will stop ordering alcohol you can't finish," Jean said, but took the glass anyway and downed the rest of it. Andrew watched as he squeezed Neil's shoulder, getting to his feet. "I'm going to get Kevin before he does something stupid. Will you be okay here?" 

Lips twitching in a smirk, Neil cast a glance Andrew's way. "I'm fine," he said. 

Jean looked like he wanted to glare at Andrew - the two of them still weren't exactly friendly - but Neil put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. "Go and find Kevin," he insisted. Jean's eyes softened, but his mouth twisted as he said something in French. It sounded like an insult tamed with affection, and Neil fired one right back at him. 

Once Jean headed down the stairs, Andrew raised an eyebrow. "French?" 

Neil shrugged, eyes gleaming. "I know just enough to annoy him." 

(That, Andrew could respect).

He let Neil shift closer to him, fingers brushing together as they watched their family dance and bloom underneath neon flashes. 

They barely managed to make it back to Aaron's place as the night deepened, because New York on New Year's Eve was probably one of the circles of hell.

Bee was happy to steal Matt and Nicky away while Katelyn easily mingled with the girls. Aaron stayed with her a while before eventually breaking off to find Jean and Kevin, who were in a debate over something that was probably related to music history. 

It was as if they were each parts of one of Bee's puzzles, and they belonged together oddly well. Even when the door to the balcony was wide open, the air inside was nothing but warm, tinged with waltzing laughter and conversation. 

(Perhaps this was another answer Andrew couldn't tell his past self - that he'd someday find himself a family bigger than the one he knew then).

((And it was hard to have concocted this scene years ago, but now that he was there, he wasn't inclined to imagine anything else)).

He and Neil eventually slipped away, staying out on the balcony where the winter dimmed away. 

Even on the fifth floor, the crowds beneath them thrived with muffled conversation and humming cheers. Notes floated up, fogging and dissipating like breaths as the city waited for the night to burst forth into fireworks and newness. The balcony light tracing its way across Neil's face clashed with the silver strips of moonlight engulfing his hair. His lips twitched as he caught and held on to Andrew's gaze.

"Hey," he whispered, just loudly enough for the two of them to hear. "Truth for truth?"

Andrew wondered at what point they'd stopped calling it a game, and when it had just become entirely them. But Neil's words felt like revisiting an old piece that he hadn't touched for years, and he found himself nodding for him to continue.

"When we first talked, I told you I'd been playing violin for seventeen years. You asked me if it was dedication or addiction." Looking down at his hands, he traced a finger across a scar like he was trying to rub it away. "I didn't answer because I didn't know then, and I don't think I know any better now." 

There was a distant look in his eyes, a kind of dimness that said maybe Neil hadn't walked into a wrong room with a wrong memory, but had rather finally stepped back inside an old home he'd been avoiding for the longest time. Andrew wanted to reach out, uproot that haunted snowfall and throw it into the seas to be lost forever -

But he didn't. 

He only asked lowly, "What brought this on?" 

Neil shrugged, lips turning in a sad facsimile of a smile. "The last time I celebrated the new year was back in London, right before I left Stuart to go back to the states for Julliard." Glancing at Andrew, he continued, "I never wanted to come back here. Going to school meant I had to leave my teacher and everything I knew behind. So that night, I kept asking myself if music was even worth all the pain." 

(Maybe it was something worth grieving for, that Neil still didn't have the answers he was looking for).

((That there was still some younger version of him, sitting out the last dregs of the year in a snowy London, forgotten yet desperately waiting for news of something better)).

Inhaling shakily, Neil pushed on before Andrew could say anything else. His voice trembled as he said, "Growing up in England and learning with Hernandez - those were probably some of the only good memories I have of the violin." 

"Why did you continue?" Andrew asked, but he already knew the answer. 

"It was all I had," Neil murmured. 

And maybe it wasn't heroic at all, just natural, that in the face of something so broken and strained, Neil would have clung on for so long. Just like how the loneliest graves could still bloom over with careful beauty, how the sun always insisted on kissing the tattered remains of earth after a violent storm. It could've been out of spite, but it didn't matter.

What it really was - 

It was you-can't-take-this-away-from-me. It was reclaiming oneself even when recovery felt as cold as a shattered universe alone. 

Neil turned to face Andrew completely. Something fractured in his gaze. 

"You told me that it was boredom for you," he said. "You were lying then, weren't you?"

Andrew's throat suddenly felt too tight, and he glanced up at the sky where the stars were winking in and out over darkened silhouettes. 

"I thought it was true at the time," he said. 

Neil hummed and looked content with leaving it there, but Andrew added after a long moment, "You said that I would have quit a long time ago if I hadn't felt something." Looking back at Neil, he could see the recognition in his gaze at having his own words thrown right back at him. "You were right." 

(One haunting faded. Another remained in place).

The smile that crossed Neil's face was genuine, tender and lilting as a ballade - an evening song. 

Words pressed up against Andrew's tongue, maybe to tell him to stop staring at him like that. To stop feeling so happy for him when Neil himself didn't even know if what he'd done for his whole life had been worthless or not. 

To stop forgetting himself. 

Andrew only cleared his throat and tilted his head forward, so Neil would have nowhere else to look to but him. 

"Don't answer me if you don't want to," he said quietly. 

Neil blinked once, curiosity flickering and breaking through the far-off gleam in his irises for the briefest moment. "Of course."

"Why did you change your name?"

The way his expression immediately shuttered down into blankness was all-too familiar. "W-What?"

(Maybe this was a room that was worth keeping locked up).

((But Andrew had experienced first-hand the damage that paper walls could do)).

"There was a photo of you backstage," he said, "in the hall. You used to be Nathaniel Wesninski." 

"Oh," Neil breathed. Bitterness trembled in his eyelids as he looked away, lips twisting in a frown. "You saw my performance, then?"

When he began to look a little too lost, Andrew pressed their elbows together, drawing him away from the edge. 

"I didn't." 

Relief strangled and wrestled with poignancy, and Neil said quietly, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me for nothing."

"I hate that recording of me," he said. "It's - you could find it if you just looked it up, but I hate it. It reminds me too much of my mother." Sighing shakily, his voice dropped down to a bare murmur. "That was my old name. I didn't want it anymore, especially because I was named after my father. So when Stuart took me in and I moved to London, I cut him out entirely." 

For a long minute, they let the truth settle between them, drifting down like ash. Andrew glanced at Neil, at his jagged edges and ruptured bones and dizzy memories, and held up a hand. 

"Yes or no?" he asked. 

"Yes," came his answer just a few seconds later, and Neil slipped their fingers together, breath shaking on its way out. Andrew brushed his thumb over Neil's knuckles, acutely aware of the calluses and scars lining his fingertips and skin, hardened from years of work and self-sabotage. He held Neil's hand until he began to look steadier, relaxing into the warmth of palms pressed against palms, and Andrew took a deep breath.

(Truth for truth).

"I've always said music was nothing because it was easier, and it started out that way," he said softly. Neil stood still - listening. "I saw it as a means to an end, but it's become more than that." 

This - what you have, who you are - is everything, Neil had said to him, the night Nicky took them all out for karaoke and Andrew had put some ghosts to rest. 

Neil had been right. He'd been seeing him the entire time. 

It still felt too big to admit it entirely, but - 

Music was gravity was everything was inescapable. 

Like recovery, it left itself behind in little pockets of sounds and heartbeats and smiles, left behind its entrails as obviously as stars did in the sky. 

And Andrew knew there was no point in denying it anymore. 

Neil's fingers twitched against his, and he ran a thumb carefully along Andrew's hand.

"You are amazing, you know," he whispered.

The words dug themselves a haven in Andrew's chest, and he said, too hoarsely, "You are running out of words."

A tiny smile tugged at Neil's lips, and he didn't say anything else. He didn't have to.

They weren't each other's answers, but -

They were intertwining storylines. Two harmonies that held each other, kissed each other, understood and saw each other. 

If Andrew was in a new fugue, one that whispered and vibrated with the song of chaotic healing settling into a calmer sea, then Neil was a fugue in red.

Cherry blossoms, blooming and breathing with the seasons. Dashes of sundowns and sunrises, when the night lingered on a little too wistfully, and the world paused for just one second. Every shade, every bloom, every piece of himself that was broken and still held together was a fugue: always growing, enrapturing, changing. 

Ongoing, everywhere, everything. 

Ducking his head down, Neil seemed content with keeping their quiet to himself. Behind them, something sounded loudly. Voices - Andrew could make out every individual one of his family - came together messily as the countdown began. 

He didn't join in, even when the crowds beneath them started getting a little too noisy. The sky seemed to light up in anticipation, and after what felt like mere milliseconds, the year finally tumbled to its end. Andrew couldn't ignore it even if he tried, because the city came alive. For a moment, winter was torn apart for the sky to explode in brilliant red, orange, and golden lights. 

Their hands were still intertwined when Andrew glanced over and took in Neil's profile. The fireworks illuminated his entire face with a neon glow, turning his irises into seas that had swallowed sunsets since the beginning of time. 

His voice was barely above a breath, but Andrew heard it all the same. 

"Happy New Year, Andrew." 

The fireworks boomed on, and Andrew slowly lifted Neil's hand, pressed his lips against his scarred knuckles. A shiver ran through Neil as Andrew kept kissing him there, tracing his mouth along the thin, bumpy abrasions until he'd mapped out everything there was to know. 

"Happy New Year," he mouthed into Neil's skin. 

Notes:

up next: neil celebrates his birthday and gets a call.

for those curious - this would be the recording of neil's zigeunerweisen, the piece he played at carnegie after mary's death. it's a really famous piece and even more beautifully played by sarah chang so i highly recommend checking it out anyways - this piece will def be coming back later on!

Notes:

yes, another fic when i have 4 other ongoing ones. ya heard me. i've already decided the instruments everyone is gonna play, this is gonna be SO GOOD!! listen to the links i put in the beginnings for the full effect - i chose the versions i liked best and suited how i'd imagine them to play. :)

also this is based off of my own experiences in a youth, pre-professional orchestra. so it's not accurate, considering the fact that here, they're Professionals!!! i know it doesn't really matter but just wanted to put that out there, in case it becomes bothersome.

thanks for reading!! any comments/kudos are appreciated <3