(100 years later I finally got to your prompt, mac-noa ! I wasn’t explicitly lovey dovey bc I didn’t want to be ooc and it’s only actually from Matt’s POV, but I hope it works for you!!!)
Matt and Dan walk in late, strung together by the hands, still flushed from kissing in the car pre-practice. They go sheepish when they see the unimpressed look on Wymack’s face. Renee smiles brightly at them and Allison gives them a brisk nod, but the monsters are in more disarray than usual. Bits and pieces of their group are missing, and it leaves Matt with the peculiar feeling of looking at a familiar photograph that suddenly has the faces scratched out.
Their ringleader is absent, for starters, couch conspicuously empty beside Kevin — who looks unmoved and stoic and nauseated as usual.
It’s not unusual for Andrew to do things just because it’s inconvenient for others, but it’s a little weird for Neil to skip out as well. It’s a lot weird that he’s late at the same time as Andrew when Exy hangs in the balance.
Any association between them feels like something Matt has to fix, like he set something bad in motion by meeting Neil later than Andrew did in the fall. They’re probably off having one of their weird, close, angry looking conversations that always end in agreements Matt doesn’t understand.
Wymack waits thirty seconds past Matt and Dan’s arrival, and then he looks at the couch like it’s causing him pain, and starts delegating tasks for the day. He only asks once where the missing links are and there’s a lot of shrugging and staring straight ahead before he gives up.
They’re less rowdy than usual, and Matt thinks they’re all individually trying to solve Neil and Andrew’s absence in their heads. (As soon as they get up to move to the court, Allison starts whispering numbers for their betting pool until Dan bats her away.)
Matt squeezes Dan’s hand until she looks at him, and they have a brief conversation in smothered smiles.
They split up to change, and Matt straps into his gear feeling vaguely ill at ease. He keeps glancing at the door between straps and tugs of his uniform, and he notices Nicky doing the same thing. He smiles awkwardly when Matt catches him, and Matt feels a rare pulse of kinship for him. Both Andrew’s lot and the upperclassmen seem equally confused, so they have something in common for once.
The strange feeling follows Matt all the way to the court and through the first set of drills before Neil finally shows up, looking harried and flushed and all sorts of things Matt doesn’t usually associate with Neil.
He pushes into the court straight past Wymack’s blustering reprimand, and Matt catches the tail end of a flippant apology before Neil’s sprinting to centre court.
Matt stares at him. Neil waits, twisting his racquet in his hand, shoulders tense like he expects someone to toss him into the gameplay by force.
“What?” Neil asks, annoyed.
“You’re late,” Matt says stupidly.
“Twenty minutes late,” Kevin interrupts. “Almost like you’re trying to get worse.”
“He was with me,” Andrew says suddenly, breezing past them towards goal looking impossible to have spent twenty straight minutes with. Neil sort of jolts at the sound of his voice, and Matt eyes him narrowly.
I think I have another prompt. It's Andreil. But the prompt is maybe Andrew/Neil are told to get social media accounts (when they go pro) to help their image/interact with their fans (they dont) so they get instagrams. Andrew claims to hate it so much but within a week 90% of his IG is filled with various pics of Neil that Neil didn't even notice him taking. Nothing to risqué fluffffffffyyyy
Yep, that’s super cute <3 love it.
Alright, listen up, I still take AFTG prompts, but I might be a little slower replying to them, and it’s possible that I don’t get around to doing all of them.
However, please still send me prompts!! I LOVE hearing your ideas! <3
“This is bullshit.”
Andrew scrunche up his nose as he is glaring down at his phone.
Neil watches over his shoulder as he tries to install and understand instagram, interested and a little bewildered. “Can you do mine too when you’re done?”
“Fuck no, do your own.”, Andrew replies grumpily. “This is bullshit.”, he repeats and tosses his phone halfway over the kitchen table when he is done. “Unnecessary.”
“Think of the money.”, Neil lightly replies and picked Andrew’s phone up before it falls off the edge of the table. “…and this is better than facebook. All you do is post a picture of your racket or your lunch or the cats once a week.” Neil isn’t a huge fan of this either, but their management insisted, and he is trying to help Andrew here.
Andrew, instead of replying, grumbles into his marshmellow fluff and strawberry topped toast.
Andrew hates it, he really does. He never stops telling Neil, either. “I fucking hate this.”, he says after snapping a picture of their morning protein smoothies. He titles it “I’d rather have chocolate milk” and puts exactly one hashtag: #bullshit. The post blows up within minutes, and people are starting to ask for the recipe (”It’s literally all the leftover fruit we had in the fridge, Neil. Why are people so fucking stupid. It’s not like there’s Kevin’s piss in there or something. Instagram’s bullshit.”).
Neil just nods and let him ramble.
It goes on like that for a little while. Neil slowly gets better at instagram, posting cat pictures, candid photos of friends and teammates, sometimes his food or even occasional selfies.
They stop talking about instagram after a while. Until one day, Neil is stuck in traffic for literally three hours and bored out of his mind. He doesn’t feel social, so he can’t call anyone, he has no food with him, so eating isn’t an option to kill time. So he decides to check instagram for once, really check it, not just look at his follower count or reply to a comment because his management tells him to.
The only people Neil is subscribed to are exy players. The foxes, his new team and acquintances (like Jeremy Knox).
He scrolls, looking at the pictures and occasionally liking one.
Allison posts a photo of her on Hawaii, drink in hand.
Matt has posted one of Dan, her baby belly wide and covered by a shirt that says “Exy Baby”. Neil likes that one.
He scrolls on, and then almost has a heart attack: a picture of him, taken from behind, as the sun falls through the window of their team bus, making his hair shine copper. It’s from Andrew’s account and it’s titled with “Gingers have no soul”.
Neil is speechless for a moment, and then clicks on Andrew’s page so he can see all of his photos.
None of the pictures show his face, but it’s clear that each one, apart from maybe four or five, are showing him.
Neil on the couch, asleep, King curled into a ball on his chest (”Wake the fuck up, sleeping beauty.” #yousnore)
Neil on their balcony, leaning backwards over the railing, staring into the evening sky (#sap).
Neil, again from behind, in the kitchen, cats sitting at his feet and waiting for tuna (#beggarscan’tbechoosers #spoiled).
Neil, wrapped in blankets like a burrito, only a mop of auburn hair peeking out (#hopeyousuffocate).
The comments on the last one are wild and extensive. People are going crazy over the fact that they apparently share a bed. Exy is low-key known for being the “big gay sport”, but still people seem to be in awe that Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten are a couple.
Neil grins down at his phone. “…bullshit.”, he mumbles to himself, and closes the app.
it’s a well-known fact that cats somehow understand when you’re ill or have some injuries, and now let’s picture king licking neil’s scars or sir trying to lay down on andrew who’d caught a cold. gods bless these two.
Neil and Andrew being constantly hyperaware of each other is such a beautiful thing so here’s some headcanons about that:
Like obviously these boys spend 90% of their time staring at each other so hard they forget that anything else is happening
But the other 10% of the time they spend Not Staring at each other while still managing to keep track of everything the other is doing
(Neil will go off to spend time with Matt or Dan or Allison but his mind is still at least 40% occupied by Andrew’s hair in the sunlight)
(and for Andrew it’s plausible deniability)
(not because he needs to uphold his reputation or anything but because if he doesn’t stare he doesn’t have to face everything that Neil means to him)
(who is he kidding)
So Andrew will be sitting in a beanbag chair with his glasses on reading a book and when Neil comes in he’ll keep his eyes firmly on the page
but then Neil starts rifling through the room, putting on his shoes and jacket for a run, and he keeps digging through drawers and looking under papers and in all the coat pockets trying to find something
and Andrew just reaches over without looking up from his book and grabs Neil’s keyring from the countertop and throws it at him
Neil goes on his run but it takes him ten more minutes to leave because he keeps stopping to stare at Andrew and smile
I was only going to write one sentence on this, but guess what happened.
Neil’s phone won’t stop ringing.
He’s had a tough day at the court, and all he wants to do is lounge around on the couch with Andrew and steal spoonfuls of his ice cream, but someone clearly has other ideas.
Nicky, the caller ID says.
Neil groans, but picks up the phone lazily, putting it on speaker before dropping it back onto the coffee table.
“Finally!” shouts Nicky, sounding exasperated. “Do you know what time it is where I am? I’ll tell you. It’s 2am.”
Neil rolls his eyes. “Nicky, you called me.”
“And I’ve called you fifteen times already. Learn to pick up your phone.”
“For once, I agree with him,” says Andrew, shoving Sir away from his ice cream with one hand as he holds his spoon aloft with the other.
“What’s up, Nicky?” asks Neil, making a grabbing motion at Andrew’s phone. Andrew sticks the spoon in his mouth and hands the device over with a roll of his eyes.
“I saw something online the other day,” Nicky’s saying. “It went viral.”
“Hm?” asks Neil, only half listening as he snaps a picture of Sir trying to reach for Andrew’s ice cream tub and starts to type out a caption.
He freezes a second later when Nicky shrieks, “Why didn’t you tell me you had an Instagram account for your cats?!”
“Uh, it’s not mine?”
“Don’t lie to me Neil, I could recognise those balls of fluff anywhere.”
Neil looks to Andrew, who shrugs and goes back to his ice cream, shooting King a glare where she’s peeking out from under an armchair, tail swishing wildly.
“It’s Andrew’s account,” says Neil with a sigh. “I’m posting from his phone right now.”
Nicky’s silent for a moment, then, “Andrew - Andrew - made an Instagram account for your cats. And posts from it. You’re joking. He doesn’t even use his own Twitter.”
“Say that to my face,” deadpans Andrew, but Neil can see a spark of mirth in his eyes.
“On second thought,” says Nicky. “I’m keeping Erik up. I’m going to go to sleep.”
“Gute Nacht,” chorus Andrew and Neil in sync, and Neil grins as he ends the call, finishes off the caption, and posts the photo. It accumulates five hundred likes in a matter of seconds. Nicky is among them.
“I can’t believe he hasn’t found your private Twitter account yet,” says Neil, grabbing Sir and cradling him in his lap.
Andrew’s lips twitch the slightest amount. “I give it a month.”
Okay but Neil with an Adidas endorsement deal and Andrew with a Nike endorsement deal. Only they keep getting in trouble with their sponsors because they constantly wear each other’s clothes. Which wouldn’t be a problem if they didn’t get photographed wearing the wrong brand more often than their actual contracted brand.
Adidas Rep: Mr. Josten can you tell me what’s wrong with this picture?
Neil: Well, the lighting is shit for starters. I thought paps cared more about their camera quality.
Adidas Rep: *deep heavy sigh* No, it’s this. *stabs finger at photo!Neil’s jacket* That’s a swoosh. That’s a Nike swoosh. From Nike. This is Adidas. You signed a contract to only wear and be seen wearing Adidas products. *points at picture again* That. Is. A. Swoosh.
Neil: I’ll remember that the next time I call the paparazzi to stalk my house and follow me to the convenience store at 3am.
Adidas Rep: *internal screaming and crying*
Nike Rep: Mr. Minyard I know we’ve discussed the nature of your contract before-
Andrew: We have.
Nike Rep: -so I know you’re aware that it’s against your contract to be photographed wearing competitor brands.
Nike Rep: *awkward throat clearing* Well, that was a great chat. Please be mindful of your contract. *promptly leaves*
neil josten: andrew?? nah what an asshole what a— [trips] [hundreds of photos of andrew minyard spill out of jacket] w-what a fuckign asshole hes my enemy we hate each other okay these arent mine im just [gathering them up frantically sweating] listen i just listen fuck [thousands of pictures of andrew minyard scatter across the floor] shit fcuk im holding them for a friend just listen
Because the first song in a musical is what reels you in right?
i. beautiful - heathers the musical // ii. overture/and all that jazz - chicago // iii. in the heights - in the heights // iv. picture show - bonnie & clyde // v. just another day - next to normal // vi. populism, yea, yea - bloody bloody andrew jackson // vii. what if? - if/then // viii. some kinda time - dogfight // ix. no one mourns the wicked - wicked // x. carrying the banner - newsies // xi. magic to do - pippin // xii. the heat is on in saigon - miss saigon // xiii. omigod you guys - legally blonde // xiv. reefer madness - reefer madness // xv. were the world mine - were the world mine // xvi. heaven on their minds - jesus christ superstar // xvii. company - company // xviii. live in living color - catch me if you can // xix. overture/big bright beautiful world - shrek the musical // xx. nine to five - 9 to 5 // xxi. prologue: into the woods - into the woods // xxii. rent - rent // listen