Andrew Minyard.

Sunday evening. Andrew was lying on the bed in his room when suddenly, he felt a longing to hug someone—a feeling too unrecognizable, too unfamiliar. At first, Andrew hugged the pillow his head was resting on, but a minute later he pushed it away and walked toward Neil's room. Neil was lying there, reading a book. Andrew came up to him and hugged him. Andrew lay on his chest, embracing Neil and burying his nose in the crook of his neck, to which Neil said:
— What the...
It was far too unusual to see Andrew like this.
— Shut up, idiot. — Andrew said, hugging Neil even tighter, pulling himself closer.
You are Neil Josten.