Chapter 12 Andrew #3
He turns, regarding Eden with a flat look. “What?”
“We need to talk.”
“What are you doing, Eden?” Andrew and Charlie question in perfect unison.
“How do they do that,” Jason groans.
“We’re psychic and can read minds,” Charlie replies.
“I believed you when you told me that when I was five. I’m old enough to know better now. You have no idea what I’m thinking, asshole.”
“You’re thinking about Emerson and having a snack.”
“Fuck off,” Jason laughs, slinging an arm around Emerson’s shoulder to tug him even closer before planting a kiss on his cheek that has Emerson blushing. A twinge of jealousy stabs Andrew right in the chest.
“Speaking of snacks,” Alec pipes up with a shit-eating grin. “I have one, but I don’t share him.”
Theo whispers something against the back of Alec’s neck that has him laughing, and that twinge of jealousy intensifies. He loves how happy his brothers are, but seeing them settled with someone who understands them so deeply is hitting different today.
Andrew needs to get his shit together. Now.
“If all of you assholes can settle down,” Andrew says loud enough to be heard over the whispering quartet on the couch, and Charlie who has taken to whispering something to Nicki that has him glaring, “you can see things are fine, which means you can go home and—”
“But Annie,” Charlie interrupts with a charming smile, “we wanna get to know Nicki.”
“Nicholas,” he corrects through gritted teeth.
Fucking fantastic. Just what Andrew needs, more people to manage.
“I think—” Andrew starts but Eden talks over him.
“I still need to talk to Nicholas. Privately.”
“I don’t wanna talk to Polly Pocket.”
Andrew groans, Charlie whistles, Jason and Emerson sink down into the couch while Alec sits up just a little bit straighter. Andrew would give anything to be sitting at Nicki’s right now, listening to the sound of the waves crashing and not trying to anticipate how to stop a fight.
“Watch your fucking mouth, asshole.” Eden crowds into Nicki’s personal space, as if he isn’t daunted by Nicki having at least a hundred pounds and nearly a foot on him.
He jabs a bony finger into the center of Nicki’s chest. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re rich or famous or the size of a fucking semi truck.
If you call me Polly Pocket again, I’ll end you. ”
Like watching a train wreck, Andrew stares at Nicki as he merely smirks. “Whatever you say, Polly Pocket.”
Charlie curses and Eden looks ready to fight, literally.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charlie move but Andrew is faster, placing himself directly between Nicki and Eden—his back to Nicki so he’s facing Eden.
He puts his hands on Eden’s shoulders, slowly marching him back into Charlie’s waiting arms.
“No fighting.”
“He’s a fucking asshole,” Eden says.
“I know,” Andrew sighs, “Nicki needs to learn to behave.”
“I’m right fucking here and I’m not a fucking child.”
Ignoring Nicki’s outburst, Andrew squeezes Eden’s shoulder before turning around, relieved when Eden stays pressed to Charlie.
“No fighting, Nicki.”
“But—”
“No.” Andrew marches closer, hyper aware of the eyes of every single person in the room on them.
He hates it. The attention makes his skin crawl, and he would give anything to be back at Nicki’s house, just the two of them on that couch again, watching a movie so bad it’s good, the sea in the periphery and no expectations.
Andrew isn’t sure he realized until today how exhausted he is managing, well—everything and everyone all the damn time.
Try as he might to keep his expression neutral, he must fail because Nicki frowns when he looks at him.
“Just try to be nice,” Andrew says, “please.”
“Fine,” Nicki says, sounding incredibly put out. Relief makes Andrew sag, unprepared for Nicki to reach up to finger the collar of Andrew’s polo. “Why did you change?”
“I didn’t wanna borrow your things longer than necessary,” Andrew says, which is a lot easier than admitting how difficult his brain was finding it to have to be the Andrew everyone needed him to be wearing Nicki’s clothes.
Clothes that were soft and safe and comfortable and made Andrew feel oddly vulnerable.
“You can keep them,” Nicki grunts.
“No way, they were too nice, and they’re yours—”
The tip of Nicki’s finger grazes the side of Andrew’s throat, making him swallow audibly. “Did you like them?”
“Yes,” Andrew admits, thinking back to how damn nice the material felt against his freshly washed skin.
He wishes he was wearing them right now, but the way Alec and Charlie had raised their eyebrows at his arrival made Andrew anxious, as if they were perceiving him in a way he wasn’t yet prepared for.
“Then they’re yours.” Nicki’s hand moves around, cupping the back of Andrew’s neck in a move that’s becoming oddly grounding.
It reminds Andrew of a werewolf romance he read a few months ago, and while he’s sure as shit not a werewolf or submissive, he can’t deny how much he’s soothed by the weight of Nicki’s massive hand at the back of his neck.
So much so, he apparently forgets they have an audience.
“He’s touching Andrew,” Jason says in what is probably supposed to be a whisper, but in typical Jason fashion, is actually quite booming. That man can’t do subtle to save his life.
“It’s weird,” Alec confirms.
Suddenly, Andrew is sick. The lies. The illusion of it all. Being watched. None of this is real, and everyone is seeing it, and when it all ends, they’re going to look back and just know.
“No one is fucking making you watch, nosy fucker,” Nicki barks, positioning himself in front of Andrew like some kind of human shield.
The one person he expects to have a million comments is Charlie, but he is oddly quiet, watching Andrew with intense scrutiny.
He tips his mouth down to Eden’s ear, whispering something that has Eden standing just a little taller.
Before Andrew can react, Eden is marching himself forward to grab Nicki’s shirt.
“Watch it,” Nicki growls. “This shirt is cashmere.”
“I don’t give a fuck if it was made of gold. You’re coming with me. We need to have a chat.”
“I don’t think—”
“No thinking, listening,” Eden says, somehow dragging Nicki from the room by the scruff of his shirt.
“He scares me,” Jason murmurs.
“Nicki isn’t really scary,” Andrew points out.
“I wasn’t talking about Nicki,” Jason snorts. “I meant Eden.”
“Sometimes, he scares me, too,” Charlie says, in a way that sounds like he loves it. “Isn’t he amazing?”
“Seeing both of them smitten is kind of weird,” Alec says, but he smiles at Andrew. “But like a good weird. I like seeing you happy, Andrew.”
“Thanks,” Andrew says, imposter syndrome threatening to suffocate him.
“We need to talk, too,” Charlie says, eyes on Andrew.
“Wow, is anyone else hungry?” Alec says. “Maybe we should go get pizza.”
“But we just—oh right, yeah, I’m so hungry,” Theo says.
“I could eat,” Jason adds. “What about you, Emmy?”
Emerson nods. “I could probably eat.”
“Right, we’re going to get out of here, but if you guys need anything, you’ll call.” Alec moves across the room, wrapping Andrew in a bear hug. “I mean it. You might be the oldest, but it doesn’t mean we can’t help. Don’t ignore us next time.”
“Okay,” Andrew croaks, unsure why that makes him want to cry.
“Bye,” Theo says, waving. Emerson waves too, and Jason rubs his hair before squeezing his shoulder and departing with the rest of them, leaving Charlie and Andrew alone.
Mentally preparing himself for a million questions, or for Charlie to be mad at him, he’s taken completely by surprise when all that happens is Charlie pulls him into a firm hug.
“I love you, Annie.”
“What?”
“I love you,” Charlie repeats, holding onto Andrew the same way he did when they were kids—like he was afraid Andrew might one day just disappear. “You’re not just my other half, you're my better half. I hope you know that.”
“I’m not sure what’s happening,” Andrew admits.
“I know I can be a shit brother sometimes,” Charlie says, pulling out of the hug. “After all that stuff with Zach, I realized that sometimes…sometimes I don’t notice things I should.”
“This isn’t like that,” Andrew tries to correct, guilt crashing around him.
Zach was one of their mutual high school friends, one of Andrew's first and only real crushes and the source of a great deal of his insecurity. All of which had been dredged up last year. Things might not have been so bad if Andrew had ever shared his feelings with Charlie—both his original crush or the heartache and shame after how Zach treated him. Instead, he’d buried it all until it’d come to the surface during their yearly Friendsgiving when Charlie had invited Zach, unaware of their true history.
Zach ended up showing his real colors, and Eden had called out his acephobia.
Even all this time later, he holds onto some of the guilt for that night, for never having told Charlie the truth. He’d just wanted to protect Charlie’s friendship with Zach, and maybe his own heart, but in the end it’d caused a lot of ripples of heartache and pain.
“It is a little bit though, right?” Charlie smiles, but it’s a little sad and broken, and Andrew would flay himself a million times over to never, ever be the cause of Charlie's sadness again. This is wrong and it’s all Andrew’s fault. “There’s got to be a reason you didn’t tell me about Nicholas.”