“Uh—”
“Before you, once. And that was a shitshow. I just figured I could exist the rest of my life not caring. And then you came along, being stupidly attractive but like it didn’t matter, becauseI didn’t like you, so that made you less attractive. I liked looking at your tattoos, but you as a person—it did nothing for me.”
Entirely unsure where this is going, Nicholas wisely keeps his mouth shut.
“Then you turned out to be fucking decent.”
“I’m really not.”
“You are to me,” Andrew says, shoving his hand into Nicholas’s chest. He fists his hand in Nicholas’s dress shirt, the tips of his fingers that graze Nicholas’s bare skin burning. “And I just…don’t care about anyone else. I should. I always care about everyone else. I should care that you’re not nice to everyone, but I just don’t? You treat me good, and you care how I feel, and you don’t care about anyone else, and I selfishly like that, which makes me an awful person, I know, but?—”
“Fuck everyone else.”
“See,” Andrew says, pitifully grasping at Nicholas’s shirt. “That’s what I’m talking about. I can’t say that.”
“Then don’t,” Nicholas tells him, pulling Andrew closer. His body sways, like maybe the only thing holding him upright is Nicholas. “Let me be the asshole. I’m good at it. You care about the world, and I’ll care about you.”
“I shouldn’t like that.”
“Says who?” Nicholas asks, lowering his lips to Andrew’s forehead. He’s burning up, and all Nicholas wants to do is get this poor man resting, but he knows Andrew, and if they leave this unfinished, he won’t let it go. “Who told you that?”
“Everyone,” Andrew answers. “Not in words, but in every way that matters. Caring about everyone else, taking care of them, it’s who I am.”
“It’s not all you are,” Nicholas tells him, carefully pulling Andrew’s shirt off. He smooths his palms across his chest, wincing at the heat that radiates off his body.
“What if I don’t know?” Andrew whispers. “What if I got this far in life, and I can’t tell the difference between who everyone needs me to be and who I really am.”
“Then figure it out.”
Andrew shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No.” His jaw trembles, and Nicholas knows this is enough. He can’t take any more. There’s no rage room here, nothing for Andrew to break except himself.
“Okay, princess.”
“What if this is all I’ll ever be?”
“I’ll still want you.”
“You mean that?”
“I told you.” Nicholas’s lips press to his forehead again, then each of his cheeks. “Every word I say, I mean.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Now get naked.”
“Bossy,” Andrew says, complying easily.
It doesn’t escape Nicholas’s notice that even sick and exhausted, Andrew’s eyes follow his hands as he undresses. The fact that it’s not sexual somehow makes it more erotic for Nicholas, who is no stranger to undressing in front of teammates or bed partners, yet can’t recall ever doing so like this.
Taking Andrew’s hand once they’re both naked, he brings him into the bathroom, letting Andrew set the temperature. Despite his fever, he sets the water on hot, stepping beneath the spray and groaning loudly as the massive rainfall shower coats his entire body.
