Andrew tries to contort his long legs, but Eden simply climbs under them and situates himself at the end of the couch, fanning his skirt then pulling Andrew’s legs into his lap.
“I’m fucking doomed. You’re going to tell Alec too, aren’t you?”
“Yup, and Jason.”
Andrew groans loudly. “They’re going to smother me.”
“Not as much as Mom and Dad will.”
“Traitor.”
“I love you, Annie. Please be more trouble.”
Andrew plucks at his sleeves, an uncomfortable feeling making his throat tight. He’s never wanted to be trouble. At least, not more than he already was. But maybe—maybe itwouldn’t be so bad to let the people he loves see him be a little less put together.
“I love you guys, too.”
“I fucking hate that I’m going to say this—I hate it so much it is physically painful,” Eden says with the same air of dramatics as Charlie. “I need you to appreciate what this is costing me, Andrew.”
“What?” Andrew and Charlie question.
“I think—oh my god, I don’t want to say this.” Expecting the worst, Andrew is entirely unprepared for what Eden actually says. “I think Nicholas fucking Whitmore might be…good for you.”
The way he says the last part, as if he’s going to be sick, makes Charlie burst into laughter. Andrew would copy him, if laughing didn’t make his head feel like a balloon about to pop. He settles for smiling, unable to put into words how much it means that Eden thinks so, and even more so that he’s admitting it. He wasn’t joking before when he told Nicki that Charlie and Eden were a package deal. Charlie is a part of Andrew, his other half, which means that by extension Eden is too, albeit in a different way. If either of them didn’t like Nicki, or vice versa, it would never work.
“Do you have mouthwash,” Eden sighs, “or maybe bleach? I can’t believe I just fucking said that.”
“He’s not as bad as all that,” Andrew says, poking Eden’s stomach with his toe.
“He is a hot-headed hockey player the size of a fucking semi-truck who is so wealthy it makes me sick. I hate everything about him. Except for the part where he makes you happy.”
There’s really nothing Andrew can say to that. No denial. No lies. He feels like maybe he should tell Charlie the truth about how it all started, and he will, but for tonight he just wants to revel in this feeling right now. Well, not the congestion and feverand the headache, but the support—of letting in his favorite people and having them here.
“Pass thesopita,” Charlie instructs. “He needs to eat.”
“I’m sick, not a toddler,” Andrew grumbles.
“You are a stubborn motherfucker who gets no say in his own well being anymore.”
Andrew frowns. “I think that’s a little dramatic.”
“You’re just making me say shit I hate today,” Eden sighs, leaning forward to retrieve the tray with thesopitaoff the coffee table and carefully deposits it in Andrew’s lap, “but I agree with Charlie.”
“Aw, baby,” Charlie croons.
Eden glares at Charlie, flipping him off. “Shut the fuck up.”
“He loves me,” Charlie says in a stage whisper, his tone smug as shit.
“He’s going to be insufferable all night now,” Eden groans.
“He’s always insufferable,” Andrew points out, lifting the spoon. At the first sip of the savory soup, the familiar hint of tomato along with the rich chicken broth, heals him in a way no store bought medicine ever could. He takes another bite, making sure to get some of the pasta this time, relieved when it doesn’t appear to make his stomach turn.
While Eden and Charlie bicker, something Andrew has no doubt is their own weird version of foreplay, he slowly eats his soup, relaxing into his brother’s shoulder and letting some of his earlier tension melt away.
By the time he’s finished three quarters of the soup, he’s done for, his stomach unable to handle more, and his head so fuzzy sitting up makes him dizzy. Once Charlie realizes Andrew is light-headed he fusses, resituating them so Andrew is laying on the couch, but with Charlie and Eden at his feet so Andrew can have a mountain of pillows. He feels a little guilty taking most of the couch, but since Charlie looks like Christmas came earlypulling Eden into his lap under the guise of giving Andrew space, it’s probably okay.
Despite feeling physically miserable, when Andrew closes his eyes, his chest is lighter than it’s been in a long time. His last thought before he succumbs to his exhaustion is that maybe letting people in isn’t so bad.
