“What kind of books do you read?” Nicki questions, as if sensing Andrew’s sudden unease. “Let me guess, history?”
“No.”
“Oh wait, I bet you read something super boring like memoirs.”
“Memoirs aren’t boring, but also, no.”
“Is it?—”
“Let’s just go inside and get this over with,” Andrew snaps. It’s bad enough his brothers know what kind of books he reads, but at least with them, he knows the teasing is meant to be playful.
While Andrew knows that what someone enjoys in fiction isn’t a direct relation to what they want in real life, he’s had people be weird in the past. He had one ex in college who convinced himself that Andrew’s love of reading certain things would eventually translate to him wanting it in the bedroom and had been rather unkind about it when it didn’t happen.
Andrew is perfectly content with who he is as a person. As long as he’s in control and doesn’t have to explain it to anyone new. He’s still not sure if he should come out to Nicki, as ace or autistic. Both of them are so central to how he experiences and navigates the world, and yet he sometimes resents having to label himself for other people in order to be accommodated or accepted.
“You’re thinking awfully hard over there, highness.”
“I’m sure that’s a novel concept for you.”
“Ouch.” Nicki lays a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
“Fuck off.”
“Someone is feisty tonight.”
“I’m not feisty,” Andrew argues, following Nicki inside the rage room.
The fact that he’s in a rage room at all is laughable. If anyone needs this place, it’s Alec or Charlie. Not that either of them have an excessive amount of rage, but they do have a lot of energy and feelings that could use releasing. Andrew is fine. He doesn’t need to be here.
“How come there’s no one else inside?” Andrew asks when they walk into the lobby and are met with absolutely no one.
“Because I rented the entire thing out. I thought you might want some privacy to get all your rage out.”
“I don’t have rage.”
“Are you sure? Your mouth is saying one thing, but your face is saying something else.”
“Ignore my face,” Andrew says, wishing he was better at controlling his facial expressions. It’s a wonder that with his experience at masking in social situations he hasn’t yet figured out how to keep his expressions neutral.
“I can’t ignore your face, highness. It’s so nice to look at.”
“Are you flirting with me or making fun of me?” Andrew asks, ill equipped to handle either.
“The fact that you even have to ask makes me wonder.”
“Make you wonder what?” Andrew asks, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It’s not hot, but his body is flushed, and his heart is beating at a rate that is mildly uncomfortable.
“Wonder what—” Nicki starts, cut off by the back door clanging open loudly.
Andrew startles, standing up straighter and smoothing his shirt down.
“I thought you said no one was here,” Andrew grumbles.
“That’s just John. He’s got to pass out the safety gear and watch the cameras, but he’s signed an NDA so nothing that happens here will get out. You can let out all that pent up rage without fear of judgement, highness.”
“I told you I don’t have rage,” Andrew hisses, feeling a startling amount of it despite his protests. He tries to calm himself down, to will it away. He’s usually pretty good at it, but somehow it simmers too close to the surface for Andrew’s liking.
“Careful there, your face is speaking for you again.”
