“I never said they didn’t. Doesn’t make the entire situation less fucked.”
“It’s easier if they think I want to be alone.”
“Bullshit.”
“Is that your word of the day?” Andrew gripes.
“It’s the word that fucking fits, so I’m gonna keep fucking using it.”
Andrew sighs, stepping out of the doorway in silent permission for Nicholas to enter. He wastes no time, taking in Andrew’s room from the crisp white bed piled high with pillows to the sheer white curtains covering the window and the oversized chair in the corner with a soft looking blanket folded over the back. It looks exactly the same as it did the first time Nicholas saw it and it’s easy to imagine Andrew here, hiding away from the world.
“Look, it’s just—” but Andrew doesn’t finish, shoulders dropping.
“Do you want to be alone, princess?”
His shoulders might as well be on the floor, his entire body radiating unhappiness in a way that makes Nicholas want toslam someone into the boards or smash something. How fucking dare anyone make his confident, commanding Andrew shrink like this.
“No,” Andrew whispers.
In two strides, Nicholas is in front of him, pulling Andrew into a hug. He half-expects to be punched, and he definitely doesn't expect Andrew to fall into his arms with a choked off sob. He doesn’t expect to find his own body sagging in relief at finally having him this close.
Andrew says something, the words muffled against Nicholas’s shoulder.
“What was that?” Nicholas asks, reluctant to let go of him.
“I said it’s easier when no one sees me like this.”
“Easier for fucking who?” Nicholas demands, loosening his hold enough that Andrew can turn his head to rest his cheek against Nicholas’s shoulder, but he doesn’t let go.
“For everyone.”
“Bull-fucking-shit, princess.”
“Fine,” Andrew snaps, holding Nicholas just a little tighter. “It’s easier for them. I want it to be easy for them. I can handle my own feelings, they can’t. They shouldn’t have to.”
“Says fucking who?”
“Uh, me.” Andrew’s hair tickles his nose, reminding him that despite being back in his normal polo and khakis, he still smells like Nicholas. “Why are you doing this anyway? You don’t…you don’t have to.”
Nicholas doesn’t have a fucking clue how to answer that question honestly. He’s pretty sure after the shit first impression he made, he doesn’t have the right to change his mind, to say that suddenly he thinks maybe Andrew is his type. Or that maybe, Nicholas didn’t know what his type was before Andrew. He deserves better than Nicholas’s fumbling mess of feelings.
“Our deal,” Nicholas settles on, offering the safest answer. “I was going to teach you to be selfish, remember?”
“Our deal,” Andrew says, voice strangely tight. “Right.”
Nicholas has the dawning realization he just fucked things up but without any idea how to fix them. He’s spent his entire life noticing people, but without caring what those observations meant. Realizing he cares when it comes to Andrew has him so far out of his depth, it’s laughable.
“You can help me pack,” Andrew says, stepping out of the embrace. He rubs his face, smoothing his hair down and looking anywhere but at Nicholas. “Get my suitcase from the closet.”
“Bossy,” Nicholas snorts.
“Get my suitcase, please,” Andrew says, piling up stacks of polo shirts on his bed. “It’s in my closet, in the back left under a black storage tote with a red lid. The suitcase is gray with a monogrammed luggage tag.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Fuck you,” Andrew laughs, the sound doing something funny to Nicholas’s chest. “I don’t know how much to pack. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying at your place.”
“Bring everything.”
