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Andrew took in the fancy restaurant around them and looked back at Lorenzo’s excited face. “Wow.” He said shakily.
It was a lot. He’d been to Alicante a few times in his life, and between that and the New York institute, he knew how ostentatious Shadowhunters could be. But that didn’t mean they all were. Or that it was what all of them were used to.
The Underhill family was simple. They lived in the mountains along the border of Idris. Very few people where Andrew grew up ever achieved half of what he had. He had worked harder than he thought possible. Pushed his way through every obstacle. Determined to not let his position in society keep him from his goals. But it was a hard won victory. And every step of the way, people made sure that he knew that he didn’t belong.
And now there was this man. Who wanted to spend time with him. Wanted to know him. Wanted him to belong in his world. But it was one Andrew still didn’t know. And definitely wasn’t comfortable with. He tried to keep up with the conversation. Tried not to be obvious about how out of place he was. Lorenzo smiled at him and made him feel all warm inside, and that was worth it.
It went on for a few weeks. Lorenzo taking him on amazing dates that made him feel like he was playing a role. He didn’t want to admit the truth. That he was no one. That he came from nothing. He was proud of himself and his family for everything that they were. But he knew it didn’t add up to much to the rest of the world.
“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you?” Lorenzo asked him gently, one night as they sat drinking and talking.
“It’s nothing.” Andrew forced a smile, dropping it at Lorenzo’s disbelieving eyebrow. He gave a small sigh and looked over at the painting on the wall. The one with the baby with familiar eyes. “There’s a village in the mountains of Idris. The nephilim who live there protect the border and the mundane villages on the other side. It’s a simple place. With simple people. Very few train at the academy. Even fewer are given international postings. And only one, has ever earned a leadership position at one of the most prestigious institutes in the world.”
Lorenzo pressed a kiss to Andrew’s curls. “I knew you were exceptional.” He murmured proudly. Andrew chuckled.
“I worked hard. Earned every single promotion. But I... I’ve never stopped being who I am. I'm proud of who I am. But I’m not...” He shook his head. “You and I are very different people. In just about every way. And I’m not going to let that get between us, that’s not what this is. But you need to understand. I still don’t know the difference between a shrimp for and a salad fork, whenever I hold china or crystal, I feel like it’s going to just shatter in my hand, I know more about milking a goat than I do about fashion, and...” He tipped his glass towards the painting with a sad smile. “My mother isn't exactly best friends with famous artists.”
Lorenzo chuckled, and then laughed, snorting slightly. “My sweet cherub.” He wrapped his arm around him, pressing another kiss to his head. “Would you like to know the real story behind that painting?” He asked quietly. “The details that no one knows?”
“If you want to tell me.”
“Yes, the baby is me. Yes, the artist was a dear friend of my mother’s. He was very fond of her. She was his favorite maid.” He nodded slightly when Andrew turned to look at him, questioningly. “Her parents had worked for him as well. They died when she was a child, and she had nowhere to go, so he took pity and gave her a job, bringing him his meals and cleaning, and the like. When she was fifteen she... went through a terrible ordeal.” He said the last part carefully, his voice strained, and he sighed. “As a result, she had me. And no one to care for me while she worked. And so he offered to keep an eye. Put a bassinet in his studio and minded me while they both went about the day. I provided a decent amount of inspiration for him, I was told. So many artists back then were just terrible at painting babies. Lack of access and exposure to them. It made him quite popular. And as I grew older, I learned a thing or two about the upper classes. And...” He sighed out a small laugh. “Well. I’ve got a lot of stories no one knows. How I got to where I am. How I had to work twice as hard for half the respect just because I didn’t have a fancy pedigree.”
Andrew grinned and snuggled closer to him. “There’s a little twenty-four hour diner just outside the city. They have really good food and really bad coffee.”
“We should go there for breakfast in the morning.”