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They’re going 75 down a back road in some Midwestern state, all the windows rolled down, wind blowing into the car and making it hard to hold a conversation. They didn’t care, they thrived best in silence.
Andrew leaned against the car door, arms crossed, watching Neil behind his sunglasses. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the windowsill, his fingers tapping away to the beat of a song only he could hear. His auburn hair was a windswept mess, the hat he had been wearing earlier thrown into the backseat when it almost blew out the window, and he’s wearing a sweatshirt Andrew swore he’d lost weeks ago.
He’s flawed and real and breathtakingly beautiful, and Andrew might hate him just a little bit. He might not hate him a lot more, his chest aching so bad at the sight of him that sometimes he can barely breathe. He had never wanted or needed anyone yet he had Neil.
And he has me, he rolled his eyes at the reminder. Maybe Neil was right, maybe he was going soft.
Neil smirked suddenly and loudly said, “Staring!”
Andrew scowled, turning to look out the window, and grumbled, “Fuck off, Josten.”