Chapter Text

 Contraposition

Two sides 

of 

a 

Coin

The night chill is stinging Andrews' skin. The roof was always his comfort spot. Or maybe it was his uncomfortable spot; the height makes his stomach twist in a tight knot, and the wind chill brushes against his skin. He is cold and uncomfortable but glad for it. He is feeling something, and to feel something, even if it is negative, is the only way he can feel alive.

It was the perfect spot for what was happening now, as he looked out over the edge of the roof of the tower, his legs dangling over the edge and the harsh wind causing him to sway, grounding him and providing distraction in the only way that could permit him to listen to this conversation without real emotions, potentially dangerous emotions, coming to the surface. 

Distantly, he knew his brother was still there. 

Focusing on the nipping wind on the few bits of his cold, exposed skin, a tiny comparison to the slices that filled him with adrenaline and relief, that filled him with the strength to live, even if it was for spite, each cut, each wound he had endured in the past, had given him the strength to persevere, to embrace life even in the face of spite.

His brother said something particularly loud and he knew his time of tuning out of the conversation was over. He had hoped Aaron would rant and rave and leave. Andrew thought nothing good would come from confiding in him on any sort of meaningful level. So, he kept his thoughts to himself. He stayed close to his twin, he kept him safe. Keeping his clone at a safe distance was best for Aaron's sake. That's why Andrew stayed loyal in his own way, always willing to protect his twin, even against the weight of his own brokenness.

Reluctantly, Andrew braced himself for the emotions that would surface when he finally engaged in this conversation—or argument, he wasn’t quite sure what Aaron's problem was. Maybe Aaron was upset that Andrew never wanted to listen, Andrew couldn’t voice an argument to that. Well, he will, knowing it is not true won't stop Andrew from telling Aaron he is talking bullshit. Even if he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, the harsher he treats Aaron it’s for his own good. 

Andrew might seem cold, uncaring; a monster. He is fine with that, if he has to be the monster to keep the people he cares about safe, then a monster he will be. He just won’t let the people he loves—-fuck Andrew can’t believe that thought finally entered his mind. He knows he cares about people unconditionally. Yet, here, staring at the tight black jeans wrapped around his legs, down to his heavy black boots, and the two hundred feet drop below them, his mind goes to Neil, Nicky, Kevin and Aaron. He wants them safe. He would do anything for them. He loves them. Fuck.

And they love him, he knows this. Nicky threw his life away to take care of him and his twin, he’s learned what love looks like thanks to Nicky. He’s learned what love feels like thanks to Neil. Fucking Bee, fixing stuff that was easier when broken.

For all the hatred in his life, the all-consuming hatred, disinterest and pain became the backdrop of his entire childhood.  Hate wasn't something he had to learn; it came naturally to him. It flowed through his veins effortlessly, like an untamed beast waiting to be unleashed. It simmered deep within, always present, ready to explode. A fiery rage he had to suppress, for fear that it would consume him entirely. If he let it surface, he would start questioning, wondering, "Why me?"—a path that only led to vulnerability.

He was abused, used, and everything he could have been, the person he could have been was stolen from him, at a time when he was so small and innocent he was unable to keep his innocence, unable to fight for it.

He might be regarded as small now, but he is no longer weak, and certainly no longer innocent. His strength is his power, the power his abusers gave to him. His purpose is it make sure his family, the family he has chosen and has chosen him, are safe. He can protect them from harm. He can’t protect them from the monster inside him. 

The loud shouting continues, and he begins to turn to face the mirror that is his twin, to give Aaron the match that he wants, not strong enough to take the high road, to be the ‘bigger’ man. He knows he will still be sitting here, and Aaron will leave, disgusted at him for the things he will say to Aaron. Even if it’s the truth. Andrew is not cruel, at least not for cruelty's sake, he speaks the truth he sees, whether or not people want to hear it.

A hand lands on his shoulder with a loud shout and Andrew disconnects from the situation. The contact, however, sends shivers down his spine, igniting an unbearable sensation that engulfs him. It feels repulsive, like a repugnant touch that taints his very being. In that moment, Andrew finds himself overwhelmed with a deep sense of disgust, not only towards the touch but towards himself. At some point in his life, he might have moved forward to make the contact stop, a two hundred feet drop an open door to relief, but not now. 

Now he moves backwards, grabbing the hand and twisting with merciless force, as he swings backwards. Backwards, not forward. Backwards toward fighting for survival, he swings his legs over the edge of the wall he is sitting on and his feet land squarely on the flat surface of the roof. 

He still has a grip on his attacker's hand. Andrew has perfect knowledge with how the human body functions, how it bends and moves. Or, perhaps more relevantly, how it shouldn’t move. He continues to twist the phantom hand and has complete control, adrenaline flowing through his body primes him for a fight. He swipes the man's leg away after manoeuvring with his captured hand, so that he lands on his back, Andrew on top of him, knees digging into the person's arms live a vice keeping them in place. The weight of his body held him down with the power of an anvil. 

The person is crying. The fight out of him. Why is he giving up so early? It never ends early, Andrew is used to a fight, fighting without care for himself, he won't let anyone take advantage of him again, but something doesn’t make sense, and it’s enough for Andrew to disengage, to settle his rage and let the fight leave his body. Andrew is not a bully. He will fight, stab, and kill if necessary. He won’t, however, fight someone who isn’t fighting back. He isn’t a bully. Not a monster. The thought of fighting someone who has submitted makes him feel sick. Sick in the mind and sick physically. 

He won't be like them. He won't be one of them.

As the heat in his blood cools, he is greeted with a sight that comes with a power that might as well be a fight, a punch to the face. The person under him is Aaron, of course, it is Aaron. He was the only fucking one here. A spike of hatred flows through Andrews's body, and all he can think, while staring at his identical twin's face, is why? Why am I like this? In this moment of distress, Andrew can’t stop himself as he longs for reconciliation, for the ability to embrace his brother's touch without this visceral repulsion. He knew Aaron was the only person here, it was him who told Aaron to come to the roof, come to the roof with me, yet he ended up  attacking him. 

Maybe he is like them, how can he deny it? His own brother, his own DNA is under him, tears flowing from his eyes and it's Anderws fault. 

A strange thing happens when the word that is rattling around Andrew's mind enters the air in a voice like his.

“Why,” Aaron cries, his voice breaking. 

Andrew is settling, the adrenaline leaving his body, but he is still on top of, on top of Aaron, and he reluctantly acknowledges. Of course, Aaron is asking ‘Why?’, he attacked him, all it took was his own twin brother, one of four people he truly cared about in the world putting his hand on his shoulder and it led to him attacking Arron like a feral animal.

He had his own brother in tears. With his actions staring him in the face, Andrew wishes to confront and overcome the repulsion he feels towards his brother's touch. He seeks to find peace within himself, to repair the fractured relationship that his internal - and physical - battles have strained.

He moved to get up, to allow his twin brother to get away, to get the distance from Andrew he no doubt needs to feel safe, yet as he moves his brother grips his heavy hoody with all his strength, and there is considerable strength, for a brief moment Andrew is proud of his brother—he isn’t the victim anymore. At least, he doesn’t allow himself to be the victim idly.

The same question leaves Aarons's mouth now, more forceful.

“Why!?’ Aaron practically growls, and Andrew, for what it’s worth, doesn’t want to make the situation worse, making things better isn’t something he knows how to do. He keeps quiet while staring into his brother's teary eyes, and he registers that his brother is not hurt, or upset, he is furious. He has seen this look in his own eyes plenty of times, on his own face, in front of a mirror. 

Andrew can’t help himself, somewhere deep down he wants to comfort his brother; to apologise. But that won't happen. All it took for Andrew to put his brother in danger was a gentle hand on the shoulder. For all he wants to be close to his twin, this proves it's for the best to push him away. He has experience with this. It didn’t come naturally, for all people might think so, being a cunt was actually a practised and perfected skill, and Andrew used it now.

“You touched me, that's why. This might shock you, but people don’t touch me without permission. Did you think you were the exception?” Andrew answers the question Aaron left between them, but Aarons's eyes were completely confused, and annoyed. Andrew could see the frustration in them; another benefit of having the exact same face as him. 

Andrew was about to tell him to let him go when a simple question left Aarons's mouth. Andrew didn't know at the time, but it was a question that would turn his entire life in a new direction.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Do you think I care that you knocked me onto my back? Were you even listening?” Andrew doesn't bother saying no when Aaron leaves a gap for Andrew to respond, he doesn’t usually believe in regrets, but he suddenly feels like he should have been listening to Aaron.

“You weren't. You fucking idiot. Listen to me. I’ve tried everything, I dumped my girlfriends on your demand. I function on a schedule you allow. A schedule that allows you to monitor me at every minute? What do I have to do Andrew? I’ll give up anything, just tell me,” Tears are flowing from Aarons's eyes now, the grip he has on Andrew almost certainly ripping the fabric, as if Andrew could move right now anyway, feeling the hard bulk of his twin's chest beneath him, Aaron continues, “Why won’t you love me?!,”

Andrews's head spin, his body cramps with anxiety and despite his urge to plunge in the verbal knife and twist it he keeps his mouth shut, Andrew knows that if Aaron is voicing this much emotion they have hit some sort of singularity in their relationship, and Andrew, for all his might, his need to be in control, he has no idea what to do. 

He stares at his twin, two blond-haired men, one with a closed, emotionless expression staring at his crying and desperate counterpart. An opposite only mentally; for they are identical in every other way. Same face. Same eyes, and hair. Same body, for all that Andrew’s bulkier, he can feel Aarons's muscle beneath him, from where he sits on his stomach, slightly above his groin. The groin, which Andrew idly thinks must be identical to, before he throws the thought from his mind, baffled with himself. He thinks he should move, but Aarons's determined eyes pin him in place solidly, far more powerful than the grip on his hoody.

Andrew, realigning himself and his mind lands on the question Aaron asked.

"Dear brother,” Andrew asks, clinging to the final bit of facetiousness he can muster to hide behind. “Have I not killed for you? Do I not remove your problems?” Andrew spat, spitefully. Wanting Aaron to remember his actions. “Is it words? Hm? You need me to tell you three meaningless words. You should pay attention to my actions, Brother, you might notice something.

“I know! I swear Andrew, I didn’t fucking ask you to kill Mom but I know you did it—for me,” Aaron stutters, struggling to express what he really means, what he really wants. Something leaves Aaron as he dwells on his thoughts, thoughts of Neil with his hands around Andrew, his lips on Andrews. Aaron is… jealous? Maybe, but he’s frustrated too. He wants actions and affection. So he tells his Brother.

“But you can’t even fucking touch me, I put my hand on your shoulder and you try to fucking merc me, Andrew you actually think I would hurt you!? All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is to be closer to you! I’ve seen you do it with Neil, his hands are always fucking over you, and I don’t know if I want to kill him for it, or fucking join in. What does he have that I don't? Is it the money? How he looks? Who fucking cares about that. Andrew, I love you. I want to be close to you, closer than anyone, I’m your fucking twin brother, there's nothing I won't do for you, nothing I won't change for you,” Aaron's tears are flowing relentlessly now, but he does nothing to quench them, “Please Andrew, what do I have to do, just tell me and I’ll do it,” Aaron slows his outburst, getting to a point of no return, he speaks slowly and reluctantly. “Or-or tell me you’re disgusted by me and I won't bring it up again, I promise! Just, please tell me, please, I need to know!” Aarons's voice is raw, he wasn’t speaking. He was shouting the entire time, Andrew above him, weighing him down in a way that is far too comfortable. A part of him knows he spoke so long so Andrew wouldn’t move from his lap; but mostly, he meant what he said, and the ball was in Andrews's court now. 

For his part, Andrew's stoicism was on the verge of breaking, he can face Yakuza Lords without blinking, but here, with his brother under him, spilling his thoughts out loud, thoughts that not only included Andrew but were wholly centred on him. Neil was a partner, not a brother. Aaron wanted to touch him the way Neil did. Andrew couldn't get his head around it. For all he could tell Aaron wanted nothing to do with him. Yet, here he was telling him all he wanted was to get closer to Andrew.

Andrew didn’t do anything impulsively, but here, now, with Aaron under him declaring he wants to be closer to him, physically, and presumably emotionally, Andrew wants to go further.

“Put your hands on my shoulders, yes or no?” The words come out of Andrews's mouth before he has a chance to properly analyze them, right here in this situation, his mind is on his opposite, he wants to give me what he wants. He can do it because he trusts him. He trusts that Aarons's eyes going wide, his hand retreating with ridiculous speed off of Andrews's hoody. Aaron knows what is being offered here. What it takes for Andrew to allow this, and all of Aarons's actions indicate he fully appreciates this, from his retreating hands to his wide eyes and stunned face.

Andrew wants this to happen quickly, in spite of all sense and practical experience telling him to go slow. But this is his brother, nothing else mattered, he would do whatever he needed to do, he wanted to make sure Aaron was comfortable with him, that he was comfortable with Aaron. So he pushed him.

“Yes or no, Aaron?” Andrew pressed.

Aaron nodded slowly, but frantically, like there was something inside him that couldn’t quite process what was happening. 

Arron raised his hands slowly. He never verbally gave Andrew a yes, but on this occasion, with his nods, his hands going to his clothed shoulders, Andrew would continue the interaction anyway. Andrews's eyes moved from the mirror that was his twin brother's face and watched his brother's hands as he released them from the interlocked clutch he was pressing into his own chest when he retreated from Andrew’s chest. Apparently, the permission was more significant than an impulsive grab—a realisation that made Andrew more confident in his decision.

Aarons's hands raised slowly, hesitantly, a mix between not believing this was happening, and not wanting to rush it. Aaron was glad Andrew was watching his hands, it allowed him to study Andrews's face unabashedly. He was beautiful. Broad shoulders that looked like they could carry their world. Square jaw, and a strong nose. Aaron knew logically that it was the same face he had, but Andrew had been through different trials than Aaron had and the slight nicks and scars on Andrews's face were absolutely stunning in Aarons's eyes. 

People would call the imperfections, but Andrews's face, in Aarons's mind, was totally perfect. He got those injuries protecting the people he loved, and despite Andrew being distant and cold, Aaron knew Andrew loved him. He killed Aarons's mum for no other reason than she was abusing Aaron, he cut the brakes on her car, pretending to be Aaron, and got in that car to make sure she wouldn’t survive the crash. Aaron is learning to notice actions over words, and those actions did declare one thing; Andrew loved Aaron. No, not only did he love him, he was devoted to him.

Aaron's hands landed on Andrew's shoulders with the heat on a small star, even through the heavy hoodie Andrew could feel them distinctly. Aaron gripped him and the shoulder, his hands wrapping around Andrews's muscles, and it felt perfect, Andrew couldn’t help but think it shouldn’t feel this good, and when Aaron applied a slight pressure like he was massaging the muscles it felt divine.

Andrew wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for this to feel good, or more likely, he was expecting it to feel bad—like most touches did. But his expectations were wrong. It felt great, Aarons's hands on him were both strong and comforting. Aaron's face was relaxed now like he could be more comfortable. A slight look of astonishment was worn on Aaron's face, and it mirror perfectly on Andrews, for they both never expected, never thought they’d be allowed this.

For all their hostility all they both really wanted was to be close to each other. And here they were, Andrew, sitting on top of Aaron's navel area, Aaron's hands clamped on Andrew's traps, slightly massaging the tight, wide muscles, causing Andrew to suppress a moan. The position was completely insane. Aaron laying with his back on the roof of Fox Tower, and Andrew sitting on top of him. 

It dawned on Andrew that anyone could come up here. For all very few people knew - or bothered - to come to the roof, it was a public place, and Andrew didn’t share. He didn’t share the people he cared about, and he doesn’t share his interactions with anyone other than the person it is meant for. Reluctantly he places his hands on Aarons, his hands laying on top of his bothers identical hands, Andrew takes a moment to idly appreciate the hands were exactly the same, before he removes the theme from his shoulders.

Standing up, Andrew notices Aaron's face is crumpled in anguish, and Andrew can’t stand to allow his bother to think he has done something wrong, any belief that he should push him away is gone, and it's replaced with an urge to comfort Aaron.

“Get rid of that fucking scowl, you got to touch me, didn’t you? Put on a fucking smile,” Andrew scolds himself internally as soon as the words come out, almost like a default defence system against ever being serious, but he reassures his Brother once on his feet with an extended hand, expresses all the kindness he can muster.

“Let's go, your back must be killing you. Come to my dorm, yes or no?” Andrew extended the invitation with a slight hesitancy, he wants to continue this interaction and holds his breath while waiting on Aaron's response