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There's five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. It isn't Andrew's fault that his brain and body are stuck in the first stage for a little bit too long.
He knows Neil is dead, he isn't trying to deny it. He tries his best not to. Walks to his grave every evening, standing there, smoking. Reminding himself about the death. This dark, sticky and revolting thing, that took away him. He isn't denying it. Right? Right…?
But his body is. He can't help it.
But when he woke up he always looks down, on the first tier of bunk bed. His place, with gray sheets that remains untouched and will stay so until the next year. Someone else will sleep there, will change sheets and take away another part of him. Andrew can't understand why this simple thought creates such a painful feeling in his throat.
Then he was cooking a cup of way too sweet coffee and pancakes. Seven spoons of sugar in the drink. Whipped cream and chocolate on top of the breakfast. Poor Kevin, he's having a little heart attack while just looking at it. But he doesn't say anything. Not now. Not when he sees a second plate and second mug - with a little bit less sweet pancake and sugar free coffee. A coffee is completely cold before Andrew can make himself pour it out.
Then on the workout he actually works. He doesn't know why - he couldn't care less about exy. But he actually trains.
And then after workout he waits. He doesn't know for what. But he'll be waiting for a few minutes after finishing shower. In his car, looking straight forward and ignoring anyone's attempts to talk to him.
The front passenger seat in his car is free - and no-one will sit here. Not Kevin, nor anyone else.
And when he walks down the university hall his eyes are looking for the redhead. He needs to give him an energy drink after all.
And then he falls asleep. Would never admit it - but he holds his own hand while sleeping. And if close his eyes and relax, it… feels like someone else's hand. His hand.
And that cycle repeats and repeats, every single day of his life. He can't do anything about it. To be honest, he doesn't really want to.
But that's not… "that".
Right? Right…?