Chapter Text
Some things don't hurt less with time.
You only learn where to keep them.
There were some mornings Andrew could almost convince himself that life had settled back into something ordinary.
Ordinary was waking before his alarm because the apartment was too quiet. Ordinary was standing barefoot in the kitchen while the kettle hissed itself awake, staring at the rain collect in wavering trails across the window above the sink. Ordinary was reaching absentmindedly for two mugs before his hand stalled in the cupboard, fingers curling around cool ceramic as though waiting for permission they would never receive.
He'd stopped correcting himself out loud sometime during the second year.
Now he returned the spare mug to its place and shut the cupboard with a little more care than necessary.
The rain had started sometime before dawn. It painted the city in blurred reflections, turning brake lights into soft ribbons of red that stretched across wet pavement before dissolving beneath passing tyres. Andrew watched them from the window while the coffee cooled down, untouched between his hands.
He wasn't thinking about the accident.
That was a rather strange thing, wasn't it?
People imagined grief as something loud for him, as anniversaries circled on calendars, sleepless nights, photographs tucked into drawers because they hurt too much to look at. They imagined trauma arriving with fanfare, announcing itself before it settled into your chest.
In reality, it was more silent than that, and Andrew couldn't really decide if he was grateful for that or angry.
It lived in the way his eyes still drifted toward every silver sedan that passed, only to slide away again when the driver wasn't the boy he was looking for.
In the routes he no longer took without ever deciding not to.
It was a collection of habits so old they had stopped feeling like choices and life itself.
His phone buzzed against the countertop.
Andrew glanced down.
The message sat on the screen for a long moment. Beneath it, another one they'd sent five minutes earlier.
Andrew let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
Of course he had.
Jayden had always hated waiting.
Even before.
Especially before.
Some memories arrived whole, untouched by time. Jayden perched on the hood of Andrew's car with his legs swinging lazily over the bumper, complaining that five minutes was practically an eternity. Jayden babbling on about a new Minecraft series he started and how long it was taking for the next episode to come out. Jayden rolling his eyes whenever Andrew insisted on checking directions one last time before they left. Jayden stealing the keys straight from his pocket because,"If I wait for you to be ready, we'll graduate before we get there."
The memories had become dangerous over the years.
Not because they hurt, because they definitely did. But rather because of how much he missed them.
They would slip into his mind so naturally that, for the space of a heartbeat, Andrew forgot they belonged to another version of the world. One where laughter came easily. One where the future stretched ahead without interruption. One where a rainy Thursday morning was simply a rainy Thursday morning.
Then reality would catch up, gentle as ever, and remind him that three years had passed while he wasn't looking.
His coffee had gone cold.
He drank it anyway.
"Hi," Jayden echoed.
The word hung between them with an ease that hadn't existed three years ago.
Back then, greetings had always been followed by something else. A joke. A complaint. A concerning statement that always led to conversation, which hurts to remember now. Jayden asking if Andrew had remembered to bring whatever he'd inevitably forgotten. Andrew pretending he hadn't done it on purpose just to hear him complain.
Now, they had learned to leave space for silence; it wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't comfortable either. There was a lot of silence in recovery, huh?
Andrew crossed the rest of the courtyard, the gravel crunching softly beneath his trainers. Up close, he could see the paperback resting beside Jayden instead of in his hands, a bookmark sticking awkwardly from somewhere near the middle.
"You stopped reading."
Jayden shrugged one shoulder.
"Couldn't concentrate."
"Bad book?"
"No."
Another shrug.
"Just kept reading the same paragraph over and over."
Andrew nodded like he understood.
And surprisingly, as the truth was, he did.
There had been nights when he'd reread the same article six times before realising he hadn't taken in a single word. His eyes would move. His mind wouldn't, as if something far heavier anchored it down to where it was.
Jayden shifted over on the bench, making room without asking if Andrew planned to sit.
He always had.
Andrew lowered himself beside him, careful not to jostle the wooden slats and cause more awkwardness than the moment already had encompassed. The awning overhead muted the rain into a soft, steady patter, adding a solid white noise to the background. Beyond it, droplets gathered at the edge of the roof before falling into puddles that trembled with every impact; Andrew found himself staring at the drops even though his eyes ached to see the boy beside him.
Neither of them spoke.
Andrew had forgotten, once, that silence could exist without needing to be filled. He had spent most of his life trying to fill a role, whether it be his father's when he left his mother or his sister's after she left home. But now, it was just a distant memory of the past, something he rarely thought about unless he was told to think that way.
Jayden had taught him that to live life a little more carefree and easy-going, but it was also Jayden who caused him to lose his sense of blithe.
Maybe he'd relearn it here.
"Nurse Harpion ratted me out."
Andrew huffed a quiet laugh.
"They was worried."
"They texted you after..." Jayden glanced at his watch again. "...three minutes."
"Four."
"Wow."
Jayden leaned back against the bench, feigning amazement.
"A whole extra minute."
"They're getting better."
"At enabling you?"
"At putting up with me."
Jayden snorted.
"Oh, they have it rough."
Andrew smiled into his coffee.
It was cold.
He drank it anyway. It didn't bother him as much as he'd like it to.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Jayden watching him.
Not staring.
Just... Looking.
There had been a time when Andrew would've asked what was wrong.
Now he waited for Jayden to tell.
Eventually, Jayden reached over without saying a word and plucked the paper cup from Andrew's hands.
He took a sip and immediately grimaced.
"Andrew."
"Hm?"
"This is awful."
"I know."
"You still drank it?"
"Yeah."
Jayden looked at him for another second before breaking into a laugh.
It wasn't loud.
Not the bright, unrestrained laugh Andrew remembered from years ago.
But it wasn't forced, either.
It slipped out unexpectedly, warm enough to soften something deep inside Andrew's chest.
For one impossible, selfish moment...
...he forgot.
Forgot the rain.
Forgot the hospital.
Forgot the scar hidden beneath Jayden's hair.
Forgot the physiotherapy appointments written neatly across the calendar pinned inside the nurses' station.
Forgot that surviving had come with conditions.
It was just Jayden.
Laughing at him.
The way he always had.
The moment lasted all of three seconds.
He looked so beautiful
"What?" Jayden asked, still smiling.
Andrew realised he hadn't looked away.
"Nothing."
Jayden tilted his head.
"Liar."
Andrew opened his mouth. Closed it again. He knew that he'd lose this ultimately.
Because the truth was embarrassingly simple.
I missed that laugh.
He wasn't quite sure he was ready to admit that.