“When you said you were afraid of heights, you were joking, right?
Andrew you can’t be.
What were you doing on the roof?”
“Feeling.”
Tag: andrew minyard
They call you a monster with a sneer on their lips like just the thought of you is bitter. They say it with a grin of fake fondness, a joke that you’ve never laughed at. They say it and it doesn’t bother you. Nothing bothers you anymore.
You were a child once. You were a child with golden hair and wide, hazel eyes full with excitement and wonder. Once you wore a smile on your mouth that wasn’t twisted by madness; it was easy and joyful because the world hadn’t crumbled in on you yet. You were sunshine and warmth before they stripped you of your youthful innocence and left you raw and hurting.
You think about how you’ve always had more tears on your cheeks than a smile gracing your lips. You think about how you know the taste of blood in your mouth, the crunch of your own broken bones, the raw flame of being torn apart from the inside out. You wish you could forget.
You’ve been screaming since you were small and you’ve never stopped.
They think it’s a war cry and you don’t tell them differently.
You’ve torn yourself into pieces to try and keep people who don’t want you. You’re used to the ache of broken promises, familiar and old as time. You do not break your promises. You expect others always do.
You were gentle once. A baby bird had fallen from a tree and you placed it in a shoe box. You couldn’t leave it because it’s helpless cries reminded you too much of yourself. You stroked its tiny head and nursed it back to health and set it free. It flew away and you were jealous. You’d been wishing you had wings for years.
You are too much and the world hates it. You hate it too. There’s too much feeling in your chest for your brother, for your cousin, for two boys who trust you to protect your lives and all you can think is “I will do for you what I cannot do for me”.
You keep your promises and you bury your pain. You let them call you monster because it’s easier. You let them call you soulless because it’s easier. You would much rather see their hatred than the pity you know would come in it’s stead.
-you’re not a monster, you’re a shield, c.k.b.
It’s not the world that’s cruel. It’s the people in it.
Andrew Minyard didn’t look like much in person.
“You could at least try,” Kevin said.
Andrew thought about it, then said, “I could, couldn’t I? Maybe next time!”
man sometimes i think we forget that andrew minyard is just a kid. he kisses neil out of sheer impulse – though clearly we were leading up to it, that moment itself was andrew losing control and taking, andrew telling neil to tell him no because he wants this. andrew minyard, traumatized since birth and set to live through and remember every moment, is just a kid who had to tell neil to stop himself because he wanted it too much and he knew that he had to stop so that he could have it. just once, the right way.
au where everything’s the same but andrew’s armbands are floral
Kevin: can you tell me why the fuck you’re late to practice
Andrew: someone told me to go to hell
Andrew: at first i couldn’t find it
Andrew: but now i’m here
moodboard: andrew minyard
“oh, joy, joy,” andrew said. “my excited face begins now. can we go?”
Heeeeyyy, if you’re still taking prompts how about “what do you want from me” for andreil with a shit ton of angst? … And some fluff if possible ??? 😆 xx
pastelanxiete-deactivated201809:
one angsty andreil, just for you, my lovely friend! a little lighter on the fluff than i was aiming for, but what can ya do. also on AO3.
Andrew opens his eyes to the pitch black of their dorm room, unable to move, barely able to breathe. His back is to the wall, his hands are clenched in the sheets, and he is struggling not to bite through his bottom lip. Images of demons past play behind his eyes, so he does his best not to blink. Andrew jumps when Neil makes a small noise in his sleep, and he feels like the walls are closing in on him.
He climbs over Neil, careful not to touch him, and silently makes his way toward the door. He thinks he hears Neil call after him, but Andrew knows he will give him some space. At least for a little while. Andrew leaves the room, fully aware that this is just a feeble attempt at outrunning his own mind.
Neil’s weight beside him is now familiar and can even be a comfort, sometimes. But on the occasions when Andrew’s senses are on overdrive and the smallest movement feels like an avalanche, an earthquake, a fucking planetary realignment, Neil knows better than to take Andrew’s abandonment personally.
Neil’s hoodie is thrown on the back of his desk chair, so Andrew makes his way over to dig out the pack of cigarettes from the pocket. He thinks he could light it with just the fire on the edge of his tongue, but he grabs a lighter from the drawer just in case.
He opens the window with so much force that the glass vibrates harshly for several seconds. Andrew is unconcerned. He watches with disinterest as a small crack forms at the bottom of the windowsill. Whatever. It’s still functional.
He climbs onto his desk and pulls his knees up to his chest, leaning back against the wall before lighting his cigarette and taking a long, slow drag. Andrew wonders if maybe the smoke will clear out the tar in his lungs, if he’ll be able to breathe again. Probably not.
Time passes, and Andrew doesn’t notice. An hour, maybe two. His breath fogs up the window. He stares outside as the sun slowly illuminates the parking lot below. The Maserati begins to take shape, and he has the sudden urge to drive until he can’t anymore. Maybe through the mountains, maybe off a cliff. Who knows.
He must be spending too much time around Neil.
Andrew distracts himself by recalling the highest points of elevation in the United States from a geography book he read in high school. He isn’t even halfway through the list when he hears the bedroom door open. He doesn’t look, but the sound of the door closing lets him know that it’s just Neil. He never lets the door click back into place; he turns the knob and shuts the door, releasing it only when the door is fully closed and will make no noise. Andrew isn’t sure whose sake he does this for. Maybe Kevin’s, maybe his own.
He keeps his gaze trained on the parking lot until he feels Neil approach him. He slowly flicks off the ashes from his cigarette into the small pile he has made on top of Kevin’s history book. Ancient Rome or something equally as useless. Andrew doesn’t care enough to look. He turns his head to see that Neil has stopped a few feet away, running shoes in one hand and a hoodie in the other. He doesn’t say anything, but he extends the hand holding the hoodie, the same one that was on the chair. Andrew looks back to the window and takes note of the layer of frost on the outside. It’s probably a bit above freezing. Funny. Andrew hadn’t noticed.
He reaches out and takes the hoodie. Stares at Neil. Prepares to pry open his jaw and force out a reply to whatever Neil is about to say.
Nothing but My Aching Soul 