Tag: fav

evil-diabolical-oops:

image

The thing I find sad about this is that Andrew probably does believe “it is just a key.” He gives, gives, gives. And people take, take, take. Sometimes they take what he hasn’t willingly given. Andrew is so used to people (like Kevin and Aaron) taking from him without appreciating what he has done for them that he probably doesn’t believe it’s a big deal. But Neil doesn’t instantly take from Andrew. Neil’s not used to receiving gifts. He hesitates and acknowledges its worth. With him, it’s not an expectation.

Which is important because there is something else to consider here too. Neil helped pay for the car, but he does not feel he is owed the right to a key. He’s honoring his deal with Andrew. The car belongs to Andrew to do with as he wishes. 

The value of the key giving for Neil is finding a home, a place he belongs, where he can be himself. It’s a great symbolic gesture for Neil’s character arc. And it works both ways. What happens when someone respects Andrew’s boundaries? Believes in his promises? Honors deals? 

Well, we know Andrew gives Neil keys. What do keys do? They let people in.

And Andrew is letting Neil in the only way he knows how.

whimsyalice:


“Here’s a real question: how have you survived this long when you’re so violently self-destructive?”

Andrew cocked his head to one side in a question. Neil didn’t know if
Andrew was playing stupid to rile him or if Andrew really was oblivious.
Either way it was frustrating. He wondered why no one else had caught
on, or if people noticed and just didn’t care enough to say it. Now that
Neil saw it, though, he couldn’t look past it. Anytime the Foxes
mentioned Andrew’s upcoming sobriety or Andrew’s name popped up in
write-ups on the team’s performance at games, the focus was on what a
danger he was. People talked about his trial and how it saved them from
Andrew. No one said what they were doing to save Andrew from himself.

A problem

still-waiting-for-godot:

The first time Andrew sees Neil, he thinks: this could be a problem. He thinks: threat. He thinks: warning. He thinks. 

Output: “I’m not a math problem.” 

He thinks: This boy is a problem that doesn’t add up. Or maybe Andrew isn’t as smart as he thought he was. 

He thinks: he’ll still solve him anyway. 

Partial answers. Half truths. Truth for truth. Truth=truth. Sunrise, Abram, Death. 

He thinks: “I am not your answer and you sure as fuck aren’t mine.” There’s a missing variable somewhere that they both lack. The answer can not possibly lie here.

He thinks: 90%. 91,92,93… This problem that keeps giving and these answers that keep changing. 

And suddenly the answer doesn’t fucking matter. Not when the problem itself is missing. Suddenly, he’s gone. And Andrew isn’t sure where to look for it.

He blinks and suddenly it’s there, just as it was. Waiting to be found. Hidden in the jumble of words and numbers and Thank you, you were amazing.

He thinks: 100. 

He doesn’t like the answer he gets. 

He hates it.