(DISCONTINUED) A sinner is always alone. | Andrett inside job fanfiction

3. A burning memory

Spotify playlist: "A sinner is always alone" by mr. grimmie

Two days after the last chapter...

Andre has no idea what happened. Two days ago he was jealous of the way Brett and Reagan were close friends and how he had no one like that. Now he's jealous of the way Brett looks at Reagan. He hates it, He knows it's stupid, but he wishes he were Reagan. The only time Brett looks at him is when he catches Andre staring at him, and he smiles at him.

Sometimes he's sure Brett thinks he's a weirdo for that one time he broke down in his apartment. He doesn't want to relive it, ever again. He probably ruined his shot with that. Wait- ruined his shot? No! Andre is NOT gay. Nonono! I mean, he can't say he hasn't been hanging off a guy's shoulder at a bar, or the other way around. But- he just likes the free drinks! He never once has thought of a long-term relationship with another boy.

Well, he's never even thought of a long-term relationship with anyone, actually. He's already in his early 30s and never thought of a REAL relationship. It's probably for the best though, he couldn't deal with a partner. He likes to think he could, but he couldn't. He's far too needy and acts as if he doesn't care about anyone. But in reality he's very clingy to people he cares about, He shakes the thought off him and goes back to what he was doing.

Right now Andre is on his phone on his sofa at home. He decided to leave his office because he wanted to bake something. He has to say he's a pretty good cook. He started cooking for himself when he was seven, and he just kept practicing, and now with the internet and recipes at the tip of your fingers, he progressed even more.

Right now he's waiting for the cookies he made to finish baking. His feet are up on the couch, shoes discarded somewhere on the floor and one hand behind his head while his other scrolls through twitter. He doesn't really care for twitter, or what people have to say. But he thinks it's funny watching people argue and threaten each other over a fictional character's age.

He does see an interesting one though, Brett and Reagan having a sleepover from 2 days ago... They're like, 30. He guesses Brett made Reagan do it, His whole mood drops as he sees Brett laughing and Reagan slightly smiling, waving at the camera. He shuts off his phone and stares at the ceiling, Man. He really wasted his entire life. Dropped out of school, got addi-

BEEP!
BEEP!
BEEP!

Oh. The cookies are done. He stands up, setting his phone down on the couch, trying to forget the post of Brett and Reagan. He grabs his oven mitten, putting it on, grabbing the pan of cookies out of the oven. Setting them down on the counter. He turns around closing the oven and turning it off, putting the oven mitt back where it was.

He washes his hands, so he can check the baked goods. After washing his hands he poked the side and top of the cookies, making sure there's no left indent. The cookies don't leave any indent, so he decided they're okay, they're still a little hot, so he goes to sit back down to let them sit. Right before sitting down he hears a knock at the door, he doesn't remember inviting anyone, or ordering anything. He walks over to the door, his stupid past-self duct taping the peephole for some reason. He cracks the door and peeks out, seeing none other than Brett hand. Of course, it's him.

He opens the door fully, Then says "What are you doing here?" He tilts his head a little to the side unconsciously. Brett softly smiles and says "I was worried about you." Brett lets himself in, Andre moves to the side, not wanting to make it awkward for Brett. "I haven't seen you lately, not after the thing in my office," Brett said, chuckling a bit afterward, averting his eyes. Andre closes the door being very anxious trying to think of a plan out of this,

"I made cookies, do you want some?" He blurted out. Brett's face lit up, probably just as happy that he didn't have to talk about what happened two days ago, and he said "Yes! I can NEVER say no to cookies!" He walked over to the kitchen, Andre following closely behind, Anxiously biting his lip and picking at the skin around his fingers. He's never given anyone else his food, he's not even sure if it's good or his taste buds are all screwed up from drugs. He said HE would say he was a good cook, not that anyone else would.

His answer was immediately answered when Brett gasped, after taking one bite of the cookie, quickly eating the rest of it. "That was amazing! I didn't know you baked?" he said. Andre blushed slightly, he's never been complimented on his baking or cooking before. "Uh, yeah... I started when I was 7," he mumbled. "Well your mom or dad must've taught you good!" Brett said innocently, not knowing that Andre learned to cook, so he wouldn't starve living with his parents.

Without thinking, he said "I actually, uh, never got helped by my parents," while leaning up against the counter. Trying to ignore the comment about his dad. Brett didn't get the context clues, asking if he still talked with his dad or mom. Andre was thinking if he should tell the truth, or lie and say his parents were good. He decided in the middle. He'd just say his parents were always busy with work, they loved him but didn't have much time to spend with him.

"Aw, I'm sorry about that," Brett said. To Andre, his made-up parents sound pretty good, he doesn't know how Brett would react to his real parents. Fuck, all this talk about his parents might make him cry when Brett leaves.

And that's exactly what he did.

As soon as Brett left, and he closed the door, He broke down crying. Wishing he had the fake parents he made up in his head. He curled up into a ball covering his face, sobbing into his knees, back against the wall next to the door, He grabbed and pulled his hair. A looping a picture of his dad and mom in his head making him sob harder. At this point, he's hyperventilating. Thinking he's a kid again back in his childhood home. His home was the definition of hopeless. Bottles of alcohol everywhere. The fridge stacked with beer. Dents and holes in the wall, especially close to Andre's room.

He's never been the best dealing with panic attacks. Usually they engulf him until he passes out, or sometimes he can ground himself. Like at Tamikos wedding, but that panic attack wasn't a full on breakdown over his parents, just being held hostage. It wasn't that serious. He attempts to ground himself poorly, trying to name some things he could see. He could see,

His couch,
His kitchen,
His Front door,
His Hands,

And, Brett? Oh fuck. Shit. He forgot to lock the door. Brett probably forgot something or heard him sobbing his eyes out. Brett was kneeling in front of him. He couldn't totally make out what he was saying, but it was something along the lines of "-Andre, you're having a panic attack-"
"-I'm gonna grab your hands, okay?-" Andre nodded his head, scared of disagreeing. He felt his hands being grabbed away from his hair softly. His hands were gently squeezed "-I'm here for you-" Brett said, trying to ground Andre. "— Follow my breathing-" Andre tried his hardest to, and it worked for the most part, he could see clearly now. He started breathing fairly normally on his own, his chest still hurt, and his head also hurt from pulling his hair. He let go of Brett's hands, embarrassed that he's had to see him have a panic attack, and see him almost have one.

After a couple of minutes Brett begins to ask something, but before he can start- "I'm sorry," Andre says. Brett looks confused for a second, but soon goes back to his worried expression. "You don't have to be sorry, Andre." Brett says, Andre sighs hiding the lower half of his face in his arms. "Do you want to talk about what happened?" Brett asked. Andre thinks about it for a second, "Sure, I guess," He mumbles.