An Exchange (Andy x Reader - The Coffin of Andy and Leyley)

Runaways

(AN: writing the smut in this was so...omg AHHHHH 😩🤭)

You were falling.

And falling,

and falling.

When you hit the ground, you thought you'd died. Especially since you were bleeding at your side (Ashley wouldn't die without leaving some sort of mark . . . ). But you opened your eyes, and the Big Dipper was still in the sky. Everything was as it was before.

You sat up, looking to your side. You grimaced as you did so, the cold wind biting against your fresh wound. Andrew winced as he sat up.

"I think I hit my arm wrong," he said.

At least you weren't stabbed," you said, rolling your eyes. You shakily stood up, pressing a hand against your wound. The knife hadn't sunk too deep, but it still hurt like a bitch.

Andrew looked around, nervous. With one hand he ran his hands through his hair, messed up from the fall. "We have to get out of here before sunrise," he stated.

We're on the run now, you thought dully. Nothing fully seemed real. Yet somehow, instead of fear, you felt relief. Nothing felt better than leaving that apartment building.

"Where do we go now?" you asked, looking past the copse of trees. Andrew furrowed his brow. He looked so hot when he was focused, like not a single thing could snap him out of concentration.

Finally, he looked up, his green eyes sharper than before. "We'll go to the next town over. Pay for some cheap motel in cash. Then find my mother's house."

"We haven't even gone on a date and I'm already meeting your parents?" you said with a smirk.

"Might as well after we fucked on a balcony," he replied, grinning.

Just as you were about to give a response, you felt another wave of pain come over you. "Fuck, my side. On our way out is there a chance we stop by a pharmacy?"

Andrew bit his lip. After a pause, he said, "We can't. It's too risky."

"But at this rate I'm gonna bleed out." You were being a bit dramatic. The wound wasn't too deep, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell.

Before you could even process it, he was taking off his shirt.

"Andrew, I like you and all, but I don't think sex is the answer to all our problems." You wouldn't mind it if things went there, though.

"I'm not trying to have sex with you," he said, as he tore a strip of fabric from his shirt. ". . . Right now, at least." You laughed.

The two of you crouched down. He carefully lifted up your shirt, just to where the wound was. His fingers on yours were cool. He tied the fabric around your waist. Slowly, carefully.

"You're shivering," he murmured, looking up at you.

Those eyes, you thought. Almost too bright, like emeralds. Realizing you had forgotten to respond, you quickly said, "It's a cold night." Was it the cold that had made your cheeks so flushed?

Even despite his touch not being sexual, you still felt your heart beating faster. You didn't know why, but you had the sudden urge to just kiss him. Not hungrily, or desperately; but deeply. His hair was so dark it almost looked navy in the moonlight.

And just as soon as it was happening, it was over. Andrew pulled his black shirt back over his head, and it now was cropped. (To be honest, he kind of rocked it.) He stood, looking away from you. You could have sworn you saw pink tinging his cheeks.