<Andreil Oneshots>

<5> We All Hurt

-Set after the boys graduate and move in together-

The light from the afternoon sun filtered through the small foggy windows of the bathroom, colouring the figure, huddled, on the floor of the shower. The water had run cold by now but Andrew sat still as the steamy windows began to clear, hoping his head, too, would clear also. His eyes watching the slippery tiles of his surroundings, his head watching the burning landscape that his train of thought was hurtling past.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget how many demons circled Andrew's mind. He seemed, in a way, normal, to all his family and self-proclaimed friends. He was silent yet brazen like nothing could ever touch his core, with a dry and monotonous sense of humour that often caught others off guard. He took shit from no one and, although short-tempered, he was manageable; especially when a certain striker was around. Andrew was intelligent and everyone knew it. However, it wasn't as if he was arrogant, that's not what anyone who knew him believed. They just thought he was simply disconnected from the rest of the world by a choice, partly of his own accord and partly because of whatever he had wrong upstairs.

When Andrew wouldn't show up for training, the old team and Wymack would assume he had aborted Exy for the day. That he was living his best life on the couch, watching shitty action movies and eating way too much ice cream. When the old foxes in the rooms over heard him leaving, the fimilar sound of his Maserati — which screamed 'I give no fucks' — zooming out of the parking lot, they would assume he had finally had had enough of Neil and the rest of the 'Monsters'.

What they didn't assume is that Andrew was struggling. That he couldn't bring himself to leave the comfort of his bed, his past and memories pilling on and suffocating him. Closing up his airways. Feeling like Atlas holding up the sky, chained to his fate as punishment for attempting to gain all control. They didn't assume he had gone out driving to evade the claustrophobic feel of his dorm. To feel the rush of driving recklessly and the freedom of being able to leave; of being able to escape, in a way he couldn't many times before.

What they didn't assume — wouldn't — is that Andrew was just as sick, if not sicker, than the rest of them in a way his blank face and silence could never comprehend. How could one boy so abused be anything close to okay?

—

Neil could still hear the shower running. Andrew had been in there awhile and he was beginning to worry. He had been acting strange — out of it — all morning and if the faded scars on Andrew's wrists meant anything, they told Neil that he should check on the blonde — just in case.

Lightly knocking on the bathroom door, Neil called out to him, "Andrew? Everything ok?"

He waited a few and when he received no reply, the uneasy coil in the pit of his gut curled further; tighter.

"Andrew?"

No reply.

"Andrew, I'm going to come in," Neil warned, opening the door and almost tripped over Andrew's pile of carelessly discarded clothes. If Andrew was alright, they were going to have serious a chat about his cleanliness habits, Neil mentally filed away for later. Pulling back the shower curtain he found the male, gaze still staring unfocused on the tiled stone in front of him.

His normal curly and secretly fluffy hair plastered to his head, thick curtains of shining gold hiding away his forehead and nape. His hazel eyes were unfocused and unsteady, like cracking jewels so very far away. Dark moles stood out on his naturally pale skin, weaving in and out around the sparse scars mapping his bare frame. His knees were pulled up and his arms wrapped tightly around them, shielding him from the damp bathroom air.