( he can't make him get it -- he knows enough to know it doesn't make sense. nothing about him makes sense, and yet here he is, sitting on the couch, not making sense. no one is more frustrated with andrew minyard than andrew minyard ( although axel johnson probably racks up pretty close ), who both is total strangers with himself and intimately aware of all his shortcomings and faults.
his thumb acts up again, this time rubbing it under the knuckle of his pointer. back and forth, back and forth. )
Why would I think that. ( he repeats after him. there would be amusement, if he were still on his drugs, but instead there's a eerie nothing in the cadence of his voice. dead. ) You watched a guy fuck me, while I did nothing. You killed him, I did nothing.
( the thumb stops. his hand balls instead, pissy. proust found a weak cushiony spot in andrew's stone heart that always finds a way to come back into his head, a fantasy where he and aaron are amputees, without arms or legs, stuck naked in bed and made to watch, to listen. he thinks of drake often. he wasn't scared until he'd seen aaron, and then suddenly it was the scariest day of his life, because it was aaron and it was drake, and andrew never wanted him to be a part of that side of his life. never. )
Wasn't the first time. Wasn't the last time. Didn't do anything those times either. ( which isn't exactly true, but it's what the world has made him believe. he stands, apparently done with this conversation. he moves to collect mulder off the floor. ) I can't protect you anymore, so you can go out and fuck whoever you want. See you.
cw: rape mentions, general terribleness.
( he can't make him get it -- he knows enough to know it doesn't make sense. nothing about him makes sense, and yet here he is, sitting on the couch, not making sense. no one is more frustrated with andrew minyard than andrew minyard ( although axel johnson probably racks up pretty close ), who both is total strangers with himself and intimately aware of all his shortcomings and faults.
his thumb acts up again, this time rubbing it under the knuckle of his pointer. back and forth, back and forth. )
Why would I think that. ( he repeats after him. there would be amusement, if he were still on his drugs, but instead there's a eerie nothing in the cadence of his voice. dead. ) You watched a guy fuck me, while I did nothing. You killed him, I did nothing.
( the thumb stops. his hand balls instead, pissy. proust found a weak cushiony spot in andrew's stone heart that always finds a way to come back into his head, a fantasy where he and aaron are amputees, without arms or legs, stuck naked in bed and made to watch, to listen. he thinks of drake often. he wasn't scared until he'd seen aaron, and then suddenly it was the scariest day of his life, because it was aaron and it was drake, and andrew never wanted him to be a part of that side of his life. never. )
Wasn't the first time. Wasn't the last time. Didn't do anything those times either. ( which isn't exactly true, but it's what the world has made him believe. he stands, apparently done with this conversation. he moves to collect mulder off the floor. ) I can't protect you anymore, so you can go out and fuck whoever you want. See you.