The Andrew Complex

TAC: 3

I definitely recommend re-reading TAC: 1&2 bc i changed the amount of times Andrew has gotten stabbed/shot at/mortally injured LOL. you don't have to, but i basically took out the parts where he got shot at and he has only gotten shot at. I also added a Ledrew (???) moment after the party so ;))) But anyways, thanks for the votes, reads and comments! You guys are gr9!!

PS BANNER ON THE SIDE WAS MADE BY reflections12!! thanks!

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The next morning, Andrew pads out of the guest room, which is across from my room, at the exact same time as me. To say that I was just embarrassed is an understatement. My hair was tangled and fell to my back and I could bet my entire house that it was also extremely frizzy. I was wearing a ratty t-shirt and shorts and, on my feet, faded Hello Kitty slippers. And Andrew? He was tall enough that he was able to touch the top of the door if he wanted, but short enough that he didn't hit his head on the way out. And he was shirtless. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying my hardest not to squeal. Instead, I said the one thing that I didn't ever think I'd say. "Put a shirt on." I say awkwardly, trying to look everywhere but his stupid abs. He chuckles, a low, husky sound that caused shivers to run through my small frame. "Don't pretend that you don't like the way I look!" He yells after me, and I could tell that he was grinning, like usual. "I don't!" I yelled back, lying feebly.

"So what's for breakfast?" He asks casually. I'm digging through my fridge and sighing, "Well, seeing as I only have Cap N' Crunch, Cocoa Puffs and milk, looks like we're having a cold breakfast this morning." I pass him a bowl and the cereal boxes and he sits down - still shirtless, by the way - and begins to make his breakfast. He sits back, "Where are your parents?" He asks casually, picking up his spoon and stirring his cereal around. I shrug, "I don't know. Mumbai, by now, I think." He looks up at me, eyebrows raised. "Why are they in Mumbai?" "They're on a cruise." "So they just leave you alone? At home?" I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. "Enough about my parents; what about yours?" A shadow crosses onto Andrew's face suddenly and looks down at his bowl before picking up his spoon. "Well, my parents are dead." My spoon drops into my bowl with a clatter as I awkwardly laugh and Andrew looks up, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't want any sympathy."

"Just - you said it so..."

"Bluntly? Casually? Carelessly? Heartlessly?"

I nod, "If my parents died..."

"You'd be a sobbing mess. Who's to say that I wasn't?"

I smirk at the thought of Andrew crying because the notion of someone his size crying was actually hilarious to me. "Well, did you?"

"Do I look like the kind of person to cry?"

I laugh, "That's a good point. So who do you live with now?"

"I live alone." "What?" I ask, incredulous. "You live alone? In the Heights?" Andrew continues eating but shrugs, as if living in the Heights alone was an everyday thing.

"You don't just live in the Heights - and you sure as hell don't live in the Heights alone!" I say, practically shrieking. "Why do you care?" "Well -" But I couldn't explain why I cared. It definitely wasn't because he was flaming, smoking, burning hot and it wasn't because he turned out to be a good guy after all. "Mother Theresa." I say quietly, trying to look everywhere but his angelic face. "Mother Theresa?" He repeats, confused. "Yes. When I was little, my teacher started calling me Mother Theresa because I helped everyone. Someone told me that I gave some girl my lunch because she was hungry and her mom didn't pack any for her. My mom yells at me sometimes because I give too much. At least that's what she says. She doesn't understand, though. I have to help. It's an obligation to myself. So, tell me. How are you keeping yourself safe in the Heights?" "My father had a good reputation. People know me and they stay away. It's nothing crazy." "Hmm." I say, dropping the subject. No one in the Heights just has a 'good reputation' - everyone there has that kind of 'kill, steal, lie or be killed, stolen from or lied to' mentality. There was no way that Andrew was getting by just because his father had a 'good reputation'. But I let it drop because along with my Mother Theresa complex, I also had killer instincts and I could tell that Andrew didn't want to talk about his living arrangements.