Sorrowed Souls [Andy Biersack x Reader]

Turn Back the Time

You weren't sure what you were going to do.

This restaurant's version of your favorite food looked about as appetizing as a pile of dog shit, but your stomach was empty.

You needed to eat, as you reached out, reached across the table to Andy's food. And you twirled noodles around your fork.

He just smiled, reflecting the grins all around the table, and you felt like dying a little less.

You took a bite, part of you thinking how the calories didn't count as long as the food was someone else's, and the other part of you sealed that thought away.

No one needed to hear something so stupid.

Before you could react, Andy stabbed a bite of your food, earning a laugh from your mother and a bigger smile from your dad, who insisted on sitting beside you.

You felt him peck the side of your forehead, near your temple, and you forced the smile to stay on your face.

Your parents dismissed themselves, moving to pay the bill near the front of the restaurant. This place was weird like that.

And... Now that you were alone...

"Hey, Andy?"

He looked away from the TV and straight at you, part of your mind in disbelief. One, that he was even here in the first place, sharing the food of your favorite restaurant. And also because he was yours.

The failed suicide didn't scare him—it just brought him closer.

Your eyes welled up, question suddenly forgotten as you brought your hoodie sleeve to the corner of your eye.

"Why'd you give me your number in the first place?"

"I told you..."

You blinked, sure he would disappear as you looked up from your barely eaten food. You looked to him, seeing a soft smile. A loving one.

"I like you," he continued, speaking your name in such a soft, such a careful lilith. "There's just something about you. I couldn't put my finger on it, but—"

"Okay!" Your father stepped up, hand on Andy's shoulder. "Bill's paid—let's get outta here!"

Quietly, Andy thanked him for the meal and stood, sending you a wink.

You two'd talk later. That was a promise.

——

You stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom, thinking of nothing when your phone buzzed, lightly vibrating your stomach.

Hey.

Andy.

Another text:

U up?

Stop being a fuckboy, you typed back, and a grin formed as you heard laughter from down the hall.

Can't, he sent back. Tis in my blood.

You sent him the narwhal song, hearing the first few seconds blare before silence overtook the instruments.

Thanks! he texted you. Had my diddily dang volume up!

You sent him that one Dimmadome meme, only to get back:

Swing and a miss. I was thinking of Ned Flanders.