Jenner asks her for help with gift-shopping one Friday after school, and Andy agrees.

As soon as they meet at the mall, Andy hugs him with one arm, and Jenner says, "So I know it's very hard to pick out a gift for the grumpy old man, and trust me, it's incredibly troublesome without help. I tried for a beer belly fanny pack, and he wasn't amused. Oh, and the year before that, I gave him onion goggles for when he's cooking. Isn't that useful? He threw it away—that ungrateful bastard."

Andy stares at him. "Wait, who are we shopping for?"

Jenner stares at her, too. They both stop in their tracks. "I just said that we're shopping for a grumpy old man. And an ungrateful bastard. Clearly, that's your boyfriend."

Andy gasps and grips his arm, her eyes wide. "Rhysand?"

"Do you have any other boyfriends?"

"Rhysand's birthday is coming up?" Andy squeaks, covering her mouth with her hands. "I didn't know that! What do I get him? When is it, do I have time?"

"No, you're supposed to be helping me!" Jenner whines, shaking her shoulders. "I don't want to see him throw away another of my precious gifts!"

"No, help me," Andy protests, "I'm the girlfriend!"

"And I'm his best friend! You don't even know when his actual birthday is!"

"Oh my God, you're right," Andy breathes, running a hand through her hair. "I'm awful. Oh, jeepers."

Jenner links their arms together. "Okay. Calm down. We'll help each other, alright? Let's go around and check out some stores and see if we can find anything."

Andy takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay. Let's go."

They walk for hours—and Jenner's horrible suggestions don't help—before they find the perfect gifts for Rhysand. Jenner agrees to hide them in his room when they get home until his actual birthday rolls around.

And Andy's a little sad that Rhysand never mentioned it. Maybe he just doesn't like making a big deal out of birthdays, and honestly, that's just...so Rhysand of him. Still, she feels bad. Like she should've known.

So that night, as she's working on her homework beside him on his bed, and he's lying flat on his back, laptop on his lap, she rips off his earphones and asks, "September 25?"

Rhysand raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Is your birthday on September 25?" she repeats, twisting her torso around to face him with a pout on her lips. "September 30? October 1...?"

Her boyfriend gives her a look. "Sanford."

"It's a big deal! It's your birthday!" Andy exclaims, taking the laptop away from his lap and scooting closer to him. "It's important! You know how awful I felt not knowing that it was coming up? That I don't know when it actually is?"

Rhysand shakes his head. "You shouldn't feel bad."

"But I do. And I want to know when it is."

He stares at her. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

It's not a question. Andy smiles. "No."

"Fine," he gives in, raising his palms up. "I'll tell you. As long as you promise not to get anything for me."

Andy frowns. "That's not fair. I want to give you something."

"And I'm saying you don't have to."

"What about this? I promise not to throw you a huge party. Deal?"

Rhysand doesn't look impressed. "You were planning on throwing me a party?"

Andy nods enthusiastically. "I love birthdays."

"Of course you do," he mutters, pulling her closer to him. Andy falls across his lap, legs on either side of his hips, and she reaches out to brush the strands of his messy hair away from his forehead. Rhysand sighs and says, "October 15."

Andy's smile grows wider. "Okay. Mine's on March 3, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't."

"Sure."

Rhysand narrows his eyes at her. "Don't get me anything expensive, Sanford."

"Okay," she says with a chuckle. "God, you're such an old man. Oh, you'll be six years older than me instead of five for a few months!"

"Stop joking about that, it's not funny."

"It is! You're just uptight!"

"I'm not uptight." Rhysand scoffs, and with one movement, snatches the pillow behind him and smacks Andy with it. Hard. "How's that for uptight?"

Andy groans and puts a hand to her nose. "Ow," she whimpers. "Now that's just being mean."

Rhysand sits up, wraps his arms around her body, and pulls her down with him. Andy giggles against his shoulder, and he hugs her tight.

They stay there, quiet, for a while. Until a sudden thought comes into Andy's head, and softly, she asks him, "How many birthdays have you spent with Veronica?"

"I'm not answering that." His tone is clipped and firm.

"I'm fine," Andy tells him, raising her head to meet his eyes. "It's okay. You can talk about her with me."

"I know I can. I just don't want to. And it's not just because of what happened last week—it's just...you're different from her. So stop comparing our relationship with hers."

Andy purses her lips and nods. Fiddles with her fingers. "Sorry."

Rhysand takes her hand. "I should tell you, though," he starts, interlacing their fingers together, "that she got me a gift, and I want you to tell me if that's going to bother you."

Andy pauses. "When?"

"When she was here. I told you that she dropped something off, remember? And I just forgot to bring it up again."

Andy already feels a little discouraged. It's probably something expensive. "What is it?"

Rhysand's expression doesn't change when he says, "Speakers."

Andy blinks. She was right. "Those are expensive."

"They are."

She sighs. "Okay. No, I don't mind. It's just...weird, I guess. I'll probably stare at them and wish they burn, but they're expensive. You should use them."

Rhysand's mouth twitches as he curls his arm around the nape of her neck and pulls her face down gently. His eyes drop to her mouth.

"Wait!" Andy yells, pushing her palm down on Rhysand's chest to put some distance between them.

He looks at her impatiently. It makes her smile, despite the anxiousness starting to creep up on her. "Um, can I—will you let me try?"

Rhysand's arms draw themselves down to her waist, and he closes his eyes.

Andy sucks in a deep breath, focuses on his lips, and curls her hands into fists. "Okay. Okay. Let's do this."

Rhysand's dimple shows. "You're ridiculous."

Andy scowls. "Yet you're the one dating me."

He scoffs, eyes still closed. "Wonder why."

"Don't be mean! I'm trying to ki—smooch you here."

"Are you going to take a decade or two? A century, maybe?"

Andy smacks his shoulder, pushes forward with so much force that it makes Rhysand grunt with the weight, and plants one on him.

Horrified, Andy pulls back with wide eyes and covers her mouth with her hand. "I'm so sorry, did I hurt you?"

"I barely felt it, Sanford," he says, irritated as he starts pulling on her shirt with a narrowed gaze. "One more."

"No!" Andy argues as she slaps his hand away. Her face feels hot—down to her neck. "That was embarrassing enough!"

"And stop saying smooch, we're not teenagers."

"You're not a teenager—"

Rhysand pulls her down to him. Harsher this time, and Andy squeaks, placing her hands on the mattress on each side of Rhysand's head. "Try again," he murmurs, and his stare burns through her with so much intensity that she wants to cower away from it.

But she stays still and swallows the lump in her throat. Her gaze switches from his own, down to his lips, and up to his eyes again—like she's afraid to look for too long.

Rhysand watches her quietly until Andy stutters, "C-close your eyes."

"I will when you kiss me."

Andy huffs. "I'm already nervous enough as it is. Please stop teasing me."

Rhysand's lips hide a hint of a smile as he brushes his thumb across her skin in apology. "Always so polite, sunshine," he murmurs, and then closes his eyes.

Andy shakes her hands, presses them on her cheeks, and takes a deep breath. "Okay," she whispers, putting one hand on Rhysand's shoulder. "Okay."

She goes for it a little more slowly this time, her nerves all over the place that she can hear her pulse ringing against her ears. When her nose touches Rhysand's, his lips part almost instinctively—waiting for it, for her.

So, quieting all the thoughts in her head, Andy leans in and kisses him—softly and hesitantly and quickly and she hopes, sweetly—but certainly there enough for him to feel the pressure.

Andy doesn't give him time to react before she's moving away, and Rhysand's eyes fly open. If it were possible, her face feels even hotter than before, and she can't read what's written on his beautiful irises. "Um, was that—"

Rhysand surges forward, sliding his hand down her thigh with a firm squeeze as he sits up and kisses her again, and Andy swallows her gasp of surprise. She winds her arms around his neck to keep from falling—and he doesn't let her, shifts her on his lap, pulling her thigh around his waist so that she's straddling him, and his lips are sweet and firm, pushy and obnoxious, quiet and all-consuming.

His hands travel upwards to her neck until he's cupping it, and his thumbs caress her jawline, and Andy, dizzyingly, gasps when Rhysand slips his tongue into her mouth, and she rakes her fingers down Rhysand's hair and makes a tiny noise at the back of her throat at the way he tastes—they'd only gone this far once before, and Andy forgot how it feels. How he tastes. Lost in her memory so much that she wants more of it, now.

Rhysand tilts her head further to the side. Andy breathes out shakily against his lips when Rhysand mumbles, "You're doing good."

It would've been enough to push him away in embarrassment, for him to say that out loud, but Rhysand doesn't give her a chance to before his mouth, wet and hot, presses against her own once again in a searing kiss, and Andy welcomes it.

It's fast and deep and open, and then Rhysand's lips are on her jawline, and the unfamiliar sensation shocks her that she almost jumps away at the contact. But Rhysands arms hold her in place as he moves to the space below her ear, to the delicateness of her throat, and Rhysand's opening his mouth—sucking the skin—and Andy's panting, gripping his shoulders with one hand and his hair with the other, eyes fluttering closed.

"Rhys," Andy gasps out, "Rhys."

His hand pushes aside the collar of her shirt to kiss along the wings of her collarbone, and then his other hand squeezes her waist, fingers teasing along the waistband of her shorts, dangerously near her underwear—

Andy pushes Rhysand on the shoulder with enough force to place a distance between them. She scrambles to her knees, arms coming around herself protectively, not giving herself the chance to look at the confusion in Rhysand's face. She swings her legs off the bed and stands. Sticks close to the wall, hugs herself.

"Sanford," Rhysand says. "That was an accident. I'm sorry, did I go too far?"

"No," is Andy's immediate response, and it's trembling—why is her voice trembling? She digs her nails into her palm and repeats, much clearer this time, "No, um. No, it wasn't. Um, you."

Rhysand's quiet until he asks lowly, "Then why are you afraid of me?"

Andy screwed up. She screwed up so bad. She wants to get out of this room, but she can't. Andy tries to keep her tears from falling as she meets his stare. How easily she ruined their moment. "I'm not—it was just—I don't know, I acted on reflex, I'm sorry, can we just continue?"

Rhysand's face is blank, but there's harshness in his tone when he says, "You're fucking upset and you want to continue."

"Just—pretend it didn't happen, okay, I'm fine now—"

"I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen, for fuck's sake," Rhysand snaps, drawing his eyebrows together. "You're uncomfortable, we stop. You push me away, we stop. You say stop, we stop."

"I wasn't—I wasn't uncomfortable—"

"I should've slowed down," Rhysand tells her firmly. "I'm sorry."

Andy breathes out. Frustrated, she says, "No, you see, that's what—that's what I hate! The fact that you have to slow down for me. You don't slow things down with anyone else, do you?"

Rhysand's jaw tightens as he processes her words. "I'm not in a fucking relationship with anyone else, Sanford. And how could I not, when you can't even kiss me?"

Andy stiffens.

Rhysand immediately stands and steps closer, reaching out. "That came out wrong. What I meant was that I shouldn't have gone too far—"

"No, you're right," Andy says, nodding, even as she feels the sting. "Yeah. Um. I'll try to be less anxious, I guess? And just, um, try to do it with less pep talk and all. And try not to overthink everything—sorry, it's been months since we've been together and we haven't—we've barely done anything, and—"

"We've barely done anything," Rhysand repeats slowly, cutting her off. A heartbeat passes. Then another. And another.

Then, "Do you really think I care about that?"

Andy bristles at his cold tone that she's afraid to look him in the eye. "Rhysand, you can't tell me that you haven't wished we'd done it already. Or that you wish we'd do it. That I'd get over my nerves around you all the time and I don't know, actually do something—"

"I. Haven't," Rhysand says quietly. Calmly. And it's the kind of tone Andy has never heard from him before—so full of white-hot anger and fury. His eyes look the same.

Andy digs her nails into her palms. Her mouth is dry, and there's wetness clinging to her lashes. "But we're together."

Rhysand slams his hand down on the table, the loud sound echoing across the room, that it makes Andy flinch. "Being in a relationship does not mean I'd force you to have sex with me, Sanford! Not when you're not ready, not when I'm forcing you to be ready—what the hell do you think I am?"

Andy doesn't know what to say. That's not what she meant, either, and yet, all the wrong words keep spilling out from her mouth.

Rhysand stands up. "I don't care how long it takes us to get past anything we're doing right now. Weeks, months, years—"

Andy's bottom lip trembles. "You can't be patient with me forever—"

"I can, and I will," he says, brushing past her. "And I'm not just in this for the sex, Sanford. I'm not an asshole."

When Rhysand locks himself in the studio, Andy sits down on the bed for a minute to wipe the shine in her eyes, then gathers her things and leaves.

*

During the two days that Rhysand hasn't contacted her and vice-versa, Andy cries, and the tears are silent this time.

She doesn't talk about it with her roommates and friends, but they know something's up—it's impossible not to know. Wallowing in her own misery, she thinks about what happened, what was said, what was not said, the look of hurt on his face when she implied what she implied—

Stupid self-esteem, Andy scolds herself during work, putting in more force into packaging the desserts into boxes than necessary, feeling her eyes shine once more. You ruined everything.

When the clock tells her that it's the end of her shift, she takes off her apron and grabs her bag, wanting to crawl beneath the covers with ice cream and chicken nuggets and torment keeping her company.

But there's a text from Jenner that breaks her heart when she pulls out her phone. Rhysand's been up working, he hasn't slept at all since the other day? Yesterday? I don't even know, he looks miserable. I've tried to make him sleep but he just ignores me. Did you two fight?

Even though Rhysand is a bit...scary when he's mad, and Andy doesn't want to talk to him without giving him the space he needs to cool down...it isn't healthy. And Andy knows she's in the wrong, and that she needs to set things right with him.

In the bus, she rehearses the things that she needs to say, and her pulse is drumming wildly against her chest. Is he still mad? Will he break up with her? Will he make her leave?

Jenner greets her at the door. He looks worried. "Hey. Are you okay?"

"Fine, thank you," Andy says, slipping off her shoes. "How bad?"

"Bad," Jenner responds simply, heading for the fridge. "He went out for a bit to buy cigarettes."

Andy sighs and sits down on the couch, kneading her forehead. "It was my fault."

"Look," Jenner starts, sitting next to her and handing her a can of soda. "I don't know what happened, and I don't want to know what happened, but I assume it's ugly, so just talk to him. And for God's sake, make him sleep."

Andy opens the can and takes a sip. "Yeah."

Jenner switches the television on and tries to distract Andy with small talk.

It works, for a while, but she's also waiting for the moment the front door opens. He'd see her shoes there, and—and what?

If he ignores her and goes upstairs without sparing her a glance, Andy would follow him. She'd—she'd talk to him.

When the door finally creaks open with the sound of clanking keys, Jenner's cut off in a middle of the sentence, and Andy looks down on her fingers, her nervousness thudding against her ears.

Rhysand kicks off his shoes, walks a few steps further into the house and raises his head under his hoodie, and Andy can't help but meet his gaze.

His eyes look so tired.

Andy expects him to turn around and head for the stairs, so she holds her breath and waits for that sting to come. She's happy that he at least looked at her.

But Rhysand moves closer to the living room, feet padding across the wood, and Andy watches him anxiously until he's close enough to the couch.

"Rhys," she starts, about to stand.

Rhysand doesn't let her. Just sprawls across the sofa silently, lays his head on her lap, and wraps his arms around her middle. The way he always does when he's tired and in need of sleep.

Andy's so shocked that she's frozen. Did he forget that they were—are in a fight? She looks at Jenner with wide eyes.

Jenner looks back at her and shrugs. He, then, lowers the volume of the television, grabs his soda, and leaves the room quietly.

Andy forces herself to relax and lean back against the couch, shifting Rhysand carefully so that he doesn't wake. Her fingers find themselves pulling his hood back gently, and she curls her hand into the soft strands of his hair and releases a shaky breath.

Rhysand doesn't move. He doesn't move for a long time, and Andy's okay with just watching him sleep. He needs this.

Andy watches the movie on the screen. She can't hear anything, but the subtitles help.

She doesn't realize that an hour and some has already passed, just caressing Rhysand's hair, until he stirs.

Andy freezes and pulls her hand back before he can open his eyes.

Rhysand untangles himself from Andy, that as soon as his touch is gone, she misses it. He sits up and rubs his eyes, and there's so much distance and space between them on the couch that Andy feels he's so far away.

Andy bites her lip. "Rhys."

Slowly, he turns his head to look at her.

"I'm sorry about the other day," she starts meekly, hugging her knees to her chest as she stares at the wall directly behind Rhysand's head. "I wasn't saying that you were just in this for—for that. And that you were some kind of monster who was going to force me into something I'm clearly not ready for yet. I—just—I don't know, I just don't want you to get, I don't know, I'm going to sound ridiculous and incredibly self-deprecating, I don't want you to get bored of me. Or get tired of waiting for me."

Rhysand doesn't say a word. And Andy can't read him. She plays with her fingers and nibbles on her lip until it hurts and draws blood, and the silence in the room stretches on.

"Say something," Andy murmurs in a plead, chest aching.

Rhysand pushes his tongue against his cheek and fixes her with a hard gaze. "We can't do this if you're going to let those ridiculous thoughts fill your head."

Andy inhales shakily and nods. "I'm sorry."

"And we can't do this," Rhysand continues harshly, "if you think that you need to rush yourself for me. And if you think that I care so little and have absolutely no respect for you that I'd look elsewhere when you can't give me what you think I want."

"Rhys," she whispers, tears brimming around her eyes.

"And I'll be fucking honest," Rhysand says, jaw tightening. "I do want it to happen, sure—in the far fucking future only if you want it to happen, too, and when you're absolutely sure and comfortable with me—and that's going to take time. But was it on my mind when we were kissing the other day? No, absolutely not—you just kissed me for the first time. But I did go too far, even if it was an accident, and I'm sorry for that. I'm glad you stopped me when I did."

"Okay," Andy says, nodding, eyes and cheeks wet. "Okay. I'm sorry."

Rhysand stares at her. "Wipe your tears," he murmurs.

Andy brushes the back of her hands against her eyes and sniffles.

"And come here."

Andy closes the distance between them and lunges herself at him, and Rhysand catches her with ease—and his touch and warmth almost makes her sob again. She buries her face into his shoulder and squeezes him tightly, pressing their bodies together. "You still like me, right?"

"Idiot," Rhysand rasps, flicking her forehead.

Andy tightens her hold on him. "Jenner said you haven't been sleeping."

"Because I haven't," he murmurs into her hair, stroking her back gently. "Sunshine. Please. We go at your pace, okay? I don't care if we're taking things slow. I don't care how fucking slow that is. What I want is for you to be sure when we do things, tell me when you're not comfortable, and be honest with me."

Andy nods furiously, snaking her fingers around the nape of his neck. "Okay. I promise."

Rhysand leans his head back to look at her, and now—now she can see the sincerity in those dark eyes. The absolute care and genuinity and exhaustion. "I was so out of my mind that when I saw you here, I just went straight to you."

"I told myself you forgot that we were in a fight."

"Thought I was hallucinating, actually."

"Rhysand, that isn't healthy," Andy scolds him, frowning. "Even if we are fighting, please get some rest. You look so tired."

"I am tired."

"And you bought another pack of cigarettes?"

Rhysand raises one eyebrow. "We were fighting."

Andy sighs. "Take care of yourself more. Please?"

Rhysand cups her cheek and traces his finger down her jawline. The touch sends shivers down her spin. "See, that's what I'm in this for, Sanford," he whispers. "You are what I'm in this for—I'm not sticking around just for the physical stuff. Get that through your head."

She grabs his hand and interlaces their fingers together, then turns it around to press a sweet kiss on the inside of his wrist. "Okay."

"I need a nap."

Andy hugs him one more time and slides off his lap. She takes his hand and leads him up the stairs.

Cuddled against each other, their heartbeats are steady, quiet, and at home.