im sorry ;-;

*

How does it go wrong?

Rhysand is reaching his deadline. He's stressed, and it shows.

Andy and Jenner cook dinner together one night, the music and the laughter loud in the kitchen. When Rhysand comes home, he kisses Andy's cheek, tells her he's not hungry and that he already ate, and hurries up his studio.

Andy doesn't think much of it. Not when he doesn't come to bed at a reasonable time, only scooping her up in his arms for an hour, two hours of sleep. Not when he barely replies to messages or answers her calls, and not when he spends more time at Sterling than he does at home.

Andy barely sees him. But it's fine, he's doing his best, and it's work—even though Rhysand shrugs her off when she gives him coffee to sneak a quick kiss and a hug, even though Rhysand doesn't listen when she's telling him about a kid who spilled sauce all over her shirt, even though he doesn't have time. It's work.

She and Jenner were playing a video game downstairs, yelling and shouting and laughing, when Rhysand comes down from the staircase, eyebrows furrowed. "Sanford, were you in my studio today?"

Andy pauses the game. She looks up at him and smiles. "Yeah, I cleaned it up a bit for you. It was all messy and I figured you'd need the clean space to work better—"

"Don't touch my shit," he says with a frustrated sigh, eyebrows furrowing together. "I thought I lost my flash drive when I couldn't find it. Don't touch my desk."

Andy blinks and gives him a slow nod. "Okay, I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He's already turning around to go back in the studio.

Jenner slaps a hand on Andy's shoulder. "Don't take it personally, sweet. He's just stressed."

Andy's good mood is gone. She leans back against the sofa with a pout. "Do you want to bake with me? I'm sick of this game."

Her friend throws the controller on the sofa and stands, giving her a boyish grin. "As long as we make an extra box just for myself."

Andy's lips curl up in a small smile. "Deal."

So they're fine. Rhysand is just stressed.

Stressed enough to forget he's supposed to pick her up today so they can both take a break from work—Rhysand promised.

"I'm sorry, sunshine," he murmurs on the other line, and Andy knows, from his distracted tone, that he's working right now. Even still. "We're not yet done."

Andy sighs and bites her lip. "That's—this isn't healthy, Rhys."

"I know, I just need to—we're close to the deadline," he says, frustrated. "There's still a lot of shit to do and revise. I'll make it up to you after, I promise."

Andy starts walking to the bus station, hugging herself with her free arm. "Okay," she whispers, nodding. "Have you at least eaten? I can drop by with food if you want."

"Ate already," he rushes to answer. "Baby, I'm sorry, I have to get going. I'll text when I'm on the way home, okay? Love you."

Andy barely has time to reply before he hangs up on her. "I love you too," she mutters, putting her phone down.

But Rhysand picks her up the following day from the school, in his shirt and jacket and jeans and Andy jumps in his arms as soon as she sees him.

"Finally found time today," he murmurs, kissing her temple. "Have dinner with me?"

"Yes please," she answers with a bright grin, kissing his lips, and Andy can feel his smile against her mouth.

So how does it go wrong?

Piper sends her a text, asking if she's free to come to the beach on the weekend until Tuesday. Excited, Andy asked Mrs. Florence if she can miss work on Monday—to which the secretary answers that yes, she's allowed to have leaves during her stay as a volunteer, and Monday would work if she wanted.

And Rhysand was okay with it. She wasn't really asking for permission—she doesn't need to. She was just letting him know. And Rhysand was okay with it—with him being so busy with work, he said that it's good for her to spend time with her friends.

He was okay with it until he sat on her bed and asked, "Who else is going?"

Andy zips up her luggage and looks at her checklist. "Sam and Bash."

Rhysand is quiet.

"Sunblock, shades, towels," Andy mutters, checking them off. "Okay, I think that was the last of it."

Rhysand is looking at her. Tongue pushed against his cheek. "Is this another double date?"

Andy blinks at him, lowering her notepad. "Huh?"

He doesn't answer, only raises his eyebrow.

Andy scoffs. "No, of course not. It's a get-together as friends, Rhys, we talked about this."

"I thought there were going to be other people," he says slowly, as if carefully choosing his words, not wanting to start a fight. "You didn't say it was going to just be the four of you."

Andy leans against her desk. "Does it matter?"

Rhysand's jaw tightens. "Piper and Sam are together."

She bites her lip. "If you don't want me to go," she began in a small voice, looking at her feet, "then I won't. If it bothers you too much."

He stares at her. "I..." He takes a deep breath, drawing his eyebrows together. "I trust you," he finally says quietly, after a few beats of silence, and Andy's heart soars. "And I'm not going to tell you not to go, you've obviously been excited for this."

Andy brightens and leaps on her bed to hug him. Rhysand catches her with a grunt, lying down against the pillows. Andy laughs and presses kisses all over his face. "Thank you for trusting me," she whispers against his lips, kissing him again. "Nothing's going to happen. Bash is my friend."

So where does it start to go wrong?

Was it when Bash accidentally fell asleep on her shoulder during the drive and Andy didn't have the heart to push him off? Was it when Piper snapped pictures of the four of them, and Bash had his arm around her waist and Andy was too startled to feel it? Was it when they were swimming in the ocean, and they were playing around, and Bash chased Andy and lifted her suddenly on his shoulder?

Or was it when Bash walked her to her room and tried to kiss her?

Or was it when Bash confessed he still liked her, and told her he'd wait?

Andy sits on her bed. Without thinking, she calls Rhysand.

"I'm so tired," he says as a greeting, and Andy hugs herself at the sound of his voice, heart in her throat. "I miss you, come home."

"How's the album?" Andy asks quietly.

"Getting there," he answers with a groan. "How are you, sunshine? Having fun?"

Andy shuts her eyes and blurts out, "Bash tried to kiss me."

Rhysand pauses. But only for a moment. "And?" he asks, suddenly quiet and cold, and Andy flinches at his tone.

"And I pushed him away. Nothing happened."

"And?"

Andy doesn't want to keep anything from Rhysand. "And he said he still likes me and that he'd wait for me," she continues, swallowing the lump in her throat. "But I told him not to because I have you. And he said that it was his choice to make."

Rhysand is quiet once again.

Andy bites her lip and inhales shakily. "Rhys, nothing happened. It's fine. I wanted to tell you because we're supposed to be honest with each other, right?"

"You said he's a friend."

Andy bristles. Her stomach is in knots, her thoughts are all over the place. "He was—is. I don't know. I didn't think he'd still have these feelings."

"Was this the only time?" he asks quietly. "What else did he do? What else did you let happen?"

"I didn't let anything happen," Andy argues, standing up to pace her room. "Do you think I came here knowing he was going to, I don't know, make a move on me?"

"Then come home."

Andy's lips part in surprise. "What?"

"Come home, I don't want him around you anymore," he snaps, and Andy flinches again—the coldness and the rage in his voice has her clutching her shirt until her knuckles are white. "From the beginning, I knew this was going to happen. I fucking knew and I ignored it because you said it's fucking nothing—"

"Rhysand, how was I supposed to know he still had feelings for me?" Andy shouts, the frustration starting to claw up her chest. "How was I supposed to know he was going to try to kiss me?"

"He didn't flirt with you before that?" Rhysand shouts back, and Andy winces. "He didn't do anything before the fucking kiss?"

Andy thinks of all the times he did anything before he tried to kiss her. She swallows and answers honestly, "I didn't think it was flirting. To me, it was more of being friendly and affectionate—"

"Friendly?" Rhysand mocks. "Affectionate?"

"Rhysand—"

"You think a friend would ask you to come to the fucking beach with two of his friends, who are fucking together?"

"Why are you talking like it's my fault?" Andy yells, clutching her shirt, balling the fabric up in a fist. "I just wanted to spend time with my friends at the beach, why are you blaming me? Why is it my fault Bash tried to kiss me, why is it my fault he still likes me?"

"I'm saying maybe you knew and ignored it because you like his attention."

Andy is...Andy is frozen. She doesn't know what to say.

"I can't drive over," Rhysand says with a heavy breath, quieter now, but still so, so cold. "I have work."

"I'm not asking you to drive over," Andy mumbles. Her cheeks are wet. "We're going back Tuesday. As planned."

Rhysand's teeth are gritted when he says, "Fine." And then he hangs up, and Andy sits on the floor until her bones are cold and numb.

How does it go wrong?

Rhysand throws her phone on the bed. "That wasn't flirting?"

Andy doesn't understand. "Even if it were, I wouldn't have known," she whispers, looking up at him with wet lashes.

He swiped through their pictures.

Rhysand's jaw is tight. Andy can't see beyond the anger and frustration in his eyes, and it's hurting her. "He was touching you in all of them. How could you not know?"

"So because I'm fucking dense, I like his attention?" she asks, raising her voice. "I'm asking for it? I like the fact that he still likes me even when it makes us fight like this? You're being unreasonable!"

"Then fuck me for being unreasonable," Rhysand bites back, grabbing his jacket. "I don't have time for this, I have meetings all fucking day."

"Go, then."

Rhysand does. Slams the door.

Andy's knees give out. She sits against the bed and cries on her knees.

Jenner doesn't go inside. She doesn't want him to, either.

Andy stays in her dorm. Goes through and from the school and Baked! with no word from her boyfriend.

But she tries. One day, she tries.

It's late, and Rhysand is asleep on his desk in the studio. He must be so exhausted.

He's almost done with the album, and he's been working nonstop to reach his deadline.

She kneels on his level, memorizing his features, how his face looks like when he's not angry. Her finger reaches out to smooth the crease between his eyebrows, but she withdraws it at the last second, just before she grazes his skin. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Andy gently shakes him. "Rhysand," she murmurs, choking on his name, not having said it for a week now, "Rhys, sleep on your bed, come on."

He yanks away his arm so suddenly that it almost makes Andy lose her balance. 

Andy bites her lip and stands. She fiddles with her fingers and softly says, "You haven't been sleeping."

Rhysand ignores her.

"Or eating," she continues, feeling like she's talking to a wall. "I—I know you're stressed. Just, please, get some sleep. It's three in the morning."

"Jesus." He turns to look at her. Andy's heart breaks at the look in his eyes. "Then why are you here?"

Andy stares at him. She picks her nails so hard she feels like she's going to tear one of them out of her finger. She takes a deep breath and whispers, "Because I was worried—"

"I'm working, leave me alone," Rhysand says, standing up. He grabs his flash drive from the table. Brushes past her. "Fuck, just leave me alone." He leaves his studio. Slams the door again.

Andy does as he asked.

They'll work things out. They always do.

*

A week and a few days later, sitting in her cubicle in the teacher's lounge, Andy gets the text.

The album's done.

She's happy for him. She types her reply. I'm happy for you :) You can get some rest now

She sets it aside. Goes back to checking second graders' quizzes.

Her phone buzzes again. I'm sorry. I was stressed. I was fed up with Bash.

Andy types her reply. I'm glad it's done :)

She sets it aside.

Her phone buzzes again. Are you done with me?

Andy types her reply. Her keypad is wet. Kind of busy rn, I have class in a few minutes. Get some rest, you deserve it

Andy goes back to checking the second graders' quizzes. Stands up when Mia calls her—they have class in a few minutes.

Andy stays in the lounge long after class is dismissed to catch up on work. At half past seven, her stomach starts rumbling, and she decides it's time to head back to her dorm and grab something to eat on the way. A walk will do her good, too.

But the Jeep is waiting outside when she steps out. Rhysand stands from leaning against it, takes out his cigarette and stubs it under his shoe.

Andy doesn't know what to say to him. Protectively, she hugs her books to her chest and walks up to him, painfully mustering everything she has for a smile. "Hey, you didn't say you were here."

Rhysand looks wrecked. He takes a deep breath. "You said you were busy," he rasps, and Andy can't remember the last time his voice wasn't angry. It takes her by surprise—his voice. "So I waited."

Andy nods. She's still smiling. "Thanks. I'm actually heading home now, gonna get dinner on the way."

He pauses for a few moments. The silence between them is loud. "Home?" he asks quietly. "Your dorm?"

"I don't live anywhere else, Rhysand," she teases. Her heart feels numb. "And congratulations on the album. I know you did well."\

Rhysand's eyebrows furrow. His jaw clenches tight as he stares at her. "Sunshine, I—can you talk to me?"

She falters at her name. Andy's jaw hurts from fucking smiling. "I'm talking to you right now."

"This is fucking—" he breathes out, hanging his head. Andy doesn't know if it's the light, but his eyes are glassy. "Please," he begs, shutting them, and his voice is pained. "Please, will you let me apologize?"

"You can't come to me only when it's convenient for you," Andy says, keeping her composure. She had two weeks to fucking get it together. "It's not fair, Rhysand."

"Sunshine."

"It's not fair," Andy repeats, bottom lip trembling, and there's water pooling in her eyes, and no—she promised herself she was not going to cry over this anymore. She had two fucking weeks to cry—"It's not fair, why do you do this to me?"

Her voice breaks. Two weeks wasn't enough.

Rhysand, for the first time, looks like he doesn't know what to do. "I'll take you to eat," he whispers, swallowing hard, eyes pleading. "Or I'll drive you to your dorm."

Andy lets him have this. Silently, she wipes the few tears that escaped her eyes with the back of her hand, and she steps around him to open the passenger door. "I need to eat," she says quietly, hanging her head.

Rhysand closes the door gently and rounds the car to get settled in the driver's seat. Silently, he backs up the curb and drives onto the main road, two hands on the wheel.

Andy's hands feel empty. She's so used to holding one of Rhysand's, the one with the sun, inside the Jeep.

Rhysand orders for them both. Andy keeps her eyes on the table, finding a spot with a scratch mark so interesting, fingers pulling the edge of the seat under her thighs.

She doesn't want to talk, and he doesn't force her to. If she does, she'll tell him she loves him, she'll tell him she's proud of him, she'll tell him she's sorry and that she forgives him.

And she is. She's sorry about Bash—that she was dense enough or soft-hearted enough not to recognize the flirting, that she was apparently encouraging him with her actions, that she kept talking to him and carried on being friends with him even when Rhysand made it clear he wasn't comfortable with it.

But she didn't ask for his attention. She never asks or wishes for something that would make her and Rhysand fight like this.

She only wants Rhysand. She'll only ever want Rhysand—when will he get it?

He pushes her plate towards her. Hands her the salt.

"Thank you," Andy murmurs under her breath, digging in with her head bowed.

When they're done, Rhysand asks quietly, "You wanna head to your dorm?"

Andy knows what he's really asking. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

Rhysand understands. With a sigh of relief, he opens the passenger door. "Okay."

He showers in Jenner's room. Andy brushes her teeth alone.

On his bed, the space between them seems like miles—stretching far and far away, like galaxies apart. Andy has never slept in this bed without Rhysand's arms.

She keeps turning and tossing around, finding a comfortable position to sleep in.

But every time she closes her eyes, her body feels something wrong. Frustrated, she huffs in annoyance and turns around, facing Rhysand.

He looks at her. "You okay?" he asks.

"Fine," Andy says, turning around again.

She closes her eyes again, hugging the bear to her chest.

It feels wrong.

Rhysand must've sensed her frustration. He starts moving closer.

"Don't," Andy says, louder than she intended, a little frightened. Rhysand stops moving. "Don't, I'm mad at you," she mutters, clutching the covers.

Rhysand heaves a sigh and turns around.

Andy wants to tear his hair out. How come he can sleep so calmly while Andy's here, feeling like she's laying on sand?

Her body feels like it belongs to another head. Andy sighs and gives up.

She faces Rhysand, staring at the broadness of his shoulders and back, jaw clenching. With a swallow of the lump in her throat, she tosses the bear aside, shuffles to his side of the bed, and wraps her arms around him.

Rhysand stiffens.

"I'm still mad at you," Andy mutters against his back, tightening her hold on him. Andy's chest feels lighter. She feels...better.

Rhysand shifts, turning Andy around so she's wrapped in his arms. She almost chokes on her gasp when she feels his breath on the back of her neck. "You like being the little spoon," he murmurs in her ear.

Finally, she feels right. "We're going to talk tomorrow," she whispers, her hand lowering to grasp Rhysand's fingers. Rhysand curls them around her own, squeezing tight. "And you're going to spend the weekend with me. No work."

Softly, he presses his lips to her nape, and Andy almost crumbles. Shivers in his arms. "Okay," he whispers back. Then, heartbreakingly quiet and sincere and nervous, he asks, "You still love me?"

Andy shuts her eyes at the sudden pain in her chest. She inhales shakily and nods. "I do."

Rhysand squeezes her fingers again. Moves closer—no spaces.

The breath he takes is as shaky, as staggering as the one Andy took.

And then it slows.

*

When they make up and talk, Rhysand lets her listen.

The words are beautiful. They feel beautiful, sound beautiful.

Celine's voice is that of a songbird's—but as crazy as it is, Andy can hear Rhysand behind the music.

And she has tears in her eyes when she's done with each track.

Rhysand kisses them away. "Found sense in love songs again," he murmurs, brushing her cheeks with his thumbs. "You made them make sense, sunshine."

Andy doesn't know what to say. But she doesn't need to—Rhysand understands.