warning: sexual assault! please skip ahead if you're not comfortable!

*

Sabina's bed—the bed that used to be hers—hasn't been occupied, and MJ and Andy celebrate.

"Good to know my spirit won't leave anytime soon," Sabina jokes when the two of them video call her.

"Your spirit resides in the bottles of whiskey you left here," MJ counters with a wide smile. She throws an arm over Andy's shoulder. "We'll keep them safe, promise."

MJ is a senior now. Andy is a junior. When she finished her last day at the school, the teachers and Mrs. Florence threw her a nice little party with food and cake and flowers and a plaque that read Best Volunteer!. To no one's surprise, she cried, and then she took lots of pictures with the staff and cleared out her cubicle, and promised to make a visit once in a while and return next year.

Rhysand picked her up, biting his lip to keep from laughing at her—she looked like a sobbing mess, and she was holding flowers and the plaque and cards from the kids. He kissed her head with a grin and took her out to eat dinner and ice cream afterwards.

Andy wants to do well in her third year. With her work experience, she's confident and eager to learn throughout the semester. When she graduates, she wants to be a teacher. Nothing else.

But as soon as she leaves her second class of the day, Bash catches her.

"Andy." He grips her wrist, panting. Smiling. "Hey, I haven't heard from you since the beach. You...weren't answering me."

She takes a deep breath and pulls her arm away, hugging her books to her chest. "Bash," she starts quietly, biting her lip. She thinks about her talk with Rhysand, what she promised she'd do. "I don't want to lose our friendship."

He stares at her, putting his hand down. His chest heaves with heavy exhales as he swallows. "Is this about what I said? About the kiss?"

"If you want to keep being friends," Andy says, stepping back, "you have to stop. I don't like you, I'm sorry. I don't see you as anything more than a friend. If you make a move on me one more time, I'll stop talking to you."

Bash's jaw tightens. His eyebrows furrow together. "I told you I'd wait."

"And I just said that I don't want you to," Andy tells him, frowning. She's starting to lose patience. "Bash, please. You have to respect me and my decisions, you have to respect that I'm in a relationship and I'm happy in that relationship."

Her friend swallows hard. Steps back. "Okay." He exhales heavily and raises his palms. "Okay, I got it. Friends, nothing more. I'd hate for us to stop talking, Andy. You're friends with Piper and Sam, too."

Andy's relieved. She nods. "Okay. Good. I'll see you later, then."

He tries for a smile and waves. "Alright, see you."

It's a good start to the semester. She'll do well.

*

So Andy and Rhysand work things out. Always.

Even on his birthday, when Rhysand scared her.

They spend the day with popcorn and drinks, napping in bed, lazy kisses and soft touches. Then Andy goes back to her dorm to change, even when Rhysand pulls her arm the moment she gets out of bed to leave, whining and asking her to stay, that she doesn't need to shower and put on a nice outfit. Andy pushes him on the bed, kisses him hard, asks him to be patient for their celebration of his 26th.

They spend the night under the stars, with a blanket on the grass, large enough to fit the two of them, and a basket full of food she cooked and baked, filled with Rhysand's favorites. He's wearing the watch she got for him last year.

This year, Rhysand is nervous. "If you got me something really fuckin' expensive, I will not talk to you," he warns her during the drive home, one hand on the wheel, the other intertwined with her fingers.

"You'll love it," Andy singsongs, grinning widely. She already asked Jenner to put the box in his studio as soon as Rhysand left the house.

"Fuck, it's something expensive." He groans, a sour expression crossing his face. "Do I have to be this nervous every year I get older? Baby, I'm going to age faster if you keep buying me shit."

"Don't be such a Debbie Downer," Andy whines, pouting. "You haven't even seen it yet. And I'm excited."

But when Rhysand sees it, sitting in his studio, his jaw drops, lips parting in surprise, whirling around to stare at Andy. "You got me studio monitors."

"Only the best for an amazing music producer," she says, smiling. "What do you think? You told me one time you wanted that specific model, so I got it."

"I didn't say that so you can buy it with your money," Rhysand states flatly, still dumbfounded.

Andy feels an argument starting to brew. She pushes her index finger to her boyfriend's lips before he can say another word. "Say 'thank you, sunshine'. No arguments. Please?"

"Jesus." He shakes his head, staring at the speakers. "This is too much," he breathes, eyebrows drawing together.

Andy bites her lip and steps back. "You...don't like it?"

"Don't do that shit with me, you know I love it." He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "You've got to stop getting me what I can afford, sunshine. This is insane. More insane than the fuckin' headphones."

She deflates. Hugging herself, she mutters, "I know you can afford it. I just...it's a gift, Rhys. It's a gift from me to you. Because I love you and I want you to have it. And it's your birthday." Her voice cracks at the last word.

"Fuck. Fuck, okay. C'mere." Rhysand pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her, tight enough that she can hear his heartbeat. "You're insane."

"But?" Andy whispers, burying her head on his chest.

"But," he says, sighing, smoothing his hand down her hair and her back. "But thank you. I love it. I love you, thank you."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Andy answers brightly, feeling her heart soar. She pulls back a bit to kiss him sweetly. "Want your other present before we leave for your birthday with your Sterling friends?"

He scrunches his nose. Andy giggles. "Stop calling them my Sterling friends. And what other gift?" He looks incredulous. Exasperated. "Sunshine, please tell me you don't—"

"Relax," she whispers, curling her hands around his neck, brushing his throat with her thumbs. She walks him back to the sofa, lets him spread his legs and straddles him, grazes his lips with hers. "Want you," she says against his mouth, sliding her hands under his shirt.

Rhysand's eyes twinkle as he leans back, strokes his hands on her bare thighs. "Is this a gift for me or you?"

Andy smiles. "Both." She runs her finger across the line on his back.

"Fucking—" Rhysand inhales sharply and pushes her roughly on her knees. "Whenever you touch that fucking line, I swear—"

Andy knows. That's why she does it.

She unbuckles his belt. Kisses him again. "Want you always," Andy breathes.

"I'm yours, baby," Rhysand says, chokes on a moan when Andy opens her mouth. Threads his fingers in her hair. "Always yours."

When they leave for Rhysand's party with his co-workers and friends, Rhysand opens the door for her and smacks her butt when she steps up the Jeep. "You look like a sin in red, sunshine."

It's an A-line dress with a bustier-inspired bodice and dual spaghetti straps, and a strappy waist that shows bits of her skin in a rich, wine red color. The back is square and low, with a horsehair-trimmed and flared skirt ending above her thighs. It's definitely flashier and shows more skin than she's used to, but Andy feels beautiful in it. Sexy. It doesn't help that Rhysand can't take his eyes or his hands off her.

She grins at him. "You like the dress?"

Rhysand leans in and toys with the strap on her shoulder with his finger. He hums in response, eyes darkening.

"Baby!" Andy laughs, pushing him away. "Your mind's going somewhere else. You have to drive."

He leans in further to whisper in her ear, and Andy chokes at his filthy words, face flaming.

Rhysand laughs and shuts the door. On the drive over, Andy covers her face with one hand. Rhysand is smiling so wide.

He keeps his hand on the smoothness of her back as they walk inside the crowded club—Rhysand's co-workers insisted on drinks and dancing for his celebration. Andy feels the heat and warmth of his body, and she presses closer to him, scowling at the many girls who turn their heads to look at him appreciatively as they pass.

"Happy birthday, my dude!" Sage yells over the music, already holding two glasses. "Andy, you look gorgeous as always."

"Thank you, Sage." Andy grins and takes the glass offered to her. "It's nice to see you again."

The rest of Rhysand's friends crowd them against the table, giving their greetings and hugs. Celine, Embry, Braeden and Tristan are present, but Derek is nowhere to be found.

Rhysand asks about this, stroking Andy's skin on her waist. Tristan tells them he'll be late, but he'll be here.

Rhysand buys the table a round of shots and a pitcher, leaning back against the sofa with his legs spread. Andy catches up with Braeden and congratulates Celine on the album.

"Rhys works magic," the artist says fondly, eyes shining. "The album is so great. Couldn't have done it without him."

Andy feels so proud. That's her man!

"You wanna dance, Andy?" Braeden asks loudly, already pulling her arm. "Come on!"

Andy can feel Rhysand's eyes follow her as she lets herself be dragged to the dance floor.

And maybe she doesn't know what she's doing, but she lets her body sway to the music anyway. As long as Rhysand is watching, she doesn't care.

She and Braeden hold each other's hands, swaying their hips, laughing and twirling each other around. It gets so crowded Andy bumps into her friend, and shoulders and legs move past her and brush her skin.

But it's different when she feels a hand on her butt, slipping under her skirt and squeezing her through her underwear.

She twirls around, expecting to find Rhysand, expecting to meet her boyfriend's dark and loving eyes, expecting the coldness of his touch from the drink he was just holding a few minutes ago.

But it's not Rhysand. The man smiles, and Andy jerks away, almost knocking Braeden down. She can still feel his rough fingers, his disgusting palm on her skin, and Andy feels like she's about to throw up—

Rhysand is next to her in a second. She didn't even see him stand. "Sunshine."

Andy looks up, struggling to breathe, meeting his eyes.

He's mad. Furious. Concerned, worried, vicious. All at once.

He stretches his hand out, and slowly, Andy wraps her fingers around his palm. Safe. Warm. She's pulled close to his side.

"He touched you?" he asks quietly.

Andy nods. Inhales shakily. Can't bear to look at the man.

"Sorry, just looked like a pretty little thing in that dress," the man says with a laugh. A laugh.

Andy grips Rhysand's arm.

Her small frame is completely shielded by his body, and he's incredibly tense and frigid. He doesn't say anything in response, but he raises his chin. Bares his throat out.

The man laughs again. "She yours?"

Andy can't hear anything else except his voice. She digs her nails into Rhysand's skin, tearing his flesh out, feeling dirty and disgusting in her dress.

Walk away, she wants to say. Walk away, she wants to tell the man.

He doesn't. "Well, if she wasn't dressed like a whore, maybe I—"

Andy flinches.

One second, Andy's holding his arm, and the next, he's gone, and he's holding the man by his neck, fingers tight, like he's cutting off his air flow, and he's slamming the man onto the wall with a loud thud.

The people around them gasp in shock as they stare, but they don't try to do anything to stop it. The man's eyes are wide as he struggles against Rhysand's hold, and his face is red.

"Finish the sentence," Rhysand says quietly.

The man claws at Rhysand's hands. "P-please," he chokes out.

"Finish the fucking sentence," Rhysand says again, in that same quiet tone.

It's...scary. Andy curls her hands into fists and steps back.

The man's legs kick the air. "N-no, no, no," he says in between pants, gasping for air. "I'm sorry, please—"

"Rhys," Andy says softly. "That's enough."

Rhysand doesn't look at her. He keeps his grip around the man's neck. Tightens it, even.

Andy swallows. She's scared. "Rhysand."

Finally. Finally, he pulls his arm back.

The man drops to the ground and heaves a huge breath.

Rhysand kicks him. "Try to fucking touch her again and see what happens."

They don't stay. They cut the night short, his co-workers and friends are stunned, but by the look in their eyes and faces, they think it's justified. They're worried about Andy, and she tries for a smile and tells them she's okay.

Braeden hugs her. "Call me in the morning," she says, and Andy nods.

In the Jeep, they're quiet. Andy still feels the man's hand on her bottom. "You scared me," she admits quietly, clutching the fabric of her dress, wanting to take it off already. Her eyes are teary, and she feels dirty. Disgusting. "Rhys, you—you looked like you wanted to kill him."

"I did," Rhysand says.

Andy swallows at his honesty.

It's true—she was scared. She was scared, but she was safe. Rhysand would never hurt her.

Would only hurt those who did.

"I'm sorry I ruined your night with your friends," she rasps, shutting her eyes. "I didn't—didn't mean to—"

"Don't you fucking apologize," Rhysand starts, jaw clenching. He tightens his hands on the steering wheel. "You don't fucking apologize."

Andy nods and keeps quiet.

She feels dirty.

In his room, Rhysand puts his hands on her shoulders. Gentle. Soft. Nothing like the hands that almost crushed a man's neck.

He lowers her zipper. Brushes her skin with his fingers, lowering the straps. Andy steps out of it, hugging herself.

"Shower?" Rhysand murmurs.

Andy nods. "Please."

He turns on the water. Removes her makeup first. Unclasps her bra, helps her step out of her underwear.

When he turns to leave, Andy grabs his wrist.

"Clean me?" she asks in a small voice, bottom lip quivering with held-back sobs. "Please."

Rhysand stands under the water in his clothes. Andy faces the other way, hugging herself.

He washes her hair first. Gentle and soothing as his fingers run through her strands and scalp.

Then he scrubs her skin with soap. Gentle and soothing, too, as his hands roam over her naked body. Making her clean.

She whimpers when he gets to her lower back.

"Baby," he whispers brokenly. "It's me."

Andy nods, shutting her eyes. She can't tell which are her tears and which is the water. "It's you," she repeats, taking a deep breath. Her arm wraps around her torso, finding Rhysand's hand.

He squeezes her fingers. "I'm right here, sunshine."

He scrubs lower. Andy tightens her grip on his fingers when he scrubs over the skin where the man touched her.

"Okay?" he asks, kissing her wet knuckles.

Andy nods, taking another deep breath. "Rinse me, please."

"I got you, baby." He does as she asks. Gentle and soothing. "I got you, love."

Andy hunches over herself, bends down. Cries.

Rhysand stays under the water with her until her tears have run out.

*

Andy can't remember the last time she wore jeans.

But wearing them now, they feel uncomfortable, like they're sticking to her legs.

She shifts on her seat and tries to focus on the conversation. Adrian has his arm around MJ, and their fingers are intertwined over her shoulder. The ginger's smile is wide, contagious, and when she looks at the man next to her, there are no longer tears or sadness or fear. Her eyes are wide, and longing, and there are stars burning in them.

Andy thinks that's what she looks like when she looks at Rhysand.

Sabina, beside her, drops her pizza slice and dusts off her hands. "You do know you aren't off the hook yet, right?"

Adrian grins. "Wouldn't expect anything less."

"Good. Andy, you have any questions for him?"

Sabina did most of the interrogation. Turns out, Adrian is a guy who pours his milk first before his cereal. She gives him a small smile and says, "Just don't hurt MJ again and we're good."

Adrian's smile softens. His fingers tighten on MJ's. "I don't want to hurt her again, either."

The ginger leans over to kiss his cheek. "Okay!" she laughs, the sound hearty and warm, "can we let Adrian eat now? He paid for this, you know."

Andy tries to listen and talk, to laugh with her friends, but her fingers keep clawing at the fabric of her jeans and she can't sit still.

When she wore the outfit she planned to wear this morning, she couldn't leave the dorm room. The skirt was too short.

She never let such thoughts roam her mind before dressing. And she's sad she's afraid, she's sad she has to adjust, to not wear anything so provocative that it would consent to men touching her—even if she didn't want it.

Rhysand notices her sudden change of outfit choices. He frowns, the little crease appearing between his eyebrows, and Andy smooths it away with her finger. "You're wearing jeans again."

She smiles at him and hugs him tighter, content with his warmth. "I just wanted to."

Rhysand isn't convinced. He sighs against her hair. Quietly, he asks, "This because of what happened?"

Andy is quick to shake her head.

"You wear what you want, sunshine," Rhysand murmurs in her ear. "Maybe I should've killed him."

Rhysand hasn't touched her there again ever since the incident.

Andy's fingers play with the hair on the back of his head. "I can't walk out of the dorm room when I wear a skirt."

Rhysand cradles her to him. Kisses her temple. "Oh, sunshine."

Andy decides to be honest. "And I'm mad and sad that I'm scared," she whispers, brushing her lips against his neck. "And I hate jeans."

So when their Halloween costumes arrive, Andy doesn't want to wear hers.

She planned it last month, took Rhysand's measurements amidst his grumbling, took her own, had them made and done. Though she doesn't watch the show, she thinks the outfits are cute (and really not scary), and she wants to match with Rhysand looking like a popular high school couple.

No, no—she does want to wear it. She's wearing it right now. She looks cute, she's a cheerleader.

It's a white turtleneck bodysuit and a blue and yellow uniform with a pleated skirt, and a big R is embroidered right in the middle of her torso.

She wants to go to Sabina's Halloween party wearing this costume. The skirt is just...short.

Rhysand is a jock. He's wearing a white shirt and jeans, and the blue and yellow letterman jacket with the R patched on its left side. His hair is gelled—and he looks exactly like her perfect, athletic boyfriend who would steal her away from cheer practice and convince her to cut class with him.

He stands behind her, facing the mirror, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I look like an asshole."

"You look hot," Andy says immediately, not shyly. She grins at him through the reflection. "And we look good together! What do you think?"

He spins her around, settling his hands on her waist. Andy tiptoes and curls her arms around his neck. "I think you look cute in this uniform." Rhysand pinches the fabric near her hip.

Andy pulls back to smile at him. "I should've been a cheerleader."

Rhysand's eyebrow raises. "Now, I wouldn't go that far."

Andy laughs loudly, bumping her forehead on his shoulder.

One of his hands tug the yellow scrunchie holding up her hair. "This is cute, too."

"Right? I matched everything with the outfit," Andy says brightly, spinning around again, fingers holding up the skirt in front of the mirror. "I cleaned my white sneakers too, see?" She raises a foot to show him.

Rhysand smiles, and his dimple shows. "You've been excited for this for months."

She has been.

But the skirt is just...short.

Rhysand sees the way her smile fades. He cups her face and kisses the top of her head. "S'okay, sunshine," he mutters, pressing their foreheads together. "You don't have to force yourself. We can do Halloween next year."

"No, I—" Andy takes a deep breath, shaking her head. "I want to. Just hold on for a sec, I'm going to do my makeup, okay?"

His eyebrows furrow. "You sure?"

"I think I'll need you to stay with me the whole night," she says softly, smiling at him. "But I really want to wear it tonight, I don't want to wait for next year. And after this...I'll get back to what I usually wear. Slowly. Slow progress is still progress, right?"

Rhysand kisses her temple. "Okay, as long as you're sure. I'll stay with you, sunshine."

She leads him to her bed and makes him sit down so she can sit on her desk and do her makeup.

And Rhysand stays true to his word—he never leaves her side, always has some part of his body touching hers, his hands are everywhere—on her hips, waist, shoulders, neck, jawline.

Rhysand's touch, to Andy, has become her security. Her safety net. It's the touch she wants forever on her skin.

Andy has a great night. She's with Rhysand and her friends. MJ looks amazing in her Daphne-inspired purple and green outfit with a matching green headband, and Sabina went above and beyond this year as Shego from Kim Possible. Her makeup looks amazing—even her top lip is painted black to mimic the actual cartoon character.

But even they think that Andy and Rhysand look cute.

"Asshole jock and cheerful cheerleader," Sabina muses with a grin, holding up her drink. "I love it. It suits you guys."

MJ hums in agreement.

Rhysand has his arms wrapped around her waist, chin on her shoulder. He scoffs, but doesn't say anything in response.

Andy giggles. "We'll take that as a compliment. Thank you."

Sabina puts down her drink and grabs Andy's wrist. "Come on, we need a picture! Your boyfriend can take it."

Andy's eyes widen, feeling her body being pulled and away from Rhysand, but he snatches her other arm before she's dragged away.

Her friend raises an eyebrow. Andy looks like a rag doll two kids are fighting over. "Dude. We need a pic. It's mandatory. Leave her alone for two secs."

Rhysand looks at Andy.

Andy inhales shakily and smiles. "It's okay," she tells him. "It's just with Sab and MJ."

He stares at her for a moment longer, eyes searching her face. And then his fingers loosen.

Sabina hands him her camera and her phone and drags MJ along.

Rhysand takes the picture, and Andy makes a mental note to print it out later. Surprisingly, she feels alright. Good. A little nervous, still, but alright.

She wants a picture with Rhysand, too.

As soon as she makes contact with his skin, she feels better.

"Get over there, Harton," Sabina says, raising her camera. "Smile, you grump!"

"Smile, baby!" Andy leans against him with a wide smile, and she doesn't know if Rhysand smiles too, but his hand tightens on her shoulder.

After the party, they get nuggets and fries and milkshakes, and Andy takes pictures of Rhysand with her phone.

"What're you doing?" he mutters, chewing his nugget.

"You look hot," Andy says, shrugging. She swipes through the pictures of him and grins. "If you were in my school, I would've definitely had a crush on you."

"I wasn't a jock in high school," he answers flatly, raising an eyebrow.

"Doesn't matter, I would've still crushed on you," Andy says, shoving her phone in his face. "Look, you're so handsome!"

Rhysand slides her milkshake to her. "I'm going to finish this if you don't."

Andy grins and leans forward to take a sip. "You wouldn't dare."

Later, Andy finds, in the picture of the two of them, Rhysand is smiling. The real one, with the dimple. She hugs it to her chest and smiles back at the picture—they look good together. Like they fit.