pope getting territorial?
This was hell.
An absolute circle of hell.
Your mother and her two shiny new kids were in your apartment, and he'd walked into a mess. The kind of tangled web of pain and shared history that he was all too familiar with.
And you look backed into a corner. Hunted. Even while you're trying to stay smiling and composed. Polite, even kind to kids who are trampling all through your stuff and dragging out anything they can get their hands on.
"Looks like you're doing pretty good for yourself," your mother said.
Andrew's stomach tightened. There it was. She wasn't here for you. She was here for money.
"I get by," you say shrugging. "It's expensive to live out here-"
Smart girl, Andrew thought, nodding approvingly. Taking a deep breath. Keep your hand in. He stayed in the Bathroom for a second longer. Waiting until-
"Well," she countered, "this is a big place. If Randy and I moved out here with the kids we could help. The kids would need a room, of course. And Randy and I would have to take-"
"No," Andrew said coming down the hall, coming back to sit at the table. His voice low. Rough. "Y/N's lease says no one can live here unless they're originally listed."
"We're family-"
"And I'm her landlord," He said folding his hands on the table, fixing her with a level look. They were NOT going to throw you out of your room. They were NOT going to use you as an ATM. You were going to keep your money and any of his he could give you. "I said no. No exceptions. I don't manage fucking slums."
"Are you going to let him talk to me that way?" she challenges you.
The way you bite the inside of your cheek said you probably wouldn't tell him to spit on her if she was on fire. Instead, you smile, "I think it's time for you guys to go home. I gotta get cleaned up and get to work."
"Sissy!" a voice. The 12-year-old. Her eyes are supposed to look big and sweet but there's a calculation in her smile that Andrew knows too well. "Do we have to leave?"
"Yeah. Unless your mom wants you to get a crash course in some grown-up stuff really quick."
Your mom. Not our mom.
"But I wanted you to teach me guitar," she pouted, hanging on you, glancing towards her mom.
And Andrew doesn't miss that she smiles in encouragement. Clumsy.
"There's YouTube for that. Or your mom can find you a teacher."
Good girl. Don't let them corner you. You love music. It's your first love. You play all the time. Sing all the time. Like breathing. Don't let them take it.
"But-"
"Y/N said she has to go to work," Andrew cut in rolling his eyes.
Your mother's eyes narrowed as she looked between you where you started gathering up backpacks and making sure none of your setup is missing because they "needed" it and Andrew sat nursing a beer. Taking stock.
He'd already inventoried your setup and knew exactly where to find anything you needed. But he didn't say she'd never have a chance to snatch anything from you. He just shrugged and said, "I like getting my rent on time."
You shoot him a look no one else sees. Nose crinkled. You think he's acting like this for you. And he is. Mostly. It makes his lips twitch. But another part of him just can't have anyone else messing around oh HIS turf.
Especially not when he already decided that this was going to be a safe place for you to run to. And it isn't safe with them here.
