The Whys of Us

8

Rhysand opens the door the moment she steps foot at the last step of the staircase.

"Waiting for me?" Andy teases, smiling, even as the butterflies in her stomach appear at the sight of him.

He's in an oversized shirt, sweatpants, and his hair is a mess. As always. And he looks gorgeous. As always.

Rhysand reaches out to help her. "It's not like your lint hasn't noticed that you haven't texted in almost thirteen hours and forty-five minutes."

Andy laughs and follows him inside. Rhysand drops her books on the table. "My lint hasn't texted me either, and I assumed he was busy with work and didn't want to be disturbed. Though I did forget to send a good morning text."

Rhysand crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at her. "Study here."

Andy grins and squeezes his hand briefly, before settling on the couch. "That's what I was planning to do, yes. My finals are coming up."

Rhysand takes a seat on the table and looks at her books and notes. He huffs. "Finals. Pfft."

"You're awfully clingy today."

"I'm not clingy."

Andy purses her lips to hide her smile and flips open her binder. "Right."

Rhysand lasts five minutes staring at her—and Andy found this unnerving and that it made her self-conscious at first, but she eventually learned that that's just how Rhysand is sometimes, and she's wired herself into ignoring it when he does this—until he eventually stands up, sits beside her, and plops his head on her lap.

"Rhys," Andy says, placing her book down and leaning back against the sofa, dipping her head to look at him. "You're not going to let me study, are you?"

He schools his face into innocence. "You can study like this, Sanford. I'm not stopping you."

Absent-mindedly, Andy curls her hand into the soft strands of his hair. Rhysand closes his eyes. "Why do you call me Sanford?"

"Everyone else calls you Andy. And I don't like it."

"Andrea, then."

Rhysand grunts in response.

Andy hums. "Then give me a pet name."

"What about 'mine'?"

Andy's hand freezes. She clears her throat. "That's not what I meant."

Rhysand doesn't open his eyes, but his lips curl upward. His dimple shows. "I already have one for you. Sunshine, remember?"

"Oh, yeah!" Andy says, eyes widening as she slaps her hand down. Rhysand groans and coughs, and Andy realizes she hit his chest. His very solid, broad chest. "Sorry, oh my God. Yeah, sorry. I just can't believe I forgot about that. But why sunshine?"

"I'm offended you did, too." He turns around, faces her stomach, and wraps an arm around her waist. He buries his head against her and mumbles, "Suits you. Your smile."

Andy bites her lip. Keeps stroking his hair. "Oh."

"Blushing again, aren't you?"

"Stop," Andy breathes, smiling. "You're keeping me from studying. If I fail, I'm blaming it on you. Then I won't be able to graduate, then I won't have employment and income."

"That's fine," he murmurs. "I'll take care of you."

Andy's pulse jumps. "I want to take care of you, too."

Rhysand smiles.

They stay there for a while in comfortable silence. She knows he isn't asleep, and that he's content holding her like this—Rhysand's fingers dance around her waist, lazily stroking her skin under her shirt, and Andy runs her hand against his hair. Andy's heart feels too big in her chest as she stares at the sharp edges of Rhysand's face. Even like this, he still looks intimidating. Beautiful, yet intimidating.