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Andrew’s been left behind.
You see, most people would argue that Andrew was a pretty sturdy guy. There was a reason he was a goalie — he had a good balance. He could stay on his feet, and when he didn’t, he knew how to land.
But Andrew had one weakness.
Neil.
He’d been hanging around him too much. If he needed proof for the fact Neil’s been rubbing off on him, he’d gotten it two days ago, when he’d tripped over his own shoelaces and fallen down the stairs.
Upon landing at the bottom of the stairs, Andrew had stayed face-down on the cold floor, questioning his entire existence. Neil had found him at some point, panicked for a while, called Kevin — because a lecture was exactly what Andrew’d needed after this near-death experience — and together, they’d gotten the unwilling Andrew off the floor and whisked him away to Abby’s.
Abby had informed them that Andrew will, indeed, live. His only injury was a sprained wrist, courtesy of him landing on it.
That wasn’t too bad, right?
Wrong.
Don’t get him wrong, Andrew didn’t care. It was a wrist, not a kidney. But Kevin didn’t seem to agree.
Kevin had fumed, and then proceeded to give him a three-and-a-half-hour lecture about various fascinating notions: the dangers of not tying your shoelaces, blah-blah-blah, they had a match in two days, blah-blah-blah, maybe you need to take a break from Neil — at which point Neil had started objecting, Kevin had started yelling, and Andrew had officially stopped listening.
And that was how Andrew found himself all alone in Fox Tower, while the rest of the Foxes have gone to an away game. Normally, Andrew would love the alone-time. But then Neil had the groundbreaking idea that Andrew should fox-sit Rob.
Normally, Rob, their mascot, would be at the match — but she couldn’t go to away games, being an actual fox and all. Usually, Betsy or the soccer-team or somebody would be fox-sitting Rob, because leaving a fox all alone in the dorms was very irresponsible and also illegal.
“But since you’re staying behind anyway,” Neil had reasoned, grinning like a sadist, “you can take care of Rob!”
Andrew had contemplated refusing, but quickly reconsidered. Rob lived in their room anyway, and it wasn’t like he would kick her out for a single night just to make a point. She wasn’t Kevin. So he’d agreed.
And now Rob was trying to climb on him as if he were the Eiffel Tower. Andrew shifted uncomfortably, swearing as he saw his demise creeping in on the screen; not only was playing one-handed a challenge, but with a fox trying to make a bed out of his back? That made the feat impossible.
Which was why nobody involved was surprised when Andrew’s character died. Again. For the twentieth time in the last fifteen minutes. Andrew swore quietly and threw the controller at the direction of the television; it hit Robbie, the resident massive fox-plushie that Neil had once upon a time bought, and clattered to the ground.
Andrew sagged in his beanbag. Rob was still trying to find her way onto his back; she planted her paw on his face, and he did nothing but cross his arms and resignedly accept his fate. She’d be done at some point, and then he could go on to live a free life.
Hopefully.
The gods of destiny seemed to have decided to grace him with their presence, because before Andrew could even finish that thought, Rob launched herself from his shoulders to the other side of the room. Andrew made a pact with himself not to look at what’s caused her to do that, but when she started aggressively growling, he couldn’t help but glance back.
She was sprawled on the floor, two of her feet in the air and the other two tearing apart the small, orange plushie she had in her mouth. Her nuzzle was twisted in a vicious expression, her teeth bared and her eyes unforgivingly upset. Andrew stretched slightly higher to get a better look at what that plushie was, before he promptly sank back in his place, blankly looking ahead at the black screen.
Andrew was starting to think Neil had a fox-plushie problem. They would have to talk about this.
In the meantime, though, there was nothing to be done. And more importantly, Andrew was hungry. So he pulled himself up from the beanbag and stalked to the kitchen, letting Rob get her vengeance on Neil’s tiny fox-plushie. Maybe she was jealous.
Andrew opened the fridge and looked into it for a solid five minutes before slamming it shut. He stared into space for yet another five minutes, then turned around, grabbed his keys from their place on the table and walked to the door.
Rob stopped her brawling to look up at him, her big, cute fox-eyes filling with sadness. Andrew’s hand halted over the doorknob.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he finally said, picking her up from the ground. “Fine. But only if you don’t get in trouble.”
Rob gave him a look as if to convey, I would never, and quietly purred.
Andrew rolled his eyes and left the dorm, locking the door behind him. He made his way down the stairs — mindful of his shoelaces, he wasn’t Neil — and left Fox Tower.
He painstakingly climbed into the Maserati’s driver seat, putting Rob down on his lap. She got comfortable, and as the engine rumbled to life, closed her eyes.
The trip to the convenience store went smoothly, up until the moment they had to get out of the car. Andrew spent a couple of minutes debating with himself what to do. He didn’t want to leave Rob in the car; that had the potential to end very badly. But taking her into the store with him somehow seemed like an even worse idea.
Rob, apparently, didn’t care in the slightest, because once he opened the door, she jumped out. Andrew sighed and followed her out of the car, picking her up from the ground.
Andrew entered the store. If luck were by his side, nobody would notice Rob.
“Excuse me!” exclaimed a teenage employee, his voice pitched as if startled. “Uh, hey, the short blond guy!”
Andrew turned to glare at the teen, who instantly paled. “We don’t allow pets in here.”
“It’s a plush,” Andrew impassively said. He was wringing Neil’s neck later for getting this into his head. No, you know what, this whole situation was his fault; because apparently, Disaster Disease was contagious.
The teen blinked at him in confusion. Andrew didn’t wait for his reaction; he simply grabbed a basket from the pile by the entrance, put Rob in it and proceeded to shop like a law-abiding, totally-normal citizen of the state. He got a bunch of tooth-rotting sweets in the basket, and suddenly got a craving for chicken stir-fry.
Oh, what the hell. He piled a bunch of ingredients into the basket, Rob’s head peeking out from between the boxes, and advanced for the check-out.
The girl at the check-out looked like a sleep-deprived zombie, and didn’t seem to notice Rob at all. Andrew quickly paid, grabbed the plastic bag and let Rob hop onto the floor as they left. There was a startled exclaim from behind him, but Andrew didn’t look back; he practically raced for his car, opened the door for Rob to hop in, got in himself and drove out of the parking lot.
They were back at the dorms in no-time, Andrew pulling ingredients out of the plastic bag and onto the counter. Rob lay sprawled between his legs, because she liked being a nuisance. Andrew ignored her as he started making his chicken stir-fry.
He was halfway through the recipe, dumping stuff into a sizzling pan, when he heard a low hissing sound from the doorway. He looked aside to see Steve, Kevin’s scrawny abomination of a cat, standing at the threshold. Andrew felt a movement beside his legs and looked down to see Rob getting into a threatening stance.
Andrew let out a heavy sigh and looked up to the heavens. “Guys,” he flatly said, looking back down at the two animals. “Let’s calm down, hmm? I’m in the middle of something.”
Rob responded by letting out a low gekker. Andrew lightly hit his head against the cabinet right in front of him. “I’ll give you food if you make a truce.” He flicked his eyes to Steve, and bitterly added, “to both of you.”
Steve ignored him. Figures that that cat had no common sense.
What this cat did have, however, were claws. Andrew was forcefully reminded of that when Steve lunged at Rob.
Rob’s reaction time was too slow, and the two of them slammed into Andrew’s legs, making him stumble onto the counter. His elbow hit the handle of the sizzling pan; he instinctively jumped out of the way, and saw, almost in slow motion, as it flipped in the air and flopped onto the floor.
Rob and Steve jumped apart, running past him for the doorway. Andrew was pushed aside, and in the chaos, felt something go taught between his feet. His eyes widened. Not again—
He had about half a second to register what was going on before he face-planted onto the floor, at a safe distance from the smoking pan.
He lied there in silence, blood rushing in his ears. He pressed his forehead to the cold tiles. His forehead hurt. His sprained wrist pounded.
This wasn’t happening.
“Fuck!” he yelled, and punched the floor with his good hand. And that was when the smoke alarm started blaring.
He let out another frustrated yell, refusing to move from the floor. It would now forever accommodate his shame. He was fit to face the world no more; so he’ll just lay here, forever, and stew in his misery.
Someone pounded on the door to his dorm. “There’s a fire in the building!” came the faint yell. Andrew groaned into the floor. “If anybody’s in here, evacuate immediately!”
Whoever it was left when they heard no response.
Andrew didn’t know how long it took him to peel himself off of the floor. He staggered upright, hand going to his head; it hurt like a motherfucker, probably because he hit it when he fell. He swore quietly. Then, unsatisfied, he swore again, loud enough for Rob and Steve to realize that they were severely to blame.
Andrew walked to the door, finding Rob lying against it. She lifted her head at his approach.
“You’re grounded,” he told her, his voice coming out funny. He cleared his throat and gestured for her to move out of the way.
Rob gave him a sad look, inclining her head as she sheepishly collected herself and stepped clear. Andrew sighed, rubbing his pounding forehead, his other hand perched against his side.
“I can’t leave you here, can I,” he muttered to himself. He was positive Neil would kill him for leaving his child all alone in a quote-unquote “burning” building. It wasn’t burning, of course, only mildly smoking. But Neil would still be mad at him.
He opened the door, gesturing for Rob to pass him outside. Rob’s face lit up and she dashed past him, obediently coming to a stop before the stairs to wait for him.
Andrew sighed and followed her.
He went to the first place that came to his mind. Fifteen minutes later, he was knocking on Bee’s door.
She opened it, her puzzled expression morphing into something welcoming. “Andrew. Is everything okay?”
“I think I’ve a concussion,” he muttered, squinting his eyes at the harsh, white light coming from inside. He could see Bee pale as she stepped aside, and he walked in.
“What happened?” she asked, letting Rob come in right behind him. “Did you get into a fight?”
Andrew plunged face-first into the nearest sofa. “Tripped over. Over my shoelaces.”
“Oh my,” Bee said, her voice getting farther. Then it got closer again. “You keep tripping lately.”
“I hate him,” Andrew muttered into the sofa’s pillow, wrapping his arms around it to block out the light. His headache was getting pretty bad now.
“Whom?”
Whom? Whom else was there to hate? “Stupid Junkie. Fucking contagious. S’all. S’all his fault.”
“Here, put this on your head,” she told him, her voice close now. Andrew glanced at her, half his face still buried in the pillow, to see her extending an ice pack. He grabbed it and put it to his forehead.
Ahhh. That was nice.
“Don’t fall asleep,” she instructed. “I’m going to call Abby. I’ll be right back.”
Andrew didn’t reply.
He could hear the faint echoes of her talking with Abby on the phone, but didn’t bother straining to listen in. He closed his eyes, not intending to sleep but to evade the lights, when the sofa tipped and a sudden, heavy weight squashed his back.
His eyes flew open. He didn’t need to look, however, to know it was Rob. “Get off me.”
Rob let out a sad whine, and Andrew sighed exasperatedly. He didn’t have the energy or will to deal with her guilt trip. He dropped the ice pack on the floor and shifted, grabbing Rob and turning to lie on his back with her on his middle. When he settled down comfortably again, his side pressed to the side of the sofa, he gestured for the space he left beside him.
Rob gleefully nestled there, her weight thankfully gone from on top of Andrew. Andrew gave her head a single pat and grabbed his ice pack from the floor, pressing it once again to his forehead and closing his eyes.
A while later, he heard Bee approaching.
“What’d the doc say?” he said without opening his eyes.
“Lots of water and rest,” Bee said. “No exy for at least a week, two if you can help it.”
Andrew hummed contentedly. Kevin was going to be pissed.
“And learn to tie your shoelaces,” Bee offhandedly added. Andrew opened his eyes to see her smiling unapologetically. He didn’t scowl, exactly, but he was sure he didn’t look happy.
Not that he ever did. But especially now.
“S’his fault,” he said, closing his eyes once again. “Turn down the lights, will you?”
The lights blissfully turned down shortly after. “I think it’s okay for you to sleep now,” Bee told him. Andrew hummed again. “Goodnight, Andrew.”
Andrew didn’t reply. He slept.
***
Neil and Kevin came back to find their room in shambles.
Okay, granted, it wasn’t the whole room — only the kitchen. But it was still in shambles, and it threw them into a frenzy.
“Where’s Andrew?” Neil said, looking under a pillow before straightening and looking around. “Where’s Rob?”
“Steve!” Kevin yelled, peeking into the bathroom. “Steve, come out.”
The cat ran out from under Kevin’s bed, meowling frantically. Kevin tried to pick it up but it scratched his hand, so he lifted his arms in surrender and respectfully stepped five feet away. “Neil, Steve’s still here.”
“But Andrew and Rob aren’t,” Neil said, looking at the mess in the kitchen. There was a pan on the floor and half-cooked vegetables strewn across the kitchen, as well as more yet-unprepared ingredients on the counter. Neil did a sweep of the room, before coming out to the living room again. “There are signs of a fight.”
Kevin paled and peeked into the kitchen. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
“It’s great that you’re sure,” Neil retorted, frantically searching the desk before finding Andrew’s phone and keys and holding them out for Kevin to see. “Andrew didn’t take these. He’s been kidnapped.”
Kevin paled further. At that moment, Neil’s own phone rang.
He glanced at the caller ID, frowned, and picked it up. “Hey, Abby. What’s up?”
“It just occurred to me that you two might panic,” she said. “Bee called me last night and told me Andrew got a concussion—“
“What happened?” Neil cut her off. Kevin sharply looked to him.
“She didn’t say,” Abby said. “I talked to her this morning, and he seems to be mostly alright. He’s at her place.”
“Are you sure he’s okay?”
“It sounded like a mild concussion.”
Mild was good. Neil bit his lip and nodded. “Okay. Okay, that’s good. Thanks for letting me know.”
“He’s fine,” Neil told Kevin when the call ended. “He hasn’t been kidnapped.”
“I’ve told you so,” Kevin said, starting to unpack his bag. Neil made a face at him and promptly left the dorm.
A short while later he was standing outside Bee’d door and knocking. Bee opened it.
“Is he here?” Neil said.
Bee stepped aside to let him in, and gestured at the sofa. Quietly, she said, “he’s still asleep.”
“What happened?” Neil asked, lowering his voice as well. His eyes were fixed on Andrew’s sleeping figure, and on Rob — who was curled at his side, sound asleep.
“He wasn’t clear,” Bee said. She gave him a funny look. “He said he contracted something from you.”
Neil frowned. “From me? I’m not sick.”
Andrew shifted in his place, his eyes slitting open. He caught Neil’s gaze and muttered something.
“I’ll go make some coffee,” Bee said, and disappeared into the kitchen. Neil approached Andrew and crouched in front of the sofa.
“What happened?” he said.
“It’s your fault, Junkie,” Andrew replied, his voice cloudy with sleep.
“I wasn’t even here yesterday,” Neil said. “Did someone break in? There was a mess in the kitchen.”
Andrew nudged Rob, who didn’t awaken.
“Ah.” Neil gave Rob a fond look. “Doesn’t explain your concussion, though.”
Andrew’s ears reddened as he muttered something incoherent.
Neil tilted his head. “What?”
“Tripped,” Andrew gritted out. Neil’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Shut up, Junkie. This is all your fault. You are entirely to blame.”
“You’re blaming me for tripping,” Neil said, an amused edge to his voice. “You did that all on your own, though.”
“Fucking—“ Andrew buried his face in the pillow. “Contagious. Stupid Disaster Disease. I hate you.”
Neil nodded gravely, trying and failing to stifle his grin.
“Make yourself useful,” Andrew said, his voice half-swallowed by the pillow, “and bring me some hot chocolate.”
“As long as you don’t fall off the sofa while I’m gone,” Neil said. Andrew swore at him, at which Neil snickered and got up.
By the time he got back with two mugs of hot chocolate, Andrew was sitting and Rob was awake, hopping off the couch to go explore Bee’s apartment. Neil let her be and sat on the couch next to Andrew, handing him one of the hot chocolates.
Andrew sipped it and swore when it singed his tongue. He ignored Neil’s look and sipped again.
Neil proceeded to enthusiastically tell him about last night’s game, going into great detail when it came to the points he’d scored. Andrew sat slumped against the sofa, sipping and listening, not contributing much at all to the conversation. Neil didn’t mind, though.
It was a calm morning. Andrew liked those.