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It takes ages for Andrew to stop shaking, and when he finally speaks, his voice is thin and hoarse. “I’m sorry.”
“Shut up, Blur.”
“It’s never happened before, not like that, he’s never—”
Fucking Ed and his goddamn ghost shit. Sam’s lips are a tight line as he sits up enough to rub Andrew’s back. “Stop talking.”
“I’m trying—I’m fucking trying to figure this shit out—”
Andrew stops when Sam pushes his fingers into his curls and pulls—not enough to hurt him, just enough to get him to stop fucking babbling. “Andrew.” The other man makes a small sound in reply; Sam keeps the tension on Andrew’s hair for a moment longer, then lets go, scratching his scalp again. “I’m not mad, but you gotta shut the hell up."
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The morning after the deer.
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