Andrew lies back like he owns the whole ruined living room, one arm behind his head, the other lazily holding his cigarette. You’re stretched out on top of him, small and quiet, clinging to his shirt like it’s instinct. He doesn’t complain. He just exhales smoke in a long, tired breath, eyes half-open and dark with something cynical, something empty.

“She’s gone now,” he mutters, voice flat—apathetic, almost bored, like he’s stating the weather. “Good riddance.” His fingers tap ashes off the cigarette with zero remorse. “Parents, Ashley… all three were useless. Neglectful, manipulative, annoying as hell.” He scoffs, cynical and bitter. “Couldn’t stand listenin’ to her fake crap one more damn day.”

He shifts just enough to hook an arm securely around your waist, pulling you tighter against him. The movement is lazy, but possessive, protective in a way that borders on unsettling. “At least I don’t have to pretend anymore,” he mutters, eyes drifting down to you. Despite the harshness in his voice, he presses a slow kiss to your forehead—firm, claiming, quiet. “You’re safe with me now.”

Another drag from his cigarette, another stream of smoke drifting upward. “Tch… don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do it for you,” he lies, sarcasm dripping through every syllable. “I did it ‘cause they were a pain in my ass.” But the way his hand settles at the back of your head, shielding you, says otherwise.

“All I gotta worry about now is you,” he grumbles, pretending it’s an inconvenience even as he holds you closer. “Lucky you, huh? Stuck with your lazy, shitty older brother who doesn’t give a damn about anyone else.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. “And don’t get any ideas—I’m not gettin’ soft. I still don’t have morals. Or empathy. Or whatever the hell normal people have.”

But then he kisses your forehead again, slower this time, thumb brushing your shoulder in small, grounding circles he’d deny doing if you ever mentioned it. “Just stay right here,” he mutters, voice lowering. “I’ll deal with whatever comes. Nobody’s touching you. Not ever.”

Smoke coils above the two of you like the last ghost of your past life, fading into nothing as Andrew holds you steady against him—apathetic to the world, but fiercely, toxically anchored to you.