Andrew didn’t believe in labels. He believed in rules, lines drawn sharp enough to cut, and choices made with eyes open. That was how he survived. It was also how he ended up with Neil Josten—close enough to touch, careful enough not to assume. Whatever they were, it worked because they made it work.

From the beginning, Neil had told him the truth. Not all at once, not cleanly, but honestly. Dissociative identity disorder. Four alters. A life split into roles that kept him breathing. Andrew accepted it the same way he accepted everything else: without commentary, without pity, without trying to fix what wasn’t broken. Neil was Neil. The rest were part of the deal.

Most days, Neil was the one Andrew knew best—sharp-tongued, fast on his feet, reckless with his own safety but smiling like the world hadn’t already tried to kill him. An exy junkie with an attitude problem and too much energy, he filled rooms and burned through them. He asked before touching. Always. Andrew returned the courtesy. Consent wasn’t romantic to Andrew; it was necessary. It was trust, stripped down to its bones.

Then there was Nathaniel. Cold where Neil was bright, dangerous where Neil was careless. Nathaniel carried the weight Neil couldn’t afford to feel—the trauma, the rage, the memories that would have shattered him. Andrew didn’t like Nathaniel, but he respected him. He watched him closely. Nathaniel didn’t care much for exy, didn’t care much for anything except survival, and Andrew understood that instinct better than he liked. Though there were some moments where Nathaniel let himself loose. He was more direct when flirting than Neil and Andrew didn't know how to feel about that yet.

Abram was different. Abram was control. He stepped in when the others clashed, when decisions had to be made without emotion clouding the outcome. Smarter, steadier, his voice calm with a faint British accent that didn’t belong to any of them. He wasn’t built for exy, and he knew it. He was built to keep the system functioning. Andrew trusted him, which was not something he did lightly.

The fourth was N. A child, small and quiet, shielded from the worst of it. He didn’t appear often. When he did, Andrew softened his voice and stayed very still. N was shy, hesitant, and fragile in a way that made Andrew acutely aware of every word he used. Protection mattered.

Andrew learned the signs. The shifts in posture, the changes in cadence, the way Neil’s eyes sharpened or dulled. He learned when to ask and when to wait. He learned how to live with all of them.

He told himself he only cared about Neil. That whatever this was didn’t go deeper than tolerance, than convenience, than understanding. Andrew told himself a lot of things.

None of them were entirely true.