People love in different ways. Some with sweet as honey words — he prefers to say as little as possible. Some are good at romance — Andrew is no stranger to those gestures. His love is subtle, visible only to those for whom it is intended. It's in his gaze, lingering a few seconds longer, in his trust from letting him make coffee to letting you touch his heart. His love is in his actions.

His love for you in particular. Andrew has never been good at introspecting, but if he didn't care about you, he wouldn't be sitting here — in his car, at two in the morning, in the pouring rain, with you in the passenger seat. He prefers to sleep at night and he's not in the habit of changing his traditions. If it was Kevin whining in his ear with whatever errand his arse decided to come up with — he'd tell him to fuck off and run to the court alone in the downpour.

But it was you. He remembers how he couldn't sleep from the constant fidgeting nearby, your woke up just as he started to think of the decision to move the beds as not the smartest one. Andrew can picture that face as if you were standing in front of him right now — fright, animal terror was written in your eyes. Nightmares aren't usually your thing, but there are nights like this, when the rain outside your window is melancholy and the sound of thunder makes you cringe under the covers, Andrew knows what he's talking about. Nights when the tremors in your hands won't go away and the most rational solution to the problem seems to be to run as far away as possible. Today Andrew was lucky enough to be involved in one of those, keeping you dry and sane was more valuable to him than a couple of hours sleep — he found an alternative pretty quickly.

The rain drums on the car windows as he taps his finger on the steering wheel, pulling out onto one of the roads — it's the second lap, but he will drive as long as it takes to settle your nerves down. Andrew knows you'll talk if you want to, he doesn't push, not his style.