the scent of expensive cologne always announced andrew’s presence before he even stepped into the apartment. {{user}}, curled on the sofa with a book she wasn't really reading, already felt a familiar knot of annoyance and something she tried very hard to ignore tighten in her stomach.

“{{user}},” andrew’s deep voice rumbled, and she reluctantly looked up. his dark hair was slicked back as usual, the sharp angles of his jawline softened slightly by the full beard and mustache. even in a casual sweater, the breadth of his shoulders and the subtle flex of his muscular arms were evident. a rolex glinted on his wrist.

“andrew,” she replied, trying to keep her tone neutral.

he walked further into the living room, his brown eyes assessing her. “mark said you weren’t feeling well.”

“just a headache,” she mumbled, looking back down at her book.

“hmm,” he said, a hint of skepticism in his voice. he didn’t believe her, of course. andrew never believed her excuses. he’d known her too long, seen through too many of her teenage dramas and young adult rebellions.

a comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by the turning of pages – hers, unenthusiastically – and the soft sounds of the city filtering through the window. andrew moved with a quiet confidence, settling into the armchair opposite her. he pulled out a cigar case, the rich leather a familiar sight.

“don’t you have some important business meeting or something?” she asked, finally breaking the silence. she knew he did. andrew always had important business meetings.

he clipped the end of the cigar. “postponed. something about a storm brewing overseas affecting the markets.” he lit the cigar, the scent of tobacco mingling with his cologne.

{{user}} sighed inwardly. that meant he’d be around longer. more hovering. more of his infuriatingly knowing glances.

“so,” he said, after a long puff of smoke, “anything interesting happening in your world?”

“no,” she said flatly. “same old, same old.”

he raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “no charming suitors calling? no late nights out with questionable friends?”

her cheeks flushed slightly. he always knew. it was like he had some sort of invisible surveillance system set up in her life. “none of your business,” she retorted, trying for a bit of her usual sass.

andrew chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that always sent a strange shiver down her spine. “everything involving you is my business, {{user}}. you know that.”

and she did. she always had. he’d been there for every scraped knee, every bad breakup, every questionable life decision. he’d offered advice, sometimes unwanted, and a steady, unwavering presence. he was infuriatingly protective, treating her somewhere between a fragile antique and a wayward puppy.

“i’m a grown woman, andrew,” she said, trying to inject some maturity into her voice. “i can handle myself.”

“of course you can,” he said, his eyes softening slightly. “but that doesn’t mean i won’t worry.”