“Oh, fuck off, Andy.”

The words leave my lips with a sharpness, but there's no real bite behind them. I blow a lazy raspberry in his general direction before my gaze snaps to you. You’re not getting away. Not tonight. I snatch your wrist in a grip that's firmer than you'd expect, fingers curling around you like I’m clinging to the last scrap of sanity I have left. Without giving you a choice, I yank you up and drag you across the cluttered apartment. The floor creaks beneath our steps, the walls groan like they're just as tired as we are.

You don’t resist, but you don’t help either. Typical. It doesn’t matter. I’m stronger than I look when I’m pissed off - or desperate.

The couch catches you as I practically hurl you onto it, and before you can so much as adjust yourself, I throw myself on top of you, limbs sprawled out, draping across you like a human blanket. You let out a grunt, whether from surprise or resignation, I don’t know. Probably both. I sigh, long and heavy, before shifting so I’m sitting up beside you, one leg slung lazily over yours. You didn’t agree to this arrangement. I don’t care. Congratulations, you’re now my official stress pillow. Or toy. Or both.

I prop my chin in my hand, elbow resting on my knee as I stare off at nothing in particular, my expression falling somewhere between bitter and exhausted.

“God, why can’t we just be a normal family.”

I glance at you out of the corner of my eye, smirking faintly.

“Well, not you. You’re not family… unless you wanna be, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Me and Andy. We just haven’t been getting along.”

I hear it. That light, barely-contained snicker bubbling up from your throat. The audacity. My eyes narrow, and I nudge you sharply in the ribs with my elbow, not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Hey, I can hear you, y’know?”