His days are quiet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he wishes they weren't. His hours at work have become too slow, his down time in his apartment too dreary. He tries to distract himself with television or alcohol, but it only seems to escalate the problem. He cannot write, except about one thing, over and over again, only to feel ashamed and want to tear the pages out and burn them. He doesn't because he knows it will not make the feelings burn away with them.

When Kristen or Brett have the time, he pulls himself to their company. He had never realized until recently just how lonely he'd been for so long. He had just gotten so used to being on his own that his mind had become numb to it. He does not know who to blame for awakening his awareness to this problem.

He makes a commitment to drive to his mother's house every Saturday. It is the least he can do and he has been lazy about it for too long. The first time, he was so guilty about how long it had been since he'd last gone to visit her that it took re-opening just healing wounds on his skin before he could brave the hour drive. Karen had opened the door, and while it had seemed to take a minute before she recognized him, she had pulled him into a strong hug and ushered him into the house. He wanted to cry just being in her presence again. He had forgotten how much he had missed his mother.

He had stifled his tears and followed her into the kitchen. He could tell that she had designed every part of the house. He could see her in the way it was put together. It had her touch.

It is the same this Saturday, only this time, he does not feel the horrid guilt from before, and he does not feel so much like crying. Brett has sent him some strange photo of a cat that makes him laugh, for reasons he does not understand, and he is still laughing about it when he knocks on his mother's door.

"Andy!" she says, and in her eyes, he feels as if she does not know who he is, really, but he waves it away as nothing. She hugs him tightly and ushers him into the house, calling for Mike to come downstairs from his office.

"I've become so used to you visiting now, I am getting better at preparing a nice meal for the three of us," she says, her warm and familiar hand on his arm. "It's pot roast today; the weather is starting to cool down, so I thought it was perfect. Tea?"

"Sure, Momma," Andy tells her, kissing her forehead. "I'll come help."

"No, no, sit!" Karen protests, pushing him towards the couch. The room is so full of light, but she doesn't have a single bulb on. It has to be the windows, large and placed just so. He can feel the warmth of the midday sun on the cushion and throw pillows as he relents to his mother's wishes and rests against the couch. Karen is bustling off into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder.

"How is work? You had a day off today right?"

"No, I just close earlier," Andy responds. He can hear footsteps on the staircase, and turns his head to see Mike Norris, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and mouth as he smiles. Mike claps him on the back.

"Andy, good to see your face around again!" he says, then leans in to murmur, "It's all your mother talks about. Saturday is Andy Day."

He steps into the kitchen, and he can hear their small chatter and the clatter of china. Mike says something he cannot hear, but it makes Karen laugh aloud and shout at him. Something about them reminds him of how Kristen and Jess are together, sharing secrets. Harmless ones that are just for the two of them.

Mike's head pops out. "Do you have a preference on flavor?" he asks. Andy shrugs.

"Just nothing bitter," he replies. Mike disappears again for a moment, then nudges the swinging doors open with his knee, Karen trailing behind him. Mike sets the tray down on the coffee table, and then sits in the small sofa across from Andy.

"I put honey in it," Karen says, sitting next to Andy. "It's called Countrytime Peach. Sounds good doesn't it?"

Andy nods and settles into the couch. Karen shares photos from when she and Mike went to a pumpkin patch out of the city, and Andy shows Karen Jess' photos from her tour. Karen asks a lot about Brett, and she asks questions Andy is not sure how to answer. Questions that make him heat up under his skin. He had forgotten what mothers are like when they see budding potentials. She takes the pressure off of him after a while though, distracted with sharing how proud she is of Mike's progress in his work.

Mike sighs and rolls his eyes fondly, but gives in to Karen's insistence, explaining as much as he can without giving too much away. He draws it off of his personal experience, when he previously worked in the force. Andy can hear himself reliving certain moments, simply from explaining the set up of each event taking place in their sequence. He can see a veteran shine in his eyes.

"It doesn't bother you, to go through it again?" Andy asks.

"Better on paper than in my head," Mike says, laughing. But there's something somber in his voice, Andy can hear it. And he knows that they both know that it truly does not leave your mind, even once it is written down. It stays and it hibernates, to trick you into thinking that it is gone, only to wake up and feed when you least expect it.

Or it sits on your couch and rummages through your things, which is what he finds Chucky doing when he arrives home. He is almost surprised, but a part of him always knew. He almost grins. Almost. Chucky is sitting on his couch, reading a book. Smoking. Drinking. He looks deep in thought, which is a look Andy had never imagined he would find on Chucky's face, but truthfully, there is so much happening around them and between them that he just shakes his head. He does not notice that he does not feel anger, but a strange relief.

Chucky is also still wearing his clothes, which makes him realize that they are going to have to have another very strange and unexpected conversation of buying him some clothes that will fit. He wonders why Chucky has not gotten around to this already. He assumes it is merely for a lack of desire to peruse through a store and find anything. This, he understands.

He coughs under his breath, unsure and awkward about trying to catch Chucky's attention. Chucky jumps, immediately looking embarrassed, and shutting the book quickly. There is something about him that is different, and he is not sure what it is.

"Andy," Chucky says, and there it is, in his voice too. Still gritty, still slurring, but not a hint of cockiness. The exact opposite of it, in fact.

"Chucky," Andy says back. Unsure. He hangs his coat on the couch arm. He does not sit. It is his own apartment and he does not sit.

"I have to tell you something," Chucky says, and Andy braces himself for the worst. He instantly thinks of his mother, but he'd just seen her. He thinks of Brett, but the man in question is texting him now, asking when he wants to spend time with him again.

Perhaps Kristen. She had made it quite clear she was Chucky's enemy. Perhaps he had found it out, and decided to eliminate her before she could eliminate him. Immediately, his mind conjures up images of Kristen, strangled. Mangled. Worse.

"Hey- sit down, it's not whatever you're thinking it is. Will you calm down, kid? You look like you're gonna pass out," Chucky interjects, slapping the couch cushion. "Jesus."

His scowl is back. Andy sits, timidly. Still very unsure. Tense. Chucky growls and rolls his eyes, but the blush on his face is undeniable.

"I…. look, this isn't going to be some sort of sweet Hallmark kind of moment," he grits out. His hands are clutching at where Andy's shirt hands around his knees, balling up the cloth.

"We both know we're stuck in this damn situation. You know what it is, so I'm not gonna say it. Rather not make us both uncomfortable."

Andy feels himself prickling with sweat. He merely nods. His heart races and he hates that.

"Anyways, I just wanted to say, it looks like we're in it together, for whatever reason, and I…" Chucky pauses and stutters over himself. He curses angrily under his breath, grabbing the bottle in front of him. He squirms in his seat, and he does not look Andy in the eyes.

"I'm… I'm not gonna be a total dick to you," he finally squeezes out. He crosses his arms and looks away, huffing angrily.

"Was that…?" Andy asks, more than a little flabbergasted.

"Shut up or I take it back, you little shit," Chucky snaps. He still does not turn to look at Andy. "I said what I said, and you'll take it or leave it. Capisce?"

Andy scowls, but he chooses not to respond. Merely because if they delve too deeply into it, they'll hit the core of something he does not like. He assumes Chucky does not either. He sits back against the couch, tapping his foot. Pent up nervous energy. He didn't know why he had expected a sudden and great change, but there is not.

"Well don't get weird about it! God, I hate you so fucking much. You're such a little bitch."

He rolls forward and takes a joint, ignoring the jab. "You didn't expect me to suddenly want to be buddies with you or something, did you?"

He watches Chucky visibly cringe in embarrassment in his peripheral. Andy inhales and blows the smoke out, letting it ride. He is still wound up, coiled and ready to spring. He has the sinking suspicion that it will stay this way for a long time, as long as Chucky is right here, right next to him. A long stretch of silence grows between them, with Chucky sighing heavily and shifting in his seat, before Andy finally relents, unable to contain the tension.

He passes the blunt over, a simple gesture they've shared what feels a million times now. The air changes from his hand to Chucky's. He tries to pretend they don't brush fingers. Chucky takes the blunt with a low grunt. The silence continues to drag. The television static flows on, unbothered.

"You hungry?" Andy asks, breaking. His stomach or Chucky's stomach growls, he is not sure. They're too close to tell. He taps away at his phone, avoiding eye contact. He feels the couch shift and his shoulder burn, as it is obvious that Chucky is most definitely turning his attention towards him fully. He can imagine the expression on his face, and steels himself for the supposed biting retort to come.

There's another shift. He finally tears his eyes off of his phone. Chucky is waiting on his eyes, and he does not know why. What he does know is that he has been jilted by this feeling before, of someone looking to him for what seems like guidance. Almost. Perhaps. He is not sure. But the feeling is there nonetheless, strange and true.

"Yeah," is what Chucky slowly drawls out. "I'm guessing you're not cooking."

"What makes you say that?"

Chucky smirks and shrugs, saying nothing. The strangest thing is that there is not a malicious tint to it, for the first time. It is almost playful. Andy does not know what to make of it, and so he does not, clicking through his phone again.

"I'll order pizza," he says, and Chucky nods. There is still a small curve in the corners of his mouth, but he remains oddly silent, puffing away at the joint. Andy finishes the order on his phone. Chucky flips through the channels. Kristen text Andy, and Andy decides he will need to respond later. There is a small stress buildup inside him. Time passes. Commercials blare. Beer is drunk. They shift in their seats. The air stays clouded, tense. But other than this, nothing occurs. The most excitable event is when the doorbell rings, and Andy shuffles to the door to take the food and tip the driver.

Even as they eat, Andy sits in wait for the other shoe to drop. But it does not. Perhaps there was no shoe thrown to begin with. When they finish, Chucky takes the box out. Andy can only assume he took it to the outside garbage, because he returns without it. He does not know why he does this, and he does not quite know what to make of the gesture, but another drink later, he hardly cares.

It is not entirely terrible, and although neither will admit, they both are aware that they are more comfortable with the arrangement than they'd thought they might be. And so this is how they sit, in the end, with little to no words shared, little to no need for it, and the uncomfortable prickling of a growth they do not entirely understand. They are still in an obsessive cycle, unable to pull away from each other, but neither of them are trying anymore. There is something new afoot.

In the end, they are together, and there is something comfortably alright with it all, strange as it may seem.