#yall go feral for dumb looking cats

[rob1nseggblue]

take my collection of important images

wish i could add more but im on mobile rn

[whatmack]

yall are making me go feral about mattdrew I need more anything everything

“You know, I get it,” Matt said.

Andrew’s mind immediately filled in what followed, and he saw the realization cross Matt’s face in the form of a sheepish smile. Along with the echo in Andrew’s head, Matt added, “being raised as a superstar– yeah, okay, I did that to myself. But that’s not what I meant.”

(Stupid Neil. Stupid, fucking, dumb loser. He was three whole states away for his stupid Exy, which, whatever.)

(When had it become normal for Matt to be here when Neil was not? For Matt to sit on the armchair, Sir Fat Cat draped over his lap, swatting idly at Matt’s trailing fingers?)

(It was the worst.)

“I used to think it was terrible, what you did to Aaron,” Matt said. Andrew closed his eyes and tilted his head back onto the couch. Maybe Matt would get the hint and stop talking, but Andrew didn’t expect it. He hadn’t known these kinds of headaches were called “migraines” until his first year of college, and then he’d had far more dramatic physical effects to deal with. This was just– an inconvenience. Another part of the pain that came from being Andrew Minyard.

(Neil told him he got more nihilistic than usual on migrane days. But Neil was three. States. Away.)

(He didn’t help, but he made it–bearable. Stupid. Weakness.)

Matt was still talking. Andrew tried to figure out the best thing to throw at his head, but thinking made the winch around his temples tighten sharply.

“Like, withdrawal sucks, okay? And Aaron– you left him alone for that, no warning, or nothing. And I kind of– okay, like, when you had to go through withdrawal, for a while I thought it was kind of karma. Which probably makes me a bad person, or whatever. But then I…. like you didn’t…. you’re so much like Neil.”

Andrew slit open his eyes to give Matt an unamused glare. Matt’s face was blurry soft-focus, and even then Andrew could feel the worry radiating off him, the care. 

(Why was he here?)

“Not everything is the same, man. You don’t have to be in pain to get better. Like, yeah, it’s part of it, but it’s not like it’s the important part? It’s like, a side effect.”

“Are. You. Done,” Andrew said. He loosened his jaw. Bee had told him that was supposed to help. It didn’t. 

(If Neil was here he would make Andrew lie down in their bedroom with the lights off. Without him, Andrew stubbornly stayed on the couch. He was aware he was throwing a tantrum, thank you very much.)

Matt sighed. There was a rattle, and something small hit Andrew in the arm. Andrew could guess without looking that it was the bottle of Aleve Matt had plucked out of the cabinet and been trying to foist on Andrew for the last twenty minutes. 

“Just take the pill, c’mon. It’s not dependence. It’s literally a painkiller they give to teenagers.”

“Teenagers.”

He could hear the wince in Matt’s voice. “Bad choice of words. Look, I’ll even stay to feed these greedy furballs while you go take a nap. Can’t let my favorite kitties in the whole world go hungry, huh? Yeah, sweetie, oohhh, you want scritches? Let’s have some scritches.”

“She’s just doing that so you’ll give her treats,” Andrew said. He fumbled for the bottle’s safety cap. Maybe he’d just open it. In case he changed his mind. Later. Not that he was going to. 

“I don’t know man, maybe she deserves them for having to deal with your grumpy ass who refuses to do anything for a literal migraine.”

“Get out of my house,” Andrew said. Matt laughed, softly. From his lap Sir began to purr, and the lawnmower-motor sound didn’t hurt as much as the whine from the TV. Maybe Andrew would try lying down after all. Just to get Matt to stop bothering him.

Of course.