Summary: Andrew remembers the first time he looked at her and felt nothing.
Rating: PG for angst
Word count: 211
A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble for tbc100 but it didn't cooperate. Thanks to shes_gone for the input. I made some changes after she read it, so all mistakes are mine.
Andrew remembers the first time he looked at her and felt nothing.
He's tired from work, hungry because he had to skip lunch, and when he gets home he sees her sitting at the kitchen table with her sketchpad, eating saltine crackers straight from the box. She looks up when he comes in, smiles crookedly. He doesn't smile back.
He isn't angry with her, not even frustrated or irritated, because he knows what that feels like and this isn't it. Staring at her as she brushes her hair out of her eyes and flexes her slender, ink-stained fingers, he feels his chest bloom with static, loud and empty.
He can hear Brian in his head then, rattling off information about endorphins and chemical reactions. He can feel his mother smoothing the hair away from his forehead as she reminds him that love is a marathon, not a sprint.
The next day when he comes home it feels different. There is a pressure in his chest that he recognizes, and when he feels the warmth of her skin under his fingertips something inside of him falls away, mercifully. He tells her about work, and he tells her that dinner smells good, and he does not tell her, yesterday I didn't love you.