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owlface28 · 4 years

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AFTG Reverse Big Bang

I have been lucky enough to participate in the amazing, stress-inducing, extremely fun @aftgreverse. I also have been lucky enough to work with the amazing @solelystarling as the writer for his art. This is a little snippet of the fic that I will be posting on AO3 on April 10th. I will post the link here when the time comes. I’m so excited for y’all to read my first real fic to see the light of day.

TWs for the fic as a whole: gang violence, self-harm past, and present, suicide attempts past and present, torture, depression, past mental health hospitals, past abuse, and alcoholism

also this is for the most part un betaed so the grammar is probably awful

⋯

The inside of the warehouse was freezing. Jeremy couldn’t tell if it was from the weather or the death magic. He shivered. There was no way that he was going to be able to fix whatever the fuck happened.

There was a grating sound as Andrew heaved open a door that led to a mostly empty room. Jeremy looked around. The walls were covered in corrugated metal, rusted catwalks crisscrossing the air above their heads and there was no light except for one industrial light that was flickering above a pentagram. In the middle of the pentagram, there were cut ropes and dried blood.

Jeremy ran his hand through his dense curls. Helping the Foxes was going to get him killed. He was already well acquainted with the cruelties of the Moriyamas but this was extremely risky.

The Moriyamas had killed someone in a ritual. He didn’t recognize the ritual but he knew it was bad. There were markings for death, the Veil, and the soul. He wanted to get out of here. There was no way that he was going to come out of this situation for the better.

“So, what can you do about this?” Neil asked. He looked expectant but his eyes were still icy and he was somewhat braced against Andrew who was standing beside him.

“I think I can get rid of the aura leftover and figure out what happened.” Jeremy sighed. “I don’t know if I can reverse whatever happened. Did Renee or Allison say anything about what they felt or if they have any clue what happened?”

“They didn’t feel anything but we brought Nicky in to see if he could identify who the signatures belonged to. He knows one of the death magicians was Tetsuji and the other Riko. All he could figure out about the life magician was that it’s a male and to quote Nicky ‘Welcome to join me and Eric anytime he wants'.” Neil shook his head. Jeremy blushed slightly. Nicky had said something similar when they first met, and he might have taken him up on the offer but Neil and Andrew didn’t need to know that.

“Okay. That should help. If I know who wields the magic, I can get a hold on the magic and that means I can break the aura leftover easier.” Jeremy said. “Do either of you know someone who is good at healing? The spells seem very strong and I know you both know how explosive breaking spells can be.”

“Yeah. We can bring you to Abby and Bee after or we can call them here,” Neil looked slightly concerned. “You know you don’t have to do this right?” Jeremy gave the show-stopping grin that he was known for and hid behind it.

“Yeah, I do. You remember all of the disappearances in LA a few years ago?”

“Of course we do. We investigated half of them.” Neil’s concern turned to confusion and Andrew just shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“So, you, of course, know that the main suspect was the Moriyamas but the LAPD couldn’t convict anyone due to lack of evidence.”

“Yeah. Jeremy where are you going with this?” Neil asked. Andrew seemed to know where this was going so he poked Neil in his ribs. Neil huffed out a breath.

“Well. My boyfriend and my dad were taken. They were confused for members of a gang that had been gaining too much control for the Moriyama’s liking and they took them out.” Jeremy shook his head trying to clear out the memories that threatened him. When he spoke again, he spoke in an icy voice that he hadn’t heard since he joined the Trojans. “I want the Moriyamas taken down. I don’t care how long or what I have to do, they ruined one of the best things that has ever happened to me and I’m tired of them continuing to haunt me.” He rubbed hands over the tattoos that covered his arms and the scars that they were trying to cover.

“Okay. If you’re certain.” Neil looked like he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind. “Andrew will set up a ward on our way out so the surrounding areas don’t get damaged if the spell breaking becomes dangerous.”

“Thank you,” Jeremy said. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

⋯

Jeremy took a spellbook out of his bag and walked over to the pentagram. It was always best to break the magic from the center where the magic was most concentrated.

As soon as Jeremy began to chant the spell, magic whirled around him, creating a ball of light surrounding him. Jeremy mentally grabbed onto the death magic, knowing the life magic was elusive and wouldn’t allow itself to be caught, Jeremy gave up so he could get the Moriyamas’ magic gone. Life magic could be broken by someone else if need be.

Jeremy’s chanting grew louder as he started to break apart the magic. The room grew hotter and hotter. Jeremy’s shoe soles started to melt onto the concrete and he had a fleeting thought that his only goal was to come out of this alive. The death magic started to fray as Jeremy’s light magic tore through it.

There was a supernova of light as the death magic was torn into shreds by Jeremy’s light. He fell to the floor and pain exploded through his body. The last thing saw before the world went dark was the glowing soul of a breathtakingly handsome man hovering over him.

⋯

There was suddenly light.

So much light.

Then there was a world in front of him again. It was the same world that he inhabited but Jean felt none of it. There was no feeling. Yes, it was the same cold concrete where he had been ripped from his body but he didn’t feel the chill.

Despite it being the same world there was a ball of light surrounding him. There was a man in the center of the light. He was muscular. His arms were covered in spiraling tattoos. His hair was full of spiraling curls that sprang into all directions and his eyes were blue fire in the extreme light. The man was chanting a spell and his lips seemed to curl around the words.

There were streaks of black in the light as the light somehow grew brighter and more intense. Jean saw the man’s shoe soles melt. His jacket was being ripped to shreds by the light. The stranger’s skin started to glow. Then there was a flash and the light turned black and then everything stopped. The man collapsed to the floor. Jean walked over to the man and hovered over him.

Jean was at a loss. Normally he would be able to help this person but he couldn’t do anything. Every time he tried to shake him Jean’s spectral hand would stop without him meaning it to.

“Putain de merde vous enculé j'espère que vous irez en enfer vous morceau de merde,” Jean yelled to nothing, or so he thought.

“You know, that’s not very nice. You don’t even know him.” There was a new, but familiar, voice from behind him. He turned around to make sure that this wasn’t some hallucination.

He saw two familiar figures in the flesh and both looked extremely angry. Well, Neil did.

“Neil Josten and Andrew Minyard. What a pleasure.”

“Jean Moreau, I wish I could say the same but you are looking quite… see-through,” Neil said with a wince.

“I figured. If it wasn’t so much trouble could you tell me who the fuck this is and why the fuck he’s here.”

“Ah, that’s Jeremy Knox. He’s the most powerful light medium in Los Angeles and we needed his help,” Neil said.

“Do you know someone who can help him? I would but my magic disappeared along with my body and something is stopping me from touching him.”

“Yeah, Abby and Bee are almost here. He’ll need all the help he can get. If we can get his jacket off you could probably touch him. That jacket he’s wearing is almost entirely protection spells,” Neil said. Andrew walked over to Jeremy and hovered his hands over his head. Andrew’s hands glowed softly with a greenish light and Jeremy sat up.

“Fuck,” Jeremy slurred as he struggled to stay upright. Andrew pushed him back down with no resistance.

“Lay back down you idiot,” Andrew said. He hovered his hands over Jeremy’s head again and Jeremy fell asleep.

Neil’s phone rang and there was a moment of him talking to Abby and Bee before he hung up.

“They’re here. We need to get him out of this warehouse though. Jeremy might have broken through the death magic and gotten rid of the aura but there are still pieces of Riko and Testuji here.” Neil walked over to Andrew and they slung Jeremy’s arms over their shoulders. Jean followed them as they walked outside half-dragging half-carrying Jeremy.

#aftg #aftg fic #aftg reverse big bang #aftg rbb #jerejean #fic #modern fantasy au #spirts

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jemej3m · 6 years

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in confidence i confide

i do understand this isn’t how therapy works :)

basic summary: neil needs help and andrew gets paid to help. it works out, somehow.

Neil was uncomfortable with how startingly different it all seemed. There were no sticky leather ottomans across from a black leather couch, or bookshelves covered in intimidating titles, or walls covered in certificates of achievements. The room was rather small, and Neil sat in a very soft velvet chair. A wooden coffee table sat in front of him. The man was on the other side of the room at the small kettle, making two mugs of something or rather: Neil smelled Earl Grey. He wasn’t fussed about that, so he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to drink it regardless.

The lighting of the room: That was different too. All offices of psychologists, psychiatrists, therapists and counsellors alike seemed to have a stark, bright white lighting. This room was lit by a lamp in the corner, and the cracks of daylight that seeped through the gaps in the curtain that covered the floor-to-ceiling window.

The psychologist must have seen him glance at the curtains. “I usually keep them shut, but some patients prefer them open. Depends on what they want from me, usually.”

Neil had nothing to say.

Andrew Minyard looked at him, one mug in each hand, huffed out a small sigh, and paced back towards the small, matching velvet couch perpendicular to Neil’s chair. He settled down the tea in front of Neil and sat himself against the armrest of the couch, a cup of hot cocoa in his hand. “Curtains shut, then.” He took a sip. “Feel free to open them whenever you like.”

Neil wanted this session to be over.

“In case you were wondering,” He put down his mug. “I’d prefer if you called me Andrew, rather than doctor, or Dr Minyard. We both already know you’re here for my medical qualifications: We don’t need the reminder every time you say my name.”

“What are your qualifications?”

“It speaks.” Andrew tilted his head to the side. Neil felt like copying, just to mock him—so he did. Andrew rose up a single eyebrow in amusement: Neil saw the twitch of the corner of his lips. “I have an undergraduate degree in criminology, and a post-grad in medicinal science. I continued on to study psychology and I have a PhD in criminal psychology. I’ve been in the field for five years.”

“Five.” Neil echoed. “How old are you?”

“29.” Andrew laced his fingers together. One year older than Neil. “I accelerated through many of the courses and stacked the necessary hours for certain qualifications on top of one another. I completed my PhD last year. Star pupil.”

Neil hummed.

“Do you feel, in light of my accomplishments, that you have to share yours?”

Neil looked up.

“Because I’d like to keep this space completely honest and open from the get-go: I already know who you are, and incidentally already know more than you want me to. Seems a little unfair to me.”

“Through Exy or through my father?” Neil’s plight was open to the entire public: Ten years ago he’d fought and won, and these scars were proof. Now he’d gone to the Olympics once—they’d lost to Germany, but they would be heading back this time next year. “Nevermind. Criminal psychologist.”

“It’d be hard not to know you from Exy,” Andrew corrected him. “But yes. Its your past that interests me more. I’m no policeman, or agent. I’m not here to drill and extract. This is your hour to talk about whatever you want, and to ask whatever questions you need.”

Neil picked up his Earl Grey, took a sip, and settled it back down again. No sugar, just how he liked it. He put his feet up on the edge of the coffee table and nestled into the velvet chair—it was very comfortable, but he couldn’t imagine anyone larger than him would find it so. How on earth did Kevin sit here for an hour every two weeks?

“I’m going to take a nap.”

Andrew said nothing, but Neil saw the tick of his jaw before he closed his eyes.

At first, Andrew didn’t move. Neil eventually heard him shift, and then stand, take his own mug off the table and treading lightly across the room. A creaking noise: Neil cracked open one eye to see the chalkboard on the opposite wall, next to the door, lifting up to reveal a book case. Andrew grabbed something off the bottom shelf—something tattered and worn—before closing the hidden bookshelf and turning around. Neil shut his eyes before Andrew could see him staring.

Andrew sat down again with his book, opened it, flicked through a few pages, before saying “You’re terrible at pretending to sleep.”

“I’m not trying to pretend.”

Andrew hummed.

Neil did not trust therapists—psychologists, psychiatrists, anyone of that or a similar brand. It was pure instinct. He could not sleep with Andrew in the room, but he could piss him off by wasting his time: He was Kevin’s psychologist—and Matt’s. Probably one of the most popular counselling professionals in the world of professional sport. If he shit-bagged Neil to Kevin about how much of a waste the session was, maybe Kevin wouldn’t hassle him again.

Andrew said nothing else. Neil opened his eyes at the beep of his watch, marking the turnover of an hour. He stood up, straightened his shirt and looked down at Andrew who was perusing a book on his couch. The psychologist didn’t spare him another glance, nor another word as he walked out.

The receptionist glared up at him—identical to Andrew. His name tag read A. Minyard, which wasn’t helpful at all. “So, first session with Andrew, huh?”

Neil nodded.

“Would you like to schedule the next one? Weekly or fortnightly is the recommendation, but—“

“Next one?”

He rose up a single eyebrow. “Oh, yes. Andrew insisted. It’d be wise to listen to his instruction.”

When the hell did Andrew instruct—

“Same time, next week.” Not-Andrew stabbed enter with his finger and stood up to give a business card. “The reception phone is always manned if there’s an emergency. We’ll link you through to him if it’s necessary. Bye.”

Neil nodded, stunned, turned himself around and marched out the door before he could kick up a fuss.

“What level of nutcase was he for you to text me mid-session?” Aaron lounged in the chair as Andrew rounded the front desk.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, now patient confidentiality is a concern of yours?” His twin arched an eyebrow. “You just want to get with him. That has to be illegal.”

“Aaron.”

Aaron rose up his hands in surrender, lips puckered like he tasted something sour and tucked himself under the desk, sitting up.

“You have a patient coming in five minutes. Go set up.”

Andrew sat down when Aaron slipped by him and put his feet up on the desk, staring at the screen.

Neil Josten was attractive. That was, however, not a concern of his. Regardless, he’d already known that. It was hard to sift through sports’ news without finding a Moreau, Josten, Reynolds, Knox, Boyd or even the legendary Day plastered somewhere, shirtless and glistening.

He and his twin had made a name for themselves as the one-stop-shop for professional sportsmen and women: Andrew fixed their heads, Aaron fixed their bodies, and Renee fixed their relationships. It was as good a team as any.

Neil Josten. Andrew scoffed.

Kevin shoved Neil out the door a week later. “Go.”

“Kevin—“

Kevin slammed the passenger door shut for Neil and sped off. Neil cursed after him until he turned the corner.

It was easy for Neil to get home, or to their court. He wasn’t incapable of catching public transport, despite it being something he’d more or less avoided since starting college and shaking his father off his back ten years ago.

He didn’t have to walk in there, either. But sleeping through the session hadn’t had the desired affect: Andrew had talked to Kevin, and Kevin had yelled at him for it, sure. But he wasn’t letting Neil go: He was pushing him until Neil used the time ‘wisely’.

Neil made another sour face in the direction that Kevin had driven off, and stalked inside. They were both there, and Neil remembered Not-Andrew who’d manned the desk after his appointment. They were joined by a young woman, too, with silver hair that was black at the roots and cut to her chin. The three of them looked up at him: The woman smiled, Andrew rose up his signature eyebrow and Not-Andrew glanced at Andrew.

“Follow me.”

Neil pulled the door shut behind him.

“Going to pull the same shit, today?” Andrew went to draw the curtains shut.

“Most likely.”

“Your money, your time.” Andrew hummed. “I’ll have to move you to a different spot if you’re going to remain stubborn, because people who need this time slot more urgently than you do are waiting for it.”

“So why get me in again.” Neil said flatly, dropping into the chair.

Andrew looked at him. “Me, get you in again? You’re the one who rescheduled, Neil.”

Neil tasted something sour, sunk into the chair and closed his eyes.

This lasted four sessions—six weeks, when Neil started going fortnightly instead.

And then it changed

Renee buzzed Andrew in. He was at home: She was manning the reception phone tonight. He picked up immediately. “Renee?”

“I’ve got Kevin Day on the phone. He sounds very stressed: Can you take it now?”

“Put him through.”

“—swear to God, Renee?”

“Kevin, it’s me.”

He sighed with relief. “Thank god. Andrew. Help.”

Andrew almost rolled his eyes. “I’m aware you require it. What’s happening?”

“Neil’s having a panic attack. We’re in public: I’ve barricaded the bathroom and we’re alone. He won’t talk to me.”

“What makes you think he’ll talk to me?”

“I don’t think he will, but you’re trained to do this. I’m not. I’m putting you on speaker and standing outside the door. Neil, if you need anything, call out to me. Ok?”

Andrew didn’t hear Neil reply, but there was definitely someone breathing raggedly. The phone was placed on the tile floor, and he heard the door shut.

“Neil.”

Nothing.

“I want you to breathe for me. I’m going to count with you. Ok?”

Nothing.

Andrew counted. He wasn’t breathing evenly nor steadily, but the longer Andrew murmured numbers, the more it evened out.

“Look at your hands, Neil. Are they holding something? Are they in fists? Can you stretch them out for me?”

Neil murmured something.

“Can you repeat that for me, Neil.”

“What are you—“ He took in a shuddering breath. “—doing.”

“I’m going to wait this one out with you and make sure you’re ok. I am able to answer any questions revolving why this would have happened and to help you work through how it started, what contributed to it, and how you can resolve it, understood?”

Neil hummed.

“Back to breathing, alright?” No response, not even a hum. “Ok. Breathe with me, ready…”

Kevin texted him later.

Thank you. That was a really bad one. I couldn’t let the press see him like that, he was desperate to escape but so lost in his head that he couldn’t find one. What did he say when he calmed down?

He didn’t say anything. Andrew texted back. He said ‘enough’ and hung up.

You’ll earn his trust. Kevin replied. Just be patient.

Andrew already knew that. Dont tell me how to do my damn job.

Right. Sorry.

Neil missed their next session.

He rescheduled, though, much to Andrew’s relief. It rolled around slowly, like watching the clock and seeing the second hand slow down just to taunt you. But it czme, eventually, and he appeared in the doorway, ragged and sleepless and angry.

He doesn’t shut the door behind him this time.

“You could have saved your brothers’ scholarship if you’d explained the history of your abuse during his trial. But you didn’t.”

He did his research.

“Does slandering me make you feel better about being exposed as you were?”

Neil’s jaw tightened.

“For your information, Aaron wasn’t going to let me attempt that. We had enough evidence to keep him out of jail. None of that is your business.”

“Did you kill your mother?”

Andrew tapped on the armrest of his couch. “Car accidents are awful things. Did you kill yours?”

Neil stared at him. “No. My father did.”

“And your uncle killed your father, and the boss of a mafia gang in New York killed him. Are you next?”

Neil shook his head. “How do you know about Ichirou?”

“I am good friends with Kevin.”

“He never talked about you until he admitted to going to your sessions a few months ago.”

“He doesn’t talk about much but Exy, does he.”

Neil paused. “I suppose that’s true.”

Andrew stopped tapping on the armrest when he saw Neil was watching his movement. Neil’s gaze flitted up to his because of it. “Are you going to talk to me, now?”

“I’m not good at talking.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m very good an comprehending nonsense and piecing together puzzles. Where do you want to start?”

Neil paused, and then let out a singular, startlingly genuine laugh, stretching out on his chair. “Oh, doctor, it all started when I was young and impressionable…”

“Don’t you dare.” Andrew felt the tick of a muscle in his cheek. He was not going to smile. He was not going to smile. “What if we worked through the night where Kevin called me, hm?”

Neil sighed. Cast his gaze to the ceiling, then back to Andrew. Swallowed. Looked down at his hands.

“Fine.”

And they did.

The next time Neil called Andrew after-hours, it was weeks later and he was the one manning the reception phone: It was in the pocket of his slacks and he was on the couch at home. The three of them took turns keeping the reception phone on them: Each of them were qualified in first-aid, of which they’d required twice before. Aaron was the only one of the three who wasn’t apt at dealing with psychological emergencies, but was the best with physical ones. It was a good system.

Andrew rose the phone as soon as it started ringing. “Yes.”

“Oh, Andrew. It’s you.”

Neil had his session today. Why was he calling?

“Indeed.” Usually people couldn’t distinguish between him and Aaron over the phone. How had Neil been able to with just a yes.

“Oh. Hi.”

“What is it?”

“It’s not—“ Neil made a noise. “I realise now this is the after-hours phone. And this isn’t urgent. It’s stupid, too.”

“Nothing can be stupid if I haven’t been given the chance to judge whether it is or not, Neil. What is?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you. More. Are you always working?”

“Not always.”

“Is it weird if I get your actual phone number? Is that some kind of breach of policy?”

This was not happening. “You can have it.”

“Oh. Ok. Let me—“

“I’ll text you.”

“Oh. Right.”

Andrew hung up and leapt for his actual phone, where it was laying face-down on the coffee table.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The only thing that was stupid about Neil Josten was how much Andrew had let himself like him.

“Why are you so groggy.” Aaron remarked when Andrew walked into the reception. Renee had a coffee waiting for him.

At approximately the same time, Kevin hit Neil over the back of his head. They’d been up and at it since six—Neil was already dead on his feet, but he kept checking his phone. “What the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“I didn’t get much sleep.” Neil slid his phone back into his bag.

Andrew didn’t reply to Aaron’s very similar question.

“You never get much sleep.” Kevin grumbled to himself. Neil ignored him.

“Bad night.” Renee deduced. Andrew sipped his coffee.

No, Andrew thought, remembering who he’d been up talking to until four in the morning.

Not for the reason you’d think, Neil thought, following Kevin back to the treadmills.

Andrew had thought—had suspected, hoped, projected, was almost certain—that Josten was going to ask him out.

He hadn’t.

Andrew wasn’t sure what was going on. Maybe years ago, he would’ve given up and moved on without the bat of an eye, but this Andrew was invested in puzzles with missing pieces and things so shattered that the normal man wouldn’t dare try to work out how to glue it back together. Andrew was psychoanalysing Neil out of habit, and assessing every little movement and comment and facial expression out of habit.

It was driving him up the wall.

He met Neil for coffee after Neil’s early morning runs, and they grabbed Thai and Italian and Chinese together when Andrew got out of the clinic.

Neil was very good at guidelines, and understood what Andrew meant when he asked Neil to keep it separate from his therapy: Andrew had a job to do. It was still never a single hour that was all about Neil and his issues: From the beginning, Andrew had worked out that a truth was traded for a truth, and that they would get nowhere in Neil’s twisted, thorn-embedded landmine of a mental space if he didn’t let Neil into his own.

But outside his office, he could no longer detach himself like he often did.

It was what lead him to grabbing Neil by his fingers—the first bad decision—and rerouting to the roof-top access stairwell—the second bad decision—showing Neil he was apt at lock jimmying by getting it open without disturbing the alarm system—the third bad decision—and pulling Neil to the edge—the fourth bad decision.

“What do you feel, standing here?” He was curious. His heart was racing, every breath catching in his throat. A combination of the sheer drop beneath them and the fingers still hooked with the redhead next to him’s. Neil looked tired, but a well-worn kind of tired: No nightmare-induced shadows under his eyes or nervous clench to his jaw. They’d been up talking all night again.

“The wind.”

“A truth.” Andrew looked out. “I’m scared of heights.” The fifth bad decision—telling Neil that.

His blue eyes opened a little wider. “Why did you bring me out here, then?”

“It used to be the only way I could feel something.”

Neil was still looking at him in that peculiar way of his, feeling as though he was opening Andrew’s chest, one layer of skin at a time. But he’d made it well-past his skin, and had pulled back filaments of muscle, and yanked at his sternum and ribcage, worming around his lungs and dislodging his trachea. There was only one thing left in there.

“What do you feel now?”

“If I asked to kiss you—” Andrew started.

“Yes.” Neil’s fingers tightened around his.

“You didn’t hear me out.” Andrew frowned, looking at him.

He was so close. “I already knew what you were going to say.”

Andrew turned into it. That was the sixth bad decision—and probably the worst. But Andrew still refused to believe in regret and abided by his own policies (aptly ignoring the don’t-fuck-around-with-patients policy), and this was happening. This was happening.

“I hate you.” He muttered, right against Neil’s lips. Neil wasn’t moving backwards. It was as good of an excuse an any to do it again—The seventh bad decision.

It was that point that Andrew lost count of the number of bad decisions he’d made—because he let himself be lead inside and lost count of the kiss count as soon as they made it past Neil’s front door.

Neil’s reasoning for stopping the sessions was because he was ok: Andrew wasn’t having any of it. He wouldn’t see Renee since becoming friends with her, but he was unwilling to branch out.

“It’s the regularity and routine.” Andrew grabbed Neil by his chin and rose up an eyebrow. “Neil. We can still keep the sessions going.”

“I have access to your services as a psychologist whenever I like. You won’t let me pay anymore: There are people who need the time slot more than me.” Neil put his fingers around Andrew’s wrist. “And as much as I appreciate the offer, the risk of me ending up naked on your desk is far too high. Not that I’d complain, but—it’s a little unprofessional, don’t you think?”

Andrew shoved him back with a scoff. “I do have some element of self-control, Josten.”

Neil grinned.

#andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #au #not-so-mini fic #i like the idea of psychologist andrew #who knows how exy and palmetto fit into this #it's 10 years in the future no one gives a shit whoop #what city are they even in #no one knows #aftg #jem writes

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