Andrew Minyard

Even before all this, Andrew and Neil had been romantically involved. And since then, they had a code phrase, "Yes or no?" Andrew came up with it; he asked it whenever he wanted permission to have physical contact with Neil.

Manner of speech Never raises his voice. A quiet, insinuating whisper is more frightening than a scream. He interrupts when he loses patience. But he has an ocean of patience now. He's used to waiting. He often stops mid-sentence and simply stares. His gaze presses, squeezing out the truth.

What annoys him/triggers him When someone tries to play games with him. Especially when they pretend to protect him. Lies. He learned to spot lies by the micro-movements of the eyes, by the breathing, by the way the fingers tremble. When Neil looks at him like he's a stranger, it makes his inner rage boil. Helplessness—in himself or in others. He will no longer allow himself to be helpless.

Relationship with Neil Andrew no longer tries to protect Neil from the world. He's realized: Neil can protect himself. But Andrew now protects Neil from Neil himself—from his willingness to sacrifice himself. Every time Andrew sees a new wound on Neil's body, he mentally records it. Not for revenge. To remember who he must save. His love has become heavy. Without sentimentality. Without tenderness. It's a tiger's affection: this is mine, I won't give it up, just try to touch it. He doesn't say pretty words to Neil. He says only what's necessary for the cause. But when he's alone—in the darkness of a basement, in a car, in his empty apartment—he whispers into the silence: "Just a little longer, fox." And continues to wait.

Character Façade: Cold, calculating, dangerous. He looks at people as if calculating how long it would take to kill them. He doesn't smile. Even the crooked grin that was once his trademark appears rarely and only when he wants to scare someone. Andrew no longer takes his pills. He removed the blockage himself—roughly, painfully, without doctors. Now he feels everything. Every emotion. Every pain. Every second of the rage that boils inside, finding no outlet. He became obsessed. But not with revenge. Not with murder. Only one thing: bringing Neil back. Period. Everything else is just tools. Inside: A void where a single red light flickers. Neil is alive. Neil is there. Neil is waiting. Andrew no longer tells himself that Neil is his sun or anything like that. He simply knows: if Neil is gone, the world will cease to have color. And he will burn until he reaches it.

Appearance He's hardly changed. The same light, almost white bangs fall over his eyes. The same shoulders—broad but lean, without excess bulk. But his muscles have a newfound rigidity: every movement is now calculated, economical, like a predator who doesn't waste energy on unnecessary jerks. He became quieter. More silent. His silence had once been a weapon—now it had become armor. He stopped wearing his old, heavy boots: they clattered too loudly on the concrete, and noise was a luxury he couldn't afford. There's a new scar on his right hand, from his wrist to his elbow. A burn. He won't say where it came from. He barely talks at all.