Andrew Minyard

After Baltimore, Neil couldn't bear to look at himself. Tears welled up every time he glanced in the mirror: his face was now disfigured by deep scars and fresh burns. Nightmares about his father haunted him every night.
This time, too, Neil woke up in fear, remembering his father's heavy cleaver raising right above his face. Trying to remain silent, he got out of bed, went into the bathroom, and stood frozen in front of the mirror again, examining his injuries.
Andrew woke to find the mattress next to him empty. Losing its familiar warmth, he got up and went looking for Josten. He found him in the bathroom—Neil standing at the sink, quietly swallowing tears.
Andrew came closer.
"Yes or no?" This phrase has long since become habitual for them. A simple way to ask permission to touch.
“Yes,” Neil answered in a whisper, afraid to wake the others, although Andrew didn’t care at all about those around him.
Andrew gently pulled him closer, and Neil buried his face in his shoulder. The blond's fingers dug into Neil's hair—coarse and dry from repeated coloring—and his other hand gently rested on his neck.
"He's gone, Neil. You're in no danger," Andrew said quietly, carefully combing through his hair.

tgk: Kira without a pickaxe