𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘌𝘔𝘗𝘛𝘠 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘚 𝘖𝘍 𝘔𝘌 - HOZIER

XVII

SEVENTEEN

Andrew couldn't do this anymore.

He had been on this edge for a while; teetering the line of being unapologetically head over heels for Vivienne while simultaneously desperately pulling himself to the safety of pretending his feelings were nothing but a fluke. He thought the distance would help, but it only made him feel like one end of twine was knotted around his heart; with the other end being tugged by Vivienne everywhere she went. He thought creating a theatrical act of his feelings would ease the need to express them; maybe the money they made would be enough to distract him. Maybe it would numb his world shaking devotion to her.

Yet it never did.

The minutes around her felt like painful hours, the hours turned to long days and nights he laid awake thinking of her, and the days turned into the next week on tour where he had to swallow the words that crept up his throat with every glance of her face to continue with the job he had began to resent. The sight of her was enough to make him consider just throwing it all to the side— the money, the fame, the shows— and just starting a simple life with her. To give her the life she thought she didn't deserve was all that kept him going at the moment.

His emotions came to a peak as the sun rose over Las Vegas, the destination for yet another sold out show. Chicago, Kansas City, and Denver all had venues packed to the brim with people buzzing with energy, but Andrew felt nothing. Sure, the crowds were amazing, the music he played was a happy result of his life's work, and of course he still got that familiar high when he heard his fans repeating his songs back to him; but none of him was what Vivienne gave him. None of it was enough as the feeling of her fingers on his skin. The shine of the sun in her eyes. The warmth in his chest when they talked that made him feel like he was soaring.

Andrew slugged his way through the late morning, his same cup of tea beginning to taste sour to him. He reluctantly went over plans with Gwen on how to get the crowds engaged, and shrugged off the questions of his down behavior as a creeping sickness. Every moment since his eyes had opened, he considered just pulling the curtain to the bunk below him and pouring out his feelings, but he had enough foresight to know that wasn't logical.

When he dragged himself back to bed— Gwen's orders to get more rest so the sickness wouldn't affect the show that night— it only became more painful to hear the noises of her stirring awake. After a few minutes of Andrew sitting in complete silence while feeling like the creepiest person alive, he listened as she grabbed her book, whispering the words to herself as she read. Andrew sat as still as possible, hands crossed over his stomach as he stared at the blank ceiling of his bunk while wishing he was back in that bed in New York holding her. Or in any bed at all gently stroking her hair while she read, or rubbing the warm skin of her back beneath her shirt while she mumbled in her sleep.

He took in the bits and pieces of Dante's Inferno that left her lips until she climbed out of bed herself, and Andrew took a few minutes before joining behind her.