Chapter 23: It’s only orange juice
Michael watched as Andrew’s expression hardened, and all he could feel was sympathy for him. None of this could be easy, and he was thankful that Mr. Beckett came back with a large glass of orange juice, and Mr. Newman was close behind him with a steaming tray of what appeared to be a warmed up meal.
"Andrew, come." Maxwell ordered, and Andrew slowly moved his feet off of the table, but Michael stopped him.
"Uh, Mr. Beckett, Andrew’s feet have just been patched up. He needs to rest them before he should put any weight on them. Is it alright if he eats on the couch?" Maxwell didn’t seem angry to the others, but Andrew could tell that he wasn’t pleased that the new Doctor had spoken back to him. Andrew waited, held in stasis as he waited for Maxwell’s verdict.
"Stay seated, Andrew. I’ll bring it over." Andrew nodded, relaxing back into the couch. Michael also relaxed.
"I’m sorry Mr. Beckett. I just want to make sure that Andrew heals completely, without any side effects." Maxwell nodded at his apology, keeping his attention on Andrew. He passed Andrew the glass of orange juice with both hands, making Andrew smile. He didn’t think his hands were that small, after all, he’d had no problem-
Andrew nearly spewed the first sip he’d taken all over the man. Maxwell immediately grew concerned.
"Is everything alright? Does it taste bad?" Maxwell asked, and Andrew shook his head, his face heating in embarrassment and shame. What the hell was he thinking about? Maxwell was busy taking care of him! He was being considerate! How dare you think about him that way?
"N-No, just went down the wrong pipe." Andrew joked, his face still pink. Maxwell frowned, pressing the back of his hand against Andrew’s forehead as he took another sip of the orange juice. He tried to focus on the flavour of the juice, and how good it was, instead of on the feeling of Maxwell’s skin against his own.
Maxwell’s expression didn’t change much, but Andrew knew he was worried about him. Hell, this whole situation stemmed from the fact that Maxwell was worried about him.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
What were he and Maxwell to each other now? It was clear that they were more than neighbours now, but...were they something more? They hadn’t had a chance to talk about it since Michael and Mr. Newman had arrived. Were they just...friends? Friends that helped each other out during a rut? Or were they more? When was a good time to ask Maxwell? Was there a good time to ask?