After the two of them had finally calmed down, Andrew was the one who called Michael back into the living room. He knew that the other man had given them some privacy to soothe each other, but that didn't mean that Michael was soothed.
Oh no.
The black man was still pissed at Andrew, and it was for a good reason. Andrew had fucked up. He'd let his own hang ups, and the trauma from his childhood take over his future. He'd hurt both of them, and he felt like shit. He wasn't sure how he was going to be able to make it up to either of them.
Michael gestured to the couch, near where he'd laid everything out.
"Go, sit. Did anyone want anything while I'm up?" He asked, and both of the men shook their heads. Michael shrugged, before coming to join them on the couch. There was an awkward silence, before Michael sighed. "Did Mr. Beckett talk some sense into you?" Michael asked, and Andrew nodded, his cheeks a little pink.
