Chapter Text
Steven does not know why he was so hesitant to come to this party. He’s three and a half drinks in, and he’s in someone’s house that he doesn’t really know very well, but he’s surrounded with his friends and coworkers from the office, and he’s feeling pretty good. They’re all sitting around on couches in the living room, drinking and chatting. Through the haze of the alcohol Steven can still detect some slight weirdness about it, one of the reasons why he didn’t normally go to these weekend get togethers – there’s something about house parties in your late 20s and early 30s, when you’re not quite young enough to be binge drinking and making out in bedrooms, but not quite old enough to be throwing a wine and cheese soirée. It always weirds him out a little, that liminal space they all inhabit. Young adulthood, but not that young anymore.
Nevertheless, he’s having a good time, sitting off to the side. He’s grateful Andrew agreed to DD, so he doesn’t have to worry about finding his way home. And he’s drunk enough now that he’s letting himself watch Andrew a little, sitting on the couch diagonal to him. He revels in the guilty pleasure of watching him take a pull from the root beer he’s drinking, the way his throat bobs.
Everyone’s talking about sex, predictably, since that’s what these conversations always devolve into when it reaches one or two in the morning. This kind of discussion would normally have Steven squeamish and uncomfortable, but his inhibitions are lowered enough that any anxiety immediately melts away. He feels so good, why doesn’t he always come to these things?
“What about you, Andrew?” Jen is asking, and Andrew looks surprised to be picked out, but also game.
“Well, the last guy I was seeing wanted me to tie him up,” Andrew volunteers, and a couple of people laugh. Someone whistles, but Steven can’t tell who.
“Oh my God,” says Jen, leaning forward in her seat, “Was it that guy, Jesse? Did you do it?”
The group is quietly anticipating Andrew’s answer, but Andrew just winks and takes another sip of his drink, the group breaking out in noise and laughter again. Steven can’t take his eyes off Andrew’s throat, again, but he also knows he needs to get out. He must have gone too hard, four drinks tipping him over the edge. He can hear blood rushing in his ears, and he stands up as non-disruptively as possible and heads to the kitchen.
He sits at the kitchen island, resting his cheek on the granite countertop. It’s extraordinarily cool to the touch, and feels so good on his heated face. His thoughts are racing, and his careful compartmentalization is disintegrating. He can barely admit to himself why he fled the living room, but nobody has followed him into the kitchen, so he doesn’t anticipate having to explain himself. It wouldn’t be hard to explain anyway, since Steven rarely has more than one drink at a time, and anyone would assume that he just can’t handle his liquor (which wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate).
But it’s not the alcohol that drew him away from the party; it’s actually his mental state, which seems to be deteriorating quite rapidly. As he rests his head on the counter, he can only think of Andrew, and that guy, who he never met directly but saw once or twice. They hadn’t been serious, as far as Steven could tell, but he would drop Andrew off at work some mornings. They’d get there at the same time as Steven, and Steven would catch them saying goodbye in Jesse’s car. They never kissed goodbye, but their intimacy was apparent, and it left a bad taste in Steven’s mouth that he chose not to contemplate.
What Andrew said should not have been shocking, and Steven knew that. He knew that, hypothetically, Andrew and that guy probably had sex or whatever. And he was fine with that – obviously. And it was obviously none of his business. But Andrew saying it like that, so nonchalantly, the mental image it conjured… it was just too much, for reasons Steven didn’t care to identify. Maybe it was just the feeling of Steven’s careful compartmentalization of Andrew’s sexuality coming toppling down. All of his “Andrew + Bisexual” data was now roaming free in his mind, and it was leaving him dizzy and hot. And he was drunk, and he was feeling it even harder than before, and he was thinking about pulling out his phone and ordering an Uber, because he felt like he had to get home as soon as possible, lest he have an absolute breakdown in this stranger’s house.
Just as he’s reaching to his pocket to grab his phone, Andrew comes striding into the kitchen, empty root beer bottle in hand, and he’s clapping Steven on the shoulder gently.
“Dude, you don’t look so good,” he looks concerned but lightly amused, a natural reactions for someone finding their drunk lightweight of a friend with their face smashed against a kitchen countertop.
“Ugh,” Steven groans, and Andrew laughs, setting down his empty bottle. He reaches for his phone and checks the time.
“We should head out anyway, it’s almost two,” says Andrew. Steven nods, jumping out of the bar stool chair and following Andrew out into the living room to say their goodbyes.
Andrew offers everyone a ride, and Steven prays someone will say yes and save him from the car ride back, but no one does.
--
So they’re in Andrew’s car, and they’re driving down the highway in the direction of Steven’s apartment, and everything is dark and blurry and surreal. They’re silent, and Steven’s drunk and he can’t stand it. He’s blurting it out before he has a chance to think it through.
“You drive stick.”
Andrew looks surprised at the break in the silence, and then he chuckles, “Yeah.”
“It’s…” Steven trails off, and he can feel his face heating up. He doesn’t understand what’s gotten into him. Why Andrew’s casual discussion with their friends at the party is causing him to act so impulsive and stupid as he runs it over and over in his mind. Because what he was going to say, before he stopped himself, was it’s hot.
Andrew with one hand on the stick, shifting gears, other casually on the wheel. With his damn hands, his goddamn arms. Nobody in their right mind would deny it. The difference is that most people wouldn’t say it, and Steven definitely wouldn’t normally say it; in fact, it’s the exact kind of thing he’d avoid saying, or even thinking. But he’s intoxicated, not just on the four beers he had at the party, but on their proximity in Andrew’s small sedan, and Andrew’s words running through his mind. He wanted me to tie him up. And that smirk that followed, Andrew’s deflective wink, the line of his throat. Fuck.
Andrew seems nonplussed by Steven’s silence, “I’ve always preferred it. It gives you more control behind the wheel.”
“Ah,” Steven’s going for a sound to simply indicate he found Andrew’s reply interesting, but it comes out like an aborted groan. That was the last thing he needed to hear from Andrew right now… More control? Jesus Christ. And now he’s blushing so hard he’s certain he could no longer blame it on the alcohol, so he turns to look out the window, praying his face is shrouded in darkness, or maybe Andrew isn’t even looking over. He presses his cheek against the cool glass of the window, get your shit together, Steven.
“What were you gonna say?” Andrew asks, his voice soft, like he’s trying not to scare Steven off.
Steven decides his best bet is to fake innocent, “What? When?”
“I mean, you were going to say something about my driving. You trailed off.”
He’s ready to die. He can’t believe this is happening to him. He really thought Andrew would just drop it. God, damn it.
“Oh, I was just going to say…. Women- people- um, people must find that hot. Do people find that hot?” He laughs awkwardly, more like a wry ha, ha. Wow, he would give anything to be not in this car right now. To not have even gone to the party. To not have ever been born.
The silence lasts a beat too many, and he risks a glance over at Andrew. His eyebrows are knitted together in thought, and Steven thinks he spots a slight flush to his cheeks. He realizes his comment must have embarrassed him, but he’s too embarrassed himself to try to remedy the situation. He knows he’d just end up digging himself a bigger hole.
“Man, those four beers really did you in, huh?” Andrew asks. There’s a tone of wry amusement in his voice that leads Steven to believe that he hadn’t offended Andrew too seriously, and Steven breathes a sigh of relief.
And the car is stopped now, right outside the front of Steven’s apartment building. He reaches for the door handle, grateful to finally have an out, but when he looks back at Andrew to thank him for the ride, Andrew is staring at him intently, catching Steven off guard.
“Steven,” he pauses, and seems to be choosing his words carefully. The look on his face is uncharacteristically earnest, and his eyes are glassy and tired. He sighs. “Drink some water when you get in, okay? It’ll help with the hangover.”
Steven wants to say a million different things. He can tell the course of Andrew’s sentence changed during that pause, and he wants to throw his own question right back at him, what were you gonna say? He wants to act belligerent, I know how drinking works, Andrew. I’m not a kid Andrew. Okay, mom. What he really, truly wants to say, he can scarcely admit to himself. Thanks. Thanks for always taking care of me. I love you. Will you come up? Do you want a coffee? Can we talk?
He settles for a curt, “Okay, thanks for the ride,” and Andrew nods. There’s a flash on his face of some emotion, almost like disappointment. Like he was hoping for something that just didn’t pan out. But Steven thinks his mind might be playing tricks on him, as it is wont to do, so he gets out and slams the car door behind him, not looking back as he sloppily unlocks the front entrance of his building and slips inside.