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Kieran won, and all Jesse wants to do is go the hell to sleep. Too bad that’s not possible. Not if he ever wants to get a movie funded ever again.
The night’s already dragged on long enough, and he’s clenching his jaw to keep himself from yawning in an exec’s face. There’s something exhausting about having everyone throw praise on him. Has there ever been a time when he was good at taking praise? Normal people might preen under the compliments, but there’s only ever been one person who he’s ever believed it from. Only one person whose sincerity sinks through saccharine words. Only one person…
Another yawn almost escapes, and his eyes water as he tries to hold it back. He’s about to step on the carpet, and he needs his body to get it together. Not that he can blame himself. Spending hours in an auditorium attempting to ignore where Andrew is sitting happens to be exhausting. And he knows where Andrew is like a ship with a radar. Unlike the children’s game, Jesse thinks. Except Andrew’s always sunk his battleships. Know where to find the deepest, softest parts of him and bring them to light until Jesse’s staring at his flaws laid bare. Andrew swore he loved all his rights and wrongs and ups and downs.
The assistant gestures for him to hit the red carpet. He’s already assumed this is going to be one of those nights where they occupy the same room, breathe the same air, but dance around each other like two magnets with identical poles. They left things off on good terms. Why would they not? Industry is as industry does. People get dragged away to opposite ends of the planet for months at a time. Life happens. They happened, and now they’re finished.
A masterpiece, some press people called his film. The thought makes him itch. Jesse’s only here at the Vanity Fair party because he had received a nominated, and just like the first time, he knew he was going to lose. But his mind keeps going back to Andrew, thoughts slipping through hastily constructed walls, and how they’ve lived their lives in lock-step but apart. Is that even possible? Well, it’s them. So maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Same number of nominations, same number of losses. People have typecast them as heroes and villains. Why is he so damn itchy? When can he crawl into bed? He wants to be out of this damn tux.
Then he looks to his right, and his world slows to a stop. Their eyes meet from across the carpet, and Jesse can feel his eyes widen. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last. He can’t help the Pavlovian response. A flash goes off, and Jesse blinks, but there’s Andrew.
Still beautiful, still Andrew Garfield.
The camera bulbs burst in his eyes and leave behind retinal ghosts, while the clicks become even more furious. Did Andrew change his outfit? Yeah, he did. All Jesse wants to do is tease him. They’re shouting at him to leave his mark, and his body moves on autopilot. Divine force would be the only thing that could hold him back. Except the divine force wouldn’t be enough to hold him back. Not when this feels so right. Not when his every pore, his every atom, turns to stardust when he sees Andrew.
Five steps is all it takes, and he’s in Andrew’s arms again. Or at least as close as one can be in a side hug that requires him to rise onto his tiptoes. Not that he’s ever forgotten Andrew’s height, not that he’s ever forgotten how it feels to have his arm across his chest.
This is going to end up on the internet later.
The smile on his face stretches into a smug smirk, the kind he knows Andrew likes because it makes him look ‘ridiculous.’
(Like the pretentious artist you know you are.)
“Hey there,” he says, which is enough to make Andrew laugh wide and bright, leaning forward in that ridiculous gray suit that only he can make look good. Jesse can’t help imagining what he would say to him later: Did you unbutton your shirt because your stylist made you, or was it just because you wanted me to look?
Because of you, he imagines Andrew saying with that fucking smile on his face.
The one that brings his cheeks up to his eyes, and they disappear. He loves that smile. He loves when Andrew’s nose scrunches. They’re a decade and a half older from when they were filming for the first time, and Jesse feels every second of that time. But he also feels like it passed in a blink of an eye. As much as Jesse tries to avoid social media and entertainment gossip, he can’t help but always keep an ear out for news of Andrew. How he’s doing, what projects he’s working on, who he’s taking meetings with…
Fuck, he thinks. He just loves every part of Andrew.
The good, the bad, the ugly, the annoying.
The heat of Andrew’s hand burns through the suit worth the salary of all the assistants working the carpet, and Jesse wonders if he’s even going to be able to return it now that Andrew has infused it with his touch. He knows what those hands feel like, and he wonders if Andrew feels his own palm through the fabric. There’s no way he could let it go, knowing that they’ve had this brief contact.
The clicks of the cameras are slowing, and if Jesse doesn’t move, his PR person is going to yell at him. But he doesn’t want to step away. Or he doesn’t think he can step away. Not when he’s touching him.
“Some solo shots! Andrew! Over here!”
From the corner of his eye can see the carpet assistant beckoning him to keep it moving, and he moves to shake Andrew’s hand. Professional, perfunctory. All they’re good for is a few shots and an Instagram post about ‘being wired in’ or something. They’re coworkers, they’re friends, they’re exactly what the world thinks and wants them to be.
No one knows the truth. No one knows he knows what it’s like to run his hands down Andrew’s side, and to feel the muscle twitching under his fingertips. No one knows Jesse knows exactly where it is on Andrew’s neck that makes him giggle like a toddler. No one knows he knows. And he likes it being his little secret. Or at least he did. Back when their touches were subtle and behind closed doors.
Now he feels it like an ache. A torn muscle that hasn’t healed properly.
Whatever happened years ago in Cambridge? Gone, dead, buried.
But he can’t resist the urge to hold on to Andrew’s hand, to brush their fingers together until his hand slips away and space again fills the atoms between them.
He wants, he wants, he wants…
The cameras burst in his eyes, and he knows he’s going to get a text message asking if he’s resuming things with ‘the nice Jewish boy.’
They text, of course. They left things on good terms. Sort of. Mostly. What’s the common PR phrase? Their schedules didn’t work. Irreconcilable differences. They consciously uncoupled. Or whatever. He doesn’t care about Pooshes and Goops and Crunch Crunches. He only knows because a member of his team listens to the podcast when they travel. Odd to work in the industry and listen to podcasts about it, but he won’t pass too much judgement.
His assistant touches his arm. “I’ve got Pop Crave over here.”
What the hell is a Pop Crave?
The night passes in a blur of champagne-colored small talk and photos with people he doesn’t remember taking. At these kinds of events, everyone has a camera, and Jesse’s hyper aware of what he looks like. The vibes he’s radiating, or whatever people say. He can’t keep glancing across the room at Andrew’s figure, or people are going to suspect. People are going to talk.
But maybe he can catch him. Maybe he can…
“You’re too stiff!” Kieran brushes past him, grinning as he nudges him with his shoulder as he grips a little gold man. Jesse loses sight of Andrew.
“I’m getting ready to leave.” Jesse rolls his eyes and tries to not search the crowd for a familiar shade of brown.
“The night’s just getting started.” Kieran clasps his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you plan to hibernate after this?”
“That is exactly what I plan to do.” He wraps his arms around Kieran and tries not to glance toward where Andrew’s imprint was. “Congratulations, man. Don’t stay out too late.”
“Of course not. Gotta get to In-N-Out before it closes.” Kieran follows his gaze. “You be good, too.”
Then he’s gone.
Another night where he and Andrew pass like ships in the night. Coming close enough to collide, maybe even brushing up against each other, but off on their own trajectories.
Someone invited Jesse to another party, but he doesn’t want to go to an after-afterparty, or even an after-after-afterparty. Not when he could go home and crawl into bed, letting a random Lithuanian film ease him into sleep. It’s a film about a family coming to grips with a tragedy. He’s excited to see it, but he also wonders what it would be like to have Andrew there, lying in bed next to him. What would Andrew say? What would Andrew think? What would Andrew feel like if Jesse tilted his head up and…
He shakes his head and heads to the coat check. The ticket has just left his fingertips, and then…
And then, he’s body slammed and manhandled into the coatroom. The attendant’s eyes turn into saucers, and she bustles out of the room. All the muscles in Jesse’s body have tensed, and he’s ready to fight off the deranged fan who must have broken in, but then he inhales that familiar Calvin fucking Klein fragrance and he goes boneless against Andrew’s chest. If he closes his eyes, he knows he could map out every inch, every contour, every scar on Andrew’s body. Even the new ones, because there’s nothing that could happen to him that Jesse wouldn’t feel somewhere in his soul.
No matter how far they are, they’ve bonded on a molecular level. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much that they threw what they had away. For what?
For a career? For accolades? For them to hide under a thin veneer of ‘normality’ that this industry wants them to project?
Has any of it been worth it?
“Tell me you feel it, too. Tell me you miss me, too.” The words brush the shell of his ear. Autopilot takes over yet again. Jesse grabs the side of Andrew’s face and brings their mouths together. It’s more of a clash of teeth than a kiss, but they’re kissing. They’re touching each other in a coat check where anyone could walk in, and somehow Jesse remembers. Pain courses through him as he steps back. Somehow they pull apart, breathing like they’ve just run a marathon.
“This better not end up on Deux Moi,” Andrew runs a hand over his face.
“What is that?” Jesse blinks. “Is that a social media thing?”
“Still clueless about the inner workings of the internet.” And Andrew’s grin turns blinding again, and Jesse thinks he might go blind from the full power of his gaze. For the second time that night, Jesse is ready to throw his entire life away, or at least throw away any parts that would dare keep him from this. Their fingers tangle together, and Jesse knows this is where they’re meant to be. Together. Not apart, only catching glimpses of each other across crowded rooms, or in movie theaters.
Maybe this is growing up. Maybe this is where he’s supposed to be. Maybe this is his second chance, and he’s going to grab it.
“Tell me this is real for you.” Jesse finds the words, and they come out steady for once.
Andrew’s lips brush Jesse’s again, and then they find their way back to the shell of Jesse’s ear. They both exhale as if their breaths have synced. As if they’re back to being one person, yet again. He’s missed these moments so much, and he aches for all the times they’ve missed.
But maybe it’s okay to miss the moments they could have had, but appreciate the people they’ve now become. Jesse cups Andrew’s face, and Andrew turns his nose into his palm. His beard scratches Jesse’s palm.
“I’m sorry.” Andrew whispers.
“Me too.” Jesse exhales, though it’s closer to a whisper of a breath. “Both of us messed up.”
“I know, but…” Andrew trails off and glances toward the door, and Jesse can’t help the sourness settling in his stomach with the memory of another time. He looks back. “Tell me we can do this again.”
“I thought you were seeing a witch?” The words come out sourer than Jesse intended, but there’s no way to play it off. For a man whose career is acting, he definitely can’t act in front of Andrew. Not when the other man knows what each twitch of Jesse’s mouth means.
“Keeping tabs on me?” Andrew raises a brow and Jesse can’t resist reaching out with his thumb to force Andrew to lower it. He hasn’t done that in years. He wants to do it again.
(And again, and again, and again…)
“Leave with me.” Jesse makes a face when he realizes how it sounds. “No, not like that. Just. Please.”
(I can’t ever be apart from you again. I can’t bear the separation. I can’t be in this room and not touch every part of you. I can’t…)
There’s laughter from somewhere in the distance, and this would be the part where they drop their hands. But Andrew’s grip tightens, even when the red-faced coat check girl comes back. Jesse should hope that she’s signed an NDA, but Jesse also realizes he doesn’t give a shit. Not now, not anymore.
Except maybe now he has time to say all the right things, and maybe he’ll give Andrew the time to say all the right things, and they’ll move forward…giving the other time in the ways they couldn’t before.
“Two separate cars?”
“We’re not amateurs.” Andrew responds, shrugging a shoulder up. “But I think we can squeeze into one car. We’re friends…”
Friends. Right. But before Jesse can spiral too much, Andrew nudges his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
There’s a secretive smile on Andrew’s face, and Jesse can’t help but smirk. Their entwined fingers remain, and Andrew traces Jesse’s skin with his thumb. If Jesse looks down, he imagines he’ll see a tattoo of Andrew’s touch. Marking him for life. Ruining him for everyone else.
That’s when the world turns into a blur whose center is the heat radiating from Andrew’s hand. When they stumble from the door, and it shuts behind them, the world expands to Andrew’s hands slipping under his dress shirt and pressing against his abdomen. Lips brush against his throat and Jesse knows there’s no chance of him letting Andrew slip through his fingers again.
Later, when they’re lying in bed, with the remains of Uber Eats between them and the Lithuanian film on the TV, Jesse looks over, and meets Andrew’s brown eyes. Not for the first time that evening, and certainly not for the last time that evening, or for their lives.
“Do you ever watch anything happy?” Andrew asks.
Jesse shoots him a look that seems to say, “Are you complaining?”
Words aren’t necessary between them, and Andrew hears exactly what Jesse is trying to say. He rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. “If I’m watching it with you? Never.”
“Were you serious? About wanting to try again?” Jesse keeps his eyes on the television screen, as if the question isn’t tearing him apart from the inside out. As if the anxiety of the situation isn’t about to rip him into shreds.
A vacuum of nothingness replaces the room’s air when Andrew inhales. Jesse’s teeth sink into his swollen lower lip. He should have known. The heat of the moment, and all that.
“Yes.” The word comes out like a prayer. “I’ve missed you.”
Andrew’s hand inches across the comforter, and Jesse resists the urge to pull his hand away. He keeps it still and breathes out as their fingers find each other again.
“I missed you, but we missed each other before. If we want to make this work, we have to be different. We have to…” Jesse inhales and Calvin Klein fills his nose. “There’s no reason to try again if we’re just going to be the same.”
And then Andrew’s hand brushes against Jesse’s cheek, and Jesse turns his head into the touch. “We’re different people, J. I don’t want this to be like before. I want to…” Andrew glances down at Jesse’s lips before he meets his eyes again. “I want to be with you. I want to hold your hand in public. I want to pose on the carpet with you. I want people to hate us when they look at us because it’s obvious we love each other so much.”
“You want to go public?” Jesse asks, and Andrew nods.
“I’ll have my PR person call your PR person. Only if you want it.”
“And if our careers crash and burn?” Jesse’s question makes Andrew smile and joy again swallows his eyes up.
“You’ll become a professional magician and I’ll start a carpentry business, and we can live in the middle of nowhere.” Andrew squeezes Jesse’s hand. “I’m all in if you’re all in.”
There’s a second of hesitation where Jesse considers what this means. He’s an overthinker by nature, sue him. He thinks of how they’re about to uproot and overturn what their lives look like. But Jesse realizes he doesn’t care. He’s happier than he’s been in years just having Andrew here. This is what he wants. This is what he needs. And he thinks it might be what Andrew needs too.
“Consider me all in.”
They smile at the same time, and their lips meet again.