Chapter Text
The night was cold and quiet; just the way Andrew likes it. There was no one around to dictate what he can do or can't do. Other than possibly his friend, Ivan, whom he invited for dinner at his place.
Frankly, this was Ivan's first visit to Andrew's place. The paler man lived deep within the city while Andrew chose a place just by the city's outskirts. Too bad the rent was too much for his game's revenue and it'll be soon when he'll have to bid farewell to the house he'd grown to love. That was all the more reason for Andrew to make the night memorable with his special mashed potatoes recipe - special, as in, it's his favorite food.
Ivan stepped into the living room and was immediately enamoured by the lively walls of the living room. "You were right. Windows really do make places more inviting."
"Hmm?" Andrew hummed as he stirred the boiling salt water.
"No wonder you called my apartment pathetic and gray. I never noticed the palace you live in!" An exaggeration, one of Ivan's favorite wordplays. Ivan stepped into the kitchen, big enough for the two men to move around.
"Wow, thanks Ivan," compliments weren't something Andrew was accustomed to, but he hopes his friend understands. "Anyways, the game is going well. Making lots of progress. Speaking of which, I've read your script. It's good, but… I can do my own writing. Don't get me wrong, yours is great. You really should publish it, y'know? As a blog, article, or… websites like AO3."
Last time they met, Ivan gave him a script rewrite for his game and asked to be the writer for the game. It was considerate of him, but Andrew didn't want anyone else to be part of his game–just him. Ivan didn't seem to take it too well; gave Andrew a blank face, but Andrew had a pot of plant to cheer Ivan up. Unfortunately, Andrew will have to hope for the best with nothing this time.
"...you don't want my writing, Andrew?" Ivan mumbled. He stared at Andrew while the cook kept his gaze towards the boiling pot as if trying to avoid eye contact.
The script was… great, but off. There was nothing wrong about the script itself–it was who made the script. Nothing personal against Ivan, but these games aren't just games–they're Andrew's shelter. After being kicked out by his parents, money growing thin, and the inevitable doom of moving out with nowhere to go, he could only turn to his PC and game engine to find reassurance. Having someone else's hands into his games would take away that special feeling. Now, how could he explain that to Ivan?
"Hey, don't sound so disappointed. Your writing's going to get a lot of audience… Just… maybe I'm not the audience, y'know?"
"I don't get it. Why, Andrew?" Ivan stepped forward towards the counter, standing taller next to his friend. Their eyes inevitably met and Andrew saw the interrogative look on Ivan. The why and that inquisitive stare was awfully similar; too similar to his parent's face the night he no longer existed to them. Don't look at me like that, Andrew thought as he gazed back to the boiling salted water.
"What do you mean why? I work alone. You already know that."
"But, I wanted to help. You're doing so much for the game and you sound so stressed lately–"
"I love making my games, Ivan," Andrew gripped the spatula as he turned to Ivan. "My writing isn't good, not as good as yours. But, it's still mine. I like it that way. So, I'm keeping it that way." Andrew huffed before a long inhale and a heavy sigh. He turned away from Ivan, back to stirring the boiling water whose salt had already dissolved long ago, but anything to keep himself busy.
"Could you lend me a hand? I have some rosemary in the backyard. Could you get a sprig for me?"
Can you go away? I think we need some time alone, was what Ivan heard. "Sure, friend." Ivan walked away, awkwardly, quietly, excusing himself through the front door.
Click.
The closing of the front door was Andrew's cue to relax his shoulder, hands on the counter, face above the steaming pot. He isn't good with words and he could only hope he got his intention through with the right speech delivery. Had he hurt his friend's feelings for just wanting to help? Was he wrong for just wanting to do his passion project alone? Maybe if Ivan just understood, things would've been easier, no? Can't he just respect his decision?
The first minute went by as he allowed the steam warm his face. It didn't hurt, or at least not enough for him to forget his worries. Back in school, he could pick a fight with someone bigger, twice his size, and it'll hurt just right. But, now? Nothing could distract him from whatever he had with Ivan. He couldn't run this time.
Three minutes passed by, Andrew placed his potatoes into the boiling water, which had been done long ago but his mind had been too occupied. Where was Ivan? The rosemary wasn't that far into the backyard. Did he get lost in the way? Should Andrew look for him? He'll be fine. Ivan can handle himself. He'll find his way back.
Click.
There he was, by the front door with the supposed rosemary.
"Andrew, what is this?"
"Uh, rosemary?"
"What is this? Turn around," Ivan's voice was growing more demanding than curious. So, Andrew turned to see what was the big deal. The script rewrite that Andrew had disposed of. It somehow found its way to Ivan's hand. Of course, with the rosemary he'd ask for. No, more importantly, what the hell was Ivan doing in his trash?
"Were you looking through my trash?" was obviously the first thing he'd ask.
"The wind picked it up," Ivan answered with a dead pan. Andrew was skeptical. He knew he threw the script in the trash bin. There was no way a gust of wind would pick up a bunch of paper like that.
"I'm sorry, did you not make a copy? I told you I didn't want help," reiterating what he'd been saying for many times now. If that wasn't going to get through his head, not even an axe could.
"You didn't have to throw it away." So, what? So what if he threw it away?
"I thought it wouldn't matter! I didn't think you'd see it! I…" A certain friend clearly isn't helping with all the stress that's been piling up in Andrew's mind. Being short on money was exhausting enough, now he had to deal with Ivan's persistence. At this rate, not even working on the game could clear his mind. Andrew's tired–of this life, how's he living, …and a bit of Ivan.
"I don't know, Ivan. I don't know. I'm sorry. There's just… so much going on right now. I can't find a cheap place to stay and I'm not going back to my parent's place." Not that house, that prison, and his parents who saw him nothing more than a disappointment. "And now… I'm hurting you. Just for trying to help me."
"It's okay, Andrew. You think I don't know how to read between your words? I know you didn't mean it. It's not healthy living like this."
"I know."
"You need to get yourself together."
"I know."
"...Look. There's a lot weighing down on you. Let me carry some of that burden."
"...Okay."
"Great," Ivan's voice grew tender, walking up to Andrew and placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. The two men looked at each other as Ivan extended a hand, figuratively, "How about I help you with dinner, then I'll help you find a cheap place?"
This kind moment was sweet to say the least. Andrew couldn't help but smile, "Sure. There's a cutting board behind you." The shorter man looked over his shoulder, pointing at the chopping board on the other side of the kitchen. "Could you chop up some things for me? Careful, it's dull."
"You got it, friend." Ivan gave Andrew a light pat before heading to work, a rare gesture they shared.
After minutes of chopping, peeling, sauce making, and plating, they finally sat down across each other with their own plate of Andrew's special mashed potatoes.
"So, what kind of place do you want?" Ivan started.
"What?" Andrew asked while blowing his mouth from the hot mashed potatoes burning his tongue.
The sight gave the other man a chuckle, "I said, what kind of place are you looking for?"
"Secluded, cheap, and..."
"Big?"
"Preferably, but I'm flexible about that." Ivan took two spoons, staring at his bowl and pondering.
"You know there's a lot of those houses in… the countryside." His voice softened towards the end as if he didn't want to say those words.
"Yeah. But, they probably don't have the best internet connection."
"Are you sure about that? I quite doubt that."
"I don't know, Ivan…"
"Hey, c'mon. It can't be that bad. I'll give you some recommendations and you can check the places for yourself."
"Sure. I'll give it a look some time later. Thanks, by the way."
"No problemo, friend. Always glad to help."
One in the countryside, one in the city. If Ivan rarely visits Andrew, imagine how it would be if they lived even further from one another. Not that it was a big deal for Andrew, so long as his expenses remained low and he could sit in front of his PC with food, all would be fine. Ivan, on the other hand, needed something else to be his legacy. He still needed something to work on, to leave something behind. As impressive as Andrew is, he's been rejected twice, harder the second time.
You really should publish it, y'know? As a blog, article, or… websites like AO3, Andrew's suggestion echoed into his mind.
When he gets home, he's got something to work on.