I'll Meet You There

soundtrack for this chapter; Say It's Possible - Jay Brannan

Jesse awakens the next morning, somehow, at about seven in the morning and isn’t able to get back to sleep despite his exhaustion and annoyance. The pain in his head and wrist are excruciating, so he sits up as carefully as he can. The sun, fortunately, shines on the other side of the house so the room is still fairly dark and cool without the light invading his eyes. He climbs out of bed and slowly patters over to the window, peering out.

The road below the window is already packed with cars and people on the sidewalk, hurrying to their jobs during the morning rush hour, and he realizes he’s not sure what his job is – or Andrew’s. But he guesses that he’s not expected to work in this state, so he doesn’t let it bother him too much for now. He’s hungry, so the first thing he does is hurry to the kitchen.

There’s a sticky-note on the fridge; a pink one, written in Andrew’s messy girlish scrawl, which looks only somewhat familiar, and Jesse’s wondering why on earth Andrew would have a pack of bright pink stickies lying around. you hate skim milk, the sticky note says, followed by a lopsided smiley face and signed xAndrew at the bottom.

Jesse can’t remember the taste, but he takes his word for it, grabbing the two-percent. Stuck to one of the shelves, there is another. you don’t eat meat, and neither do i. On the pantry, you like to alphabetize your cereal boxes, it informs him. i don’t know either. xAndrew

There's a heart in the corner, tiny and scribbled, like it as added an an after-thought, and Jesse almost breaks.

He runs a hand over the colored paper, over Andrew’s handwriting. He imagines him sitting down to write these little notes and then posting them at appropriate places.He can feel Andrew’s love for him in almost everything he does and it kills him that he’s not able to reciprocate it. He rests his head against the pantry door, salty water burning the backs of his eyes He has to remember. Why can’t he remember? Why isn’t it coming back yet? He’d been told it’d take time, but he doesn’t want to wait. It’s clear he had an incredible connection to Andrew and it’s gone now, and he can only imagine what he’s going through.

He’s not even hungry anymore, but he knows he’s got to eat, and he can’t very easily make himself anything other than cereal with his injured wrist. After discovering the pantry, he rummages around in the kitchen, opening every drawer and cabinet he can find, learning where everything is. There is another sticky note on a small cabinet above the phone in the kitchen that says your medicine is in here! and another one stuck to the little orange bottle with a smiley face.

He doesn’t find much to be smiling about.

On the fruit bowl on the table; you can’t stand red apples, but you love the green. When did he do all of this?

He downs the medication. It’s difficult and awkward with one hand, but after just a few minutes of searching he’s confident he knows where most things are, and he clumsily makes himself a bowl of Cheerios, and one for Andrew, too, though it seems he underestimated the difficulty of pouring the milk. He makes some major spillage (cleaning it up by tossing a washcloth on the floor and wiping it with his foot) before he has an acceptable bowl of cereal, and sits down to eat.

He’s about halfway through when he hears movement on the other side of the apartment, and then Andrew’s in the doorway. He leans against the frame and looks at Jesse with squinted eyes; his hair’s sticking out at all angles, his shirt’s crooked and wrinkled and it doesn’t seem like he’s slept. “Jess? Are you okay?”

“Yeah - just couldn’t sleep. C’mon, sit down, I made you breakfast...”

Andrew squints at the bowl, almost distrusting, and Jesse wonders frantically if he’s done something wrong; if Andrew’s morally against eating Cheerios or something, before he smiles and pulls the chair out from under the table - it scrapes loudly on the tile in the quiet room - and sits down. “Thanks, Jess. Really.” The Cheerios are a little soggy, but he doesn’t care and he’s not about to mention it.

On a regular day, they’d wake up together, after falling asleep in eachother’s arms; Andrew would wake up with his body all sprawled out across the bed, maybe drooling, and Jesse would be quietly curled up against his side. They’d drag themselves out of bed, take a shower together if they were up for it. Andrew would set the water just right and pull Jesse against his chest, the differences in their height just right for him to rest his chin on Jesse’s shoulder.

Andrew would run his hand through Jesse’s hair, fingers always so gentle, lathering it up with shampoo, pressing light kisses to his neck, leaving a bruise if he’s in the mood. He’d hold Jesse so tenderly, hands running up and down his body like he could never get enough. He’d drag his hands through his soaked curls and rinse his hair out, so carefully, like his body was eggshell.

They’d brush their teeth side-by-side in front of the sink, elbowing eachother to get a bit more room (Jesse’s very picky about toothpaste and will only use Crest) and Andrew would always splash cold water over his face even though he’d have just taken a hot shower. Andrew would brush and blowdry his hair, while Jesse would let his drip dry, and he’d go into the bedroom during this time to get himself dressed. You might not expect it, but he spent just about as much time coordinating outfits as Andrew did fixing his hair. When he never knew when a picture was going to be taken of him, he had to make sure he looked awesome in every one.

He’d dab on some cologne - just a very small, light amount - and go to the kitchen, where he’d make breakfast if he was feeling like it; pancakes, eggs, and such like, or he’d simply make some cereal for himself and sit down to eat, after feeding the cat(s). Andrew would toss some clothes on (he never seemed to take too long with this but he still looked amazing all the time) and join him. They’d make small-talk across the table, just waking themselves up, and then they’d both head off to work( After settling down in their relationship, they’d mutually agreed to take breaks from acting, get real jobs at least for a little while, so they could enjoy their time together without the hassle). Jesse would have to leave first, so Andrew would help him slip his coat on (though of course he didn’t need it, but Andrew was always such a gentlemen and it always made Jesse feel so special that he couldn’t say no) and they would kiss, and their morning together would come to and end. But it was always the best way Jesse could think of to begin the day.

But none of that happens, and there’s almost awkwardness between them; unspoken words lingering in the air, like something’s been left unfinished - or killed. And Jesse hates it, absolutely hates it because he can’t do anything about it. Even if he could, he wouldn’t know how to, what he could say or do to make it better.

“You in any pain - you take your medicine? You found it? I left a note on the cabinet...”

“Yeah. I, uh, I mean, yeah, I found it, I took it. I’m not really in any pain, no.”

Andrew exhales, nodding. “Okay. Well, I want to know, er, I wanted to ask you what you would think of therapy. Seeing a psychiatrist.”

“A psychiatrist?” he parrots.

“Yes... lots of the doctors recommended it for me. They’ll be able to help you talk through this, alleviate some of the confusion, and they even have techniques that can help you get better, that can help your memory come back quicker.” Andrew’s voice is truly concerned, and he seems excited about this idea, like it’ll really help, and Jesse just feels so guilty.

“Andrew?”

“Yeah?” Andrew’s answering him with no hesitation. He wants to badly to be connected to Jesse again, to speak to him again that it’s almost pathetic. “Yes, Jes?”

“I... I have been remembering some things,” he whispers, and very quickly adds “old things. From a long time ago - my childhood, or teen years. But sometimes I can’t tell whether they’re real memories or things my brain’s just made up because it wants to remember so badly.”

“A psychiatrist can help you with that,” Andrew says gently, reaching oer the table to rest his hand on Jesse’s. Jesse looks down at them and gently curls his fingers around Andrew’s, running a thumb over the top of his hand. He studies the bones like he’s trying to pick a memory that goes with them, but nothing comes to him.

“Can you tell me more - about us?”

“Of course,” says Andrew, because every memory with Jesse sticks in his mind as if it’d happened just yesterday. Everything with and about Jesse is sacred to him, and now that he’s the only keeper of those memories, it’s his responsibility, his duty to pass them on. “You’ll have to make that a little less vague though-” he smiles gently, and to his relief, Jesse returns it. “Where do you want me to start?”

“What happened after I kissed you?”

It wasn’t like everything was happy and dandy immediately after Jesse kissed him and they confessed their love for eachother immediately. The kiss was slow and light; the moment Andrew realized what was happening and got over the initial shock, he took Jesse’s face in both hands and kissed him almost desperately.

Jesse was the first person to pull away, the look of shock and horror registering on his face when he realized what he’d done. He practically flew backwards off the couch, wringing his hands in the air, tripping against the coffee table and crashing backwards to the floor, the table turning up onto two legs.

“Jesse!” Andrew launched up to help him; Jesse was sprawled out across the floor and gasping in pain after smashing his elbow against the wood, but he was up before Andrew could offer his assistance. He refused to think about what he’d just done or how Andrew will surely be disgusted with him now. He refused to think about how he’d potentially ruined everything between them because he couldn’t control himself.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—no, sorry!”

Andrew’s head was spinning and he thought he might fall over. He kept going over the kiss in his mind, asking himself if it was really real, if this was really happening, if he was really awake, because it was the one thing he’d been longing for since he’d met Jesse. But now Jesse was freaking out, and he wasn’t quite sure why, wasn’t even sure why Jesse’d kissed him in the first place and he was so helpless and confused as Jesse climbed to his feet again.

He scrambled back up, but in his attempt to flee the room he wasn’t very coordinated and his ankle twisted, and he crashed again to the floor. This time, he didn’t try to move, just hid his face in shame, ready for Andrew to scream at him, kick him like a dog, call him disgusting, banish him from the apartment.

Andrew crouched down, slowly, his mind still spinning from the kiss but forcing himself to think about Jesse. “Jes, Jes, sweet…”

“I’m sorry, Andrew, please, let’s just- forget this…”

“Jesse, for God’s sake, look at me!”

Jesse pushed himself up, slowly, looking at Andrew like a kicked puppy, and it just made his heart shatter.

He’d fallen in love with Jesse the day he’d met him. He’d seen Zombieland before, and was a fan of the movie, and had seen some odd other films that Jesse had been in, so he was looking forward to meeting him. But he hadn’t expected anything like the person he’d met that day at the table reading. Jesse had showed up in his glasses, first of all, and he’d always had a thing for glasses. He’d been immediately intrigued by Jesse’s quiet, yet strong presence, and the moment he’d open his mouth up to talk he’d fallen in love with his voice. He was in awe of Jesse from the very beginning. He wanted to know everything about Jesse, wanted to know what he liked and didn’t like, what interested him, his passions. He wanted to be able to be Jesse’s and he wanted Jesse to be his.

He could never have enough. In public, his arm would be thrown over Jesse’s shoulder, or wrapped around his waist, or just brushing Jesse’s whenever he could, and those little touches always left him wanting more. He had to get close to him to act as Eduardo, but he never intended to fall in love with him. He wanted to be Jesse in every way. He wanted to be his boyfriend in every way but a sexual way – though, very soon, there was sexual desire too. They’d cuddle together on a couch after a long day of filming, and Andrew would wrap his arm around Jesse’s chest in a way that could definitely be considered inappropriate. He knew it was inappropriate, but Jesse never complained and he just wanted to be as close as he could. Jesse would fall asleep on him, and he’d hold him, and he’d pretend that they were always like that. He’d pretend he was holding Jesse in a bed they shared, he’d pretend Jesse was his lover and that they did this every night. He’d let himself doze off happily there too, and sometimes he thought maye the right thing to do would be to wake Jesse up, but Jesse never seemed hesitant to knock out on top of him, almost as if he wanted to be able to pretend the same thing.

He’d never made any moves. Jesse was awkward with people enough already, and he didn’t want to hurt him in any way, or ruin anything they already had. So he minimized his physical affection to hugs and squeezes. But when he and Jesse had those deep conversations that went on for hours into the night, when Jesse shared his deepest secrets with him, described how badly he’d been hurt in the past, when he’d get that sad, regretful, puppy-like look on his face, all Andrew wanted to do was hold him, protect him from everything evil in the world.

He crawled over to Jesse and pulled him into an arm. Jesse was quivering, looking at him in fear, his lips tightly as if he was afraid he might lose his control and kiss Andrew again. “Jesse,” Andrew whispered, trying to sound as gentle and loving as he could, “what was that?”

And Jesse told him. He poured his heart out. He gushed to Andrew how much he’d grown to love him over the past few weeks of filming. How when he saw Andrew, his whole world stopped for a second, how he found Andrew so wonderful and fantastic and beautiful and fascinating. How he wanted to learn everything about Andrew, how he wanted to know what he was passionate about, what he loved, what he lived for, and he wanted to become one of those things, too. How he’d been doubting his sexuality for a while, and when he saw Andrew, he just wanted to be his, and he just wanted Andrew to be his, too. He was crying by the time he was done, tears running down his face, head bowed in shame and humiliation. It was the most vulnerable he’d ever been, and he knew he could be ruining everything for both of them, for the movie, for everyone, and Andrew, at this point, could hurt him worse than he’d ever been hurt.

But none of those awful things happened.

Andrew silenced him with a kiss. A soft kiss, effectively shutting Jesse up. Jesse sank into him and held on for dear life, and the words Jesse had used pretty much summed up all of Andrew’s feelings for him too, so there wasn’t much left for him to say. But he poured everything he could into that kiss, relishing the feeling of Jesse’s lips on his. His head spun wildly and his stomach exploded into a mess of fireworks and butterflies swarming about inside him, and he’s not sure how he managed to keep his cool. Everything was Jesse and nothing hurt.

They mutually agreed to take it slow, for both of their benefits. Jesse had never been with another man before and didn’t really know the logistics of it, and Andrew wasn’t about to push him into something he didn’t want, nor did he want to ruin something beautiful by jumping into it too fast. So while they were ‘boyfriends’, things stayed mostly the same between them for a while. Except that they’d kiss once they’d landed safely inside the condo with the door closed, that Andrew’s bed became their bed and the little loving touches in public became a little more obvious, but nothing over the top. Andrew didn’t even see Jesse naked until about three weeks after they’d gotten together, and the poor thing was so embarrassed and nervous about his appearance that it took much coaxing and many kisses to even get that far.

But slowly, he began to realize he had no reason to be embarrassed in front of Andrew, no reason to fear his gaze. And the more Andrew told him he was beautiful, he was perfect, he was all Andrew could ever want or hope to have, the more he believed it.

When they had eachother, nothing hurt. Nothing could ever hurt them, because all they ever needed in the world was one-another. In eachother’s arms, they were safe. They were happy. They were complete.

Not anymore.

Andrew was so wrapped up in retelling the story that he wasn’t paying attention to Jesse’s reactions. Jesse’s head is bowed, and one of his hands is slipped inside the other, resting on the table. At first glance, it looks like he’s asleep, but he isn’t. He’s been listening very intently, carefully processing every word, with his eyes closed so that he can visualize it in his mind. The way Andrew’s telling it, he can see it all. He can hear the love in his voice, he knows that everything he’s saying is true. He gets a few brief sensations of a flash of Andrew’s face close to his, the memory of a warm breath on his neck, but it’s hard to tell of those are real or just a result of Andrew’s beautiful words. Sharing his memories, taking a memory that was once his too and giving it back to him.

It’s not over. Their relationship still exists. As long as Andrew remembers, it still exists. And the love is still there, because what’s in your brain may be erased, but what’s in your heart can never be. It will take time, it will be difficult, but he can rebuild this, step-by-step, memory-by-memory. There’s still hope.

oOo

“So,” Andrew says softly. It’s later in the day, and they’ve been watching television together. Bad daytime television, with Jesse leaning into Andrew’s side, though not getting too close yet. “I was thinking, maybe, we could go into the city today? You know, see if anything jobs your memory, and if not, I can show you around… all the places we used to go?” Jesse’s barely said anything all day. He’s just been quiet; clingy, but quiet, just kind of looking around at everything. You love me, Andrew wants to scream. Maybe you don’t remember, but you love me. And I still love you. Remember! Why can’t you remember?!

Jesse debates it. He’s just getting used to this house, and to Andrew, and learning all these new things, so the thought of going anywhere else right now sounds utterly terrifying. But he would like to know where he lives, and Andrew looks so desperate and hopeful that he can’t say no.

The air outside’s almost painfully cold, even with the layers they’re wrapped up in. It’s a January day in New York, and snow is still piled against curbs, the sidewalk patched with sheets of ice; they must step carefully. Andrew doesn’t want to make Jesse uncomfortable, but he keeps an arm wrapped protectively around his waist and gives a fierce glare to anyone who looks at them the wrong way. Jesse clings to him, desperate for some comfort, something to protect him in this sea of strangers and unfamiliarity.

Andrew tries not to make notice of the photographers. They’ve been discreet, but they’ve been following he and Jesse since they left, snapping away. Andrew imagines a picture of Jesse, terrified Jesse with his head pressed to Andrew’s shoulder under the headline JESEE SHOWS HIS FACE FOR FIRST TIME SINCE THE ACCIDENT! LOVER HEARTBROKEN! Do people have no respect?

“Why are people taking pictures of us?’’ Jesse whispers and Andrew’s heart breaks. He sounds like a little kid that’s afraid of the tigers at the circus.

“Ignore them, Jess,” he whispers, gently pulling him along the path. “That-“ he points to a little restaurant that’s the bottom floor of an apartment complex, “is our favorite place to eat. Everyone knows us, because we have dinner there each and every Monday.”

Monday was yesterday.

“Your favorite pizza topping is pineapple, though I’ve never liked it. We’ll get it split half and half; you’ll get pineapple, I’ll get mushroom or something. Never pepperoni though – you don’t eat meat. And neither do I – do you remember when you stopped?”

He doesn’t remember stopping at all. Andrew’s trying to get a feel of how far back the memory loss goes.

"Do you not, either?”

“Eat meat?”

“Yeah.”

Andrew half smiles and shakes his head. “I don’t. Haven’t for, oh, four years or so.”

“W-wow. Did you stop for me?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. It’s not that important to him anymore, just part of himself. “I couldn’t not.”

Jesse feels guilty. So painfully guilty that he doesn’t remember any of this. That Andrew’s love is clear and irrefutable and he doesn’t even remember anything they ever had together. “Can we get some pizza?”

“My favorite customers!” the manager greets the cheerfully, stepping away from the counter to give Andrew a friendly hug, and then Jesse. He’s trying to be nice, but of course he’s heard about the accident (it’s all over celebrity news by now) and it’s clear he’s being extra careful, a little too sympathetic, the way you might talk to someone in a wheelchair, whether you realize you’re doing it or not.

And Andrew realizes that nothing, no matter how hard they try, will ever be completely the same again. Because this will have happened.

“Names Jeff,” says the manager – a large, tall man with scruffy brown hair. He extends and nonthreatening hand, which Jesse tentatively shakes. “You two may sit anywhere you like.”

“We usually sit over here,” Andrew whispers with a little grin, gently pulling Jesse over to a small table that’s right next to a sunny window. A hostess immediately brings them menus and silverware. “You want to just get pizza, or look over the menu?:

“I think I’ll go with just pizza.”

So they order their usual; a medium sized pizza, extra cheese, half with mushrooms and half with pineapple.

Jesse’s staring at the table, fiddling with the hexagonal pepper shaker, turning it back and forth in his hands. Andrew grins suddenly, grabbing the salt. “Want me to show you something?”

He tilts the shaker over the table and tiny crystals of salt come pouring out across the top, just enough for a light dusting. Jesse watches, intrigued, as Andrew tips the shaker onto one of its bottom edges. After a few moments of tipping it back and forth, he removes his hands, and the shaker is balanced, on top of the salt, on one edge.

Jesse blinks, rather impressed.

“You were so good at doing this,” Andrew laughs softly, sweeping the particles onto the ground with the side of his hand, sliding the shaker across the table, inviting Jesse to try.

He does. He does as Andrew did, pouring a small amount of salt out and tipping the shaker onto an edge. It only takes a moment of adjustment for it to stand on its own. “Guess I’ m a natural?”

“Huh,” Andrew blinks. Funny how the brain works (but no, he is not jealous of a salt shaker).

When Andrew gets up to go to the bathroom, Jesse stays behind at the table, and Jeff quietly waves him over. In the little hallway, he rests a hand on his shoulder and glances at Jesse, who’s sipping his Coke Zero. “I’m so sorry about what happened,” he whispers, “and this may be totally out of line of me, but you know everyone loves you here, and we are all here to support you. If you need anything.”

Andrew’s touched by the words. He really is, because for so long, he’s been feeling so alone. He may have lost the best thing in his world, and it’s just amazing to know someone cares. “Thank you,” he whispers, genuinely.

“I admire you, Andrew, I really do,” says Jeff. “You are both so strong… he needs you. More than ever. More than anything. Just keep holding on. It’ll be okay.”

It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.

Back outside, bellies full of pizza, Andrew points out all the places he and Jesse would go. The gym, the library, the little antique shop on the corner that Jesse adored, the Asian market where they’d by basket-loads of Japanese candy, tea and gum. The movie theatre.

“There was one time,” Andrew whispers in Jesse’s ear, because no one passing them needs to hear what he’s saying, “when we saw a movie. I don’t remember which one it was, but I remember that when it let out, it was raining like crazy. Street flooded. And you and I stood on the edge of the road, by the curb, and had a water-fight there, kicking it at eachother, splashing eachother. We got so wet, moreso than we already were, but we didn’t care. We just laughed and splashed eachother and got wonderfully soaked. That may be one of my favorite memories.

Jesse doesn’t remember this. But he listens to the story, repeating it to himself over and over until he almost can.

“Jes! You little – I am going to get you!”

“In your dreams, Garfield- aren’t you supposed to hate water?”

Splash, splash.

“Aaaah!”

A roll of thunder.

A flash of lightning. People running by them, hurrying home, hurrying to be out of the rain.

And them, laughing. “Aah! Drew!”

Splash, splash.

END part iii