I'll Meet You There

soundtrack for this chapter: If You Can't Sleep - She & Him

There are more little sticky notes waiting to be found on just about anything he may want information on. He hasn’t mentioned them to Andrew, but they continue to appear. you like to sleep with the windows open because the breeze and the sound of the traffic calms you down is stuck by the window. 99% of your clothes are stolen from movie sets. you naughty boy says the one stuck to his dresser, which Andrew’s generously placed some of his clothes in. Again, Jesse can’t imagine when Andrew would have done this. Does he get up early to leave these notes everywhere?

you don’t drink coffee, but you love tea – cinnamon tea, says a note stuck to the brewer, alongside a little doodle of a steamy cup.

you have a nasty habit of opening cabinets and drawers and not closing them.

you hate your bagels toasted.

did you know that bathing a cat is never a good idea? you probably did. It’s kind of self-explanatory. funny story, though. ask me sometime.

They’re everywhere, letting him know everything about himself that he would want to know with anything he comes across. He leaves the stickies where they are, and soon the kitchen is a little sea of pink squares.

Some of them spell out a memory, too. we watched Zombieland here. or at least I watched it while you had a panic attack every time you saw your face on the screen. which was often – you know, since you’re the star.

While Jesse is only just learning all of their most cherished memories, Andrew is trying harder and harder to hold onto them. He looks around the apartment and can only think of what once was there that isn’t anymore. Everything in this place has a memory connected to it, but he leaves some of these out, doesn’t want to make Jesse feel guilty or uncomfortable. But there’s the bed where they first made love, the kitchen counter the did it on later, the dent in the wall where Jesse threw the phone at it during their first fight. The sink where they had a soap fight. The stove where Jesse taught Andrew all of the best vegetarian recipes.

They retreat to their separate rooms that night. Andrew kicks the covers off the bed and curls up in his underwear with his arms and knees clutching a pillow to his chest, needing something to hold. Sleeping with someone wrapped up in his arms for years and years and suddenly have them disappear, being alone, is almost unbearable. He can’t reach up to run his hand through Jesse’s curls, wrap an arm around his waist and have the crook of Jesse’s neck to rest his head in.

He breathe in the scent of Jesse’s pillow that still smells like his shampoo and cologne. He smashes it into his face and inhale it, and then once he’s gotten enough, hold it more gingerly and breathes it in softly, not wanting to waste it. Not wanting to waste anything he has left of Jesse.

The first thing Jesse does the next morning is flip on the radio in the bathroom and take a scalding hot shower. Every drop burns, leaving his skin a blotchy red, sizzling, steaming, but it’s all that’s letting him know he’s really alive. It’s punishing him for not being able to remember, for hurting Andrew likes this. And the sound of the water drowns out the sound of his crying, washes his tears away.

Remember, remember, remember!

I can’t! Don’t you think I would if I could?

He’s in there for almost forty-five minutes until his skin is red and raw and numb. He glares at his reflection with a towel around his waist, hating what he sees, despising it, wishing himself dead.

Andrew knocks on the door before peeking inside. He looks better – or at least not like deaf. “Jes? Are you okay? You’ve been in here a while…”

“Yes,” Jesse replies quickly, keeping his eyes on the mirror, trying to avoid looking at Andrew’s pitiful, sorrowful face. “What’s up?” he asks, and the question is almost cryptic because they both certainly know what’s ‘up’.

Andrew seems to hesitate, before he murmurs “your parents want to see you.”

oOo

It’s up for no argument and Jesse’s parents arrive in the next day. Still residing in New York, they’re not far. They’ve always been fond of Andrew, ever since they first became costars. Jesse’s mother will just gush about what a wonderful man Andrew is and how lucky their whole family is to have he and Jesse together. Andrew will blush, and nod, and say that he’s only treating Jesse the way everyone should because Jesse is the amazing one. But right now he could really use the encouragement.

Jesse knows who his parents are, at least. He is remembering. Recollections of his childhood are coming back quickly; he can recall baking cookies with his mom, listening to Broadway showtunes in the car, playing baseball with his dad. Getting a kitten for his birthday. he guesses, somewhere around his twenty-fifth. After that, there’s not a thing – it’s as if he’s been asleep the past six years.

Still no Andrew.

They decide to meet at the apartment on the ground that it’d be the least stressful for Jesse. The bell rings, an Andrew pulls him into a hug before he opens the door. He wants to kiss him so badly. It feels like they’re miles apart. “You ready?”

“Uh huh.”

He opens the door. Barry and Amy Eisenberg are huddled together and it’s obvious his mother’s barely holding herself together. Immediately when she sees Jesse, all bedraggled and bandaged, she sweeps him into his arms. Jesse embraces her, burying his face in her shoulder and choking out “Ma”. His shoulders shake with a single sob, and she holds him tenderly.

Andrew swallows the pang of jealousy.

oOo

“Drew?”

“Carey?”

“Andrew?”

“Carey.”

“Andrew, for Christ’s sake, it’s four in the morning.”

“Oh-!” Andrew mentally curses himself. “I’m sorry, C! I forgot about the time difference..I-I’ll hang up.”

“No, Andrew… you never call me. You’re phone-o-phobic. What is it, love?”

So Andrew tells her, everything, about the accident, about the amnesia and how Jesse may never remember anything ever again. Carey, living in England, hasn’t heard the news yet, and she listens, without interruption, letting Andrew cry over the phone to her.

“Everywhere I go I just think of what’s lost,” Andrew choke out. “I used to wake up and know I’d be able to bear the day because I would have him by my side. I’d have him to hold at the end of it. And now that’s gone! We worked so hard.. we worked for everything… everything I see reminds me of him, everything holds a different memory, one that he doesn’t have. I need him, Carey, I…” he’s crying now, full-on, and he doesn’t try to stop it. He lets his tears roll down his cheeks and his shoulders shake. Carey doesn’t say anything, but the occasional ruffle and the sound of her breath on the other end lets him know that she’s there, and that’s almost enough.

He wipes his nose and his eyes, blowing his nose into a tissue from the box on the nightstand. “Carey?”

“I’m here, drew. I’m always-“

“C.”

“Yes?”

“Please… can… you… not call me that. I mean, that’s what he-“

“Of course, Andrew. You don’t need to explain anything. I’m always here, Andrew. Any time of the night or day, you call. Don’t think twice about it. You’re more important than anything I’m doing – you need me, you need anything, you call. Understand?” Her tone makes it clear that she will not accept any argument. Carey’s always been there for him, even if being there is just being there. “but Andrew, how are you helping him?”

“I’m just trying to… be as gentle as I can. I don’t expect things to go back to how we were. I’ve been telling him about us, because he’s asked and he’s listened, and I’ve been trying help him get some memories back… I guess all I can do is support him.”

“He doesn’t remember anything?”

“Not for a few years back,” Andrew whispers, his voice wavering as he’s forced to say it again. “We’re trying to figure it out, exactly, but he doesn’t remember The Social Network, or Zombieland or any movie at all. But he remembers things from farther back… from his childhood.”

“But…”

“But nothing about… us.” Andrew swallows a sob and it burns down his chest. “His parents came today.”

“How did that go?”

“We’re trying to decide what to do.”

“His parents love you, Andrew. As they should. Everyone loves you. You’re the best person for Jesse, and everyone knows that. You’re still perfect for eachother.”

“He doesn’t love me anymore.”

“No.” The sharpness of her voice catches him off-guard, makes him listen. “No. Andrew, no. He still loves you. It’s there, in his heart.”

“But what if he comes out of this as a completely different person?”

“I think anyone would come out of this a different person.”

“That’s not what I mean. I man, he… he’s quiet. Too quiet. He doesn’t talk, there’s this wall there, and when he does talk to someone, he snaps. It’s not him.”

“You have to let him cope however he can, Andrew.”

Carey’s never been the kind of person to sugar-coat her advice. She tells it to you straight, and you only go to her if you want the God-honest truth from a valued friend. And that’s why Andrew loves her, because she will never lie to you, and she’ll actually tell you something that’s worth hearing.

They talk into the night – or the morning, for Carey. Talking about anything, just to get Andrew’s mind on something new. Cracking jokes, talking about the weather, what’s going on in their respective cities. Carey says she’s going to see a play-

“Oh! That’s a marvelous idea!”

“Huh – what is?”

“A play! I’ll take him to Broadway! We’ll see Cats or something. He loves Broadway!”

Carey laughs gently, not at all upset with him for interrupting and bringing Jesse up again. “That’s a fantastic idea.”

They share some of their favorite memories of Jesse. And there, taking with an old friend, reminiscing on happy times, it’s almost like the good old days (those days being two weeks ago). But the question is still fresh in Andrew’s mind: who are we without our memories? Are they what make us different from animals and machines? If you have no recollection, no knowing what you’ve done and seen and been through, who are you? And if you don’t have the memories associated with love, can you be in love? Is the heart dependent on the brain, or is it the other way around? Is it its own? If you don’t have one, is the other worth anything?

oOo

Jesse’s parents are spending the night at a hotel just down the block from the apartment. His mother’s clearly a wreck though clearly trying not to express it. His father seems to be on the verge of a breakdown at any momemt too, and he just wishes there was something he could do.

“Andrew?”

He fliches when Jesse’s father suddenly calls him over. Jesse’s in the shower again – god knows what he does in the amount of time he spends in there. “Y-yeah?” He’s looking at Andrew a little too softly, the way you do when you’re delivering bad news. “What is it…?”

“Amy and I have decided, Andrew, that it may be best for Jesse to return home – to live with us for a while, where he grew up.”

Andrew’s shocked, and for a moment he doesn’t register what Barry is actually suggesting. “W-what?”

“For him to be where he grew up… where he has his few memories of.”

They can’t be serious. They can’t be taking Jesse away. No – he’s lost enough. He won’t have it.

“Does… has he said he wants to?”

“We think it’s best.”

“But has he said he wants to?”

Amy pokes her head around the corner and her face falls as she must immediately know what they’re talking about. “Andrew,” says Barry, “we think that Jesse will be more able to adjust at home. Among people and things that are more familiar to him. We think he’s scared here and-“

“But have you talked to him? Have you asked him?”

Amy looks at her husband awkwardly, but he stands his ground. “We are his parents – we know what is best.”

“But I’m his boyfriend – I have been for six years!”

“And you’re not anymore – at least not right now.”

He knows the words are true – there’s no way he’d expect Jesse to simply resume their relationship. But the thought that he’s not Jesse’s boyfriend at all hurts worse than he ever thought it could. It’s a bullet in the chest. His eyes fill with tears.

“Barry…” Amy murmurs.

“You can’t take him from me,” Andrew whispers, but it’s more of a plea than a protest.

“He needs somewhere he is safe, somewhere he’s comfortable – somewhere he knows. The only place, right now, is our home.”

“Have you asked him if he remembers anything else?” He’s desperate and he knows it. Because Jesse would have told him, right? Jesse wouldn’t hide things –not things like that.

“We have.”

“And?”

The silence is enough of an answer.

“But wouldn’t a move be even more distressing to him?”

Again, that awkward sideways glance between mother and father before Barry speaks again. “We believe the benefits outweigh any possible risks. You must understand, Andrew-“

“I do understand! I understand that he’s an adult and you’re trying to make choices for him. I understand that I’m trying to support him, I’m trying to get any chance of rebuilding what we lost, I’m trying to deal with this, too, and you want to take him away from the person he loves, who loves him more than anything. I understand that I’m trying not to lose him altogether, that I’m trying to think of him and help him but you’re not thinking of me! He needs me…” he gasps. “what we had was special. It’s still there. He knows he whether he knows he knows or not.”

He pants, not sure if he’s trying to convince Jesse’s parents or himself. “Please.”

Amy finally speaks. “Andrew,” she whispers, resting a gentle hand on Andrew’s shoulder as Andrew looks away and squeezes his eyes tight in an effort not to cry. “I have no doubt that you are the perfect person for our son. But right now, he is confused and scared, and we think he would be able to relax much more easily in a place that he knows. He need as low stress of an environment as possible.”

“Then I’ll come. I’ll come with you.”

“Andrew…”

“We think you are putting the greatest amount of stress on him,” his father chimes in again.

“Me? I’ve been nothing but-“

“Being around you, simply, is freaking him out. He’s been trying to make sense of his whole life and come at him saying he was your boyfriend-“

“He was more than a boyfriend! We were lovers!” Andrew has a flashback to their very first fight. “You’re stressing me out, Andrew. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I have to go for a while.”

“And he can’t deal with that right now. Andrew, I am sorry. Maybe when he’s feeling more collected he’ll come back.”

“Has he told you any of this?”

Pause. “Yes.” And then both of them suddenly go silent, their faces straighten, and Andrew turns around to see Jesse looming there like a scared child.

“Jess…” he whispers and holds out his hand, but Jesse doesn’t take it – he scuttles around the corner and Andrew hears the bedroom door slam.

And everything just gets worse from there.

Dinner is too quiet and too awkward. Andrew cooks up a vegetable and potato dish but he doesn’t taste the food at all. He keeps looking at Jesse, hoping he’ll catch his eye, but Jesse doesn’t look up from his plate.

“Jesse! We can talk this out!”

“Shut up, Andrew, no we can’t!” Jesse shoved his clothes in the duffel bag he’d snatched from the closet, one he hadn’t used since the last time he’d ridden on a plane almost a year ago.

“Jesse, Jes, Jes, please!”

“It’s over, Andrew. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He forces himself to eat everything, but that later that night it comes right back up. It’s his last night with Jesse before his parents take him away. Granted, he won’t be that far, but still, he won’t be here.

He looks into the bedroom and finds Jesse packing that same duffel bag with some belongings to take home. He watches Jesse pick up a frame on the dresser – a photo of he and Andrew and one of the cats – and stare at it. Remember, he wills him with all his might. Remember, Jesse, remember. But he just sets it down as Andrew shuffles inside

“Jesse?”

He flinches, startled, head snapping towards the door. “H-hi.”

Andrew walks in slowly, trying to seem friendly. It’s like Jesse’s a pet that’s suddenly become untamed. “Jess,” he whispers, “you’re really leaving? You want to?”

“I’m sorry” Jesse says, sounding choked. “I can’t. I can’t be here, Andrew. Not with you.”

“I’ll do anything for you, Jesse!” Andrew cries, stepping towards him as Jesse steps back. “I want to be here for you. You know I’m not expecting you to… you know, anything right now. You can tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable. And I’ll stop!”

“Being around you makes me uncomfortable,” Jesse looks away as he says it, and it’s almost too soft to hear. But he says it.

They’ve always been relaxed with eachother. Always been happy in their own skin. Always been able to tell eachother anything. They’ve never hidden things from eachother. There was never doubt, never insecurity, no self-consciousness, or anything that plagued them in the hours away from eachother.

All of that is gone.

Andrew retreats, slowly, the words perpetually ringing in his mind. You make me uncomfortable. How did all this happen? What did he do to deserve it? The man who hit Jesse ruined them in so many more ways than he must realize.

He thought they were okay. He thought Jesse was better and they’d work everything out and maybe, slowly, in the very best-case scenario, at least get back a little of what they had before. He was prepared for Jesse to lose his memory for a while but for it all to come back quickly.

How could he have been so blind?

What if it doesn't at all?

He wants to hold Jesse. He wants to hug him, to kiss him, pull him in his arms and make everything better. But that’s not his place anymore.

If the best thing he can do for Jesse is back off he’ll do it, even if it destroys him.

“I love you, Jesse,” he whispers. “Even if you don’t love me right now or you don’t think you do… just please remember that. And… if you really have to be away from here, that’s okay. Just… I love you. Don’t forget that, okay?” He only realizes after the words leave his mouth how ironic they are.

oOo

Jesse leaves the next day. Andrew tries not to make a big scene of it, not wanting to put any more weight on Jesse’s shoulders than there already is. They have breakfast together at the table, as they do every morning, having cereal because neither of them feels like cooking, but they both know it’s not a normal morning. There’s palpable tension in the air, words left unsaid, promises broken, hearts broken. Andrew’s doing whatever he can to get through it without bursting into tears. He knows he only has a precious hour or two left with Jesse and he knows he can’t use it. An hour or two left with the love of his life and all he can do is stare at him wishing he could go back. He’s torn between wanting the clock to move slower and wanting him to leave already and just get this over with.

He’ll do whatever he can for him, even if that’s letting him go.

So he lets him go. He lets the best thing that’s ever happened to him walk out of his life. When Jesse’s parents come to take him off, back to their home, there’s nothing to say. Andrew gets his bag for him. He looks into Jesse’s face for the last time, trying to memorize those deep, blue eyes. But Jesse looks away.

When they’re gone, he falls into a crumpled heap on the floor, and it all comes out. Devastation at everything that’s been lost, everything that never will be again. Frustration with Jesse’s disability even though he knows it’s not his fault. Anger at the man who hit him. Anger at Jesse’s parents for taking him away. Anger at the world for being so fucked up and not giving them a goddamn break. Angry at the paparazzi he knows will be all over this story and what they might do to Jesse. But mostly, he doesn’t try to sort through his emotions, doesn’t try to pinpoint what he’s feeling. He just cries.

It’s about eleven at night when Emma gets the call. She’s still awake and not doing anything of real interest, so she’s right next to the phone when it rings. She heard the story about Jesse the moment it was out, so she’s been busying herself with worrying about the two of them, and when she sees Andrew’s caller ID, she snatches it right up.

“Drew?!”

“Emmm-muh?”

“…Andrew?”

“Emm-uy-uhh.”

“…Jesus Christ, Andrew, are you drunk?”

“No, uh’not drunk, just…” there’s rustling on Andrew’s end of the line and the soft thud that sounds like something being set down on a hard surface. “Mm’all alone, Emmuh.”

“..You’re alone? What? Where are you?”

“Home… you gotta come [i[ovvvurr, Emmuhh…”

“You’re… alone? Jesse’s not with you?”

There’s more shuffling on the other end, a clunk and a loudly slurred curse from Andrew. “Jessuh’s gooone, Emma… Jesse’s gone, he’s gone…”

“Gone?!” a panic runs through Emma’s body and she springs up off the couch. “What do you mean, gone, Andrew? Did he run away?”

“Mmmg, his paaaaarents took’im…”

Andrew’s always been someone Emma admired as strong and free-willed, rarely giving into pressure and rarely letting something ruffle his feathers – or at least not outwardly showing it. He’s always someone she’s looked up to, so to hear him like this… it breaks her heart. The devastation in his voice is clear even through the haze of intoxication. “You gotta come over, Emmuh…” Andrew mumbles again, and then the phone slips from his hand and he doesn’t have it in him to pick it back up, so he lets it lie there until the call disconnects from the other end.

When Emma finds him, letting herself in with the key she has to Andrew’s apartment (since they’re always visiting eachother, he has one for hers too), he’s sprawled out across the kitchen tile, clothes wrinkled, hair a mess, a bottle lying on the floor beside him, but he doesn’t seem to care, and why should he? He looks and feels like death – in fact, at first glance, he looks dead, but Emma hurries to his side and gently shakes him to attention. “Andrew… Andrew, for God’s sake.” She takes his wrist to pull him up from the floor and he flops, arm hanging from her hand.

She has to practically carry him over to a kitchen chair, letting him sag against it, bleary eyes scanning the room at a distance. He reaches for the green glass bottle on the counter, but she slaps his hand away and chucks it into the trash. “No.”

“Emma-“

“No. Andrew…” she pulls another chair beside his and sits down, but she’s almost knocked over as soon as she does. Andrew’s slumped against her, and he’s crying again, loudly, drunkenly, wetly against her chest. A grown man, sobbing right in her arms. She almost crumbles, too, just from seeing him like this, but holds on, knowing she has to be strong for him.

“They took him, Emma!” Andrew wails. “They took him from me, he said he wanted to go and they took him and he’s gooooneee! I love him, Emmmaaaa…!”

Emma’s only seen Andrew cry once before and that was also over Jesse, the first (and only) time they broke up. He’s always so strong, he always has a wall between himself and even the people he’s closest with, including her; everyone but Jesse, really, and it’s so strange (and heartbreakingly terrifying) to see him like this.

“Andrew…” Emma wraps her arms around his shoulders so she can hold him, so she can at least be there of nothing else, and for the second time that day he lets the waterworks go.

oOo

“Jesse?”

“Hallie!”

Jesse races into his little sister’s arm the moment he sees her in the kitchen at their old home. His last memory of her is as a teenager, and he’s amazed to find her now as a blossoming young woman, but God, she is as beautiful as ever.

He holds onto her as tight as he can, needing the comfort, needing contact. The past few days have been terrifying, confusing, overwhelming, and he needs something familiar to grasp. He blocks any thoughts of Andrew out of his mid, because it is better to be here at home, where at least he knows who and what and where everything is. “Jesse, my God, are you okay?”

“I’m managing, Hal,” he croaks as he pulls back from the hug to look at her (because really, that’s all he’s doing. Managing, getting by. Barely). “It… it’ll be good to be back here. At home.”

“I’m staying here with you guys for a little bit,” Hallie says, looking at Jesse with such love and empathy and still that little bit of innocence that his heart cracks again. “until you’re better.”

Once Jesse’s settled in with his things in his old bedroom (he vaguely remembers blue walls and maple furniture, but it’s cream and oak now) they gather on the couch in the sitting room. Hallie sits beside Jesse, a gentle hand rested on his and he’s grateful for the comfort. His parents sit on either side of them, his mother holding an old, thick leather photo album. On the cover, a family photo. “As we go through these,” Amy says, “you tell us what you remember, okay?”

The album, like most, is in chronological order, starting with baby pictures of himself and Hallie. Photos of family vacations that he vaguely remembers if he’s old enough; trips to the beach, to Mexico, to Disneyworld.

A picture of very young Hallie on the shoulders of a cast member of Paulie, among a few others. He does remember that.

School photos. He and Hallie standing at the top of the crown of the Statue of Liberty, probably at about twelve years old. He has a foggy memory of the view from up there, how you could see for what looked like miles and miles.

A school science fair. He remembers making a vinegar-and-baking soda volcano on the kitchen table with his dad, as a young child, amazed at how you could mix a powder and a liquid and get bubbles. Pictures of him on a swingset at a park, on a slip-n-slide during the summer. He remembers how wonderful sliding through the cool water felt on one of those blisteringly hot days.

He watches himself grow older in the photos, sees scenes from plays Annie and Oliver and Summer and Smoke. He has as good a memory of these as anyone might, them being so long ago. His high school graduation photo.

And then there is him on movie sets – Cursed, The Squid and The Whale. Even if there are things he can’t remember right away, as he looks through the album, they slowly start to come back to him, like looking over an old yearbook from high school and just having a vague recollection of those years all lumped together. Charlie Banks, The Living Wake. Pictures of him with cast members, pieces of scripts, letters, plane tickets and the like.

But when they get to Holly Rollers, that’s where everything stops. That’s where, no matter how hard he tries, no memories can come back to him. He doesn’t recognize the guys standing with him in the pictures, making him laugh and looking like they’re having a jolly good time.

And then they get to the Social Network era and Jesse has to close his throat up to keep a cry from escaping. There are countless pictures of he and Andrew, many more than there were of any others. And they look so happy in all of them. Pictures of them on-set and off, Hallie and his parents help him with the names of the people he doesn’t recognize. Armie, Justin, David, Aaron. Joe. Josh. Rooney.

“Can I… take this to my room? Look at it alone?” Jesse asks before they can go much further, and of course, everyone is sympathetic. He takes the photo and hurries up to his bedroom, shoving his bag aside before sitting down on the newly-made bed. It’s the same detergent he always smelled as a kid and it brings back another flurry of memories.

He’s remembering. He’s remembering.

But there’s still no Andrew in there.

He looks over the pictures, running his finger over the clear plastic covers that protect them. In the beginning, there’re pictures of he and Andrew on-set in their character costumes, Andrew in some ridiculous Hawaiian hat and lei. Andrew’s always touching him in some way: an arm over his shoulder or around his waist, or just brushing his arm or his hair. In just about every picture of them together, they’re both smiling ear-to-ear. Something in Jesse’s stomach flutters when he sees that look on Andrew’s face, something in his chest gets a little tight.

Magazine covers and articles – wait, what? He was nominated for an Oscar? – and interviews. Some positive reviews of his performance in the movie. More photos of he and Andrew, and he can almost see the progression of the relationship through the pictures: Andrew getting closer and closer to him, having both arms wrapped around his waist. A kiss on the cheek, first from Andrew to Jesse, then from Jesse to Andrew.

And then there’s another magazine article, but this one’s different. It’s a two-page spread, and plastered across the top of the article, right in his face, is a picture of he and Andrew. He and Andrew kissing. The headline says The newest Hollywood couple: Eisenfield!

Eisenfield, huh? That’s… cute.

Granted, it’s not a graphic kiss but it’s still two men, two famous actors having at it, the moment blown up and pasted here for everyone to see. ‘Social Network’ stars Andrew Garfield and Jesse Eisenberg recently shocked the world…

He reads over the article, breathing shakily, but he doesn’t process the words and soon they begin to blur over the page and then it’s just black, and finally, simply from his sheer exhaustion, sweet, sweet sleep.

oOo

Andrew wakes up the next morning to find himself in his bed, though he doesn’t remember getting here at all. The lights coming in from the window burn his eyes and bore back into his aching head. He clutches his forehead and rakes his hands through his hair with a pained whimper, pulling the covers over his head and peeking around the room from beneath them.

There’s a cup of water on his sidetable, sitting on top of a plate with two little pills. Emma must have left them for him last night – oh, God, he just now remembers last night. He’d gotten drunk, for the first time in, well… ever, and must have looked like a total mess. He wants to apologize to Emma, but where is she?

Everything feels so much more empty without Jesse. He’s not in the bed and he’s not in the kitchen and he’s not even in the city.

He forces himself to sit up and take the pills Emma’s left for him when he realizes there are noises coming from the kitchen. For a split second he thinks it might be Jesse, that the previous day was all a dream, but it’s just Emma. Did she spend the night here? Just for him?

She looks over to the doorway as he stumbles into the kitchen, every little noise and every sudden movement of his head sending a jolt of pain through his skull. “Em?”

“Andrew,” Emma smiles, as if it’s perfectly normal for her to be standing in his kitchen making breakfast. “Hey, Andy, you take the medicine I left for you?” He nods and she gestures to the table. He sits down, leaning into his hands and tugging lightly at his hair while Emma finishes up the pancakes and eggs, setting a loaded plate in front of him. She rests a hand on her shoulder and Andrew realizes how long it’s been since he’s had human contact and how desperate he is for it. “Hey, Andrew, you’ve got to eat, okay? I’m not leaving, even if you want me to. I’m going to help you get through this, and I’m going to help you get Jesse back. Everything’s gonna be okay.”