I'll Meet You There

As promised, Emma didn’t leave Andrew until that evening. She stuck with him all day, making sure he got a hold of himself after the nasty hangover. He now remembers why he never drank much when he was younger; he’s a bit of a lightweight, and he can’t even remember what he did last night. He probably made a total idiot of himself but he doesn’t want to ask.

Once he’d taken medicine for his headache, she had forced him to sit down at the table and eat three whole pancakes and a small plate of eggs. (He threw these up quickly after, in response to which she only forced him to sit back down and eat some more until he can hold it in).

“I’m not hungry, Emma,” he protested, groaning miserably and clutching his stomach as he sagged back against the chair, not caring less about good posture. The floor below him looked so comfortable, and he slipped lower and lower until he nearly slid onto the floor and Emma had to hoist him back up straight. She forcibly held his shoulders still from behind him until he reluctantly began to fork it into his mouth, moaning overdramatically, and she stayed there until he ate it all. But he didn’t taste it, and all he felt was the angry churning of his stomach with each additional bite forced down there.

Still hungover and hardly able to walk straight, she then had to almost literally drag him into the bathroom as he flopped and flailed helplessly after her. “You need to shower,” she said, to which Andrew only tilted his head back and expressed his distaste for the suggestion with a grumble. So she’d had to take matters into her own hands, turning the shower on, stripping him and pushing him inside. He’d stood there, staring down at his feet as if he wasn’t sure where he was. It was pathetic, disgusting and heartbreaking. “Wash yourself, Andrew,” she’d had to say, forcing herself to be firm to get Andrew to listen to her. He’d picked up the loofa, inspecting it like he was the one with amnesia before slowly lathering his body.

When he’d climbed out, she’d dressed him again and finally left him alone to sleep. When he woke up again, later that evening, his apartment had been cleaned, and she was still sitting on his couch, idly flicking through television channels, waiting for him to awaken. She’d even made dinner for him as he’d slept through lunch.

It was wonderful to have her around. He didn’t think he’d be able to bear the silence of being alone. Everything around him reminded him of Jesse, everything from a pair of shoes by the door from the lingering scent of cinnamon from the air freshener he loved to use. And she’s being so kind and helpful to him despite his offering nothing in return.

He avoids the internet at all costs, doesn’t turn his computer on once, knows it’ll be all over AOL and Yahoo and the like. He doesn’t go to work – he’s gotten some time off, anyway; how could he possibly be expected to go in?

There’s a boatload of mail waiting for him already. From all over the country, all over the world, offering gifts, cards, kind words, moral support. He knows he’ll have to make some kind of statement. He just hopes they leave Jesse alone. Why does he have to be famous at a time like this?

But Emma finally left him that evening after making sure he’d eaten dinner (an extra big one since he missed lunch) and now she’s gone. He’s recovered now, and it makes him want to cry again how much she cares and how awful he’s been. And when he tries to apologize, she won’t hear it, just squeezes his shoulder and kisses his cheek and assures him that she’s there for him. Which only makes him feel that much worse.

He leaves the unopened mail in a heap on the kitchen table and snatches his coat off the hook, zipping it up bunching the hood around his chin. He shoves his hands in his pockets and hurries out the door, immediately bombarded by guys in coats with big flashing cameras. Doesn’t anyone have any respect around here?

He hurries by them without looking up, heading for his car. Before he gets in, he looks back, once, lifts his hand up and gives all the cameras the middle finger. How’s that for a statement?

Away, away, away. He’s got to get away. Anywhere, as long as it’s not here. He wipes the remnants of tears from his eyes and starts the car, tearing away from the city.

oOo

After not being able to fall asleep until six oclock in the morning, Jesse finally wakes up around five in the evening. His body really needed the sleep but he doesn’t feel very rested. The evening sunlight’s blaring right through his window at him like it’s angry at him too (even though no one shows it, it’s obvious they’re not happy. They’re fed up with him for intruding on their lives, angry at him for not remembering, for being so stupid on his bike. He’s fucked too many things up and the more he hears it’s not your fault, Jesse and no one’s blaming you, Jesse, the more guilty he feels. What’s he done to poor Andrew? He was taking the easy way out, by leaving, but he’s only helping himself and hurting everyone else).

He sits up with a groan, not wanting to move at all. He looks down at his elbow and picks at one of the scabs, ripping the dry clotted blood in one swift movement, hissing as the wound reopens. He watches the blood run down, coating his elbow in a metallic red in some morbid fascination, not even feeling the pain from the injury.

How much has he hurt this man? He knows, deep down, that what he’s been told is true. That he and Andrew had a deep… sexual relationship. That Andrew was hopelessly devoted to him – still is – and that he was to Andrew as well. But how could memories like that just vanish? If a total stranger came up to you and said you used to be in love, what would you do?

No matter how much he tries to convince himself, the guilt is suffocating. It’s like he murdered someone, and he may as well have.

He probably shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t, but when he hears familiar light footsteps in the hall, he calls “Hallie?”

His sister pokes her head through the door immediately. “Jess, you’re up. What is it?”

“Can I borrow your laptop?”

oOo

The cold air pinches and nips at his arms as Andrew stands at the top of the hill, looking out over the city lights just starting to glow in the dim evening light. His leather jacket isn’t doing much by ways of providing warmth, but he barely feels the chill against his skin. January’s nearly over, but February is always the coldest month of the year, so he’s bracing himself for more to come. He’s almost hoping for a snowstorm because that would give him a reason to stay cooped up in his apartment. But that would have too many memories carried with it too.

Andrew holds a cigarette between his fingers – something he hasn’t picked up since he was in high school. The smoke’s hot and bitter in his throat, but each drag sends a little calming wave through him, fuzzing everything out and making the bad things seeming just a little less bad – or at least more manageable. He closes his eyes and blows a puff of smoke out of his mouth, shoulders rising and falling with a deep calming breath. His shoulders shake with a shiver when there’s a soft gust of wind, and though he knows he could catch pneumonia out here, it doesn’t much bother him. Not anymore. Physical discomfort doesn’t matter to him anymore.

Looking out at the city, able to see his apartment complex from here, he’s almost able to pretend he’s on the outside of all this. To look down at the source of his problems with a sense of disconnection, like someone watching a movie. It’s so good to be away from the noises of the city, the crowds of bodies, prying eyes and be able to just breathe.

He has to believe that Jesse will get his memory back. He has to believe because if he doesn’t, life will stop. Jesse is his life. A future without Jesse isn’t a future at all. It’s unimaginable. So he has to keep telling himself, he has to keep believing that everything will be better one day. Because ‘one day’ means he can keep waiting. He can keep hoping. He can keep going on because one day is still going to happen. And that’s a whole lot better than ‘never’.

oOo

It’s not hard to find the video. All he has to do is search ‘Jesse and Andrew’ on youtube and he gets million copies of the same video.

JESSE EISENBERG AND ANDREW GARFIELD GAY?!

JEWNICORNS ARE REAL!!

JESSE AND ANDREW COME OUT!!

THEY’RE GAY!!

He wonders if he should be doing this, subjecting himself to more pain and guilt. But he’s responsible for this, too, he needs to at least get an idea of how much he’s hurt Andrew by deserting him.

He clicks on the first video, and it comes in with some dying out laughter after some joke he doesn’t get to hear. He watches himself shift awkwardly on the couch – the boys are on Ellen – beside Andrew. They’re sitting together in the middle of the couch, so close that their thighs are touching, even though both ends are free. Andrew begins to talk first, resting his hand on top of Jesse’s as does and if that doesn’t clue the audience in to what he’s about to say he doesn’t know what else could. “Though Ellen,” says Andrew in his oddly soothing accent, as Jesse watches his own form shift and gnaw at the corner of his lip. “There is something that we wanted to come here to talk about today. Other than the movie.”

Yes, Jesse and Andrew had been cast in another movie together, and it had been a glorious experience. Their relationship had flourished, and with the release date having just passed, so had their popularity as actors. But both of them had been feeling like they were living a lie, hiding their relationship from everyone for the past two years.

Ellen could probably sense it already. It takes one to know one, of course, and she raised her eyebrows at them in almost endearingly. “Jesse and I,” Andrew begins, and the whole room is silent. Someone coughs, and it’s a loud sound. “well, I’ve talked about my relationship with him at length. But… there’s one thing that we’ve been keeping from you. All this time.” Oh, yes, if it wasn’t obvious what they were going to say before it is now.

The camera zooms in on them and Jesse looks incredibly nervous, but also determined, confident, and almost happy about their secret about to finally come out. Andrew’s expressions are harder to read, but his eyes skim the audience like he’s preparing to have rotten tomatoes thrown at him.

“Jesse and I…” he repeats, like he’s not quite sure what to say. He pauses, lips parted mid-word. And then suddenly he turns, taking Jesse’s face between both of his hands and kissing him, hard, right there.

The crowd goes insane. There’s gasping, shrill shrieks, bellowing, shouting and the camera’s zoomed in right on their lips. It’s not too deep of a kiss for the sake of maintaining decency on national television, but it’s a long one, and passionate. When it breaks, everyone’s still screaming, Ellen looks like she might fall off her chair and Jesse’s jaw is shaking, looking like he might pass out. Andrew wraps his arm around his shoulders and takes his hand.

He watches his own terrified face stare at the camera and he has to keep telling himself that this is him. This is how he and Andrew came out. Andrew kissed him on live television. He’s never seen someone do something so brave. A vision flits through his head, just for a split second, of Andrew’s face, Andrew’s face so close to his, of the gold of his eyes and the pink of his lips and the--

There’s a knock on the door then and he jumps, hurrying to pause the video but he can’t quite maneuver the mouse to the button in time before Hallie sticks her head in again. “Hey, Jes, it’s time for – hey, what’s wrong?”

Is he crying? He’s just now aware of wetness on his face and he hurriedly reaches to wipe the tears away. “I — n-nothing.”

Hallie doesn’t buy it, of course. She gingerly sits down beside Jesse and Jesse looks away shamefully, the video still paused on a close-up of them, staring around like deer in the headlights. “That was all over national TV for weeks,” she informs him gently, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Jesse hasn’t cried yet. He’s let a couple tears fall from fear and frustration, but he hasn’t really let it out. Hallie’s arm around him, the physical affection he’s been craving and needing but that he’s been pushing away, finally makes him break. Guilt, shame, frustration, anger (mostly with himself) and fear all just come pouring out, but Hallie’s surprisingly strong arms keep him held together. He’s so overwhelmed and confused that he thinks his body may even break apart, limbs falling off in all directions, if Hallie’s not there to keep him intact.

“He loves me,” Jesse whispers shakily once he’s stopped crying, after Hallie’s been patiently holding him for about ten minutes. She’s still very young, but God is she strong and wise beyond her years. Jesse trusts her with his life.

It doesn’t need to be said who he’s talking about. “Yeah, he does.”

“And I love him?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

God, Jesse doesn’t know. “I want to remember, Hallie!” he whispers. “I know I used to love him – before. I don’t know if I…”

“You still do.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you, Jesse. I watched you fall in love with him. I listened to you ramble about him for hours and I listened to Andrew do the same. Real love – and what you had with him was real – doesn’t just go away. What’s in your heart doesn’t go away.”

“You said he’s talked about me?”

“He has.”

“What’s he said?”

“He’s said…” Hallie slips a hand through Jesse’s rumpled hair. “He’s said that you’re beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He’s said that you seem to be the only one to get him. He’s said that you’re brilliant, funny and witty, beautiful and charming, that he can’t help but be happy around you, that you’re the reason he gets up in the morning, that he just wants to love you and protect you from everything bad in the world….”

Jesse’s crying again by the time she’s done and he doesn’t try to stop himself. He wraps his arm around Hallie’s waist, pressing his face into her shoulder and letting the tears fall. She doesn’t mind, she holds onto him and lets him let it all out.

oOo

Andrew’s passed out on the couch again, the following day, when Emma lets herself into the apartment, announcing her arrival with the door slamming behind her. Andrew’s not fully awake before something’s chucked at him, landing on his chest; it’s People Magazine, and right on the cover is the image of him flipping off the paparazzi.

He sits up, rubbing his hand over his face, tugging at the corners of his eyelids and dragging it down to his mouth. He blinks at the cover, not recognizing himself for a moment. He’s glaring at the cameras with a look that even scares himself and the gesture he’s making with his finger is obvious. It’s a good thing he’s not in the process of filming a movie at this time and neither is Jesse or that would have all gone kaput. They’d both decided to take a break from acting, get real jobs and settle down together for a while. Andrew, not able to stop acting, had guest starred on several television shows, Jesse had been in a play, but nothing too spectacular.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, and leafs through the magazine to find the article just to see what they’re saying about this. Andrew Garfield’s showed his face outside his apartment for the first time since Jesse’s accident…

God dammit. That’s as far as he can read. “Awesome,” he snarls, throwing the magazine down on the coffee table. “Just fucking awesome." None of these people actually care about his wellbeing, or about Jesse, they’re just using this as a story, something to make readers and money off of. He and Jesse aren’t real people but sources for entertainment. Morbid, disgusting, inhuman entertainment. They’re all vultures.

oOo

It snows. Jesse throws on some sweats and a hoodie, wrapping a scarf around his neck and the bottom half of his face. He heads outside, and he isn’t recognized. He’s always liked the snow, and he still loves it now. He shuffles along the sidewalk and watches the flakes fall before his face, even tries to catch one on his tongue once or twice. It’s so good to be out of the house, away from his overly concerned parents, being able to breathe fresh air.

It’s cold. It’s really fucking cold but he tolerates it, likes it even, because it’s better than being at home. He’s crossing a patch of the sidewalk that hasn’t been shoveled and as his feet sink into the ice a sudden image flicks through his head of him running through snow with flipflops on and – doing that a whole bunch of times.

He leans against the wall and closes his eyes, letting memories flow back without trying to stop them. He remembers himself standing outside some building in the freezing fucking cold and – Andrew – in a beachy flannel and a straw hat and he’s talking about… Facebook or something…

Fucking shit, it’s cold. The memories start blending into eachother like a scene in a movie and he lets them. They’re all out of order, a white Christmas when he was a child, snowball fights, a storm that left the power out for four days and forced his family to stay at a hotel, a snowball fight in a parking lot with… with Andrew.

And then there are more. Hitting him like a bombarding of snowballs. Memories, memories, memories. Lots of them, each one bleeding into another like a montage at the end of a summer movie. Memories. Memories.

oOo

The phone ringing in the kitchen jars Andrew out of his thoughts. He’s been making himself dinner, alone again, or rather he’s been adding hot milk to a vat of Easy-Mac, eyes only half open, like he’s a college student again. ‘Call from – Hallie Eye-sssen-burrggg’ a monotone, robotic voice informs him and he makes a face as he shuffles over to pick up the receiver. Why would Hallie be calling him?

If it’s good news, he’s eager to hear it. He races to the phone and snatches the receiver up but he tries not to let himself get too excited. “Hello? Hallie?”

“Andrew!”

“Hey! Hallie! I-ah-h-h…how’s Jesse??” He’s so excited to hear from her he can barely talk straight.

“Jesse, actually,” Hallie says, and Andrew braces himself for bad news, white-knuckling the phone against his ear. “I have some good news for you, Andrew.”

Andrew’s heart leaps out of his chest but he forces it back down inside, his whole body trembling with anticipation as he stutters out “W-w-what?”

“He’s gotten back his first memory of you.”