Jesse/Andrew High School AU.
Title: Someone to Bring Home.
Rating: Eventually NC-17, but as of now, PG~
Summary: A Jesse/Andrew High School AU, where Jesse goes to school in America, and Andrew in England, and there's a pen pal programme between their schools. They exchange letters every fortnight, and their friendship develops quickly, perhaps into something more?
High School is an average - if not below average - time for most people. Jesse Eisenberg considers his time in high school to be going okay. He gets good grades, and he has a few friends - but he’s kind of just.. there. He’s not having the time of his life or breaking academic records or being particularly outstanding in anything. He doesn’t want to be like that, though; he’s content. He’s happy with it. He doesn’t ask for much and he doesn’t expect much, because in life neither of those things seem to be a good thing. So he goes too school, and he talks to his friends, and he studies instead of going too parties but that’s fine, because Jesse doesn’t like parties anyway. He doesn’t care much for horny, drunk teenagers rubbing against each other while music that makes it impossible to think booms from some rich kid’s stereo. Jesse is pretty happy.
His best friends are Emma, and Justin, and Kristen, and Joe, but sometimes he doesn’t know if he’s really cut out to be their friends. They’re all funny and nice and are always a lot of fun, whereas Jesse is strange and not funny at all and slightly neurotic. He sometimes feels out of place, because they are normal and they like to go to go out a lot, whereas Jesse isn’t normal and he hates going out for more than once a week. They all know that Jesse is gay and they’re all okay with that; he told them when he was fifteen and he’s sixteen, almost seventeen, now, so Jesse is pretty positive they don’t mind. Sometime’s he talks to Armie too, but Armie’s on the football team and was Prom King, so Jesse feels a little intimidated by him, and when Armie laughs at the things Jesse says, Jesse isn’t sure if he’s laughing at his words, or at him.
----
“Can you believe this?!” Emma exclaimed excitedly one lunch time, after English and before History. “We actually get too write to people from England. This is the best idea Mrs. P has had in a long time.”
In the English class Jesse, Emma, and Justin had just come from, the teacher, Mrs. Profitt, told them about the pen-pal thing. Joe would be doing it too, but he was sick today. Kristen had dropped English. They were apparently going to write letters to kids their age, at a school in England; much to the excitement of Emma, and to the distaste of Justin.
“Seriously? I don’t want to write a boring ass letter about myself to some random kid who probably drinks tea and eats scones all the time, okay?” Justin - who was perpetually lazy, except for when it came to dancing and singing - complained.
Jesse rolled his eyes at Justin, tossing a peanut at him. “Don’t be stereotypical. Not everyone from England drinks tea and eats scones.”
Justin sighed, but he was grinning. “Whatever. I’m going to go appeal to Mrs. P. Catch you on the flipside, guys.” he stood up, giving them a wave, and making his way out of the cafeteria.
Jesse glanced at Emma, shrugging. “I kinda like writing.”
----
Unsurprisingly, Justin’s appeal was fruitless. According to Mrs. P, they’d only need to send one or two letters a month, so Justin begrudgingly accepted the inevitable. So, there Jesse was, hunched over his desk in the stuffy classroom, struggling to think of what to say. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say - the template sheet the teacher had handed out had the usual; name, family, where you’re from, hobbies, etc - but Jesse found himself stuck for ever that. Sighing, he clicked his pen, beginning to write to his assigned pen pal - someone called Andrew Garfield.
So.. Hi, I guess. You must be Andrew.
My name is Jesse, and I’m from America. Obviously. I mean, you already know that. I think. I suppose? I don’t think I’m making sense..
Anyway.. I’m Jesse (I think I said that already), and I’m sixteen, nearly seventeen. I live with my mother, and father and two sisters. I’m not very interesting. Sorry.
I like.. cats. And maps. And I like reading and writing and I’m probably what’s considered a nerd or a geek or whatever.
Um.. I sound completely crazy, I’m sure of it. Sorry. I really don’t know what to say. I’ve never done the whole pen pals thing before. I guess I should probably ask you stuff..
Um, what’s England like? I mean, I’ve seen pictures and read about it, but I suppose it’s different in real life..
I don’t know. I think I’m rambling.
What’s your school like? I guess high school is just high school everywhere, but.. Do you like school?
Do you have any pets? What would you like to do when you’re older? What is your favorite meal or snack? Sorry, I’m kinda just copying things from a template. You don’t have to answer those.
I think this has been awkward enough. I feel weird and informal and uncomfortable with this but Mrs. P said to write it as though you were speaking so I guess that’s why it’s terrible.
Yours sincerely?
Jesse Eisenberg.
Sure, it was kinda short, but it was the awkward first letter - he supposed they’d get longer as they spoke.
Handing the letter to Mrs. P on the way out of class, he felt a little nervous; what if this Andrew guy thought he was really strange and crazy and downright stupid? Pushing the thought from his mind, he shook himself internally - it was only a stupid English assignment, right? He wasn’t even going to meet this Andrew Garfield person, so what did it matter? Still, Jesse couldn’t help but dread the reply he knew was coming. He had people from his own Country who thought he was weird, he didn’t want to be thought of that way internationally. Deciding he didn’t care, he squared his shoulders and waited for Emma, Joe, and Justin outside the door of the classroom.
----
Two weeks later, Jesse had nearly forgotten about the whole pen pal fiasco. Not that it was even a fiasco, really, but it was near the back of his mind, and he hadn’t thought about it too much since that class. Instead, he busied himself - buying three new maps, correcting them all; volunteering at the animal shelter down the street from his house ever other day, instead of on weekends; attempting to teach his mother how to cook a bigger variety of vegetarian dishes; and writing a lot of Haiku that didn’t make much sense at all.
I am a free bird,
Whispering in the light wind,
I can’t find my home.
I look at the sky,
I cannot find anything,
What is wrong with me?
Do I really care,
About what they think of me?
Sadly, yes, I do.
What is a Haiku?
Why do I always write them?
I’ll move to Japan.
“Jesse?”
The curly haired boy looked up from his Haiku, his mother standing in the doorway of his room, looking at him carefully. The look on her face made him nervous. He hoped they weren’t going to have a serious talk. “Yeah, mom?”
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked, looking at him, concerned. She sat down on the edge of his bed, patting the space next to her. Now, he was nervous.
“Nothing, mom.” he replied, going to sit next to her, as requested. He’d never been really all that great at talking about how he felt.
”Jesse, I’m your mother, and I know something is wrong. You’ve been busying yourself lately, and you always do that when you don’t want to think about something. Plus, you’ve been writing Haikus again.”
“It’s Haiku, mom.” he corrected her, ignoring the rest of her little speech. He didn’t want to talk about anything, because there was nothing wrong. There really wasn’t. He just liked Haiku and being busy, that was all.
His mother looked at him, sighing quietly. He knew she was just concerned, but he still couldn’t help but look away, wishing she’d let it go. He was nearly seventeen, he wasn’t a baby. “Mom, I’m fine. I promise.”
“Okay.. I love you, Jess. I’m here if you ever want to talk about anything, you know that.” and with that, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, ruffling his hair.
“Mom.” he grumbled, shying away instinctively, although he was smiling a little. “Okay. Love you too.” he gave her a quick hug, before standing up and going back to his desk. “And thanks.” he added, giving his mother a grateful smile as she left the room.
----
The next day, Jesse sat in English, fidgeting a little because Mrs. P was late and the class was getting restless. Apparently the replies to their letters had arrived, but no one was really sure because it was one of those class rumors that could be true but sometimes aren’t. Jesse hates those rumors - they’re disappointing, like when someone says they’re going to be watching a film in class, and then it turns out they’re actually going to be writing essays, and there’s no movie involved at all.
Resting his elbows on his desk, he placed his chin in his hands, his foot tapping against the floor impatiently - Mrs. P had never been late before. Half a minute later, Mrs. P decided to arrive - a wad of letters clamped in one hand, and a triumphant look on her face. After apologizing, and explaining that the letters had been put in the wrong place, and that’s why she was late, she began handing out the letters. One landed on Jesse’s desk, his name printed carefully in firm hand writing on the blank page, because it had been folded over.
Obviously they’d been packaged together, not individually, so all Jesse had to do was unfold the paper, not open an envelope - but still, he found himself staring at the letter, unsure. He really didn’t know why he was feeling like he was; it seemed unjustified, an over-reaction. It was only a letter, and he knew he shouldn’t be nervous, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t felt quite so helpless since grade school, where he was bullied mercilessly and tied to trees with a huge knot of sweaters.
Picking up the letter between his fingers, he glanced around the class - mostly everyone already peering at their letters, some of them laughing, others looking confused, or otherwise. He had to read it, and he supposed it would be better just to get it out the way. Smoothing the letter out, he took in the slightly messy scrawl, starting from the top.
Hello!
Yes, I’m Andrew. Andrew Garfield, to be precise, but I’m not a cat and I don’t like lasagne so don’t make fun of me for that! (I’m joking, by the way, but it’s hard to show humour through writing. Although I am seriously not a cat, and I actually don’t like lasagne. Go figure!)
Hi, Jesse! I do indeed know you’re from America. I think America seems awfully exciting - I’d love to move there one day. It’s so big and there’s so much to do and there’s so many people and places to see. I quite like the sound of it.
I’m seventeen (just turned last week, so I suppose when you wrote your letter I was probably still sixteen!) and I think you’re very interesting! What are your parents and siblings called? I live with my mother and father, and I have an older brother, but he moved out a while ago for University.
I like cats too! My cat is crazy and I’m beginning to think she’s an alcoholic. I think you sound great! Not nerdy, or geeky at all. You write? That’s cool! I wish I could write, but I can’t, not for the life of me. I like reading, too, especially comics. (How’s that for nerdy?) I like food, and I quite enjoy acting too.
You don’t sound crazy in the slightest. I sound crazy. I’m rambling like a loon and I’m sure you’re probably bored to tears right now. Apologies for that.
England is England. I do like it, but the grass is always greener on the other side. I’d like to move somewhere else, as a lot of people do. It’s probably the same in real life as it is in pictures! You’ll have to visit one day!
I quite enjoy school, I suppose, yes. I have a lovely group of friends and I think learning is okay but it is, like you said, just school. Nothing remarkably fantastic, but I do enjoy it! What about you? Do you like school?
I have my cat, as mentioned previously, and I used to have a fish but he died. I think it was because I didn’t feed him for a week, but I usually tell people it’s because he was old. I don’t like admitting I accidentally killed a fish. I’d like to act! Pipe dream, obviously, because it’s near impossible to actually get anywhere, what with all of the aspiring actors out there who are probably loads better than me, but yes. Oh god, I can’t choose. I love most food. Anything kind of sugary pastry, though.
I feel like I’m talking about myself a lot. Tell me about yourself! Do you have pets and favourite foods and dreams for a career? Tell me, I want to know it all.
It hasn’t been awkward at all, you numpty! It’s been great! I look forward to your reply! I hope we can be great friends, Jesse, because you seem nice.
Yours,
Andrew Garfield.
When Jesse came to end of the letter, he felt odd. He'd been enjoying himself, reading that - it was as though he knew Andrew personally, even though he knew he didn't. And Andrew hadn't found him weird! Jesse smiled a little to himself, feeling batter. Maybe he wasn't so strange after all. Well, maybe he was, but Andrew was nice enough not to mind, which was a comforting thought. Perhaps a friendship could come out of this, after all.
Part two.