all my bases are belong to you: origins - Jesse/Andrew - PG
Title: all my bases are belong to you: origins
Author: jeyhawk
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jesse Eisenberg/Andrew Garfield
Beta: sbb23! <333
Word Count: 3,569
Disclaimer: Not true. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. If you found this by googling yourself I would advise you to just not do that in the future. (BTW Andrew, your eyebrows are perfect. Go away now.)
Summary: College AU. Jesse and Andrew are roommates and best friends and sometimes (when Jesse's had more than three beers) they are more.
Notes: Set before the main story, when Jesse first came to live with Andrew and Justin. (For the Tumblr tsn-a-thon. Team Lust)
second base | third base | strike out to third base again | home run | fluid bonding
Jesse is ninety-five percent convinced he's too socially awkward and neurotic for college; unfortunately his mother manages to convince the remaining five percent that it's a fantastic idea.
"I just want you to have options, Jesse," she says, in that voice she uses when she doesn't want to let on just how much she worries about him.
"Living in your basement forever is an option," Jesse mutters.
He only applied for college because everyone else did and he was certain no one would have him anyway, but now there's an acceptance letter from NYU on his desk and just looking at it gives him heart palpitations.
"Please, Jess, for me?"
And so it's decided.
--
"This is going to be great," Jesse's mom says as she drives him into town with Jesse's entire life packed up in boxes in the trunk. "You remember Andrew, right?"
Jesse hums non-committally. He does remember Andrew, as a twelve-year old kid with knobby elbows and knees and more hair than was strictly necessary. He remembers a sun-soaked summer and the very unusual feeling of having a friend. Then Andrew moved to England and Jesse didn't dare write and he's not bitter about that, at all.
Jesse doesn't get why he has to move into the city proper, he could very well commute from his parents' basement, but his mother insisted and he was never able to say no to her; if he could he wouldn't have finished first grade, much less gone to college.
"You're going to have so much fun," she says and Jesse wonders just who she's trying to convince.
He hums again and stares out the window at the people and cars rushing by. He doesn't feel excited, or liberated, or any of the things kids supposedly feel when taking off for college. He feels as if he's being walked to the gallows with a noose already around his neck.
--
Andrew has an apartment in Greenwich Village, not far from Washington Square Park, and Jesse's first thought when his mom pulls onto the street is that it looks very quaint and British somehow - narrow brick buildings in nearly identical shades of red and the occasional tree stretching its branches over the road. The image is ruined of course by the yellow NYC cabs rushing by and the clutter of pedestrians, shops and restaurants lining the street.
"Here we are," Amy says, pulling up to the curb outside one of the narrow brick buildings with flared steps leading down to the sidewalk.
Jesse tilts his head back to stare up at the façade; the windows are rounded at the top and trimmed with white and the red brick is grayish from years of exposure to exhaust fumes. He can't imagine living here, but he supposes it's slightly better than sharing a dorm with someone he’s never met. Andrew might have changed a lot in the last eight years, but he probably still has both elbows and knees so that will be familiar, at least.
Very reluctantly Jesse steps out on the sidewalk, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his neck. The air smells like exhaust fumes, garbage and vaguely like curry. He glances down the street and spots an Indian restaurant, cuddled up close to a tiny grocery store, which explains the curry.
"Andrew's coming down to meet us," Amy says, coming up to stand next to Jesse on the sidewalk.
"Oh," he says, forcing himself to not stare at the door like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
There's a book store at the corner, he notes, the sign says: Books, Maps and Notes. He rubs his fingertips together absently and thinks about checking it out. He left his old world map on the wall in his room; maybe he could get a new one for the whole college experience. His stomach clenches uneasily and he looks away.
The door to the apartment building clatters open and Jesse forces himself to look up, stuffing his hands into his pocket so that no one can see how tightly clenched his fists are. Andrew still has knees, Jesse notices that first, attached to really long lean legs stuffed into a pair of bright green pants. He lifts his gaze higher and is met by Andrew's blinding smile.
"Jesse," he says. "Hi, and Amy, it's so nice to meet you again."
Jesse swallows thickly watching the long line of Andrew's neck. "Hi," he mutters.
"Do you want a tour first or… no let's bring the boxes right up right away."
Andrew steps down to the street, hugging Jesse's mom and squeezing Jesse's shoulder. He rocks back on his heels, still smiling.
"Welcome," he says, very seriously, very British, and Jesse's stomach flips helplessly.
"Thank you," he murmurs, cheeks flushing, and he wonders if it's too late to change his mind.
--
Twenty minutes later Jesse's boxes are stacked along the wall in the hallway, and Andrew's giving them the tour.
"So this is the living room," he says with a sweeping hand movement. "Not very exciting, I know."
There's an L-shaped couch and a flat screen TV on the wall. The rug underneath the coffee table is threadbare and colorful, and the walls are lined with bookshelves. Jesse stares out the tall narrow windows at the fire escape; he wants to ask if it would actually hold his weight, but clamps his mouth shut, biting at the inside of his lip.
"Kitchen," Andrew says, taking them into an adjoining room. There's a table with five odd chairs and a big window facing the street. There's a potted plant on the window sill, and an old-fashioned desk lamp. The facilities look seriously outdated, but Andrew assures them that they are in working order.
They go back through the living room towards the back of the apartment. There's a half-stair, covered in faded brown carpet, and then they're in a narrow corridor.
"This is Justin's room," he says, patting the first door on their left. "He's… actually I don't know where he is, but he'll probably be back eventually."
There's a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the door handle, probably snatched from a hotel, underneath it someone's written The Ogre in black marker. Jesse digs his blunt nails into his palms and tries not to worry about the mysterious Justin.
At the end of the corridor there are two doors side by side. "This is my room," Andrew says, gesturing to the right without pulling the door open. "It's… uh… messy, and this is you."
He opens the door to Jesse's future home with a flourish, sunlight spilling into the hall and illuminating the shabby rug. Jesse steps inside because he supposes he's expected too. There's a bed by the wall, an empty bookshelf, a small desk and tiny dresser squished in next to the bookshelf. There are two big curtainless windows, one of which leads to a fire escape.
"The closet's here," Andrew says, pulling the door partially closed to show the built-in door. "But if you have more stuff there's a walkin closet next to the bathroom and… uhm… one in the foyer."
There's a shabby throw rug covering the bare floorboards and the wallpaper is one of those medallion ones that were outdated in the 60's and then suddenly became popular again, black on grey.
"I know it's not much," Andrew says, biting at his lower lip.
"It's great," Jesse says, forcing a smile, the first one he’s even attempted since he got here.
Andrew grins back and suddenly Jesse's smile doesn't feel half as fake.
--
They have dinner at the kitchen table, Jesse, Andrew and Jesse's mom. It's take-out from a Chinese restaurant down the street and Jesse grudgingly has to admit that the food is good at least. Their plates don't match and the utensils have different patterns, but Jesse actually finds it kind of charming.
Jesse follows his mom down to the street to see her off. She hugs him tight and ruffles his hair.
"Are you going to be okay here?" she asks.
Jesse shrugs without looking at her. There's already a tight ball of homesickness at the pit of his stomach, but he's nineteen, not seven, and as tempting as it sounds Jesse can't spend the rest of his life in his parents' basement.
"Call me tomorrow," she says and hugs him again and Jesse allows himself to cling for a minute before he steps back.
"Drive safely," he says, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets.
"Always," she responds.
He stays out on the street until he can no longer see the taillights disappearing down the street. Then he turns on his heel and walks back up the stairs, pressing the keycard Andrew gave him against the reader. The door clicks open and Jesse steps into the stairwell that smells vaguely like cabbage.
Home Sweet Home, he thinks, but it sounds bitter even in his own head.
--
Jesse busies himself with moving the boxes into his room and unpacking his clothes. It's getting dark outside, the sliver of sky visible above the rooftops tinted orange and he tries to think of nothing at all as he makes up the bed and covers it with the worn blue afghan he's had since he was nine.
"You okay?"
Jesse had left the door open and now Andrew's leaning against the doorpost, watching him.
"Fine," Jesse says tightly.
Andrew comes in to perch at the edge of the empty desk. "Need any help?" he asks.
What Jesse wants is for Andrew to go away and for all of this to be a really mundane nightmare, but he's pretty sure that's not going to happen, so he sits down gingerly on the bed.
"So… uh… your family's still in England?" he asks.
"Yeah," Andrew says.
Jesse can't imagine having his family in another city, let alone a whole other continent, but Andrew doesn't look as if it bothers him much.
"I see them a few times a year and we talk on the phone a lot." Andrew smiles. "Thank god for Skype."
Jesse licks his lips and smiles absently. "I'm sorry for never writing back then," Jesse says, staring out the window. "I wanted to but…"
"It's okay," Andrew says and surprisingly he moves to sit next to Jesse, bumping their shoulders. "I didn't write either."
Andrew held his hand a lot, Jesse remembers that, and he laughed at all of Jesse's stupid jokes. Jesse cried when he moved, every night for a week, and glancing at Andrew now he still has that tight stupid feeling in his chest. What if he lets Andrew in and he goes away again?
--
Jesse can't sleep. He's been staring at the blinking numbers on his alarm clock for hours, watching the minutes tick away past midnight, past one, past two, past three. It feels as if there's a weight on his chest, squishing his ribcage, and counting sheep doesn't really help when it feels as if he can't breathe right.
He gives up around 4 AM, pushing out of bed to tackle one of the closest boxes. It's books, mostly, and he starts lining them up on the shelf in alphabetic order. He ignores the way his hands are trembling and the way his burning eyes keep blurring. He's unpacking, that's what he's doing. There's nothing wrong with getting settled.
A rap on the door startles him and he drops the copy of Anna Karenina he's trying to fit onto the shelf with a loud clatter.
"Come in," he says.
Andrew's standing in the doorway, in a worn ‘I ♥ London’ t-shirt and sagging boxer briefs. He scrubs a hand over his eyes and blinks sleepily at Jesse.
"It's 4 AM," he points out.
"Did I wake you?" Jesse asks, flushing. "I'm sorry."
"No I was getting a glass of water and saw the light was on," Andrew says. He glances up at the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. "We really have to get you a lamp."
Jesse picks the book up from the floor and silently puts it down on an empty shelf. "I'll be quiet," he promises.
"You should be sleeping," Andrew says.
Jesse shrugs. "I don't always do that," he mutters. "Sleep, I mean."
He rubs his fingertips together and stares at Andrew's reflection in the window. He's tall and lean, not skinny exactly but slender, and his hair is still ridiculous, especially now, mussed with sleep and standing out in all directions.
"Try to get some sleep, Jesse," Andrew says kindly. "I'll show you around the neighborhood tomorrow."
"Okay," Jesse says without looking at him. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Jesse goes back to bed once Andrew's gone, listening to the slight sounds coming through the thin walls separating their rooms. He pushes his face into the pillows and tries to remember how to breathe around the lump the in his throat.
--
In the morning Jesse calls his mom.
"I can't do this mom," he whispers, sitting with his back against the wall and his forehead pressed to his knees. "I just can't."
She sighs, making a soft sound at the back of her throat. "Did you sleep at all?" she asks.
"No," Jesse croaks.
"I packed your sleeping pills with your other meds," she says calmly. "You should…"
"I don't want them," Jesse says tightly, lifting his head to stare out the window. "I don't want to… I don't see the point of sleeping if I'm just gonna feel hung over the next day."
She sighs out his name and Jesse squeezes his eyes shut. He just misses her so much. "I'll make you a deal," she says. "Give it one month and if you still don't want to live there you can come home and commute."
Jesse sucks in a breath. One month, thirty days. Thirty very long days, but still just thirty. He can do that.
"Okay," he says, feeling a little better all of sudden. "Deal."
He can hear her smile.
--
Andrew's at the kitchen table when Jesse walks in, eating toast and drinking coffee. There's a paper open on the table before him.
"Morning," he says when he spots Jesse. "I would ask if you slept well but I already know that you didn't."
Jesse smiles and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He realizes he should have hit up the little corner shop he spotted for breakfast foods.
"There's bread in the bread box and coffee in the pot," Andrew says, as if he can read Jesse's mind. "I'll take you shopping later."
"Thanks," Jesse says.
It's weird, moving around a kitchen he didn't grow up in, and he keeps bumping into things. Eventually he manages to locate a cup and a plate, make some toast and bring his breakfast to the table. Andrew hands him a section of the paper without asking and they eat in silence that is surprisingly companionable.
--
After breakfast Andrew shows him around, pointing out the best restaurants and hidden jewels.
"So there are a couple of thrift shops down the block," Andrew says. "Wanna hit them up and see if we can find you a lamp?"
"Sure," Jesse says.
Andrew's wearing a too-big plaid shirt and the green pants from yesterday. He should look ridiculous, but somehow he just fits in while Jesse feels conspicuous in his hoodie and jeans.
The first thrift shop is in a basement; it smells musty and the dust hanging in the air tickles Jesse's nose. Andrew finds a blue jacket that is ridiculously tight on him and a scarf long enough to wrap four times around his neck.
"You look uh…" Jesse trails off, not sure what to say. He want to say that Andrew looks free, that he looks like someone that honestly doesn't care what people think of him even if he does. "Nice?"
Andrew laughs and unwraps the scarf from around his neck. "The jacket is a keeper," he says.
"It matches your shoes," Jesse points out.
Andrew looks down, as if he's surprised to find he's even wearing shoes. "It does," he says, sounding immensely pleased.
Jesse smiles and waits by the door while Andrew pays.
The next shop is bigger, with shelves and shelves of books and kitchenware. Jesse can't resist the books and he's leafing through a romance novel in Polish when Andrew comes up to him with a lamp clutched in his hand.
"How about this one?" he asks.
It's a rice lamp, light grey and flattened out with a little metal thing bound to the front.
"Sure," Jesse says.
"So what's that?" Andrew says, leaning over Jesse's shoulder to look at the book.
"A book."
Andrew snorts and bumps his chest against the back of Jesse's shoulder. "What is it about?"
Jesse shrugs. "Romance?"
"You gonna buy it?"
Jesse shakes his head and puts it back on the shelf. It's stupid but it feels as if buying something would make this more permanent and it's only temporary. Only thirty more days, more like twenty- nine actually, and then Jesse can move back home and only deal with one scary change at a time.
--
Andrew pays for the lamp, calls it a house-warming gift and then he takes Jesse grocery shopping. They walk back to the apartment loaded down with bags and it feels kind of nice - terribly domestic. Jesse doesn't even worry about talking too much because Andrew talks all the time in this bubbly sort of happy way that is really endearing.
Justin's still not home when they get back so they cook dinner together, a simple stir-fry, and eat in front of the TV.
"So tell me," Andrew says, gesturing with his fork. "What have you been up to these last eight years?"
Jesse laughs. "Well, I went to school, mostly. My life is not that exciting."
Andrew grins. "But it will be," he says.
Jesse nods and looks down on his plate. He kind of resents people that treat college as if it’s this amazing life-altering experience, because he's pretty sure it's not like that for everyone. He's pretty sure some people get through college the same way they get through high school, slowly and painstakingly, without shedding their dorky high school skin. It's pretty much impossible to resent Andrew though; he looks so earnest all of the time.
"It's easier for you," Jesse says. "You already did freshman year. I'm just at the beginning."
Andrew leans his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "I was terrified the first two weeks," he confesses. "I was convinced everyone hated me and that I was going to fail all my classes, but it got better." He turns his head to smile at Jesse. "And at least you know me."
"Yeah," Jesse mumbles. "I do."
He feels like an asshole all of a sudden, because it's not Andrew's fault that the he had to move back then and it's not Andrew's fault Jesse can't cut the umbilical cord.
--
After dinner Jesse goes to his room. He absently unpacks another box and eyes the bed with something like trepidation. He's tired, the weariness running bone-deep, but he just knows that the moment he lies down he'll be wide awake.
Around eleven there's a knock on the door and Jesse pulls it open from his perch on the desk. It's Andrew and he's holding a huge cup between his hands.
"Hey," he says. "I… uh… I made you some chocolate."
Jesse blinks at him.
"My mom used to do that when I was a kid and couldn't… uh… sleep, so I thought…" He trails off looking uncertain.
"Thank you," Jesse mumbles, taking the cup from his hands. "That's…uh… very sweet of you."
He blushes and Andrew blushes and they smile a little stupidly at each other. There's a mountain of whipped cream at the top that smears on Jesse's nose when he takes a sip, but somehow he doesn't feel stupid as he rubs it off with the back of his hand before taking another mouthful.
"This is good," he says, licking cream from his top lip. It's sweet with just the right hint of bitter cocoa hidden underneath.
"My mom's secret recipe," Andrew says. "I'd show you how, but then I'd have to kill you."
Jesse laughs before raising the cup to his lips again.
"I'm just gonna…," Andrew nods towards his bedroom door. "Yeah… But uh… good night."
"Good night," Jesse echoes.
He stays on the desk drinking his chocolate until the cup is empty. Then he takes the cup down to the kitchen and cleans it, placing gently it on the dish rack. He thinks again about the twelve year old that held his hand and smiles to himself; maybe Andrew really hasn’t changed that much.
--
To Jesse's great surprise he sleeps like a baby, only waking up when the sun starts crawling across the bed. It's too early to get up so he just rolls over and sleeps for another hour. It might be the best night's sleep he's had in months.
--
Twenty-eight days later he tells his mom he'll stick it out for another month. Two years later Andrew kisses him for the first time and Jesse knows that he's never going to leave.
- The End -
Author: jeyhawk
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jesse Eisenberg/Andrew Garfield
Beta: sbb23! <333
Word Count: 3,569
Disclaimer: Not true. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. If you found this by googling yourself I would advise you to just not do that in the future. (BTW Andrew, your eyebrows are perfect. Go away now.)
Summary: College AU. Jesse and Andrew are roommates and best friends and sometimes (when Jesse's had more than three beers) they are more.
Notes: Set before the main story, when Jesse first came to live with Andrew and Justin. (For the Tumblr tsn-a-thon. Team Lust)
second base | third base | strike out to third base again | home run | fluid bonding
Jesse is ninety-five percent convinced he's too socially awkward and neurotic for college; unfortunately his mother manages to convince the remaining five percent that it's a fantastic idea.
"I just want you to have options, Jesse," she says, in that voice she uses when she doesn't want to let on just how much she worries about him.
"Living in your basement forever is an option," Jesse mutters.
He only applied for college because everyone else did and he was certain no one would have him anyway, but now there's an acceptance letter from NYU on his desk and just looking at it gives him heart palpitations.
"Please, Jess, for me?"
And so it's decided.
--
"This is going to be great," Jesse's mom says as she drives him into town with Jesse's entire life packed up in boxes in the trunk. "You remember Andrew, right?"
Jesse hums non-committally. He does remember Andrew, as a twelve-year old kid with knobby elbows and knees and more hair than was strictly necessary. He remembers a sun-soaked summer and the very unusual feeling of having a friend. Then Andrew moved to England and Jesse didn't dare write and he's not bitter about that, at all.
Jesse doesn't get why he has to move into the city proper, he could very well commute from his parents' basement, but his mother insisted and he was never able to say no to her; if he could he wouldn't have finished first grade, much less gone to college.
"You're going to have so much fun," she says and Jesse wonders just who she's trying to convince.
He hums again and stares out the window at the people and cars rushing by. He doesn't feel excited, or liberated, or any of the things kids supposedly feel when taking off for college. He feels as if he's being walked to the gallows with a noose already around his neck.
--
Andrew has an apartment in Greenwich Village, not far from Washington Square Park, and Jesse's first thought when his mom pulls onto the street is that it looks very quaint and British somehow - narrow brick buildings in nearly identical shades of red and the occasional tree stretching its branches over the road. The image is ruined of course by the yellow NYC cabs rushing by and the clutter of pedestrians, shops and restaurants lining the street.
"Here we are," Amy says, pulling up to the curb outside one of the narrow brick buildings with flared steps leading down to the sidewalk.
Jesse tilts his head back to stare up at the façade; the windows are rounded at the top and trimmed with white and the red brick is grayish from years of exposure to exhaust fumes. He can't imagine living here, but he supposes it's slightly better than sharing a dorm with someone he’s never met. Andrew might have changed a lot in the last eight years, but he probably still has both elbows and knees so that will be familiar, at least.
Very reluctantly Jesse steps out on the sidewalk, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his neck. The air smells like exhaust fumes, garbage and vaguely like curry. He glances down the street and spots an Indian restaurant, cuddled up close to a tiny grocery store, which explains the curry.
"Andrew's coming down to meet us," Amy says, coming up to stand next to Jesse on the sidewalk.
"Oh," he says, forcing himself to not stare at the door like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
There's a book store at the corner, he notes, the sign says: Books, Maps and Notes. He rubs his fingertips together absently and thinks about checking it out. He left his old world map on the wall in his room; maybe he could get a new one for the whole college experience. His stomach clenches uneasily and he looks away.
The door to the apartment building clatters open and Jesse forces himself to look up, stuffing his hands into his pocket so that no one can see how tightly clenched his fists are. Andrew still has knees, Jesse notices that first, attached to really long lean legs stuffed into a pair of bright green pants. He lifts his gaze higher and is met by Andrew's blinding smile.
"Jesse," he says. "Hi, and Amy, it's so nice to meet you again."
Jesse swallows thickly watching the long line of Andrew's neck. "Hi," he mutters.
"Do you want a tour first or… no let's bring the boxes right up right away."
Andrew steps down to the street, hugging Jesse's mom and squeezing Jesse's shoulder. He rocks back on his heels, still smiling.
"Welcome," he says, very seriously, very British, and Jesse's stomach flips helplessly.
"Thank you," he murmurs, cheeks flushing, and he wonders if it's too late to change his mind.
--
Twenty minutes later Jesse's boxes are stacked along the wall in the hallway, and Andrew's giving them the tour.
"So this is the living room," he says with a sweeping hand movement. "Not very exciting, I know."
There's an L-shaped couch and a flat screen TV on the wall. The rug underneath the coffee table is threadbare and colorful, and the walls are lined with bookshelves. Jesse stares out the tall narrow windows at the fire escape; he wants to ask if it would actually hold his weight, but clamps his mouth shut, biting at the inside of his lip.
"Kitchen," Andrew says, taking them into an adjoining room. There's a table with five odd chairs and a big window facing the street. There's a potted plant on the window sill, and an old-fashioned desk lamp. The facilities look seriously outdated, but Andrew assures them that they are in working order.
They go back through the living room towards the back of the apartment. There's a half-stair, covered in faded brown carpet, and then they're in a narrow corridor.
"This is Justin's room," he says, patting the first door on their left. "He's… actually I don't know where he is, but he'll probably be back eventually."
There's a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the door handle, probably snatched from a hotel, underneath it someone's written The Ogre in black marker. Jesse digs his blunt nails into his palms and tries not to worry about the mysterious Justin.
At the end of the corridor there are two doors side by side. "This is my room," Andrew says, gesturing to the right without pulling the door open. "It's… uh… messy, and this is you."
He opens the door to Jesse's future home with a flourish, sunlight spilling into the hall and illuminating the shabby rug. Jesse steps inside because he supposes he's expected too. There's a bed by the wall, an empty bookshelf, a small desk and tiny dresser squished in next to the bookshelf. There are two big curtainless windows, one of which leads to a fire escape.
"The closet's here," Andrew says, pulling the door partially closed to show the built-in door. "But if you have more stuff there's a walkin closet next to the bathroom and… uhm… one in the foyer."
There's a shabby throw rug covering the bare floorboards and the wallpaper is one of those medallion ones that were outdated in the 60's and then suddenly became popular again, black on grey.
"I know it's not much," Andrew says, biting at his lower lip.
"It's great," Jesse says, forcing a smile, the first one he’s even attempted since he got here.
Andrew grins back and suddenly Jesse's smile doesn't feel half as fake.
--
They have dinner at the kitchen table, Jesse, Andrew and Jesse's mom. It's take-out from a Chinese restaurant down the street and Jesse grudgingly has to admit that the food is good at least. Their plates don't match and the utensils have different patterns, but Jesse actually finds it kind of charming.
Jesse follows his mom down to the street to see her off. She hugs him tight and ruffles his hair.
"Are you going to be okay here?" she asks.
Jesse shrugs without looking at her. There's already a tight ball of homesickness at the pit of his stomach, but he's nineteen, not seven, and as tempting as it sounds Jesse can't spend the rest of his life in his parents' basement.
"Call me tomorrow," she says and hugs him again and Jesse allows himself to cling for a minute before he steps back.
"Drive safely," he says, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets.
"Always," she responds.
He stays out on the street until he can no longer see the taillights disappearing down the street. Then he turns on his heel and walks back up the stairs, pressing the keycard Andrew gave him against the reader. The door clicks open and Jesse steps into the stairwell that smells vaguely like cabbage.
Home Sweet Home, he thinks, but it sounds bitter even in his own head.
--
Jesse busies himself with moving the boxes into his room and unpacking his clothes. It's getting dark outside, the sliver of sky visible above the rooftops tinted orange and he tries to think of nothing at all as he makes up the bed and covers it with the worn blue afghan he's had since he was nine.
"You okay?"
Jesse had left the door open and now Andrew's leaning against the doorpost, watching him.
"Fine," Jesse says tightly.
Andrew comes in to perch at the edge of the empty desk. "Need any help?" he asks.
What Jesse wants is for Andrew to go away and for all of this to be a really mundane nightmare, but he's pretty sure that's not going to happen, so he sits down gingerly on the bed.
"So… uh… your family's still in England?" he asks.
"Yeah," Andrew says.
Jesse can't imagine having his family in another city, let alone a whole other continent, but Andrew doesn't look as if it bothers him much.
"I see them a few times a year and we talk on the phone a lot." Andrew smiles. "Thank god for Skype."
Jesse licks his lips and smiles absently. "I'm sorry for never writing back then," Jesse says, staring out the window. "I wanted to but…"
"It's okay," Andrew says and surprisingly he moves to sit next to Jesse, bumping their shoulders. "I didn't write either."
Andrew held his hand a lot, Jesse remembers that, and he laughed at all of Jesse's stupid jokes. Jesse cried when he moved, every night for a week, and glancing at Andrew now he still has that tight stupid feeling in his chest. What if he lets Andrew in and he goes away again?
--
Jesse can't sleep. He's been staring at the blinking numbers on his alarm clock for hours, watching the minutes tick away past midnight, past one, past two, past three. It feels as if there's a weight on his chest, squishing his ribcage, and counting sheep doesn't really help when it feels as if he can't breathe right.
He gives up around 4 AM, pushing out of bed to tackle one of the closest boxes. It's books, mostly, and he starts lining them up on the shelf in alphabetic order. He ignores the way his hands are trembling and the way his burning eyes keep blurring. He's unpacking, that's what he's doing. There's nothing wrong with getting settled.
A rap on the door startles him and he drops the copy of Anna Karenina he's trying to fit onto the shelf with a loud clatter.
"Come in," he says.
Andrew's standing in the doorway, in a worn ‘I ♥ London’ t-shirt and sagging boxer briefs. He scrubs a hand over his eyes and blinks sleepily at Jesse.
"It's 4 AM," he points out.
"Did I wake you?" Jesse asks, flushing. "I'm sorry."
"No I was getting a glass of water and saw the light was on," Andrew says. He glances up at the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. "We really have to get you a lamp."
Jesse picks the book up from the floor and silently puts it down on an empty shelf. "I'll be quiet," he promises.
"You should be sleeping," Andrew says.
Jesse shrugs. "I don't always do that," he mutters. "Sleep, I mean."
He rubs his fingertips together and stares at Andrew's reflection in the window. He's tall and lean, not skinny exactly but slender, and his hair is still ridiculous, especially now, mussed with sleep and standing out in all directions.
"Try to get some sleep, Jesse," Andrew says kindly. "I'll show you around the neighborhood tomorrow."
"Okay," Jesse says without looking at him. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Jesse goes back to bed once Andrew's gone, listening to the slight sounds coming through the thin walls separating their rooms. He pushes his face into the pillows and tries to remember how to breathe around the lump the in his throat.
--
In the morning Jesse calls his mom.
"I can't do this mom," he whispers, sitting with his back against the wall and his forehead pressed to his knees. "I just can't."
She sighs, making a soft sound at the back of her throat. "Did you sleep at all?" she asks.
"No," Jesse croaks.
"I packed your sleeping pills with your other meds," she says calmly. "You should…"
"I don't want them," Jesse says tightly, lifting his head to stare out the window. "I don't want to… I don't see the point of sleeping if I'm just gonna feel hung over the next day."
She sighs out his name and Jesse squeezes his eyes shut. He just misses her so much. "I'll make you a deal," she says. "Give it one month and if you still don't want to live there you can come home and commute."
Jesse sucks in a breath. One month, thirty days. Thirty very long days, but still just thirty. He can do that.
"Okay," he says, feeling a little better all of sudden. "Deal."
He can hear her smile.
--
Andrew's at the kitchen table when Jesse walks in, eating toast and drinking coffee. There's a paper open on the table before him.
"Morning," he says when he spots Jesse. "I would ask if you slept well but I already know that you didn't."
Jesse smiles and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He realizes he should have hit up the little corner shop he spotted for breakfast foods.
"There's bread in the bread box and coffee in the pot," Andrew says, as if he can read Jesse's mind. "I'll take you shopping later."
"Thanks," Jesse says.
It's weird, moving around a kitchen he didn't grow up in, and he keeps bumping into things. Eventually he manages to locate a cup and a plate, make some toast and bring his breakfast to the table. Andrew hands him a section of the paper without asking and they eat in silence that is surprisingly companionable.
--
After breakfast Andrew shows him around, pointing out the best restaurants and hidden jewels.
"So there are a couple of thrift shops down the block," Andrew says. "Wanna hit them up and see if we can find you a lamp?"
"Sure," Jesse says.
Andrew's wearing a too-big plaid shirt and the green pants from yesterday. He should look ridiculous, but somehow he just fits in while Jesse feels conspicuous in his hoodie and jeans.
The first thrift shop is in a basement; it smells musty and the dust hanging in the air tickles Jesse's nose. Andrew finds a blue jacket that is ridiculously tight on him and a scarf long enough to wrap four times around his neck.
"You look uh…" Jesse trails off, not sure what to say. He want to say that Andrew looks free, that he looks like someone that honestly doesn't care what people think of him even if he does. "Nice?"
Andrew laughs and unwraps the scarf from around his neck. "The jacket is a keeper," he says.
"It matches your shoes," Jesse points out.
Andrew looks down, as if he's surprised to find he's even wearing shoes. "It does," he says, sounding immensely pleased.
Jesse smiles and waits by the door while Andrew pays.
The next shop is bigger, with shelves and shelves of books and kitchenware. Jesse can't resist the books and he's leafing through a romance novel in Polish when Andrew comes up to him with a lamp clutched in his hand.
"How about this one?" he asks.
It's a rice lamp, light grey and flattened out with a little metal thing bound to the front.
"Sure," Jesse says.
"So what's that?" Andrew says, leaning over Jesse's shoulder to look at the book.
"A book."
Andrew snorts and bumps his chest against the back of Jesse's shoulder. "What is it about?"
Jesse shrugs. "Romance?"
"You gonna buy it?"
Jesse shakes his head and puts it back on the shelf. It's stupid but it feels as if buying something would make this more permanent and it's only temporary. Only thirty more days, more like twenty- nine actually, and then Jesse can move back home and only deal with one scary change at a time.
--
Andrew pays for the lamp, calls it a house-warming gift and then he takes Jesse grocery shopping. They walk back to the apartment loaded down with bags and it feels kind of nice - terribly domestic. Jesse doesn't even worry about talking too much because Andrew talks all the time in this bubbly sort of happy way that is really endearing.
Justin's still not home when they get back so they cook dinner together, a simple stir-fry, and eat in front of the TV.
"So tell me," Andrew says, gesturing with his fork. "What have you been up to these last eight years?"
Jesse laughs. "Well, I went to school, mostly. My life is not that exciting."
Andrew grins. "But it will be," he says.
Jesse nods and looks down on his plate. He kind of resents people that treat college as if it’s this amazing life-altering experience, because he's pretty sure it's not like that for everyone. He's pretty sure some people get through college the same way they get through high school, slowly and painstakingly, without shedding their dorky high school skin. It's pretty much impossible to resent Andrew though; he looks so earnest all of the time.
"It's easier for you," Jesse says. "You already did freshman year. I'm just at the beginning."
Andrew leans his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "I was terrified the first two weeks," he confesses. "I was convinced everyone hated me and that I was going to fail all my classes, but it got better." He turns his head to smile at Jesse. "And at least you know me."
"Yeah," Jesse mumbles. "I do."
He feels like an asshole all of a sudden, because it's not Andrew's fault that the he had to move back then and it's not Andrew's fault Jesse can't cut the umbilical cord.
--
After dinner Jesse goes to his room. He absently unpacks another box and eyes the bed with something like trepidation. He's tired, the weariness running bone-deep, but he just knows that the moment he lies down he'll be wide awake.
Around eleven there's a knock on the door and Jesse pulls it open from his perch on the desk. It's Andrew and he's holding a huge cup between his hands.
"Hey," he says. "I… uh… I made you some chocolate."
Jesse blinks at him.
"My mom used to do that when I was a kid and couldn't… uh… sleep, so I thought…" He trails off looking uncertain.
"Thank you," Jesse mumbles, taking the cup from his hands. "That's…uh… very sweet of you."
He blushes and Andrew blushes and they smile a little stupidly at each other. There's a mountain of whipped cream at the top that smears on Jesse's nose when he takes a sip, but somehow he doesn't feel stupid as he rubs it off with the back of his hand before taking another mouthful.
"This is good," he says, licking cream from his top lip. It's sweet with just the right hint of bitter cocoa hidden underneath.
"My mom's secret recipe," Andrew says. "I'd show you how, but then I'd have to kill you."
Jesse laughs before raising the cup to his lips again.
"I'm just gonna…," Andrew nods towards his bedroom door. "Yeah… But uh… good night."
"Good night," Jesse echoes.
He stays on the desk drinking his chocolate until the cup is empty. Then he takes the cup down to the kitchen and cleans it, placing gently it on the dish rack. He thinks again about the twelve year old that held his hand and smiles to himself; maybe Andrew really hasn’t changed that much.
--
To Jesse's great surprise he sleeps like a baby, only waking up when the sun starts crawling across the bed. It's too early to get up so he just rolls over and sleeps for another hour. It might be the best night's sleep he's had in months.
--
Twenty-eight days later he tells his mom he'll stick it out for another month. Two years later Andrew kisses him for the first time and Jesse knows that he's never going to leave.
- The End -