FIC: TBC: When You Call My Name (Andy/Brian) Part 2/2
Title: When You Call My Name, Part 2/2
Find Part One Here
“Okay, okay, I got another one. What’s the difference between a male snowman and a female snowman?”
They were sitting on the bleachers next to the baseball field, which was right behind the school, so it was hidden from the main road. A dozen empty cans of Budweiser were scattered on the lawn below them.
Brian frowned thoughtfully. “Uh…”
“Snowballs!” Andy exclaimed.
Brian burst out laughing, accidentally spilling some beer onto his hand. When he realized what he’d done, he licked his palm, not wanting to waste a single drop.
“Okay, now you tell another one,” said Andy.
Brian shook his head. “I don’t know any more.”
“Yeah, you do. Come on, man.”
Brian started laughing again, even though he wasn’t exactly sure why. “Okay, um…” He looked over at Andy. “What do you get if you divide the circumference of a jack-o-lantern by its diameter?”
Andy’s eyes widened. “I don’t know.”
“Pumpkin pi!” Brian shouted, the answer coming out all squeaky since he was already laughing at the punch line.
Andy just stared at him for a moment before he started chuckling to himself. “You’re such a nerd,” he told him.
This just caused Brian to laugh harder. “I know.”
Andy turned around and leaned back onto the seat so that he was lying on his back. “It feels weird that I don’t have school anymore.”
“Yeah?” Brian figured that he would probably feel the same way when he graduated. He was so used to studying and writing essays and calculating his GPA that he couldn’t imagine not doing it anymore.
“Yeah,” Andy answered. “It’s good, but…weird.”
Brian took another sip of beer. “How was graduation?”
Andy shrugged. “Boring. We had to sit there for a fucking hour, and we couldn’t even move. The guy next to me had headphones.” He chuckled. “I wish I’d thought of that.”
Brian smiled. “What was he listening to?”
Andy snorted. “I don’t know. Heavy metal or something.”
Instantly, Brian was reminded of Bender playing air guitar in detention. “Did you, uh…did you see any of the others?”
Andy frowned. “Others?” Then his eyes softened, and he said, “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I saw ‘em.”
Brian nodded. “Yeah? Who?”
“All three of them.”
“Oh.” Brian paused. “Even, uh, even Allison?”
Andy was quiet for a minute. “Yeah, she was there,” he said finally.
Brian nodded. He didn’t mean to keep pushing, but for some reason he was finding it hard to keep his thoughts to himself. A side effect of the alcohol, no doubt. “Do you still think about her?”
Andy shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly I just wonder what she’s doing…if she’s okay.”
Brian nodded again. That was how he felt about all of them, too. He just wanted them to be okay. “Yeah.”
The two of them were silent for a moment, both lost in their thoughts. Finally, Brian said, “I didn’t realize Bender was graduating.”
Andy laughed. “Me neither. I’ll bet Vernon paid somebody off, just to make sure he didn’t have to deal with him next year.”
Brian started laughing. “Yeah, probably.”
Andy took another sip of beer and looked over at him. “So, when you graduate, you’re probably going to be valedictorian or something, huh?”
Brian shook his head. “Nope, not anymore.”
Andy furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why not?”
Brian took another sip of beer and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. “Because of shop,” he said easily, thinking that it was obvious.
“Because of the F?”
Brian nodded. “Fuckin’ elephant,” he muttered, letting out a little giggle.
Andy let out a light chuckle. “Why’d you make an elephant anyway? You should have made a tiger or something cool like that.”
“A tiger?” said Brian. “Why would I want a lamp in the shape of a tiger?”
“Why would you want a lamp in the shape of a fucking elephant?” Andy asked.
“I don’t know. I…” Brian tried not to start giggling again and was mildly successful. “I don’t know.”
Andy finished off the last of his beer and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed on the bleachers a few feet away, clanking loudly against the metal.
“So, whatever happened to the flare gun?” he asked. “You still have it?”
“No,” said Brian. “Of course not.”
“Your parents have it?”
“No, it melted,” Brian explained. “In my locker.”
“Melted?” Andy started laughing. “Really?”
His laughter must have been contagious, because Brian started laughing again, too. His stomach was sore from all the moving around. “Yeah, it did.”
Andy looked over at him. “You still think about using it?”
Brian was still laughing. “Yeah,” he said thoughtlessly.
“Really?” Pause. “When?”
“When my mom starts asking me about school and yelling about my grades.” Brian was suddenly struck by a ridiculous image of his mother standing over him waggling her finger in his face, and he dissolved once more into helpless laughter, leaning forward so that he didn’t fall over.
“Are you going to do it again?”
Brian shrugged and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes.
“Brian.”
Brian looked over to see Andy watching him from a few feet away, where he was sprawled out on one of the bleacher rows, lying on his side. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Brian felt the laughter die in his throat, and his stomach suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
“Are you?” Andy asked, more insistently this time.
Brian couldn’t tear his eyes away from Andy’s face. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Andy’s eyes were narrowed, and he was staring at Brian through his eyelashes. He pursed his lips together, and Brian found himself wondering if Andy’s mouth tasted like Budweiser. If he kissed him, would he be able to tell? His own mouth probably tasted like beer, too, so how would he be able to tell the difference between--
Oh, god.
“How often do you think about it?”
Brian looked up quickly. “What?” he asked, panicked.
“How often do you think about it?” Andy repeated, frowning slightly.
Oh, right. The flare gun. Brian’s head was swimming with dumb responses, and he closed his eyes to fend off the confusion. The flare gun. Kissing Andy. Blood and beer and breath and tears--
“Are you okay, man?”
Brian opened his eyes to see that Andy was still watching him, obviously concerned. His lips were parted slightly, wet from the alcohol.
“I’m drunk,” Brian confessed. Whether he was talking to himself or Andy, he couldn’t be sure.
Andy let out a sharp chuckle. “Me, too.” He leaned back against the bench again, tilting his head back so that he could look up at the sky. Brian watched him, swallowing deeply when Andy reached up to run a hand over his stomach. His thoughts were racing, colliding into one another like bumper cars, and he knew that any minute he was probably going to blurt out something stupid since apparently the alcohol had eroded the filter between his brain and his mouth. He took another sip of beer, just to keep himself from talking.
“Hey,” said Andy suddenly.
Brian looked over, still distracted by his own thoughts. “Yeah?”
Andy turned over to look at him, and Brian could see that he was smiling. “Know anymore math jokes?”
That summer, Andy and Brian hung out as much as they could, which wasn’t very often. Andy was making frequent trips to Ohio to meet with his new coach and get his knee looked at, while Brian ended up stuck at his house, babysitting his little sister while his parents were at work. Friday afternoons at Burger King were still a sacred ritual, unless Andy was out of town. They also saw one another on the weekends, when they would go out to the baseball fields, finish off a six-pack, and tell one another stupid jokes.
But, as fun as they were, those trips made Brian more nervous than he wanted to admit. Every time they went out to the baseball field together, he worried about how much alcohol he was drinking and what kind of effect it was having on his ability to keep his mouth shut. Because there were some things that Brian could never tell Andy. After that first night on the baseball field when he wondered what Andy’s mouth tasted like, his thoughts about Andy had grown more and more disconcerting. At first, he’d believed that it was the beer that made him think such ridiculous--and, frankly, disturbing--thoughts about his friend, but then it started happening when he was sober, too. Suddenly, he was intensely aware of how close they were standing, of the tone of Andy’s voice and even his smell. He would catch himself staring at Andy’s face and arms and hands, studying the details he hadn’t noticed before. Apparently, a few beers had opened Pandora’s Box, and it was impossible to stuff those feelings back inside, even though he tried.
Fortunately, Andy didn’t seem to notice the change in his behavior. Brian wasn’t sure if that was because he was doing an adequate job of hiding his growing feelings or if Andy was just too distracted by his own issues, of which there were many. In June, his knee started acting up again, and it didn’t get any better. His father believed that Andy was just making excuses so that he wouldn’t have to train, but Mrs. Clark wasn’t as convinced. So, on a Saturday in the middle of July, Andy and his mother went into Chicago to see a surgeon, and they ended up staying in the city for a night. Brian didn’t know how long he would be gone, or when he would see him again, so when Andy showed up on his doorstep on Sunday night, he was surprised.
“Can I come in?”
Brian nodded and moved aside so that Andy could step inside. “Sure. Are you hungry? We just ate, but there’s some spaghetti left, if you want some.”
Andy shook his head. “That’s okay.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his letter jacket, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Brian paused. “Do you, uh, do you want to play video games?”
Andy shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”
Brian led him back to his bedroom and shut the door behind them. He started getting the game ready, then turned back to see Andy sprawled out on his bed, hands resting on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. Brian stopped messing with the game console and sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall.
“I may have to have surgery on my knee,” Andy said finally.
Brian didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh.”
Andy kept staring up at the ceiling. “If I do, I won’t be able to wrestle again for a few months. I’ll be doing physical therapy until it heals.”
Brian nodded slowly. “Whatever you have to do, you know, to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”
Andy didn’t say anything to that. Brian could see his chest rising and falling with each measured breath.
After a few minutes, Andy said, “While we were gone, my dad found a six-pack under my bed.”
Brian paused. “What did he do?”
Andy shrugged. “What can he do, ground me? I’m leaving in a month.”
Brian nodded, but he knew that there was something else. “What did he say?”
Andy was quiet for a minute. Then, “He said that I was gonna fuck everything up if I didn’t learn some self-control.”
Brian’s stomach turned over. “Oh.”
Andy turned his head so that he could look at Brian. “Remember, in detention, when Allison said that your heart dies when you get older?”
Detention seemed like such a long time ago, but Brian didn’t think that it was possible to forget anything about that day. “Yeah,” he responded.
Andy released a shallow breath, and his eyes grew dark. “Do you think that’s true?”
Brian shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Andy nodded slowly. “Do you think I’m going to be like my dad?”
“No.” Brian didn’t even have to think about it. “You’re not.”
Andy clenched his jaw, but his eyes never left Brian’s. The expression on his face was so determined, almost violently so, and there was something in his eyes that Brian had never seen before. Something fierce and tender all at the same time. Something that didn’t even have a name. Brian felt like someone had lit a match inside of his stomach.
After a few seconds, Andy turned his head so that he was facing the ceiling again, staring up at the planet mobile above Brian’s bed, and Brian remembered to breathe again.
As it turned out, Andy didn’t have to have surgery. His doctor recommended him to a reputable physical therapist in Chicago, and Andy drove out to visit him twice a week for the rest of the summer.
Which was flying by. Brian was hardly aware that July had passed until they were well into August and his mother started talking about back-to-school shopping. Andy was scheduled to leave on the 25th of the month, about a week before classes started. Brian tried not to dread Andy’s impending departure, but it was hard. Andy had become the closest thing to a best friend that he’d ever had, and he was the only person that he felt like he could really trust. He’d tried to imagine his senior year without Andy, tried to imagine the Physics club meetings and lunch at the nerd table and nights doing homework at his desk. Somehow, even though it was essentially what his life was like before detention, it felt empty without Andy. It was funny how someone could become such a huge part of his life in such a short period of time.
One afternoon, he was sitting at the kitchen table eating an apple with peanut butter, staring blankly out the window and thinking about Andy. He didn’t even notice that his little sister was standing there until he felt her fingers brush against his. Startled, he looked up to see her take a bite out of one of the apple slices that she’d taken from his plate.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked him, mouth full of mushed up apple.
Immediately, Brian thought of eating dinner with Andy at Burger King that first Friday after detention, when Andy would ask him questions before he’d finished swallowing his food. “Nothing,” he said quietly.
Morgan studied him carefully for a moment, chewing the last of the apple slice. “You look sad.”
“I’m not sad,” he told her tiredly.
Morgan frowned doubtfully. “Then why are your eyes like that?”
“Like what?”
Morgan stood on her tiptoes and pushed her sticky fingers against Brian’s cheek, tugging softly at the skin below his eyes. Brian felt something pulling at his stomach, and he reached up to gently pull her hand away. Morgan didn’t say anything else, just sighed. She picked up another apple slice from Brian’s plate and ran off to play with her Barbies or stuffed animals or something. Brian let out a deep breath and looked back out the window.
On Friday, August 24th, the day before he left for college, Andy picked Brian up in his Bronco and drove them to Burger King.
“It’s funny to see what you order now.”
Brian looked down at his tray, which was almost as full as Andy’s, and chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Andy picked up his cheeseburger and took a big bite. When he’d swallowed it, he said, “I talked to my roommate today.”
Brian looked up. “Oh…what is he like?”
Andy shrugged. “He seems nice. He’s from Georgia.”
Brian nodded. “That’s good.”
“He’s a basketball player, on scholarship like me. He led his team to a state championship last year.”
Brian nodded again, but for some reason his stomach was twisted up in knots. “Wow, that’s…”
Andy nodded. “Yeah.”
The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence. Brian watched Andy work his way through his tray, one item at a time. After five months, he’d learned Andy’s eating habits. First the burger, then the nuggets. The fries and onion rings came last, and he would alternate between them until he’d finished everything off. Barbeque sauce and ranch dressing were his favorite sauces. Brian wondered if they even had barbeque sauce in Ohio.
“So, what classes are you taking this year?”
Brian looked up. “Oh, uh…Calculus, Physics II, Chemistry II. There’s also this new class, an elective. It’s European Literature since 1700. It, uh, it should be really interesting.”
Andy, who had grown accustomed to his dorkiness over the months, didn’t even bat an eye at this. “Are you excited?”
Brian shrugged. “I don’t know…”
Andy frowned. “Why not?”
Brian sighed. “I just don’t think I’m ready to go back.”
“You’re not taking shop again, are you?”
Brian allowed himself a soft smile. “No.”
Andy grinned and took another bite of his burger. “So, why don’t you feel ready?” he asked, not even bothering to swallow his food first. “You like all of those subjects, right?”
Brian nodded. “Yeah, sure, I just…”
“You just what?” Andy prodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What is it?”
Brian swallowed deeply, watching Andy closely. The words were on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be spoken, but his mouth felt dry and he had a feeling that even soda wouldn’t help.
Because there was something--and he didn’t know exactly what--that he wanted to say to Andy. Something that, if he wasn’t such a chicken and could say it out loud, might have freaked both of them out, and more than just a little bit. Something about how much he liked eating chicken nuggets and French fries with him. About how much he appreciated that Andy had told the truth that day that in detention when he’d promised not to cut Brian up behind his back. About how proud he was that Andy had managed not to be like his dad. But mostly, if he had the guts, he wanted to tell him how much he was going to miss him. Because he was going to miss him…a lot. So much that his chest hurt when he thought about Andy leaving, so much that he wondered how he was going to get through his senior year without him. So much that it felt like someone was about to cut off one of his arms or legs and he was just expected to sit there and pretend that it didn’t hurt.
But Brian was a chicken, and he didn’t have the guts to say any of that.
“I just, uh…I just don’t want summer to be over, you know?” he told him. “It’s nice not having to do anything.”
Andy laughed and picked up a French fry. “Yeah, I definitely understand that.”
Brian let out a deep breath, a little bit relieved and little bit not. “Yeah.”
Andy opened another package of barbeque sauce and started talking about his which classes he was dreading, which was pretty much all of them. Brian waited for another good time to jump in and tell Andy what he’d been wanting to tell him for a very long time, but of course that moment never came. He sat in that booth, and he listened to Andy talk about college and dorm food and wrestling, and he didn’t say a single word.
And that was that.
That night, it rained. Not too hard, but just enough to water Mr. Johnson’s vegetable garden and fill Brian’s little sister’s blow-up pool with grimy rainwater.
At about eleven o’clock, Brian was sitting on his bed reading a detective novel. He’d never read it before, and the plot was really juicy, but he might as well have been reading Ladies’ Home Journal, because he couldn’t concentrate on any of it. He was just about to give up and turn out the light when he heard something knocking against his window.
His heart skipped a little beat, and he leaned over to pull back the curtains. It was dark outside, but he could just make out Andy’s face, drenched with rain. A six-pack of Budweisers was dangling from his left hand.
They drove out to the baseball field in silence, with Brian sneaking worried glances over at Andy, who had already started drinking. Brian was tempted to remind him of exactly how many state laws he was breaking by doing so, but the stern expression on Andy’s face told him that it was probably best to just keep quiet.
When they got to the field, Andy jumped out of the cab and slammed the door shut behind him. Brian followed him out to the bleachers, where Andy had dumped the six-pack. “Here,” he said, holding one out for Brian to take.
“Thanks,” Brian said quietly, taking the can from him. He didn’t move to open it.
Andy took one last swig from his beer and tossed the can under the bleachers. Then he popped open another one and walked over to the chain link fence in front of the dugout. Brian watched him, waiting.
“You know how long I’ve been trying to please him?” Andy said finally.
Brian’s mouth opened, but there was nothing to say.
“Eighteen fucking years!” Andy shouted. “Eighteen fucking--” He kicked the chain link fence, and it snapped back roughly, waving back and forth.
“Andy…” Brian stepped forward, abandoning his unopened beer on the bleachers.
But Andy wasn’t listening. He walked out onto the field toward home plate and kicked at the base, sending flecks of mud flying everywhere. Some beer sloshed onto his sleeve and onto the ground. Tentatively, Brian followed him, keeping some distance between them.
“I tried to talk to him,” Andy said finally. “My last night home, I tried to…” He shook his head. “He told me to grow up and focus.” He scoffed bitterly. “Grow up,” he muttered, so quietly that Brian almost didn’t hear him.
Brian took another step towards him. “Andy…” he started again.
“Fucking bastard!” Andy shouted. “Always so fucking…” He took an angry, ragged breath. “I hate him! I fucking hate him!”
Brian stood a few feet away, feeling helpless and even a little bit scared. He knew Andy wouldn’t ever hit him, but part of him, as much as he hated himself for it, remembered Andy’s attack on Larry Lester, and he stayed a few feet back.
Andy threw his can of beer against the chain link fence, and it splattered everywhere, all over Andy and the ground beneath him. Andy didn’t seem to notice, as he kicked home plate again, his breaths coming out in sobs of anger.
Then, after a few seconds, Andy looked back at Brian, who still hadn’t moved. His body became very still, and he slumped forward a bit as if all of the energy had left his body. His shoulders were still rising and falling, but his breathing was growing more regular. Brian could see Andy’s eyes, not angry anymore, but kind of soft and dark, like smudged coal. Andy took a step towards him, then another.
And then Andy was kissing him, hard. Surprised, Brian stumbled back, knocking into the chain link fence behind the first base line. Andy grabbed a handful of his damp t-shirt and pushed him harder against the fence, leaning forward to kiss him again. The metal wires dug roughly into Brian’s back, but he hardly noticed. He was too consumed with the way Andy’s mouth fit against his, with the slight bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue and on his breath. He pushed his fingers through Andy’s wet hair and pulled him closer, desperate to touch more of him. His stomach was on fire, his whole body was melting, and, god, it was so good. Nothing could have prepared him for how good it felt, for how right it was. It felt like someone had reattached a limb he hadn’t realized he was missing, and he suddenly didn’t know how he’d managed so long without it.
After a few seconds, Andy pulled away, and Brian sucked in a deep breath, dizzy with disappointment. They stared at one another for a long time, both breathing heavily.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Brian confessed stupidly. “I thought about it. I--” His breath caught in his throat. “I wanted…”
Andy didn’t say anything, just watched him fiercely as the rain from his hair dripped down onto his face. Just as Brian was starting to think that maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, Andy leaned forward and kissed him again.
This time was slower, less urgent, but the need was still there, throbbing just below the surface. Andy’s hands were at Brian’s waist, thumbs digging into his stomach to keep him pushed back against the fence. Brian’s fingers tangled through Andy’s hair again. Their noses collided, and Andy pulled back slightly, breathing raggedly into Brian’s mouth. Brian felt a jolt in his stomach, and he wondered if Andy, with his thumbs pressed against his abdomen, could feel it, too.
Then Andy reached up and ran his wet palm over Brian’s throat, and it was all Brian could do not to start babbling against Andy’s mouth and tell him everything, oh everything. About how good Andy smelled and how warm Brian felt and a million other little things that he couldn’t even begin to describe, but they were fighting their way through his stomach, up his vocal cords, and the best he could do was let out a little choking sound and kiss him harder, because Andy was leaving tomorrow, for god knows how long, and what the hell could he say that was going to change that anyway?
The two of them stayed on the baseball field all night, talking sometimes, but mostly not. Just before dawn, Andy dropped Brian off at his house, and Brian climbed through his bedroom window, smudging the sill with mud from the bottom of his shoes.
At eight o’clock that morning, Andy left for Columbus. Brian watched the numbers on his alarm clock flip from 7:56 to 7:57 to 7:58, but he stopped watching when it got to 7:59, because his stomach was already churning and he was worried that he might throw up in his own bed. He turned over on his side, away from his nightstand, and pulled the sheet over his head.
He didn’t expect him to call. He hoped, he prayed, but he didn’t do anything ridiculous like expect.
So, when three weeks passed without hearing a word, Brian pretended that it didn’t bother him. It was a little bit easier that way, even if it still hurt. School started again, and he threw himself into his work. His mother was pleased, but he wasn’t doing it for her. It was a distraction, a way to keep himself occupied, and for once in his life, he was grateful for homework.
On Saturday afternoon, exactly three weeks after Andy left for Ohio, Brian was sitting in his room doing his homework. It was cold and sunny outside, and he had his curtains open to let in the light. The only sound was coming from his pencil flying across the paper, scratching out numbers and symbols.
“Brian.” There was a knock on his door. “The phone is for you.”
He hadn’t even heard it ring. “Okay,” he told her, putting his pencil down and standing up from his chair. “I’m coming.”
He followed his mother into the kitchen and picked up the phone that hung on the wall in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room. “Hello?”
“Brian?”
Pure, reckless joy washed over him. “Hey.”
Andy cleared his throat. “What’s, uh…what’s goin’ on?” It was so good to hear his voice.
“Nothing,” said Brian. “Just doing some homework, you know? Studying. What about…what about you?”
“Oh.” Andy paused, and Brian could hear him moving around. “A lot of stuff, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Brian nodded. “How is school?”
“It’s okay,” said Andy. “Classes are tough. I’m taking Calculus, and I kinda wish you were here to help.”
Brian’s lips curled into a smile, despite his best efforts to keep his expression under control. “Yeah, too bad,” he said mildly.
There was a moment of silence, an awkward one, and Brian rushed to fill it. “What about wrestling?”
“It’s alright. The coach works us hard, but the guys on my team are nice.”
Brian felt a surge of envy, which was stupid and selfish, because he wanted Andy to be happy, and he wanted him to have friends. “I’m glad,” he managed to say.
“Yeah,” said Andy.
Before Brian could respond or ask another question, there was a loud commotion on Andy’s end of the line, and Brian could hear a bunch of people talking all at once.
“What are you doing?” someone shouted.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I’m talking on the phone,” Andy answered. “Sorry,” he muttered, this time to Brian.
“It’s okay,” Brian answered hesitantly. “Do you have to go?”
“Uh…no, not yet.”
Brian nodded, but he was starting to feel desperate that Andy was going to hang up shortly and that he wasn’t ever going to call back. “So, uh…how are you?”
“Fine.” But there was something guarded about Andy’s tone, and Brian knew that he was holding back. On Andy’s end, someone let out a string of obscenities, and then someone else started laughing. In the kitchen a few feet away, Brian’s mother cleared her throat and reached for a knife to chop vegetables with.
“That’s good,” said Brian.
“Yeah.” Pause. “What about you? Everything good with you?”
No, I miss you. Brian sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, everything’s good.”
“That’s good,” said Andy, his voice giving nothing away.
Then someone yelled, “Hey, Clark! I’m starving. Let’s go!”
Brian felt his stomach turn over at the thought of hanging up, but he pushed the feeling away. “Guess you have to go.”
“Yeah.” There was a rustling sound on Andy’s end, followed by a few seconds of silence. Brian could still hear the other guys talking loudly in the background.
“Well…” said Brian.
There was a pause, and Brian could hear Andy breathing. “Brian,” he choked out.
Brian closed his eyes as a wave of emotion swept over him, threatening to knock him over from the inside out. “Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely. “Yeah.”
A/N: Read the sequel Don't Dream It's Over (rated R).
Feedback is always lovely. :)
Find Part One Here
“Okay, okay, I got another one. What’s the difference between a male snowman and a female snowman?”
They were sitting on the bleachers next to the baseball field, which was right behind the school, so it was hidden from the main road. A dozen empty cans of Budweiser were scattered on the lawn below them.
Brian frowned thoughtfully. “Uh…”
“Snowballs!” Andy exclaimed.
Brian burst out laughing, accidentally spilling some beer onto his hand. When he realized what he’d done, he licked his palm, not wanting to waste a single drop.
“Okay, now you tell another one,” said Andy.
Brian shook his head. “I don’t know any more.”
“Yeah, you do. Come on, man.”
Brian started laughing again, even though he wasn’t exactly sure why. “Okay, um…” He looked over at Andy. “What do you get if you divide the circumference of a jack-o-lantern by its diameter?”
Andy’s eyes widened. “I don’t know.”
“Pumpkin pi!” Brian shouted, the answer coming out all squeaky since he was already laughing at the punch line.
Andy just stared at him for a moment before he started chuckling to himself. “You’re such a nerd,” he told him.
This just caused Brian to laugh harder. “I know.”
Andy turned around and leaned back onto the seat so that he was lying on his back. “It feels weird that I don’t have school anymore.”
“Yeah?” Brian figured that he would probably feel the same way when he graduated. He was so used to studying and writing essays and calculating his GPA that he couldn’t imagine not doing it anymore.
“Yeah,” Andy answered. “It’s good, but…weird.”
Brian took another sip of beer. “How was graduation?”
Andy shrugged. “Boring. We had to sit there for a fucking hour, and we couldn’t even move. The guy next to me had headphones.” He chuckled. “I wish I’d thought of that.”
Brian smiled. “What was he listening to?”
Andy snorted. “I don’t know. Heavy metal or something.”
Instantly, Brian was reminded of Bender playing air guitar in detention. “Did you, uh…did you see any of the others?”
Andy frowned. “Others?” Then his eyes softened, and he said, “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I saw ‘em.”
Brian nodded. “Yeah? Who?”
“All three of them.”
“Oh.” Brian paused. “Even, uh, even Allison?”
Andy was quiet for a minute. “Yeah, she was there,” he said finally.
Brian nodded. He didn’t mean to keep pushing, but for some reason he was finding it hard to keep his thoughts to himself. A side effect of the alcohol, no doubt. “Do you still think about her?”
Andy shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly I just wonder what she’s doing…if she’s okay.”
Brian nodded again. That was how he felt about all of them, too. He just wanted them to be okay. “Yeah.”
The two of them were silent for a moment, both lost in their thoughts. Finally, Brian said, “I didn’t realize Bender was graduating.”
Andy laughed. “Me neither. I’ll bet Vernon paid somebody off, just to make sure he didn’t have to deal with him next year.”
Brian started laughing. “Yeah, probably.”
Andy took another sip of beer and looked over at him. “So, when you graduate, you’re probably going to be valedictorian or something, huh?”
Brian shook his head. “Nope, not anymore.”
Andy furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why not?”
Brian took another sip of beer and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. “Because of shop,” he said easily, thinking that it was obvious.
“Because of the F?”
Brian nodded. “Fuckin’ elephant,” he muttered, letting out a little giggle.
Andy let out a light chuckle. “Why’d you make an elephant anyway? You should have made a tiger or something cool like that.”
“A tiger?” said Brian. “Why would I want a lamp in the shape of a tiger?”
“Why would you want a lamp in the shape of a fucking elephant?” Andy asked.
“I don’t know. I…” Brian tried not to start giggling again and was mildly successful. “I don’t know.”
Andy finished off the last of his beer and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed on the bleachers a few feet away, clanking loudly against the metal.
“So, whatever happened to the flare gun?” he asked. “You still have it?”
“No,” said Brian. “Of course not.”
“Your parents have it?”
“No, it melted,” Brian explained. “In my locker.”
“Melted?” Andy started laughing. “Really?”
His laughter must have been contagious, because Brian started laughing again, too. His stomach was sore from all the moving around. “Yeah, it did.”
Andy looked over at him. “You still think about using it?”
Brian was still laughing. “Yeah,” he said thoughtlessly.
“Really?” Pause. “When?”
“When my mom starts asking me about school and yelling about my grades.” Brian was suddenly struck by a ridiculous image of his mother standing over him waggling her finger in his face, and he dissolved once more into helpless laughter, leaning forward so that he didn’t fall over.
“Are you going to do it again?”
Brian shrugged and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes.
“Brian.”
Brian looked over to see Andy watching him from a few feet away, where he was sprawled out on one of the bleacher rows, lying on his side. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Brian felt the laughter die in his throat, and his stomach suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
“Are you?” Andy asked, more insistently this time.
Brian couldn’t tear his eyes away from Andy’s face. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Andy’s eyes were narrowed, and he was staring at Brian through his eyelashes. He pursed his lips together, and Brian found himself wondering if Andy’s mouth tasted like Budweiser. If he kissed him, would he be able to tell? His own mouth probably tasted like beer, too, so how would he be able to tell the difference between--
Oh, god.
“How often do you think about it?”
Brian looked up quickly. “What?” he asked, panicked.
“How often do you think about it?” Andy repeated, frowning slightly.
Oh, right. The flare gun. Brian’s head was swimming with dumb responses, and he closed his eyes to fend off the confusion. The flare gun. Kissing Andy. Blood and beer and breath and tears--
“Are you okay, man?”
Brian opened his eyes to see that Andy was still watching him, obviously concerned. His lips were parted slightly, wet from the alcohol.
“I’m drunk,” Brian confessed. Whether he was talking to himself or Andy, he couldn’t be sure.
Andy let out a sharp chuckle. “Me, too.” He leaned back against the bench again, tilting his head back so that he could look up at the sky. Brian watched him, swallowing deeply when Andy reached up to run a hand over his stomach. His thoughts were racing, colliding into one another like bumper cars, and he knew that any minute he was probably going to blurt out something stupid since apparently the alcohol had eroded the filter between his brain and his mouth. He took another sip of beer, just to keep himself from talking.
“Hey,” said Andy suddenly.
Brian looked over, still distracted by his own thoughts. “Yeah?”
Andy turned over to look at him, and Brian could see that he was smiling. “Know anymore math jokes?”
That summer, Andy and Brian hung out as much as they could, which wasn’t very often. Andy was making frequent trips to Ohio to meet with his new coach and get his knee looked at, while Brian ended up stuck at his house, babysitting his little sister while his parents were at work. Friday afternoons at Burger King were still a sacred ritual, unless Andy was out of town. They also saw one another on the weekends, when they would go out to the baseball fields, finish off a six-pack, and tell one another stupid jokes.
But, as fun as they were, those trips made Brian more nervous than he wanted to admit. Every time they went out to the baseball field together, he worried about how much alcohol he was drinking and what kind of effect it was having on his ability to keep his mouth shut. Because there were some things that Brian could never tell Andy. After that first night on the baseball field when he wondered what Andy’s mouth tasted like, his thoughts about Andy had grown more and more disconcerting. At first, he’d believed that it was the beer that made him think such ridiculous--and, frankly, disturbing--thoughts about his friend, but then it started happening when he was sober, too. Suddenly, he was intensely aware of how close they were standing, of the tone of Andy’s voice and even his smell. He would catch himself staring at Andy’s face and arms and hands, studying the details he hadn’t noticed before. Apparently, a few beers had opened Pandora’s Box, and it was impossible to stuff those feelings back inside, even though he tried.
Fortunately, Andy didn’t seem to notice the change in his behavior. Brian wasn’t sure if that was because he was doing an adequate job of hiding his growing feelings or if Andy was just too distracted by his own issues, of which there were many. In June, his knee started acting up again, and it didn’t get any better. His father believed that Andy was just making excuses so that he wouldn’t have to train, but Mrs. Clark wasn’t as convinced. So, on a Saturday in the middle of July, Andy and his mother went into Chicago to see a surgeon, and they ended up staying in the city for a night. Brian didn’t know how long he would be gone, or when he would see him again, so when Andy showed up on his doorstep on Sunday night, he was surprised.
“Can I come in?”
Brian nodded and moved aside so that Andy could step inside. “Sure. Are you hungry? We just ate, but there’s some spaghetti left, if you want some.”
Andy shook his head. “That’s okay.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his letter jacket, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Brian paused. “Do you, uh, do you want to play video games?”
Andy shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”
Brian led him back to his bedroom and shut the door behind them. He started getting the game ready, then turned back to see Andy sprawled out on his bed, hands resting on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. Brian stopped messing with the game console and sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall.
“I may have to have surgery on my knee,” Andy said finally.
Brian didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh.”
Andy kept staring up at the ceiling. “If I do, I won’t be able to wrestle again for a few months. I’ll be doing physical therapy until it heals.”
Brian nodded slowly. “Whatever you have to do, you know, to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”
Andy didn’t say anything to that. Brian could see his chest rising and falling with each measured breath.
After a few minutes, Andy said, “While we were gone, my dad found a six-pack under my bed.”
Brian paused. “What did he do?”
Andy shrugged. “What can he do, ground me? I’m leaving in a month.”
Brian nodded, but he knew that there was something else. “What did he say?”
Andy was quiet for a minute. Then, “He said that I was gonna fuck everything up if I didn’t learn some self-control.”
Brian’s stomach turned over. “Oh.”
Andy turned his head so that he could look at Brian. “Remember, in detention, when Allison said that your heart dies when you get older?”
Detention seemed like such a long time ago, but Brian didn’t think that it was possible to forget anything about that day. “Yeah,” he responded.
Andy released a shallow breath, and his eyes grew dark. “Do you think that’s true?”
Brian shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Andy nodded slowly. “Do you think I’m going to be like my dad?”
“No.” Brian didn’t even have to think about it. “You’re not.”
Andy clenched his jaw, but his eyes never left Brian’s. The expression on his face was so determined, almost violently so, and there was something in his eyes that Brian had never seen before. Something fierce and tender all at the same time. Something that didn’t even have a name. Brian felt like someone had lit a match inside of his stomach.
After a few seconds, Andy turned his head so that he was facing the ceiling again, staring up at the planet mobile above Brian’s bed, and Brian remembered to breathe again.
As it turned out, Andy didn’t have to have surgery. His doctor recommended him to a reputable physical therapist in Chicago, and Andy drove out to visit him twice a week for the rest of the summer.
Which was flying by. Brian was hardly aware that July had passed until they were well into August and his mother started talking about back-to-school shopping. Andy was scheduled to leave on the 25th of the month, about a week before classes started. Brian tried not to dread Andy’s impending departure, but it was hard. Andy had become the closest thing to a best friend that he’d ever had, and he was the only person that he felt like he could really trust. He’d tried to imagine his senior year without Andy, tried to imagine the Physics club meetings and lunch at the nerd table and nights doing homework at his desk. Somehow, even though it was essentially what his life was like before detention, it felt empty without Andy. It was funny how someone could become such a huge part of his life in such a short period of time.
One afternoon, he was sitting at the kitchen table eating an apple with peanut butter, staring blankly out the window and thinking about Andy. He didn’t even notice that his little sister was standing there until he felt her fingers brush against his. Startled, he looked up to see her take a bite out of one of the apple slices that she’d taken from his plate.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked him, mouth full of mushed up apple.
Immediately, Brian thought of eating dinner with Andy at Burger King that first Friday after detention, when Andy would ask him questions before he’d finished swallowing his food. “Nothing,” he said quietly.
Morgan studied him carefully for a moment, chewing the last of the apple slice. “You look sad.”
“I’m not sad,” he told her tiredly.
Morgan frowned doubtfully. “Then why are your eyes like that?”
“Like what?”
Morgan stood on her tiptoes and pushed her sticky fingers against Brian’s cheek, tugging softly at the skin below his eyes. Brian felt something pulling at his stomach, and he reached up to gently pull her hand away. Morgan didn’t say anything else, just sighed. She picked up another apple slice from Brian’s plate and ran off to play with her Barbies or stuffed animals or something. Brian let out a deep breath and looked back out the window.
On Friday, August 24th, the day before he left for college, Andy picked Brian up in his Bronco and drove them to Burger King.
“It’s funny to see what you order now.”
Brian looked down at his tray, which was almost as full as Andy’s, and chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Andy picked up his cheeseburger and took a big bite. When he’d swallowed it, he said, “I talked to my roommate today.”
Brian looked up. “Oh…what is he like?”
Andy shrugged. “He seems nice. He’s from Georgia.”
Brian nodded. “That’s good.”
“He’s a basketball player, on scholarship like me. He led his team to a state championship last year.”
Brian nodded again, but for some reason his stomach was twisted up in knots. “Wow, that’s…”
Andy nodded. “Yeah.”
The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence. Brian watched Andy work his way through his tray, one item at a time. After five months, he’d learned Andy’s eating habits. First the burger, then the nuggets. The fries and onion rings came last, and he would alternate between them until he’d finished everything off. Barbeque sauce and ranch dressing were his favorite sauces. Brian wondered if they even had barbeque sauce in Ohio.
“So, what classes are you taking this year?”
Brian looked up. “Oh, uh…Calculus, Physics II, Chemistry II. There’s also this new class, an elective. It’s European Literature since 1700. It, uh, it should be really interesting.”
Andy, who had grown accustomed to his dorkiness over the months, didn’t even bat an eye at this. “Are you excited?”
Brian shrugged. “I don’t know…”
Andy frowned. “Why not?”
Brian sighed. “I just don’t think I’m ready to go back.”
“You’re not taking shop again, are you?”
Brian allowed himself a soft smile. “No.”
Andy grinned and took another bite of his burger. “So, why don’t you feel ready?” he asked, not even bothering to swallow his food first. “You like all of those subjects, right?”
Brian nodded. “Yeah, sure, I just…”
“You just what?” Andy prodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What is it?”
Brian swallowed deeply, watching Andy closely. The words were on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be spoken, but his mouth felt dry and he had a feeling that even soda wouldn’t help.
Because there was something--and he didn’t know exactly what--that he wanted to say to Andy. Something that, if he wasn’t such a chicken and could say it out loud, might have freaked both of them out, and more than just a little bit. Something about how much he liked eating chicken nuggets and French fries with him. About how much he appreciated that Andy had told the truth that day that in detention when he’d promised not to cut Brian up behind his back. About how proud he was that Andy had managed not to be like his dad. But mostly, if he had the guts, he wanted to tell him how much he was going to miss him. Because he was going to miss him…a lot. So much that his chest hurt when he thought about Andy leaving, so much that he wondered how he was going to get through his senior year without him. So much that it felt like someone was about to cut off one of his arms or legs and he was just expected to sit there and pretend that it didn’t hurt.
But Brian was a chicken, and he didn’t have the guts to say any of that.
“I just, uh…I just don’t want summer to be over, you know?” he told him. “It’s nice not having to do anything.”
Andy laughed and picked up a French fry. “Yeah, I definitely understand that.”
Brian let out a deep breath, a little bit relieved and little bit not. “Yeah.”
Andy opened another package of barbeque sauce and started talking about his which classes he was dreading, which was pretty much all of them. Brian waited for another good time to jump in and tell Andy what he’d been wanting to tell him for a very long time, but of course that moment never came. He sat in that booth, and he listened to Andy talk about college and dorm food and wrestling, and he didn’t say a single word.
And that was that.
That night, it rained. Not too hard, but just enough to water Mr. Johnson’s vegetable garden and fill Brian’s little sister’s blow-up pool with grimy rainwater.
At about eleven o’clock, Brian was sitting on his bed reading a detective novel. He’d never read it before, and the plot was really juicy, but he might as well have been reading Ladies’ Home Journal, because he couldn’t concentrate on any of it. He was just about to give up and turn out the light when he heard something knocking against his window.
His heart skipped a little beat, and he leaned over to pull back the curtains. It was dark outside, but he could just make out Andy’s face, drenched with rain. A six-pack of Budweisers was dangling from his left hand.
They drove out to the baseball field in silence, with Brian sneaking worried glances over at Andy, who had already started drinking. Brian was tempted to remind him of exactly how many state laws he was breaking by doing so, but the stern expression on Andy’s face told him that it was probably best to just keep quiet.
When they got to the field, Andy jumped out of the cab and slammed the door shut behind him. Brian followed him out to the bleachers, where Andy had dumped the six-pack. “Here,” he said, holding one out for Brian to take.
“Thanks,” Brian said quietly, taking the can from him. He didn’t move to open it.
Andy took one last swig from his beer and tossed the can under the bleachers. Then he popped open another one and walked over to the chain link fence in front of the dugout. Brian watched him, waiting.
“You know how long I’ve been trying to please him?” Andy said finally.
Brian’s mouth opened, but there was nothing to say.
“Eighteen fucking years!” Andy shouted. “Eighteen fucking--” He kicked the chain link fence, and it snapped back roughly, waving back and forth.
“Andy…” Brian stepped forward, abandoning his unopened beer on the bleachers.
But Andy wasn’t listening. He walked out onto the field toward home plate and kicked at the base, sending flecks of mud flying everywhere. Some beer sloshed onto his sleeve and onto the ground. Tentatively, Brian followed him, keeping some distance between them.
“I tried to talk to him,” Andy said finally. “My last night home, I tried to…” He shook his head. “He told me to grow up and focus.” He scoffed bitterly. “Grow up,” he muttered, so quietly that Brian almost didn’t hear him.
Brian took another step towards him. “Andy…” he started again.
“Fucking bastard!” Andy shouted. “Always so fucking…” He took an angry, ragged breath. “I hate him! I fucking hate him!”
Brian stood a few feet away, feeling helpless and even a little bit scared. He knew Andy wouldn’t ever hit him, but part of him, as much as he hated himself for it, remembered Andy’s attack on Larry Lester, and he stayed a few feet back.
Andy threw his can of beer against the chain link fence, and it splattered everywhere, all over Andy and the ground beneath him. Andy didn’t seem to notice, as he kicked home plate again, his breaths coming out in sobs of anger.
Then, after a few seconds, Andy looked back at Brian, who still hadn’t moved. His body became very still, and he slumped forward a bit as if all of the energy had left his body. His shoulders were still rising and falling, but his breathing was growing more regular. Brian could see Andy’s eyes, not angry anymore, but kind of soft and dark, like smudged coal. Andy took a step towards him, then another.
And then Andy was kissing him, hard. Surprised, Brian stumbled back, knocking into the chain link fence behind the first base line. Andy grabbed a handful of his damp t-shirt and pushed him harder against the fence, leaning forward to kiss him again. The metal wires dug roughly into Brian’s back, but he hardly noticed. He was too consumed with the way Andy’s mouth fit against his, with the slight bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue and on his breath. He pushed his fingers through Andy’s wet hair and pulled him closer, desperate to touch more of him. His stomach was on fire, his whole body was melting, and, god, it was so good. Nothing could have prepared him for how good it felt, for how right it was. It felt like someone had reattached a limb he hadn’t realized he was missing, and he suddenly didn’t know how he’d managed so long without it.
After a few seconds, Andy pulled away, and Brian sucked in a deep breath, dizzy with disappointment. They stared at one another for a long time, both breathing heavily.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Brian confessed stupidly. “I thought about it. I--” His breath caught in his throat. “I wanted…”
Andy didn’t say anything, just watched him fiercely as the rain from his hair dripped down onto his face. Just as Brian was starting to think that maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, Andy leaned forward and kissed him again.
This time was slower, less urgent, but the need was still there, throbbing just below the surface. Andy’s hands were at Brian’s waist, thumbs digging into his stomach to keep him pushed back against the fence. Brian’s fingers tangled through Andy’s hair again. Their noses collided, and Andy pulled back slightly, breathing raggedly into Brian’s mouth. Brian felt a jolt in his stomach, and he wondered if Andy, with his thumbs pressed against his abdomen, could feel it, too.
Then Andy reached up and ran his wet palm over Brian’s throat, and it was all Brian could do not to start babbling against Andy’s mouth and tell him everything, oh everything. About how good Andy smelled and how warm Brian felt and a million other little things that he couldn’t even begin to describe, but they were fighting their way through his stomach, up his vocal cords, and the best he could do was let out a little choking sound and kiss him harder, because Andy was leaving tomorrow, for god knows how long, and what the hell could he say that was going to change that anyway?
The two of them stayed on the baseball field all night, talking sometimes, but mostly not. Just before dawn, Andy dropped Brian off at his house, and Brian climbed through his bedroom window, smudging the sill with mud from the bottom of his shoes.
At eight o’clock that morning, Andy left for Columbus. Brian watched the numbers on his alarm clock flip from 7:56 to 7:57 to 7:58, but he stopped watching when it got to 7:59, because his stomach was already churning and he was worried that he might throw up in his own bed. He turned over on his side, away from his nightstand, and pulled the sheet over his head.
He didn’t expect him to call. He hoped, he prayed, but he didn’t do anything ridiculous like expect.
So, when three weeks passed without hearing a word, Brian pretended that it didn’t bother him. It was a little bit easier that way, even if it still hurt. School started again, and he threw himself into his work. His mother was pleased, but he wasn’t doing it for her. It was a distraction, a way to keep himself occupied, and for once in his life, he was grateful for homework.
On Saturday afternoon, exactly three weeks after Andy left for Ohio, Brian was sitting in his room doing his homework. It was cold and sunny outside, and he had his curtains open to let in the light. The only sound was coming from his pencil flying across the paper, scratching out numbers and symbols.
“Brian.” There was a knock on his door. “The phone is for you.”
He hadn’t even heard it ring. “Okay,” he told her, putting his pencil down and standing up from his chair. “I’m coming.”
He followed his mother into the kitchen and picked up the phone that hung on the wall in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room. “Hello?”
“Brian?”
Pure, reckless joy washed over him. “Hey.”
Andy cleared his throat. “What’s, uh…what’s goin’ on?” It was so good to hear his voice.
“Nothing,” said Brian. “Just doing some homework, you know? Studying. What about…what about you?”
“Oh.” Andy paused, and Brian could hear him moving around. “A lot of stuff, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Brian nodded. “How is school?”
“It’s okay,” said Andy. “Classes are tough. I’m taking Calculus, and I kinda wish you were here to help.”
Brian’s lips curled into a smile, despite his best efforts to keep his expression under control. “Yeah, too bad,” he said mildly.
There was a moment of silence, an awkward one, and Brian rushed to fill it. “What about wrestling?”
“It’s alright. The coach works us hard, but the guys on my team are nice.”
Brian felt a surge of envy, which was stupid and selfish, because he wanted Andy to be happy, and he wanted him to have friends. “I’m glad,” he managed to say.
“Yeah,” said Andy.
Before Brian could respond or ask another question, there was a loud commotion on Andy’s end of the line, and Brian could hear a bunch of people talking all at once.
“What are you doing?” someone shouted.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I’m talking on the phone,” Andy answered. “Sorry,” he muttered, this time to Brian.
“It’s okay,” Brian answered hesitantly. “Do you have to go?”
“Uh…no, not yet.”
Brian nodded, but he was starting to feel desperate that Andy was going to hang up shortly and that he wasn’t ever going to call back. “So, uh…how are you?”
“Fine.” But there was something guarded about Andy’s tone, and Brian knew that he was holding back. On Andy’s end, someone let out a string of obscenities, and then someone else started laughing. In the kitchen a few feet away, Brian’s mother cleared her throat and reached for a knife to chop vegetables with.
“That’s good,” said Brian.
“Yeah.” Pause. “What about you? Everything good with you?”
No, I miss you. Brian sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, everything’s good.”
“That’s good,” said Andy, his voice giving nothing away.
Then someone yelled, “Hey, Clark! I’m starving. Let’s go!”
Brian felt his stomach turn over at the thought of hanging up, but he pushed the feeling away. “Guess you have to go.”
“Yeah.” There was a rustling sound on Andy’s end, followed by a few seconds of silence. Brian could still hear the other guys talking loudly in the background.
“Well…” said Brian.
There was a pause, and Brian could hear Andy breathing. “Brian,” he choked out.
Brian closed his eyes as a wave of emotion swept over him, threatening to knock him over from the inside out. “Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely. “Yeah.”
A/N: Read the sequel Don't Dream It's Over (rated R).
Feedback is always lovely. :)