(500) Days Of Jesse - Part One
Title: (500) Days Of Jesse
Part: One
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jewnicorn/(500) Days Of Summer crossover. Loosely based on the plot of the film.
Disclaimer: Never happened, all a figment of my imagination. I am not affiliated with anyone mentioned in this work of fiction. (500) Days Of Summer is property of Fox Searchlight Pictures.
A/N: Remember to pay close attention to the numbers before each section, they denote the number of days that Andrew and Jesse have known one another at each point -same as the film, of course- it'll help you in keeping track of where they are on their 500 day timeline :)
~
(499)
Sometimes, an inch can feel like a mile. Two people can sit so close together that they’re almost touching, but at the same time feel as though they’re on different sides of the world. Oceans apart.
This is true of Andrew and Jesse, stood side by side on the platform at their local subway station, waiting for the same train to a destination from which they will probably head in different directions. This is a sick coincidence, Andrew thinks to himself. If he had’ve just left the apartment a few minutes later then he wouldn’t be here right now with this dull ache in his chest and a lump in his throat. Though, at the same time, he feels as though this was meant to happen. That's the thing, everything that has ever happened to him -in terms of Jesse, anyway- felt as though it was planned out for some reason, as if it were a product of fate, as if some higher power was sending him a message, trying to teach him something about his life.
Andrew shifts uncomfortably, looking down at his feet.
He’s done with his crying, his pining, his hoping and wishing. He's over Jesse (or, so he thinks anyway) he has been for a good few months now, but that doesn’t mean that he’s ready to start running into him in the subway. Jesse, in his stupid navy hoodie, his brown plaid shirt, and… are those corduroy pants? Jesus, if Andrew were to point at Jesse now and tell some passerby that yeah, this guy is his ex, well, they wouldn’t believe him. No one would. Jesse doesn’t look like, never did look like Andrew’s type.
Now, don’t let that fool you. You’re probably thinking that Andrew feels as though he is, and always has been, better than Jesse, as if he were way out of Jesse’s -geeky, cat-obsessed, probably covered in cat hair even now- league. But no, Andrew -despite the fact that he was always the popular kid at school with girls falling at his feet- has always felt that Jesse was out of Andrew's own -hyperactive, Green Day obsessed, just-this-side of too fashion conscious- league, as if Jesse were way too good for him. Jesse, the nerdy, ever-so-slightly pretentious guy from the book store, who cares more about pop-punk bands from the nineties, Woody Allen movies, and animal charities, than fashion. That makes Andrew feel even worse.
He was never, ever good enough for Jesse.
Jesse speaks, he tells Andrew that this is the first time that he’s seen him in a full suit during the day. Andrew says, without looking back at him, that he wouldn’t be wearing it at all if he didn’t have to. Andrew just… can’t look at him any more. He did a minute ago, when Jesse casually wandered over to him, a shocked smile on his face, and said “Hi". But all Andrew could think about was grabbing either side of his stupid, adorable face and kissing him all over, just out of sheer habit. No, if Andrew were to look at Jesse now, then he’d be forced into remembering that everything that’s happened over the past year and a half was real, all of those things happened, those things fell apart and probably won’t be coming back together again. Ever.
It still hurts, just a little bit, like the slowly fading pain that lingers behind a few minutes after a punch in the gut. This isn’t the worst that Andrew’s ever felt, but he’s definitely felt better.
The train pulls into station, slows to a stop. Jesse grabs Andrew's forearm. This feels entirely too similar to what happened in that karaoke bar last year, on their first date. Andrew and Jesse never really went on official dates, but they were a couple, so he figures that that night out with Armie and Elizabeth was -sort of- their first date. Andrew's so riddled with shock as a result of the abrupt physical contact, that he just has to look over at Jesse with this questioning, incredulous look on his face as if to ask, 'Just what the fuck are you doing?'
Jesse‘s blue eyes are soft and kind, he smiles wistfully. “Train’s here.”
(1)
This is a story of boy meets boy.
The first, Andrew Garfield -of Surrey, England. An amateur actor and part-time bartender- has grown up believing that he will never be truly happy until the day he meets the one. This belief stems from early exposure to brooding, American indie bands and way too many John Hughes movies.
The second, Jesse Eisenberg -of East Brunswick, New Jersey. A book store employee and struggling playwright- does not share this belief. After spending four years as an outcast as the only gay boy in his high school, Jesse has lost almost all faith in genuine human relationships.
Andrew meets Jesse on January 8th -in a Barnes and Noble in Bayside, Queens- and knows almost immediately, that he’s the one he’s been searching for.
(290)
“Okay, so I’d say that we’re definitely dealing with a serious case of ‘he fucked me over’ here.”
“I hear that, but… what are we supposed to do? What are we supposed to say? I have no idea, I‘m no good with this shit, neither of us are. Wow… we are crappy friends.”
“I called in an expert, don’t worry about it.”
“An expert? Please don’t tell me that you called a shrink, I know he’s upset but he’s not in need of therapy. This is not a Sigmund Freud, free association-” Justin puts on his best Austrian accent- “’tell me about your childhood’ situation.”
Joe and Justin are standing just inside the front door of Andrew’s apartment -Justin still in the suit he wears to work, and Joe in his scrubs- hands stuffed deep into their pockets, heads close together so that their friend won’t hear them talking about him.
Only minutes ago had they let themselves in as a response to the almost indecipherable message Andrew had left on Justin‘s cell phone, his voice thick like he‘d been crying, slurred like he was drunk. Something along the lines of, “Jesse… he, he f-fucking… I don’t even know what to, ugh! I need to see you guys now. Just now. Come… now, please.” This message was left at three in the morning, but not listened to until four-forty the following afternoon as Justin Timberlake is the only stock-broker in the whole of New York City that doesn‘t pay attention to his cell. So, today, Justin left the office twenty minutes early, met Joe outside of Andrew’s apartment, and together -ready to face the unknown- they took a deep breath, and walked on in.
Joe rolls his eyes. “He’s more than upset. Look at him.”
Andrew’s sat in the over-stuffed, red, velvet arm-chair on the other side of his living room, knees drawn up to his chest, hood up, eyes puffy, staring -without blinking- at the opposite wall, at that Mike Dirnt poster Jesse had bought for him all those months ago. He hasn’t said a word to either of his friends during the entire half hour that they’ve been here.
Justin eyes him worriedly before turning back to Joe. “Who did you call?”
There’s a knock at the door however, so Joe doesn’t get a chance to answer Justin’s question. He opens it to find Emma stood out in the hallway, hair wet from the torrential rain outside, mascara running down her face, apron from work still tied tight around her waist. If this were any other day, she’d be pissed, she’d be yelling something like: “You know I can’t drive, I had to walk fifteen blocks in the rain you assholes!” before clunking their heads together. Except, today, she looks nothing but worried.
“Oh, you called an expert,” Justin says, eyes wide with understanding.
“The expert,” Joe replies.
Emma cranes her neck to look over Joe’s shoulder, at Andrew over on the other side of room. “You did the right thing by calling me. What’s wrong with him? You didn’t say much on the phone.” She steps inside and pulls her hair out from under the collar of her coat.
“I couldn’t say much on the phone,” Joe whispers, “because we don’t really know that much, but as far as I can guess, it’s got something to do with Jesse.”
“Oh gosh, you don’t think he dumped him, do you?”
Joe goes, all of a sudden, very pale. “Jesus Christ, I hope not.”
Emma takes a few tentative steps towards Andrew. “Hey Honey, you okay?”
He looks up for the very first time, eyes glazed over, frowning a little. It‘s like he‘s just woken up from a deep sleep. His entire body feels thick, heavy, weighed down. If he tried to get up, he'd probably fall flat on his face. Everything aches. “Emma?”
“Hey. So the guys called me,” She points over her shoulder at them as she sits down on the couch. “What’s wrong? Here, I brought you this, I thought it might cheer you up a little.” Reaching into her purse, she produces a slightly squished blueberry muffin and places it on the arm of Andrew’s chair.
“You brought him a muffin?” Joe asks as he and Justin sit down beside her. “A muffin? That’s not what he needs right now. He needs alcohol, a bottle of Jack, you know?”
She eyes him sternly. “What are you, Ke$ha? I work in a diner, the only drinks we sell there are coffee, some very questionable tea, and oh wait… coffee.”
“Thanks, Em,” Andrew croaks, picking at the edges of the muffin case.
“No problem,” she places a hand on his arm, smiling a little in encouragement. “Now, just tell us what happened, right from the beginning.”
Justin and Joe sit forward eagerly as Andrew closes his eyes and begins. “Things were going so well, but then…”
(289)
“I think we should see other people.”
Andrew drops his knife and fork. Blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
They were having burgers in a booth at Emma's diner when it happened. She was busy behind the counter, serving milkshakes to a group of rowdy pre-teens, completely oblivious to the fact that one of her best friends, and his boyfriend, were just about to split.
Andrew notices Jesse’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he repeats himself. “I think we should see other people.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No." Jesse turns away, looking outside, at the rain slapping against the window, blurring the scenery outside into grey-scale.
"Why, uh... why would you?" Andrew's truly having difficulty when it comes to forming coherent sentences. He braces his hands against the greasy Formica tabletop. “Why on Earth would you suggest that?”
“Come on, Andrew. We’ve not exactly been getting along lately.” Jesse looks him squarely in the eye in the hope of driving his point home, but it becomes all to clear that he's lost his nerve, so he looks away again, and places his knife and fork neatly onto the table. “We fight all the time. We're always shouting at one another.”
“We have debates and disagreements," Andrew's leaning over the table now, trying his best to get Jesse to look at him again, "but they're always verbal. It’s not like we don boxing gloves and literally fight one another every night. It happens with all couples. Last week, you were there!" He points towards the counter. "Emma and that Ryan guy she‘s dating were arguing over which was better, DC or Marvel. He ended up calling her a bitch, she slapped him. The next day, they come over and they‘re back to making out in my kitchen whilst I‘m trying to make waffles. Couples argue, Jesse. Nobody gets along 24/7.”
Jesse clearly hasn‘t registered the second half of Andrew‘s diatribe. He speaks quietly, so quietly that Andrew has to lean further across the table to catch what he‘s saying. “Andrew, I think we’re ruining each other.”
“No,” Andrew vehemently disagrees, and leans back, shaking his head. He refuses to accept what Jesse has just said, this is just a bad dream. “No, we’re not.”
“Yes we are. I, well, I’m not saying I used to be this free spirit or anything, but I was happy just being me, on my own, not tied down. I’m not saying that I don’t like being with you, but I feel like there’s all this pressure being piled up on me. I feel vaguely, inexplicably anxious all the time, frightened that you're going to spring something on me. Like you’re going to ask to adopt babies with me, or propose, or ask that we move in together. I’m not ready for this, I‘ve never been with someone in this sort of way before," Jesse sighs, staring down at his hands.
Andrew runs his hands through his hair. Tugs. He needs to save this, needs it in the same way that he needs air and water. “Okay, I’ll admit that I’m a little clingy sometimes, but I’m not gonna propose or anything, don’t worry. I just really care about you, and I like to make sure that you know it.” He tries his best to smile despite the fact that he's finding it hard to breathe and it feels as though his heart about to climb out, run away and kill itself. “I remember what you said when we first started dating, you wanted to take things slow.”
Jesse widens his eyes as if to say ‘Yeah right'. “Well, it doesn’t feel slow to me.”
“So you’re blaming this all on m-”
“It’s not just you,” Jesse hastens to add.
“It’s not you, it’s me, right?” Andrew laughs, but there's no real trace of humour in his tone.
“Well it’s not just you, and it’s not just me, it’s a combination of the both of us. I’m feeling all this pressure from you, which makes me anxious. Me being anxious all the time is bad for you because it frightens you a little bit, I can tell that you’re constantly worried that I don’t like you any more and that I’m gonna break up with you.”
Andrew throws his hands into the air. “I guess I was right to worry then.”
Jesse looks as though he may burst into tears at any second, as if every word he speaks is causing him severe physical pain. “You used to be so independent and free just a few months ago, and now it’s like your life revolves around me. I don’t want to be the reason that you lose focus on other things, like your acting, and your friends and stuff.”
“Jess, I’m fine, really,” Andrew leans across the table, takes one of Jesse’s hands, and does his best to plaster a hopeful smile onto his face. “We can sort things out.”
Except, it comes out sounding more like a question than a statement.
“Andrew, this isn’t up for discussion.” Jesse removes his visibly shaking hand from Andrew's. “I’m sorry.“
His whole life, Andrew has always been the one to do the dumping. Never did he think that he’d be the one getting broken up with, so this crushing experience and sudden rush of unwanted emotions could easily knock him off his feet if he were standing. This is too new, and not in a good way. Andrew doesn’t cry, he doesn’t beg. He’s not upset. Just angry. He wants to scream, shout, throw his plate across the room, because no! Jesse isn’t the only one who gets to call the shots in this relationship. Jesse can’t spend almost a year acting as though he cares for Andrew just as much as Andrew cares for him, and then go and break things off in such a entirely unexpected fashion. Andrew could explode, and his hands are shaking in an entirely different way to Jesse's.
“I think we just need, we a need a little…” Jesse swallows again, he's folding into himself, becoming smaller “…space.”
Andrew stares down at his plate -at his untouched cheeseburger- with disgust. He feels as though he may throw up. He will forever associate cheeseburgers with Jesse breaking up with him. Andrew may never eat one again.
It’s a reflex, he doesn’t have to think about it or tell his legs to move. He just gets up, Andrew slides out of his and Jesse’s booth, and begins to walk away. He can’t even look at Jesse right now, the guy has gone and angered him to his very core. He needs a drink, and after that, he’ll probably go home, stick on a Hawthorne Heights record, and cry into his pillow about it because he doesn't think he'll be able to hold off the inevitable tears for that long. But for now, he just needs something a little stronger than the vanilla milkshakes he and Jesse had been sipping on only moments ago.
From behind, Jesse speaks six words which, to Andrew, feel like a harsh combination of a slap in the face and a knee to the balls. Andrew literally cringes as he says it.
“We can still be friends, right?”
Andrew makes sure to slam the door on his way out.
(290)
“Fuck,” Justin breathes, averting his eyes.
Emma squints as if to say ouch! “Oh Sweetie! That’s terrible. I can't believe I didn't notice you guys arguing. I could have done something.”
"There's nothing you could have done anyway," Andrew croaks, wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie. The telling of the story alone was enough to reduce him to tears. "He doesn't want me any more."
“Well, uh, I guess if he doesn’t want to be with you in that way, then you’ll just have to move on.” Joe shrugs nonchalantly.
Emma turns to slap his arm. “Joe!”
“What? It’s true. It’s just one of those situations where you have to say, and I know it’s trite, but there’s plenty more fish in the sea. You just have to work up the courage to get back into the water.”
“I’ve spent my whole life in that water, Joe,” Andrew says, voice shaky from cying. He lifts his hands and forms tight little fists, bringing them up to the sides of his head. “I’ve spent my whole life swimming. Until I met him all I did was swim." He sighs exasperatedly. "I am the Michael Phelps of this analogy.“
“Except Michael Phelps swims in pools, not the sea,” Justin adds, widening his eyes, but no one’s listening to him.
“Besides, I don’t want some random fish, I just want Jesse.”
(1)
One of the many downsides of being a member of a ridiculously under-funded community theatre group? The fact that you have to buy your own copy of each play that’s performed. Andrew’s theatre group is going to be putting on a Spring production of Arthur Miller’s A View From The Bridge, and Andrew’s been cast as Rodolpho, a part which -he believes- is entirely too perfect for him. Mid-to-late twenties, slightly effeminate, a good dancer, a good singer -well, Andrew’s voice is okay- and a romantic. Except, Andrew is neither heterosexual, nor blonde, but those things just can’t be helped.
So, with his headphones securely on, his hood up, Andrew enters his local Barnes and Noble, ready to purchase a nice paperback copy of the script. After a good fifteen minutes of searching around the unexpectedly large ‘M’ section, Andrew has yet to find a copy of the play, so he enlists the help of a small Asian employee in a baby blue polo, brandishing a name tag that reads ‘Aziz‘.
“You’re looking in the wrong place, Pal. Walk with me,” Aziz commands, so Andrew follows him down aisles, through the narrow openings between books cases, over stacks of yet-to-be-shelved cookery books, through groups of confused customers, and into the Theatre section. Aziz finds what Andrew needs within ten seconds. “Here you go. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Andrew replies, smiling sheepishly. “Uh… where do I pay for this?”
Aziz rolls his eyes -not in a mean way, but in an ‘Oh you!’ sort of way. “The counter’s about ten feet behind you, Buddy.” Andrew turns on his heel, and looks up to find an obnoxiously large ’Pay Here’ sign hanging from the ceiling.
Aziz yells “Jess!”
From behind a pile of paperbacks stacked up beside the left most cash register, a face appears. If this were some cheesy rom-com, then that face would have popped up in slow-motion, back-lit by a too-bright lamp, as if this person were an angel. Berlin's Take My Breath Away would be playing, too. Andrew’s eyes dilate as he begins to agree with the voice inside his head that‘s telling him that yes, that face, is a pretty cute face. Whoever this is, this ‘Jess’ guy -what could that be short for? Jessica? No, that’s a girls name- is quite, well very cute…
***
There are only two kinds of guy in the world. There’s guys like Andrew. Normal, run of the mill, nothing special, average…
…and there’s guys like Jesse. Height, a little below average. Weight, a little below average. Shoe size, well, you get the idea. Jesse Eisenberg is, for all intents and purposes, just another guy.
Except he isn’t.
For Andrew to find Jesse in a country populated by roughly three hundred million people, in a city of around eight million people, a city that contains nearly one hundred book stores; well, that can only really be explained by one thing.
Fate.
(3)
“One quick question, okay?” Joe says, eyes fixed on the screen as he and Andrew play Gran Turismo 4 in Andrew’s living room.
“Shoot.”
“Do you even know this guy’s name?”
“One of his colleagues called him 'Jess', but no guy is called Jess, so maybe that’s just some kind of inside joke or someth-”
Joe cuts him off. “Have you ever thought that maybe he’s called Jesse?”
“Did not think of that.“ Andrew nods, but Joe doesn’t see that, because, you know, neither of them are looking at one another. “You’re smart.”
Andrew can almost hear the smug smile in Joe‘s voice. “I went to college. You, on the other hand, moved to here five years ago in the hope of becoming a successful actor, how’s that going so far?”
“Not too great, thanks for reminding me.” Andrew’s car slams into a wall of tires, he tries his best to awkwardly reverse back onto the track. “Besides, you need to go to college to become a vet, acting isn’t something that can be learned.”
“So why do people take acting classes?” Joe asks, grinning from ear to ear as a result of the fact that he‘s in first place. “Anyway, getting back to the point, this guy sounds like a bit of douche.”
“Well, wouldn’t you act like a douche if you had a guy babbling like an idiot in your face? He’s so cute, Joe. I have to go back there and pluck up the courage to ask him out.”
“What if he’s straight?” Joe says, always looking to burst Andrew‘s bubble.
Andrew rolls his eyes. “It’s unlikely.”
“No, it’s not. Andrew, there’s more straight guys in this world than there are gay guys, so statistically speaking, he’s more likely to be strai-”
Andrew cuts him off, shakes his head. “Whatever. I’ll never know until I ask.”
“No, this’ll only end badly. Don’t go back there.”
(1)
Andrew had thought that his music was just loud enough so that he could bob his head along to it, but not so loud that he’d be unable to hear if someone were to speak to him, which was fine when he was talking to Aziz, the guy has a loud, clear voice, but when it comes to the cashier, it’s an entirely different story. As Andrew walks up to the cash register, the little guy in a navy blue hoodie littered with white -probably from a pet- hairs, and a head of dark brown curls says something to him that he can’t quite catch.
Andrew‘s removes his headphones. “Sorry?”
“Paper Lanterns,“ ‘Jess’ repeats. “Green Day. That’s what you’re listening to, right?” Then, out of no where, the guy starts singing in this surprisingly adorable falsetto. “I do not mind if all I am is just a friend to you, but all I want to know right now, is if you think about me too.”
Wow. Andrew can’t help but smile like an idiot, because he’s never met anyone that’s claimed to be into Green Day that’s listened to anything that was released before Basket Case. He tells the guy that.
“That’s nothing,“ he replies, taking Andrew‘s book to ring it up. “I’ve never met anyone that’s heard anything that predates American Idiot.”
“Well, I’m glad I could be your first.” As soon as he says it, he wishes he hadn’t. Despite the complete innocence of the statement, it does sound somewhat inappropriate. The guy just looks at him like he’s an escaped mental patient, completely unfazed by the fact that he’s staring a complete stranger in the face. Andrew blushes, wishing that he could just walk out of here and jump off of Queensboro Bridge.
He tries his best to redeem the conversation, chuckling awkwardly. “That’s pretty tragic though, about people not hearing any of their older stuff.”
“Yeah." The guy says, accepting Andrew's money without really looking at him. He opens up the cash register to count out the change.
“I’m, uh, I’m Andrew.“ Oh God, now he feels like a six year old trying to make friends on his first day of school.
“Cool."
“Well it’s nice to meet another hardcore Green Day fan.”
“Mhmm," the guy says. He holds out a small plastic bag containing Andrew’s script with one hand, a small pile of money with the other. Clearly this conversation is over. “Here’s your change.”
Andrew takes the things from him. “Uh, thanks. See you.”
Greatly abashed, Andrew turns and sticks the change in his jeans pocket. Before he gets a chance to get his headphones back on, he hears the guy say, in monotone, the customary end of sale closer.
“Have a nice day.”
(8)
Andrew completely ignores Joe’s advice, and a week later, goes back to Barnes and Noble, aiming to have another conversation with ‘Jess’ that will, hopefully, go much better than the first. Andrew just can’t get the skinny, pale, geeky looking guy out of his head. He's just the cutest thing in the world. Andrew just wants to take him home, wrap him up in a warm blanket and feed him cupcakes. Yep, this guy is that kind of cute.
This is easily one of the most unprecedented experiences Andrew has ever had. He’s had crushes before, but never has he felt so compelled to go purposefully out of his way to make contact with the object of his desire. Said object of desire did stare at Andrew like he was mentally-deficient, and he didn't seem all that interested in anything Andrew had to say, but whatever. Andrew just figures that it was a 'Treat 'em mean keep 'em keen' strategy, and hey, it's working.
As he enters the store, he scans the place for signs of the cashier’s presence, a flash of navy blue fabric maybe, or a few curls sticking up from behind a low bookcase. He abruptly thinks that if he does find him, then what could he possibly say? How in the hell is he going explain his reasons for being here? Andrew doesn’t want to buy a novel, or a self-help guide that’ll help him get over hopeless infatuations (although he probably needs one), and he doesn’t need another copy of the play.
Wait! Yes he does!
Well, he doesn’t. His copy is clean and dry at home, but Jess/Jesse/Jessica doesn't know that. (Andrew really needs to find out his name soon. For the sake of this story, we‘ll just call him Jess.)
Full of glee, Andrew dashes through the aisles, and over to the theatre section. This time, he finds a copy without any supervision from Aziz, who, actually, Andrew can hear yelling at some other employee on the other side of the store. Andrew hopes that it isn’t Jess that‘s receiving the verbal beating, Andrew doesn’t need him to be in a bad mood today, like he was last time. Andrew thinks, vaguely, that maybe Jess wasn’t in a bad mood the other day, maybe that’s just how he is. Introverted, withdrawn, mildly rude. Except, Andrew’s surprised to find that that doesn’t put him off. A few weeks with Andrew as a boyfriend will do him some good, Andrew takes pride in knowing that he can cheer almost anyone up. That’s if Jess actually wants to go out with him.
So, Andrew walks up to the cash register, book held tight in his hands, and finds that there’s no one there. Great. He leans over the counter, maybe someone’s hidden beneath it. Nope. “Uh, hello?”
A head pops out of a door marked ‘Store Room'. It‘s him! “Yeah?”
Today, he’s wearing a black hoodie -which advertises even further the presence of white cat (or quite possibly, dog) hairs on his body, over a white t-shirt, and a pair of pale blue jeans. How can an outfit so simple look so good? Andrew’s mind literally boggles at the sight of him.
“I, uh… I need to pay for my book,” Andrew lifts it up so that Jess can see.
“Oh okay. So you’re back again? Buying…” he walks over to Andrew and takes the book from him “…another copy of A View From The Bridge?”
“Yeah, mine got wet, it’s ruined.”
Jess rings it up, and for once seems to be truly interested in what Andrew has to say. “Oh yeah? How?”
“It was, I um…” Oh shit, Andrew hadn‘t thought about how he was going to explain this part, he speaks quickly, hoping that Jess won‘t really be able to understand what he says and just accepts it “…Idroppeditinapuddle.”
Jess narrows his eyes -they’re a gorgeous shade of heather blue, Andrew hastens to notice- confused. “It hasn’t rained in New York for over two weeks.”
“I dropped it in the sink.”
“What?”
Andrew‘s floundering now, wracking his brain for an believable excuse, praying to God that it doesn’t show on his face. “I took it in the shower with me?” He feels himself cringe as he says it, that was easily the world’s most obvious lie. He should just leave this place right now and never come back.
He‘s surprised to find, however, that the cashier is laughing. It‘s the most beautiful sound Andrew‘s ever heard, it makes him smile almost involuntarily. “You took the book with you into the shower?”
“Yes.” Andrew is now nodding vigorously, like a bobble head doll.
“No, you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t,” Andrew concedes, hoping that a cute smile will save him from being judged. “I lied.”
Jess taps a few buttons on the cash register, cancels the sale, and slaps the book down onto the counter top. “Why?”
“Because I needed a reason to come back here.”
Jess rolls his eyes, still smiling a little. “Again, why?”
“Because I wanted to see you again.”
“Really?” The way that Jess says it, his voice all of a sudden becomes very quiet and he puts a lot of emphasis on that one word, as if he truly can’t believe what Andrew just said, as if he’s afraid that this is a joke, and that Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out at any moment and yell “You just got Punk’d!”
“Of cour-” Andrew’s cut off by the opening riff of blink-182’s All The Small Things, the sound seems to be coming from Jess’s right pocket. His cell phone is ringing.
“Hello?” Jess says into the small silver flip-phone, he grins. Man, he has great teeth. “Hey, Armie… No way! You didn’t?… What did she say?”
It becomes all too obvious that Aziz, who just has to be the manager of this place, is able to teleport. Only a few moments ago, whilst he was talking to Jess, Andrew had heard Aziz’s yelling come to an end. Now, he’s sticking his head out of the same store room that Jess just left, voice stern. “Yo! Eisenberg! What have I told you about taking personal calls at work?”
Jess doesn‘t answer, just holds a single finger out as if to say ‘wait‘, and carries on with his call. “She said yes? That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you, Man.”
Aziz rolls his eyes exasperatedly. “Jesse!”
Andrew’s eyes light up, his name is Jesse! Damn it, Joe was right.
“Listen, I have to go before Aziz has an aneurysm.” Aziz sighs audibly and slips back into the store room. “I’ll call you when I get off work… Yeah… Talk to you later.” Jesse closes his phone and slips it into his hoodie pocket. He smiles at Andrew. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” Andrew smiles back, he just can’t help himself, and leans forward a little. “Your name’s Jesse?”
“Yes, and you’re…” Jesse squints, as if thinking hard “…a Green Day fan?”
Andrew nods solemnly. “Yep, that‘s my name. My first name is ‘A', just ‘A'. My middle name is ‘Green', and I have a double-barrelled last name, like a typical English person. It's 'Day-Fan'. Hello, I‘m A. Green Day-Fan. Nice to meet you.”
“I remember you telling me that you’re name’s Andrew, you just seemed a lot more enthusiastic about Green Day when we first spoke.” Jesse pulls up a stool and sits down behind the counter, resting his elbows on it. “Hello Andrew, I’m Jesse.”
Now that he‘s sitting, Andrew has to look down at him. “Hi Jesse. You seem to be in a much better mood today.”
“That’s because I actually managed to get some sleep last night. I have uh... problems, with my sleeping.” He eyes Andrew’s discarded second copy of the play. “So, I’m gonna assume that you’re either taking an English Literature course, or that you’re in a play.”
“I am in a play. That’s why I bought this.”
“Well, you don’t need to buy it again, so I’ll just take this and put it back.” Jesse picks the book up, begins to flick through the pages at random. “Who’re you playing?”
“Rodolpho.”
“Ah, the romantic.” He looks back up at Andrew. “Singer, dancer, sewer of fine dresses, boyfriend and later fiancé of Catherine, gets implicitly accused of being gay a few times.”
Andrew can‘t help but smile again. Well, truth be told, he hasn‘t stopped smiling since this conversation began. Every time he‘s seen Jesse -which is, admittedly, only twice- Jesse‘s gone and revealed something brilliant about himself, something that he‘s got in common with Andrew.
“You’ve read it?” Andrew asks.
“Well we did the play when I was in high school, I was an understudy.”
“For which part?”
“Rodolpho,” Jesse chuckles a little, wrinkles his nose adorably. “I never got to act though, the guy who was actually playing him had an incredible immune system, he never got sick. Not once.”
“That’s a shame,” Andrew states. Then, realising what he’s just said, backtracks, not wanting to go through another embarrassing ordeal as a result of his big mouth. “I mean, it’s not a shame that, that he never got sick, just that you never got a chance to act, you know?”
“Yeah.” Jesse puts the book down once more, and gazes at Andrew appreciatively. He purses his lips before speaking again, in a slightly more nervous tone. “You know, uh, next time you want to speak to me, don’t worry about thinking up some shitty excuse. Just come down, yeah?”
Andrew‘s grin could split his face. “I’ll remember that.
(154)
“Here you go, Honeys.”
Emma places three cups of coffee down onto the table. Andrew, Joe and Justin are currently sat in the diner at which she’s employed, waiting for her to get off work so that the four of them can go down to a little, run-down bar in central Queens to meet Jesse. This is the very same bar that has employed Andrew on a part-time basis. He’s got work tonight, but that’s not going to keep him from hanging out with the guys, there’ll just be a counter between them… and a few bumbling drunks, but whatever.
Andrew watches as Justin takes a sip of his latte before wiping the foam out of his facial hair. Joe asks Emma what time she’s supposed to be getting off, and all Andrew can think about is the news that he’s about to unleash upon them, about the epiphany he had last night. He’s practically bouncing in his seat from the excitement of it all.
“Well, I should be done in about a half hour, but that all depends on whether or not Johnny wants me to lock up,” Emma explains, waving her now empty tray around.
Fuck it, he just can’t keep it in any longer. Andrew leans over the table, ready to let it all spill out.
“I think it’s official,” he says, in a tone that confirms just how official this next statement is going to be. “I’m in love with Jesse.“
“Oh wow.” Emma widens her eyes and slides into the booth next to Joe. Yeah, she is supposed to be working right now, but this is way more important. With a very serious look on her face, she clasps her hands together, and holds them out towards Andrew. “Go on.”
And this is the part that he‘s been looking forward to the most. “I love… I love the way that his smile lights up his entire face. I love his soft, uncontrollable curls. I love his hands. I love the tiny mole on the right side of his chest. I love how he chews on his lips when he’s thinking. I love it when he laughs. I love how he mumbles in his sleep sometimes.” Andrew seems to be in an almost daydream-like state, staring off into the middle distance, speaking softly. It’s like, well, it’s as if he’s stoned. He’s high on a relatively unknown drug, which, on the streets of Queens, is referred to as ‘Jesse Eisenberg‘. “I just… I love how he makes me feel. Like I’m worth something, like I can do anything, be anything. I love him.”
Justin throws Joe a look that seems to scream. "Oh shit."
(16)
“Em, he’s amazing, you’ve got to meet him. He’s like, he’s perfect for me.”
Emma doesn‘t really look at Andrew as she removes dirty plates and glasses from abandoned tables and wipes them down with a very questionable looking rag. “What makes you think that?”
Andrew follows her back to the counter, where she deposits a stack of ketchup smeared crockery. He speaks over her shoulder. “Well, I’ve gone back to where he works a few more times…”
“Stalker.”
“…and it turns out he’s not a douche at all, he was just tired and in a bit of a bad mood the first time. Listen, he likes Green Day.”
Emma chuckles, “lots of people like Green Day, Andrew.”
“Sure, lots of people like Green Day, but he’s a hardcore fan, Emma. He’s got all of their albums.” As she turns to look at him, Andrew holds up both his hands as if he’s about to tell her the most incredible thing in the world. "He has all of their albums... on vinyl!”
“That’s a little pretentious.” Emma gets back to her work.
So Andrew continues to follow her, minding himself around other waitresses that are carrying trays that are loaded with almost too much food. “Most people went through emo phases back in 2005 and claimed that Boulevard Of Broken Dreams was like their theme song, and a few people have heard of Time Of Your Life and that’s it, but he genuinely likes everything they’ve ever written, his favourite track is Welcome To Paradise, the same as me. Oh, and get this, he’s read A View From The Bridge, and he said that if I swing by Barnes and Noble during his lunch hour, he’ll help me with my lines. He loves Woody Allen movies too, and he writes plays in his spare time, and he’s a foster father for cats!”
Emma cringes as she peels a napkin from one of the red leather stools in front of the counter, held on by a piece of chewed gum that stretches into a precarious string as she pulls the napkin away. “Andrew, Honey, I’m so happy that you’ve found someone that you like, but are you sure that you like him for him? Because to me it sounds like you like him just because he likes some of the same things as you.”
She‘s got a point there. “Well, I guess you’re right, I’ve only known him for a little while, but once I get to know him a bit better, I’ll know for sure.” He shrugs, “I’ve got a really good feeling about this.”
(26)
“I think he’s got a boyfriend. Or, at the very least, he‘s seeing someone.”
Sometimes, you’ll have to understand, that you will not always receive a greeting from Andrew Garfield. Sometimes, he’ll just walk up to you and tell you something that makes absolutely no sense at all, something that you probably would understand if you had the ability to travel back in time and have a conversation with him a few minutes before you actually turned up.
Justin is experiencing the same dilemma, he’d walked into the bar in which Andrew works, pushed his way through a crowd of rowdy customers, and snatched a stool right at the bar from some other guy in the hope of having a pleasant chat with his friend as a way of winding down after a hard day buying and selling on the stock market. But clearly, Andrew has other, slightly more depressing topics in mind.
“What?” Justin calls over the pounding country music. Everything in this place is made of wood, smells a little musky, and the lighting isn’t that great either. “What did you say?”
“I think Jesse’s seeing someone,” Andrew replies, drying a glass with a little more force than is really necessary.
“How do you know?”
Once Andrew puts the glass away, he turns to the fridge, and grabs two bottles of beer (One for Justin, one for himself. On the house, of course) he continues on with his story. “So I was at the store, ready to get him to help with my lines, I asked him what he did last weekend, and he said that he went out with his ‘friend’, Justin…”
“He has a friend called Justin too?“ Justin grins. “Awesome!”
“ …and he said that they had a ‘great time’ at the theatre, he went to see a play with him! When do two guys ever go to see a play alone together?” Andrew brings the bottle up to his lips and takes a generous sip, it’s almost half empty by the time that he’s done. It’s a little over-dramatic, but he feels fucking betrayed. He feels as though the flooring has been pulled, unexpectedly, out from under his feet.
“Joe and I have gone to see your plays together plenty of times,” Justin offers, shrugging.
“That’s different!” Andrew yells over the music -Johnny Cash, maybe? “You guys came to see me for support. They went just for fun, like a date or something.”
Justin rolls his eyes, and leans right over the bar to make sure that his friend is really looking at him. “Andrew. He referred to this Justin guy as a friend, so he’s probably just a friend."
“I don’t know,” Andrew sighs, finishing off the bottle. Vaguely, he registers the sound of someone sat down at the other end of the bar asking for service, but he ignores them.
“Listen, just stop being a pussy and ask him out.”
The guy who‘s after service is yelling now, so Andrew turns to walk over to him -not before saying one final thing to Justin. “No, that’s it, we’re off. I give up.”
(30)
“Fucking emotions, taking over my life,” Andrew mumbles a week later as he wanders into Barnes and Noble, pulling his thick black jacket tight around his body to keep the cold out. He’d stuck with his idea to give up on Jesse for all of three days before he decided that he couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t stay away from him. He feels like such a girl.
It’s one in the afternoon, Jesse’s probably sat in the staff room on his lunch break. Andrew knows this because he's been back here almost every day since he and Jesse started talking. Andrew knows so much about this place that he could probably work here just fine.
Aziz is working at the cash register today, in the middle of serving a customer who‘s attempting to buy four Twilight boxsets (she probably has a lot of daughters). Aziz notices Andrew walking through the store, and calls out that Jesse is “out back”. Andrew nods, and walks down to the back of the store, through a door and into the staff-room-come-kitchen to find Jesse sat on the counter by the sink, reading a book -go figure- a cup of coffee -or quite possible, tea- in his hand. He clearly hasn’t noticed Andrew’s entrance.
“Hey,” Andrew says awkwardly, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets.
Jesse looks up, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Hey.” He puts his book down and gestures to a couch on the other side of the room. “Sit down? Do you want to go over your lines again?”
“No, it’s not that,” Andrew sits down, removes his jacket. When Andrew had thought over how he was going to ask Jesse about this ‘Justin’ character, Andrew had figured that he’d act nonchalant about it, no big deal, who cares, even if he is seeing someone else? Except, it doesn’t go that way at all because Andrew’s frightened, for the first time in his life he feels as though he’s found someone that he’s truly compatible with, and that could all too easily be ripped away by the answer to the one question that he’s been dying to ask. “Listen. I have to know, it’s been playing on my mind for days. Who’s Justin?”
Jesse frowns, pouts a little bit. “Justin?”
“You said you went to see a play with him last weekend,” Andrew reminds him reluctantly.
“Oh, Justin Bartha? He’s a friend of mine,” Jesse smiles.
Andrew swallows down the nerves, he feels like throwing up as he asks, “just a friend?”
“Well yeah,” Jesse says. He eyes Andrew with great confusion. “Wait? Did you think I was dating him or something?”
Looking down at the ground, trying his best to hide his hot, furious blushing, Andrew speaks like a five-year-old who‘s just been caught doing something bad. “Yeah.”
“Justin’s straight, Andrew. He’s dating a lovely young lady by the name of Ashley and we’ve been best friends for years.” Jesse’s giggling, clearly he’s finding this much funnier than Andrew did, which is embarrassing. “Even if I could date him, I wouldn’t. We’ve got too good a friendship for that, so don’t worry.”
Andrew breathes a sigh of relief, and brings his hands up to his face. “I’m so sorry.”
“What for?”
“Jumping to conclusions.”
Jesse waves a hand around. “Don’t worry about it.”
“So um,” Andrew, with great anticipation, leans forward a little bit. “Now that’s out of the way, and I’m starting to feel, you know, sane again, could I maybe ask you out?”
“No,” Jesse says bluntly. He’s examining his hands, rubbing them together as if what he just said, that single word, bears absolutely no burden at all.
Andrew splutters, feeling like he’s in a Looney Tunes cartoon, like he’s Wile E. Coyote chasing after Roadrunner, when all of a sudden, a huge anvil falls out of the sky, whacks him on the head, and squishes him flat. He almost chokes on his words. “W-What? Why?”
Jesse smiles mischievously, still looking at his hands. “You can’t ask me out because I was, uh, planning on asking you out.”
“You’re going to ask me out?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Jesse takes a sip of his coffee (or tea) before explaining. “My friend, Armie, just got engaged a few weeks back, and he asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink tomorrow night with him and his fiancée. As much as I love them, I kind of don’t want to be the third wheel amongst all of their kissing and canoodling, so they said I could bring a friend along, and I thought of you.” He smiles brightly.
“Really?” Andrew says it in the exact same way that Jesse did on the day they had their second -and a lot more real that the first- conversation. Jesus, he‘s never met a single person that could make him smile so much.
“Yeah,” Jesse says it quietly. “So… do you want to come?”
“Of course I do.”
~
Part Two