Pieces (for Shane and Friends Secret Santa 2018)
Merry Christmas!! This is posted a little late this morning because MAN have I been busy the past week but, nevertheless, here it is!
@love-any-ideas I hope you enjoy your gift, and @shaneandfriendssecretsanta thank you for organizing this event!
When Garrett first sees him, heâs taken aback.
Andrew is all smiles, bright eyes, brighter hair, golden shining through the cracks of his complexion and light beating from his heart. His voice is a song, words the verses and laughter the chorus, the bridge being the lilting way he says Garrettâs name.
Its clearly love; a concept that feels, to Garrett, like trying to read a novel with his eyes closed tight. He doesnât know where to go, what to say, how to begin. Heâs unsure of the best path to take without royally screwing things up.
It makes him jumpy, nervous, tongue-tied, frightened, flighty, sick. A myriad of things as unwelcome as they are unpleasant; but with that comes the butterflies. The happy-nervous laughs. The hot sparks of Andrewâs hand on his shoulder, the shake of his spine when he leans in close enough to blow breath across Garrettâs bare cheek.
Its new. Exciting. And while Garrett isnât so sure Andrew feels the same light that he does, something good must be happening because he leaves with Andrews number in his phone and wakes to a triage of messages waiting for him.
Andrewâs hand is steady on the camera, brows low, eyes narrow and focused but happy. The corners of his lips are tilted so slightly into a smile.
The de Vinci; Andrew. The Mona; Garrett.
Sure, maybe Mona Lisa wouldnât be painted in such a way, head thrown back in laugher, chest heaving, arms drawn up and curling around a couch pillow with glasses akimbo. But it works for now, because Andrew admires the goofiness, the energy, the genuine smiles and winks and playful musing with the same care and finesse as de Vinci admired the soft mystery of his subject.
He supposes, maybe, that its love. Heâs felt it before. The way his heart shakes his chest as he centers Garrett in the frame, hands unsteady. The weightlessness of his limbs when their eyes meet, briefly, from behind the lens.
If its love, he knows it- he senses the familiarity. But, at the same time, its a love so raw, so open and vulnerable and strong that Andrew isnât sure weather to pull away or embrace it- both are scary and intimidating in their own right.
Not for the first time, Andrew feels lost in a world he knows well.
Garrett wakes up after a party to something he isnât exactly expecting.
Andrew is next to him in bed, arms outstretched above the covers, hair rumpled and chest rising with slow precision. His face is relaxed, lips parted gently (rose-pink, inviting, warm) and eyes flicking gently behind their lids in REM. Thereâs no worry, or stress, or generalized nervousness present here. A welcome change- Andrew had looked in need of a good sleep.
Its a good enough sight, it seems, that Garrett (shockingly still working off the remnants of the alcohol in his system- though, it is only four in the morning) is somewhat entranced.
He thinks of all that could be. Of how, in another life, he could lean across the pillows and kiss Andrew gently and slowly and lovingly, how he could caress the curve of his cheek, run a hand through his tousled hair, place his head carefully in the crook of Andrewâs neck and doze peacefully, in love, happy, together.
Itâs almost a painful thought, but not quite- Garrett is used to pining, by now.
Still, heâs not sure what comes over him when he gently lifts his hand from the duvet, and with slow, quiet movements (though his fingers still shake), places it atop Andrewâs chest.
Heâs comfortably warm through the thin material of his T-shirt, breaths rising and falling in calm rhythm, one after another, like toy soldiers. His heart beats in sync, slowed in sleep but continuing its steady song nonetheless.
Garrett closes his eyes, feels the world beneath his palm play out its night. The world belonging to the person he treasures to most, to Andrew, to the man he is irrefutably in love with.
Heâs not sure when he falls asleep, exactly, but its okay- he wakes up hours later to Andrewâs smile and the bright morning-dew of his laughter.
Theyâre saying goodbye for the night.
Andrew has plenty of editing left on his plate, intimidating and difficult and unfinished. Garrett had come over to Shane and Rylandâs place to boost morale (and help a little, too, to try and take the edge off) but had succumb to the tired vibe and was on his way home.
So, theyâre standing at the front door, facing down the curved driveway and Garrettâs crumby car, both blinking tiredly at the other as they force out their goodbyes.
Andrew isnât sure what comes over him. Maybe its the sleep exhaustion. Maybe its appreciation. Maybe delusion. Possibly, and most likely, its all three.
He steps forward, closing the little gap between them, taken aback slightly by the cool breeze as he crosses the threshold of the doorway.
And he pulls his arms around Garrett in a hug.
He kind of his to lean upwards to get a good angle on him but its comfortable, the warmth between their chests, the softness of his flannel against the stubble of Andrewâs cheek.
And of course Garrett reciprocates, long arms reaching across Andrewâs back, but they feel hesitant- as though theyâre just ghosting his hoodie, scared to touch farther lest they be burnt.
He doesnât like that. The uncertainty.
He pulls away, and they say goodnight, and their smiles still meet their eyes even though neither is sure they mean it.
When it happens, theyâre at Garrettâs place.
The intention wasnât for Andrew to stay the night, exactly, but at some indeterminate point Garrett had mixed them a couple drinks and driving, now, hours later, was very likely a stupid thing to do.
Instead of leaving, Andrew is still sat on the couch with his buzz swimming pleasantly between his shoulders, legs crossed, ice cubes clinking in a glass and a crooked smile on his face.
All in all, a good night, so far. Judging by the matching grin shared by Garrett, he feels the same.
It wouldnât be the first time heâd spent the night crashed on Garrettâs couch, and its unlikely to be the last, either.
But unlike all those other times before, thereâs a shift in the air, just above noticeable, and if Andrew was a little denser he wouldâve mistaken it for a gas leak- but this is something intangible. A feeling, bubbling to the surface of their skin, words unsaid, ideas and thoughts left unexplored and lock-boxed away.
Their legs are pressed together on the couch cushions as a wholly ignored movie titters away on the projector. It feels white-hot, like if neither pulls away then surely theyâll go up in smoke.
âGarrett,â Andrew starts, realizing he has no idea how to finish.
Neither does Garrett, if the look on his face is anything to go by. Itâs not sadness, as far as Andrew can tell, but itâs not exactly happy, either- itâs as though he wants to be happy, but heâs scared of what that entails. Andrew figures thatâs how he feels, too.
What they have is like a puzzle. All the pieces are there, they all have a place, they all fit together perfectly, and when they do, things are fantastic. It just means the puzzle has to be solved. The pieces have to be put into place.
But theyâre on the home stretch here; Andrew can feel it. Its the tension in the air.
âGarrett,â He says, with more gusto, with an idea as to where heâs going with this. âI have to tell you something.â
Garrett laughs, softly, nervously.
Thereâs a pause that feels as heavy and immovable as a cinderblock on his chest. But he presses through.
Slowly, with all the care in the world, Andrew tests the waters. He shifts closer to Garrett, legs firmly together, now, and inches towards his face, towards the slight part of his mouth, towards his lips.
Garrett doesnât move- he doesnât dare breathe, even, his heart pounding in time with Andrewâs, the thickness to the air threatening to choke them out.
Their lips are soft against each others, parting slightly, dancing across skin, sending shakes down their backs and fire through their chests.
The tension falls. The air is clean. The two sides of the puzzle fall gently into place.
They relax into the rhythm of things, Garrettâs hand on Andrewâs chest, Andrewâs fingers dancing across Garrettâs waist, their breathing in sync and their lips moving to the slow, loving, slightly-drunk beat being passed between them.
Eventually, they pull away, faces wash with colour and arms shaking.
Their eyes meet. Theyâre smiling.
Its not so scary, really, not like Andrew had always thought itâd be- because heâd always been in love. Thereâs no realization here, no earth-shattering, soul-splitting moment of discovery.
The pieces, ones that had always existed, are just fitting together, as theyâd always intended to.
Love, still, but now on the same page.
Love, still, but now together.
Their smiles meet their eyes, and they mean it.
