Happy Endings (a Gandrew Story)

9

There's a sound.

It's loud.

Garrett rolls over.

Pulls a pillow over his head.

It's... yeah, it's still there.

Thun Thun Thun

...

...

THUN THUN THUN

...

Okay, to hell sleep this morning, he guesses. It's a bit crass of a thought, but being woken up suddenly can have that affect on people.

What he isn't expecting, after he puts on a shirt and manages to locate his glasses, is for Andrew to be at his front door. It surprises him so much, in fact, that he rears back from the peep-hole like it'd burned him.

He considers, for the shortest of moments, pretending to be sound asleep and crawling back under his sheets. But he hasn't broken his streak of denying Andrew thus far. Plus, after that dream? How could he not let him in? How could he not want to look at him, be in his presence, pretend what it would be like to take him in his arms, and then...

And then he opens the door. The flick of the deadbolt sounds like a guillotine hitting the chopping block.

"Hey!" He says, in that nothing-is-wrong tone he loves so much.

Andrew, normally, would follow suit. Would smile and nod and shove some kind of treat he'd bought for Garrett into his arms and them follow him inside, ask what's up, keep the conversation rolling. Show him an Instagram post and tell him about the new song he discovered the night before. It would be simple, it would be kind, it would be everything Garrett would expect while just short of what he actually wanted. But it would make him smile all the same.

But he doesn't do any of those things. Instead, he looks up at him.

Neither of them are smiling.

"Garrett, do you trust me?" Is the first thing Andrew says.

"Yeah. I do." Is all Garrett can reply with, considering it feels as though the air has been sucked from his chest.

There's the kind of pause that makes Garrett's heart race. The kind of pause that holds far too much thought. The kind of pause that means there are decisions being made. The kind of pause that comes before bad news, before heartbreak, before world-collapsing conversations.

He can see Andrew thinking. He can see it in the way his eyes narrow and his bottom lip finds its way between his teeth. Garrett just wishes he knew what those thoughts were. He wishes he had any tiny little clue as to what they could be.

But he doesn't. As usual, when it comes to Andrew these days, he just doesn't know. The confusion and the distance is the kind that bites at his chest, makes his breaths come short and shallow and his head spin.

He thinks if he waits anymore for whatever earth-shattering thing comes next, he'll probably collapse. Likely die.

He thinks.

He thinks.

He...

He's...

He's very close. He, Andrew, is very close.

Garrett feels how his grip tightens on the doorframe. He registers how his mind is pulling him away, telling him to back up, close off, get out of there; but he's still leaning forwards. Intentionally closing the distance, like the answer to everything is written in Andrew's eyes and if he could only get closer he'd be able to see it all.

There's hot breath on his lips. It almost scares him, out here in the cool breeze of an early morning. It almost jars him enough that he pulls away- but the way Andrew is looking at him leaves him unable to move. He couldn't, not even if he wanted to.

And he doesn't want to. Not ever.

Not ever.

His lips are soft. They feel like what Garrett had figured they would, but real. Tangible. Not some half-baked daydream, but physical and there and everything.

Garrett hates every second he isn't looking at Andrew, but he still closes his eyes as they gently move together, as his mind tries to get a grip on what's happening. That he's kissing Andrew; that Andrew is kissing him back. That they fit together so well. That Andrew has gently tilted his head for a better angle, that there are little soft noises between them. That there's a hand on his chest now, warm and solid.

It's not as good when it stops. When Andrew pulls back, leans onto the heels of his feet.

But it's okay.

It's okay because he's not running. Or turning away. He doesn't look distraught or confused or mortified like Garrett had always imagined he would.

There's wind in his hair, light in his eyes, colour to his cheeks and he's smiling up at him.

Andrew Siwicki just kissed Garrett Watts on his front step and is looking at him like he just bought him the moon and the stars.