fun tv & anime lists

** It feels like it’s been a long time since Andrew made a choice. That’s crap, of course. He chose the life he has. He chose where he lives and what he does for work and who he works with. He chooses to get up every morning…or more like afternoon…and keep doing the same thing he did the day before. He just can’t remember the last time he wanted to.

Life in L.A. isn’t what he thought it would be and the people he’s surrounded himself with aren’t who he thought they were and it’s all so damn cliché that he wants to puke a little at the thought of what an idiot he’s been. Which is ironic considering last week he threw up his McDonald’s in a trash can after reading too many comments online.

The thing is, the thing he just can’t figure out is, how do you walk away from the best opportunity that’s ever been handed to you? From the people who gave you everything you have? Maybe he didn’t know it was cursed gold at the time, but it was still gold. No one has ever given Andrew gold before. No one has ever even let him look at it.

Still, he knows he has to walk away. Garrett would come up with some allegory about those things in Harry Potter that steal your soul. There’ll be nothing left of you when they’re done, Andrew, he’d say.

Hi @gatterrwarrs and @shaneandfriendssecretsanta ! Here’s a little fic I wrote for you; I hope you enjoy it. :)

I actually haven’t written a story in months (I’ve been focused on scriptwriting and schoolwork), so apologies if the stylistic bits are a little rusty. Merry Christmas!

Andrew has gotten very good at focusing on the little things. His work requires him to capture the big picture every time he pulls out his camera, gathering as much detail as possible while still directing the viewer’s attention to the main attraction. If he doesn’t catch something in his viewfinder during the live filming, he’s sure to spot it during the editing process. And it’s during the editing process when the little details become Andrew’s reality.

His time behind the camera and laptop screen has given him tremendous insight into the group dynamic. He catches every loving glance Shane offers Ryland. He knows when Ryland’s getting annoyed, even when he doesn’t vocalize it. He’s watched Morgan grow from a tentative new presence in the group to one of its core personalities, and he alone knows the extent of the joy their time together gives her.

And then there’s Garrett.

Andrew doesn’t miss a beat with him; he has every head tilt, half grin, and inflection of laugh ingrained in his memory like a virus. He can predict Garrett’s motions with near impeccable accuracy, knowing just when to pan the camera toward his friend before he springs into action. Garrett is the one Andrew studies most intricately when the camera is off, and it’s Garrett whose affection starts a riot in Andrew’s blood whenever the group hangs out without the pressure of filming. He doesn’t try to explain what makes their relationship different. It’s easiest to believe there isn’t a difference at all.

Andrew knows that isn’t the case, though. It didn’t take long to understand that there was something intimate in the way Garrett eyes him, and the feeling that quiet intimacy gives Andrew forms as an unfamiliar blossom in his stomach. Shane jokes that Garrett has feelings beyond friendship for Andrew, and sometimes he wonders whether that’s actually the case. Sometimes he wonders whether the feeling is mutual.

But he can’t like Garrett. Not in that way.

They haven’t seen each other in a while. Andrew’s been too busy helping Shane film and edit his new series to visit any friends, and of course, the internet has noticed. The ongoing questioning of why the pair hasn’t been seen together recently develops a strain on Andrew that causes him more stress than his actual work. So when he finally takes a break from editing and asks Garrett to hang out, and when Garrett offers that he come to his new place and watch a movie on “the coolest projector in the world”, Andrew feels lighter than he has in weeks.

It’s almost dark by the time a frazzled Andrew gets to Garrett’s house, and when he enters, he’s touched to discover that his friend has cleaned up the place and arranged some food for the two to enjoy. “Garrett! I feel like shit,” he says. “But this looks really nice.”

“Well, you look great.” It’s a lie, obviously, because Andrew is unwashed and unshaved and sporting the sallowing complexion of a man surviving off of energy drinks and blue light alone, but Garrett means the compliment with everything in him. He looks nervous. “Shane’s really working you on this one, huh?”

“It’s insane,” Andrew groans as he settles on Garrett’s new couch. “Over one hundred hours of footage and we’ve barely scratched the surface. I’m pretty sure we’re going to die.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Red Bull, baby. That’s the only thing getting us through this. Red Bull and pure spite.”

Garrett laughs and Andrew is grateful for the sound. It’s comfortable and sharp and everything he needs to isolate himself from the pressure that’s surrounded him for weeks. And it’s that laugh and the dissolution of stress that follows it that leads Andrew to understand what he’s been feeling for so long.

He can’t manage anything more than “I’m really happy to see you. It’s a lot less fun filming without you around.”

The comment seems to loosen Garrett up, and Andrew feels his friend shift a little closer to him on the couch. “I’ve missed you, too. I was worried you’d forgotten about me.”

Heat floods to Andrew’s cheeks. “Never!”

An unbalanced quiet settles between the two of them, and the now all-too-familiar blossom begins to unfurl in Andrew’s chest. He can see Garrett’s leg beginning to bounce-a sure sign that his friend has something on his mind. The silence grows, as does Andrew’s desire to break it and question Garrett’s feelings unabashedly, and just when he swallows his pride and prepares to change everything, Garrett grabs the remote and queues up Netflix.

“You ready?” he asks, dimming the lights.

“Absolutely.”

—–

They’re about three episodes into the worst TV show Andrew has ever seen when Garrett pulls out the booze, and it doesn’t take long for the pair to fall into an easy rhythm of passing the bottle back and forth. Neither bothers to use a glass.

The show is long and so bad that nearly every bit of dialogue has them in stitches, but Andrew struggles to concentrate on the screen in front of him. As the night draws on, he feels himself gravitating toward Garrett, basking in the warmth of the liquor and the body beside him. Their legs brush a few times and eventually connect, and Andrew feels the bloom in his core become alight with flame. He wonders what it means. He wonders just how much longer he can keep the flower suppressed.

It’s over far too soon. The projector shifts to static blue as the movie ends, and although the alcohol has slowed both boys down, Garrett is quick to jerk his leg away from Andrew’s as they begin to stir. The blossom is replaced by a hollow ache, and Andrew checks his phone, desperate to distract himself from the ugly feeling. It’s two in the morning.

“Jesus, it’s late. I can’t be doing this right now,” Andrew groans, running his hands through his unwashed hair as he tries to blink away the boozey haze that’s clouded his vision for the past hour. “I gotta get home so I can help Shane tomorrow morning.”

Garrett slides from the couch and onto the floor. “You can’t drive, dummy. It’s dark. You’re pretty drunk. I’m more drunk. And you’re drunk, too.”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

Garrett is silent. Then, through slightly slurred breath: “Huh. Why don’t you just sleep here?”

“You only have one bed.”

Garrett hesitates again, and for a moment it looks like he’s going to say something serious, but his tone changes before any words can escape. “Doesn’t matter! I’ll break in the new couch. Plus, I have to find the remote to turn this darn thing off.”

“You can’t sleep on the couch.” Andrew is firm.

“Can too.”

“Not comfortably.”

“Andrew Siwicki. Take the damn bed.”

Andrew sighs through a smile that he fails to stifle and shakes his head. He knows there’s no use in arguing. “Fine, Garrett. Feel free to kick me out if you wake up in the middle of the night with a broken back.”

“It’s already the middle of the night,” Garrett quips. “But anything for you. Let me get a blanket real quick.”

Andrew hovers by the doorway as Garrett grabs the rattiest blanket he’s ever seen off the corner of the bed. “Are you sure that’ll be warm enough?”

Garrett giggles, fuzzy from the liquor. “A hoe never gets cold.”

“Shut the hell up, dude.” Andrew snickers as Garrett offers a small salute and backs out of the bedroom. Something pulls in his chest as he watches his friend lower himself to the floor and begin groping under the couch for the projector remote. There’s a voice deep inside him that’s screaming for him to do something else, to call out to Garrett and make him stay with him, or do anything, really, but Andrew’s too exhausted to listen. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night, Andrew.”

—–

Garrett wakes with dry eyes and an even drier throat. It takes him a moment to realize he’s still on the floor, slumped awkwardly between the base of the couch and side table. The projector screen glows with hazy blue light; last night’s final mission had clearly been unsuccessful. After a few minutes of flexing the fresh ache from his joints, Garrett manages to stand.

There isn’t any food in the kitchen that could constitute breakfast for two, so Garrett directs his energy to cleaning out the coffee machine and starting a new pot. The whole thing is an already slow process made even slower by the stiffness in his bones, and the soft morning light and gentle gurgle of the coffee pot lull Garrett into a drowsy trance. The machine’s eventual beep is accompanied by Andrew’s quiet greeting.

“Morning, Gare.”

Andrew looks tired but much brighter than he did last night, and his crooked smile causes Garrett’s heart to melt and pool deep in his stomach. “Thanks again for the bed.”

“Of course!” Garrett neglects to mention his night on the floor. “And good morning. Do you want coffee?”

“Ah, man, that’d be great. I have to head out soon, though. Shane’s texted me three times already. I can’t believe he’s already up.” Andrew slips behind Garrett and takes two mugs from the shelf. Their legs touch as Andrew completes the movement; suddenly they’re very close, and Garrett feels a blossom of his own begin to spread from head to toe.

When Garrett shifts to face Andrew, Andrew doesn’t pull back. The space remaining between them is inappropriate, too close for normalcy between friends and just far enough apart to make things awkward if one of them doesn’t move out of the way in time. If Garrett exhales, Andrew will feel the breath on his cheeks. The pair stand silently for a moment too long, and a cold dread washes over Andrew- was he wrong about this?

Garrett swallows hard. “What are you doing, Andrew?”

“I don’t really know,” he says, and it’s the truth, and it’s clear it hurts Garrett.

“If you don’t know what you’re doing, we shouldn’t be doing anything at all.”

Andrew presses closer. “Isn’t a huge part of all of this the not knowing?”

“I don’t know what this you’re talking about.” Garrett’s eyes are wide and searching, but he hasn’t moved in the slightest. He’s the most still Andrew has ever seen him.

“Come on,” Andrew pleads. He can feel the flower creep into his throat. “I think things have been different for you for a while now, Garrett, and they’ve been different for me, too, but I’m-I’m not like you. You know? I never thought, never even considered I could ever do this. But last night, something just clicked for me. I don’t know what I’m doing but I know it’s what I want.”

“You’re not making sense.” Garrett’s response is barely more than a whisper.

Andrew squeezes his eyes shut. There are petals in his mouth now, and if he speaks again he knows they’ll fly out, showering Garrett’s kitchen and Garrett himself in hues of crimson and white.

“Andrew?”

He can’t take it anymore, and suddenly he’s kissing Garrett, who is all too stiff in his arms. The affection isn’t returned, and Andrew withdraws in horror, nearly knocking a mug off the counter as he leans on it for support.

“Garrett, I’m so, so sorr-”

“No, no. It’s okay. Um,” Garrett purses his lips, trying very hard to avoid staring at the scarlet decorating Andrew’s cheeks and ears. “You’re not still drunk, right?”

Andrew forces out an apologetic laugh. “Sober as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Garrett says, and then it’s his turn to initiate the motion. His body collides with Andrew’s once again, and this kiss is slow and sweet and everything either could hope for. Fucking bouquets are bursting from Andrew’s lungs when he eventually pulls back to gaze at Garrett.

Garrett hums. “Do you think you can be late to Shane’s?”

“I think it’s only fair I repay you for giving me the room last night, right?” Andrew smiles softly, and Garrett’s heart soars.

I thought he was going to attempt THIS:

Andrew can probably do it. We already know he’s quite flexible: