We Could Be So Good

by Cat Sebastian

Andy gives him this flat, disappointed look that Nick recognizes because Nick invented it and now he’s going to have to sue Andy for copyright infringement.

“I’ll have you both writing obituaries if you don’t get your acts together,” Jorgensen says. And for a minute, Nick thinks that obituaries wouldn’t be so bad if he got to write them with Andy.

He pushes the man onto the bed and gives him what he wants, but keeps his own clothes on, smelling Andy’s aftershave on his collar.

i love yearning

All you have to do is look at him to see where that extra weight goes. His arms and shoulders are—

💀💀

He feels as if he’s been turned inside out, as if he just learned that a part of his heart is on the outside of his body, in the possession of somebody else entirely.

“I like chicken salad,” Andy says. “And it’s the sort of sandwich that never gets all over your lap. It’s the ideal lunch sandwich.” It’s safe, taunts a stupid little voice in Andy’s head. Andy tells that voice to get lost.

real

Attractive, maybe? Compelling? Andy is depending on the correct adjective to act as a key to unlock the confusion in his mind, to open a door that doesn’t have “Congratulations, You’re Queer” printed in huge letters on the other side.

When he finds the sandwich and cookie Andy left on his desk, he gets all flustered and thanks Andy like nobody’s ever done him a favor, a rare blush high on his cheeks. Andy has to stop himself from buying ten more cookies.

“Hey, Andy? We’re always going to be okay. At least on my end. Understand?”

During the seventh inning, Nick decides that he’ll attend as many Red Sox games as Andy likes, God help him. Even at Yankee Stadium.