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As a child, Drew was often left to his own devices. His parents were always at work, and whenever they were home, they were usually too tired to look after him. School was hardly better — Drew was a naturally quiet and he was never able to make any close friends. He didn’t sign up for any extracurriculars and no one invited him to visit their homes.
That left the dandelion patch in his backyard. Every day, he’d wish for something, concentrating on that wish for as long as he could, which meant anything from ten minutes to half an hour. Sometimes, he wished for a new toy. Other times, he wished that a prince would fall in love with him. Most of the time, Drew simply wished that someone might keep him company.
After making his wish, Drew would blow on a single dandelion shoot, dispersing its seeds with his breath. The feathery specks seemed to drift through the sky like angels, each one taking flight and hovering somewhere far away from home. As he watched them flutter away, Drew wished that he could be one of them, that he, too, could grow wings and fly away.
~...~
Coming to Sidlesmith was the wrong decision.
In hindsight, Drew should have seen it coming. It’s not as if he fits in with the rest of the student body. Drew came to Sidlesmith for the scholarship money and everyone else at Sidlesmith came for their happy ending. Drew is a cynic and everyone else at Sidlesmith is an idealist. No one at Sidlesmith is as abrasive, as skeptical, as critical as he is.
But there’s something more than that, something that makes Drew different from the rest — and it’s that Drew doesn’t really know how to want things.
Drew’s never been very close to his parents. They’ve never been abusive, exactly, but they’ve never seemed to care very much about him either. His relationships with his friends have been harmonious enough, but they can go for weeks without texting. For someone else, this might be hellish, but it suits Drew just fine. Family is important to some, but it’s definitely not everything. Meeting up with friends is a hassle and he’s usually too preoccupied with his studies to mind. Drew doesn’t seem to really need people per se, not like the people around him do. And that’s what sets him apart — his rational focus on getting a degree and not whatever magic Sidlesmith is swimming in. Unlike everyone else, he’s experienced love before and he knows that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
So why didn’t he go to Cambridge?
Cambridge had been his dream school from the very beginning, a glimmering thing that always sat in the distance, like a star too far to touch but close enough to chase. When he got an offer, Drew should’ve been happy. He should’ve been ecstatic.
Instead, he went to Sidlesmith. And he can’t figure out why.
Perhaps if he can’t parse through his thought processes and emotions, he can infer them from his actions. From the way half of his homework sits undone to be rushed before his lessons; from the way he keeps trying to create a radio show people will listen to, no matter how many times he fails; from the way he leapt at the chance to write the Humans of Sidlesmith column, which means he now spends most of his time trying to find every beautiful thing in Sidlesmith, waiting and watching everyone else but never quite joining them, never quite becoming part of Sidlesmith himself, as much as he loves it from the sidelines.
It’s nothing, of course. It’s nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.
Drew doesn’t want to talk about it.
~...~
Harrison isn’t anything like Drew had expected.
To be fair, Drew isn’t sure if it’s possible to expect someone like Harrison. Harrison feels unearthly, like some sort of impossible person you only find in books or dreams. His smile is so bright and joyous that it feels electric. His nails and hair have rainbow streaks in them, because of course they do. Harrison is just, well, Harrison, lively and dynamic and buoyant, like a roller coaster in an amusement park, one you ride laughing and screaming but always holding on.
And he’s beautiful. He’s really, really beautiful. His face is dotted with hyperpigmentation and his nose is a little bent, but when he smiles at Drew, it makes Drew want to smile back. And that’s a lot for Drew. It really is.
Stop judging him for it.
He tries to explain his lack of want to Harrison one day. It’s very hard to disappoint me, he says. I’m ready for it. Because he is. It’s as if his emotions filter themselves according to logic, naturally sorting themselves in a way that ensures that he can be as rational as possible. He just doesn’t want things that are pointless or stupid or impractical. He can’t let his heart do as it wishes, letting it run wild and free like Harrison and the other Fluffers do. His heart is always chained to his mind.
But Harrison just shakes his head with a smile. I don’t believe you, he says. I don’t think it’s hard to disappoint you at all. His smile twists like sunlight, and then Drew feels it, a sharp pang in his chest, a stinging want, stronger than he’d thought possible. As soon as he feels it, he suppresses it, knotting it deep within himself. The podcast can’t continue if he’s acting like a fool.
At night, he unspools that emotion of his, allowing himself to feel the expanse of it. Then, he holds the uncomfortable feeling against his chest like a swaddled child, breathing it in. No matter how much he tries to soothe it, it remains a creature of its own, a feathered, serpentine creature that winds itself around him, looping around him like a warm boa.
He tries to stuff it in his sock drawer, but its golden sheen shines through the wood.
~...~
There are so many things wrong with falling for Harrison.
They couldn’t be more different, for starters. Whenever Drew grimaces at a listener’s confession, Harrison is bound to be smiling. While Drew gives pragmatic, reasonable advice, Harrison tends to lead with his heart. Harrison is the epitome of everything in Sidlesmith that Drew has never related to.
But Harrison is also kind. Harrison brings samoas with him for Drew every show and always tries to make him laugh. His idealism may border on the naive, but it gives Drew hope. He brings joy to Drew’s life with every joke, every breath, every look into Drew’s eyes. If Drew is someone that doesn’t want, Harrison is someone that wants, that loves, unabashedly, with a passion and fervour and determination that Drew honestly doesn’t think he’ll ever understand. But he likes it, he thinks. He likes it a lot. And for some reason, Harrison seems to like Drew too.
The worst part about falling for Harrison is that it makes perfect sense. When he’s with Harrison, Drew feels like it’s okay to want whatever he desires, okay to want to snuggle up on the couch drinking cocoa together, okay to want to sit on the top of the roof and watch the stars together, or maybe even — God forbid — dance. With Harrison, Drew feels foolish, like every other Sidlesmith student who wants something that they can’t have, believing in fairy tales and magic and love, because how can Drew not believe when Harrison is right there in front of him?
And so if he tells Harrison what he feels and Harrison says no, what then? Who else can he go to? What can he do? How will he ever find something better? After Harrison has taught him to want, how can he go back?
Sometimes, Drew really hates himself. But Harrison wouldn’t want that.
~...~
One afternoon, when Drew’s staring aimlessly at his homework, he gets a call. He’s startled, of course, because he’s not the type of person that gets calls. When he realises that Harrison is the one calling, his hands begin trembling.
But he picks up immediately, of course. It’s Harrison. How could he refuse?
Somehow, even on the phone, Harrison’s bubbliness is as infectious as ever. He immediately begins talking about his newest Sociology assignment and the glowing comments his professor gave him. Even though Drew can barely pull himself together to say more than an occasional “What?” and “That’s amazing, Harrison!”, Harrison doesn’t seem discouraged at all. He continues to talk in that musical voice of his, laughing at every bad joke Drew makes, every unpolished remark that wouldn’t make it on Humans of Sidlesmith in a million years. In all honesty, Drew isn’t completely sure what Harrison is talking about half the time, but whether Harrison is talking about the newest blends at Kishi’s or the intimidating squirrel he saw that just had to be the same squirrel that attacked Drew, Drew finds that he strains to hear every word, just to bask in Harrison’s presence. There’s just something about the way Harrison speaks that Drew finds entrancing. It’s only as he listens to Harrison that Drew realises how lonely he’s been and how much happier he is now that Harrison is calling. Drew finds himself offering every bit of himself he can, vocalising every stray thought just so he can prolong the conversation, and to his surprise, Harrison embraces it all, responding with just as much enthusiasm.
When dinner comes, Harrison finally has to end the call. Drew hasn’t done any of his homework still, but he can’t quite bring himself to care.
Why did you call, by the way? He asks, knowing fully well it sounds like the wrong thing to say but hoping, trusting Harrison will understand anyway, because Harrison always does. I mean, I love talking to you and honestly I think you made my day with that call of yours. I just don’t understand why you would call and why you’d call me specifically.
Harrison doesn’t answer for a few breaths. I honestly don’t know. I was just feeling really happy and I guess my first thought was that I wanted to share my happiness with you.
You make me smile, Harrison. It’s such an awkward thing to say, but it feels like the right thing to say too. It feels like the truth. Drew tries not to think too much about how he must be embarrassing himself with the way his voice tremors just the slightest bit.
You make me smile too, Drew, Harrison says. His voice is softer, tender, a whisper pressed gently to Drew’s ear. It feels a little like a kiss.
The next time they meet for the show, Drew sees Harrison just moments before Harrison sees him. He catches the exact moment when Harrison catches sight of him, the way a smile breaks across Harrison’s face, wide and toothy.
Drew has never met someone who’s been as happy to see him. Come to think of it, it’s something he’s always wanted.
Instead of entering the recording booth, Harrison and Drew stare at each other for a few moments, looking at each other’s smiles. Drew wants so desperately to look away, to stop Harrison from seeing how much his smile is growing. He knows he looks better when he isn’t smiling completely. Other people have told him so. But Harrison’s smile is growing too, to the point where it’s so huge it’s almost ridiculous, and Drew almost wants to laugh at him for how silly it is that he could be so happy to see Drew of all people.
Eventually, they approach one another, both of them smiling like maniacs. The show’s on in about a minute or so. They’re probably going to be late.
Hey, Harrison says. It’s good to see you.
It’s good to see you too, Drew says. He vows there and then that one day, he’ll be the one to make the first move. He’ll be the one to tell Harrison how much he likes him, and he’ll initiate it, face to face.
~...~
Drew tells Harrison how he feels on air. It’s an impulse decision and it seems to go well at first, but then it all goes wrong, because of course it did, of course it did, Drew, it’s you, it’s you.
He can’t erase the image from his mind, the image of Harrison, hair wild and eyes fierce, telling him: All you ever do is fill me with doubt. Harrison, sweet, lovely Harrison, his hair always haloed against his face, his eyes and smile always kind. If there ever was a person that felt like pure joy, it would be Harrison, who felt like everything good and wonderful in the world coalesced and solidified in one person.
And Drew was the one that had made him cry. The brightest, most perfect spot in his life, tarnished by him.
Before Harrison, Drew had thought that he was someone that didn’t want things. Someone that didn’t need the same comfort, the same love that other people did.
But he had needed it all along, of course. Perhaps even more than others. He lied to himself about it, but he’d always wanted more. He just didn’t believe that he could have any of it, that any of it was possible, that he could possibly deserve it. And then Harrison came and looked at him like he was worthy of all that all along.
But then again, considering the way things are, Harrison was wrong.
Drew began writing the Humans of Sidlesmith column so he could believe in something. The whole school reads it because it gives them something to believe in. But what gave Drew something to believe in was Harrison, Harrison’s unwavering smile and sparkling laugh, and if that’s gone, what else is there?
Both as Cal and as Drew, he has said a lot about love. Love that feels like fire, a heat that blazes within him. Love that brims, spilling out in tears. In his most cynical moments, he would pontificate about the chemical nature of love, as if sinews and neurons could really articulate the beauty of love, the fey airiness of it that glitters in his bones. The truth is, love is all of those things and more. At its core, love is transformative, the only thing that can be both fire and water, both chemical and ineffable. And when he had Harrison’s love, Drew felt transformed too, as if somehow the magic of Harrison’s love could make up for what he was and turn him into something better, someone Harrison could deserve.
He says something like this on the show after Harrison leaves. He can’t be fully honest on air, not in front of so many people, but he has to say it. You’re magic, Harrison. You’re the best magic. Because you made me feel like someone that another person could choose.
And then suddenly Harrison is there, flying from the doors and leaping across the tables, as if gravity and reality can’t lay a finger on him, because of course he does, because Harrison is magical and wonderful and so much more than anything else Drew has ever seen. It sounds superficial, but Drew just finds Harrison stunning. Not just because of his physical beauty, but because of the way he carries himself, the way he speaks to Drew, the way every wondrous thing about Harrison seems to emanate from him like light. Drew can’t take his eyes off Harrison. He doesn’t think he ever wants to.
Harrison is short of breath, so Drew tries to get him some water, but he brushes Drew off. His gaze is brighter than Drew has ever seen them. It’s lovely to be back with Harrison. That’s just what it is — lovely. Wonderful to be with Harrison, who just loves and feels like a flood. When he’s there with Drew, it’s as if the whole world locks back into place.
And then Harrison speaks and time stops. All Drew sees is Harrison, Harrison with his golden hair and dark eyes, Harrison with his soft smile and creamy lip balm. Harrison talks about Drew, both the things everyone sees in him and the parts of himself he hadn’t thought anyone had known about. Drew has never felt more understood by another person in his life.
Most of all, he talks about Drew like Drew talks about him. He talks about Drew with more love and heart than Drew has ever expected someone else to speak of him with, and even if Harrison’s biased, isn’t that just the magic of love? Not a magic that transforms a person from one thing to another, but a magic that unites the two of them together, one that allows them to see each other truly, in a way neither of them have ever experienced before. It’s almost as if Drew is Harrison’s magic just as Harrison is Drew’s, as if Harrison also sees Drew as his light, as if the two of them could sit together side by side, staring at each other, and no matter what were to happen, that would be enough. Just to have Harrison beside him, palm to palm, hand in hand.
~...~
When Drew and Harrison finally play the dandelion game, Drew doesn’t know what to wish for. All he can think as he watches Harrison — his hair as fluffy as feathers, his lips pursed as his eyes clench in concentration — is that he wants to live in this moment forever, with Harrison by his side.