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You love him, you really do.
You watch him now, reading in his armchair, by the fire, in his living room. It’s warm, comfortable, domestic, this sight that reveals itself to your eyes. He’s focused, a small frown digging a crease between his brow. He’s been reading Joyce again lately. A story of leaving home, to become someone. The weight of being an individual. Changing. Becoming.
He looks up now, he felt your gaze upon him, insistent and not quite fond. Or rather… it was fond, but not just that. Fond and scared. Yes, when he looks up and catches your eyes, he reads fear in them, and his frown deepens. He doesn’t understand why…
“You’re alright, love?”
You shake yourself, emerging from a daydream. From a scenario your brain keeps on playing. It’s all because of the world outside this house, it’s nothing to do with Andrew, with the love you share with him. And yet…
He tilts his head in a silent question. It hurts. It breaks all of your defences.
You’ve seen another example on twitter and Instagram. You’ve seen the harassment towards someone who hadn’t done anything wrong. She just fell in love with an actor. Someone famous right now, you can’t even remember who. All you can think of is the pain in her eyes as she asked people to leave her alone, the poison in the words commented under each of her posts. You can’t understand it. You physically cannot. Your brain doesn’t have that ability. Why some people think it’s okay to send hatred to a stranger on the internet, a stranger who’s never done anything to hurt them?
Because they’re jealous and full of hatred.
That’s the logical explanation. It doesn’t make the pain easier to carry, the fear disappear.
“Honey? What’s wrong?”
You stare at his hazel eyes, think of how they’re caught in crossfire. How Andrew doesn’t deserve this, but you’re too scared not to act. You can’t ignore it, the banging on your heart, the pain through your skull…
You walk over to him, and he closes his book after nestling a bookmark between the pages. It’s a picture of the two of you, he carries it everywhere. From your first anniversary, last year. When things were obviously serious and yet they were simple too. No pressure. We’ll figure it out as we go. We’ll find something. Hey, we don’t even know where we’re heading, so why worry about what others think? We’ll keep this to ourselves, and it’ll be fine. That’s what he said by then. But a year has flown by, and now you live with him, and everything has changed.
The corners of the polaroid are bent and wrinkled, but your smiles on the picture are unwavering. A moment caught in time. A moment that passed.
He offers you his hand, and you take it. You don’t have a choice, that’s how it always is with him. You can’t resist, you can’t take a logical decision. Not when you love him so deeply.
“I know there’s something off, lately,” he speaks in measured words, in a calm tone, careful not to scare you. “Tell me what it is. Maybe I can help?”
Help? He can’t help. If the world learns about the two of you, you’ll get harassed like everyone else, and there’s nothing he’ll be able to do to stop it. And you’re terrified. You didn’t sign up for this. You signed up for Andrew. You signed up for the lad who blushed and stumbled on his words the first time he spoke to you. For the charm in his bright smile, and the warmth in his voice, and the gentleness in his fingers. You signed up for a man who is kind, smart, and funny in a kind of weird way. You signed up for afternoons spent reading with Andrew by the fire and drinking tea. You had to sign up for the long absences too, the phone calls in the middle of the night, the conversations spoken in a hurry. You had to sign up for hands refraining from reaching and holding in public, for kisses hidden, for lies to be heard in interviews. And it was okay. He was worth it, all of it.
But this… insane hatred? The thought that you could be the next victim on that list, it was making you question everything.
Was Andrew worth that, too? The pain, the violence, the tidal wave?
He pulls you closer, until you’re standing between his legs. On his nose, his glasses are a little crooked when he looks up, and you straighten them without thinking.
“I’m worried,” you admit.
“About what?”
“Us.”
Your answer is more direct than what he expected, shorter as well, and more painful. A dagger straight to his heart.
Us?
“What about us? What’s wrong about us?” he questions, his tone urgent and too revealing to his liking.
You trail your fingertips down the side of his cheek, lost in thoughts, it would seem. Then you cup his jaw, holding him in the palm of your hand.
“Nothing’s wrong about us, but…”
You pull away, take a step back, slip between his fingers, and Andrew’s too aware of how fragile his happiness is now.
He looks for what you’re going to say next in your eyes, but you hide them from him, averting your gaze towards the floor. You’re fleeing, he can see all your pieces folding over themselves. He can feel the wall that you build through the room…
He reaches out anyway, takes your hand, stops you from moving further, so you won’t leave for good, so the gap between you and him will not become insurmountable.
He’s noticed lately, how you spend a lot of time on your phone, how you zone out sometimes, how you sit just a little further from him on the couch in the evening, how you cling onto him almost desperately at night.
He’s been too afraid to ask before. Andrew is beyond worried. He’s freaking terrified. Maybe you have someone else, maybe you’ve realised his lifestyle is unbearable, maybe you don’t love him anymore…
“Baby…”
Your voice is shaking as you speak, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he gets up, takes a step closer, lets out a shaky breath out of relief when you don’t move away again.
He’s still baby, it has to mean something, right? He never wants to be anything for you but baby, love, honey, darling… He doesn’t want to be back to Andy, doesn’t want the stranger that Andrew has become on your lips.
He takes both of your hands now, holds them tight, clings onto them like hope.
“I know something’s off with you. I’ve been feeling it, lately,” he speaks softly, his voice fragile and deep. “If you tell me what it is, I’ll fix it. Did I do something wrong?”
But you shake your head.
“Christ, love… no, it’s not you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Why are you acting weird, then? Why are you sad? Why are you saying there’s something wrong about us?”
“There’s nothing wrong about our relationship, I’m just… I don’t know…”
You heave a sigh, look up at him again, at last.
“I’m freaking out.”
“About what?”
“About… your fans.”
He frowns, taken aback. He knows what you mean, though, he’s far from stupid. Still, he doesn’t know what to say now.
“Did… did someone harass you? Did people online harass you?”
“No… no, they haven’t. I don’t reckon that anyone knows about you and me.”
He heaves a relieved sigh, but your gaze only saddens.
“But what will happen when they find out? When the world finds out? When I can’t go online anymore because I keep receiving hate and threats? When I can’t live my life as normal because of your career?”
You don’t like the accusation you throw at him, the way you say it’s his fault, when it isn’t. But then it’s not yours either, then who’s to blame?
He clenches his jaw.
“We can figure things out. No one knows for now, we’re not there yet…”
“No, not yet. But eventually, we will… and what then? What will happen then? What’s the plan? What will you do about it? And what if… what if I’m not ready to brace against that earthquake? What if I can’t cope with it? What if I don’t want to have to cope with it?”
He searches through your stare for a glimmer of hope, but he only finds doubt, and his heart drops.
He can’t say it. What will happen if you don’t want to choose him. He can’t say it out loud. And if you do speak those words, he knows that the proper thing to do is to take it in, to accept it. It’s your choice. It’s a lot to ask to another person, and you’re right, he won’t be able to do much about all of this shitshow if it comes to that, he would understand if you wanted to leave. What he should do then is try to make you weigh the pros and the cons, argue with you and try to find a solution, and then let you go with dignity if you decide he’s not worth that risk.
But he knows what he will actually do if you say it out loud. He’ll panic. He’ll start crying. He’ll beg. He’ll throw all self-respect out the window and will do anything to make you stay. He’ll drop to his knees if he has to, he doesn’t care, doesn’t give a shit about his ego…
You’re pulling your hands out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold. He can’t let you go…
If you don’t want to cope with it…
… then you’ll break up with me.
“Y/N… we can find a way out of this.”
“There’s no solution! If people find out, they’ll get crazy and I’m terrified of the violence that could come my way! But what’s the other option? Hiding forever? One day or another, people are going to put two plus two together…”
“We’ll face that storm together.”
“I don’t think I’m strong enough for that.”
“Of course, you are. We’ll just go offline while it soothes down…”
“What if it doesn’t…”
“It will. It’s just stupid people talking shit. They’ll lose interest.”
“After dissecting my entire life!”
He blinks, not quite ready to admit defeat, but there’s no answer to be given to your doubts, no reassurance to your fear.
“All I can do is promise you that I’ll do anything I can to protect you. That I’ll be here, by your side. That we’ll go through this together. I can’t control what people do…”
“I know.”
“You… you have to be the one to decide whether or not I’m worth enduring this. I can’t choose that for you.”
You start crying then, and Andrew knows he’s not far behind, feeling the prickling of tears at the corner of his eyes.
“I’ll make it worth it… I’ll do anything to make it worth it,” he adds, his voice pleading already.
One word, and he’ll fall to his knees…
But you shake your head, and whisper something about all this being wrong. The next second you’re in his arms, holding him so tight he can barely breathe.
“I’m sorry, I’m freaking out,” you whisper.
“It’s alright. Just… please, stay. We can survive this. I know we can. I love you so fucking much…”
“I love you, too.”
“Please, don’t leave me…”
You shake your head, hold him even tighter.
“I don’t want to. I love you.”
He closes his eyes in relief, holds you tight.
“For now, we can keep a low profile. We can still keep this to ourselves, protect our privacy. You know I won’t give anyone details about us…”
“I know…”
“And if things come out, we’ll figure something out. We’ll have to. We’ll have to, because I love you too much to lose you.”
You’re still scared when you nod, but Andrew’s right. You don’t have a choice. You’ll have to cross that bridge when you come to it. Because you love him too much for anything else to be possible.
“I love you too, baby.”