#let's please pretend this is fat tony and not his cousin

[mcarfield]

So I haven’t written anything in years & hell yes this is an anon tumblr as my friends would judge so hard but here’s a fic about James having an existential crisis post Tony’s

HOLY SHIT I JUST CANNOT EVEN WITH THIS, OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH <3 thank you, bless you for all these beautiful details and Andrew’s SPEECH and LOL JAMES’ BEAUTIFUL NEUROSES, IT’S ALL PERFECT AND AMAZING I’m so shook and you guys sending me fics are honestly blowing me away and making my life. <3 

It’s the first double show after the Tony Awards and the sense of relief James feels is palpable. For weeks now he feels like he’s been wandering around in a state of low grade terror. But no more.

No more having to find his way around the labyrinthian corridors of the Marriott Marquis while Glenda Jackson barks at reporters in the background. No more glad handling botoxed backers who still don’t know what he does in the show. No more nodding politely at people gushing at him about how his accent is just “SO adorable” or pretending that yes, yes he does know your groundkeeper’s son’s team mate who may possibly have lived somewhere in Scotland in the past 20 years. No more having to worry about Tony voters in the audience and panicking that if he misremembers a word or if his accent is just a quaver off he’ll have fucked everyone’s chances and The fucking Iceman Cometh would win best revival. No more having to fret about looking like the poor cousin who should just consider himself lucky to be there while Andrew stands next to him in tailored Tom Ford that costs more than he took home last year.

No more having to pretend that it didn’t sting to hear the constant refrain of “oh we won’t be needing you for this one James” as his cast mates got to hang around with Lin Manuel Miranda while wearing their shiny Tony nominee buttons. It’s not that he’s not thrilled for them- of course he is. He couldn’t be happier for Andrew who has put everything he has into Prior and been justly rewarded for it. But to get…nothing and then immediately be shut out of the press coverage and junkets. Well, it was just a bit too much like being 19 again, living in a doss house the junkies next door would turn their noses up at just to study at RADA, only to have his posh twat classmates cheerfully tell him with the confidence that only public school boys can possess that he’ll never get to play the parts he wants because he’s “so Scottish.” He supposes he shouldn’t complain. Poor Lee managed to out himself for this play & he didn’t get a sniff of an award. And poor, poor brilliant unappreciated Nate got zip and no press coverage to boot. At least he got sloppy seconds with everyone who wanted (and couldn’t get) Andrew talking to him.

Still all done. No more. And soon no more play. Back home at last. God he misses Glasgow. James knows he should feel relief at that. But he didn’t. In fact he didn’t know why now all of the ridiculousness of awards season was over he still felt like he was a second away from throwing up at any moment. His stomach had been roiling constantly for days and he couldn’t breathe around the weight on his chest, closing his throat so much that the thought of eating made him start to shake.

He knew he should feel better than he did. And yet he was a queasy mess. He was pondering why exactly he was still feeling like absolute shit when he pushed open his dressing room door and was met by the highly unlikely sight of Andrew draped in his chair.

Andrew looks surprisingly…right in his dressing room. The light from the window caught his hair and made it look glossier than ever. Something in James loosens just a tiny bit at the sight of Andrew there in his space. James waits for Andrew to speak, but he just smiles at him cryptically. It flusters James and he turns to banter, speaking a little more loudly into the silence than he would like.

“Hey, gorgeous. And how’s my favourite Tony winner this morning? I see you’re everywhere. You’ve gone viral—I always knew you couldn’t resist an older woman.”

James watches with delight as Andrew preens ever so slightly at the compliment before becoming animated.

“I was having lunch with my parents. My parents for fucks sake, and she just strolls up bold as brass telling some story about her son having a cold and just wouldn’t leave until I’d recorded a video for her son! I mean I could hardly be rude, could I?” Andrew says beseechingly.

“I would have told her to get stuffed as I was eating my lunch and to have some bloody manners. But then I’m not A List actor and Hollywood heartthrob Andrew Garfield am I?” James teases, while Andrew rolls his eyes.

“Heartthrob? Gorgeous? Why James, you smooth talker, you. This room is very you, James, but we should go to mine—it has a bed in it.” And at that Andrew was up like a gazelle, vanishing up the flight of stairs to his dressing room, leaving a rather bewildered James behind.

James was following before he’d even thought about it, and decided now was definitely not the time to dwell on why wherever Andrew went James followed. That line from any other actor James had worked with would have resulted in a terse “thanks but no thanks” conversation, and yet Andrew says it & James doesn’t even blink.

He made his way into Andrew’s oasis of a dressing room. All ferns & cozy throw blankets. Andrew had pulled the shades & put on some sort of music James had only ever associated with poncey spas. Still it was nice. It didn’t stand a hope in hell of competing with the noise of every day New York, but it dampened it somewhat.

“Lock the door please,” Andrew said from somewhere in the room, hidden behind the curtain sectioning off the “living space” from the bed.

James did as he was told and then made his way to wherever Andrew had disappeared to. Which turned out to be lying dramatically on his bed, eyes closed, looking for all the world like the consumptive heroine at the heart of a gothic romance novel. Andrew was somehow faintly ridiculous in absolutely everything that he did, and yet instead of that annoying the fuck out of James, he found it rather endearing.

“Take your shoes off and come and join me,” Andrew said without opening his eyes.

“I don’t think we’re both going to fit on that tiny bed, Andrew,” James said somewhat awkwardly, even while he realised that his body was already swaying towards the bed, towards Andrew.

“Are you calling me fat, McArdle? We share a tiny bed every night on stage. There’s plenty of room for you. Come on, I’ll scooch up a bit. Come and lie down,” Andrew said, shifting minutely & patting the space next to him.

James decided it would be best if he just switched off the part of his brain that was currently screaming, “Not A Good Idea. danger, James McArdle, danger.” He was so so tired, and the bed looked comfy, and the thought of lying down & feeling Andrew’s warmth seeping into him as he pressed against his side was very appealing. So for the second time in 5 minutes he did as he was bidden, and took off his shoes and jacket and laid down next to Andrew.

Andrew didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly towards him until James could feel him soft and warm against him. It was nice & he could feel something inside him unclench just a little. He closed his eyes & for a minute just enjoyed the quiet, with only the sounds of Andrew’s breathing & the soft music keeping him company.

There was a slight rustling sound, & all of a sudden he could feel the warmth of Andrew’s breath against his cheek. He was much, much closer than he’d been a second ago. James couldn’t quite bear to open his eyes, unsure if he could school his features into a blank enough mask to hide just how freaked out he was. He shivered.

“Are you cold?” Andrew’s voice came an inch from his ear. “Here, this should help”

A soft heavy warmth suddenly enveloped him. Realising he couldn’t be a coward for much longer, he opened his eyes. Andrew was curled up against him, looking like a koala bear ready to pounce. It was impressive how such a tall, gangly man could make himself look so slight. Andrew had covered them both with the throw blanket that had been draped over the bed. It was far too intimate. If Denise had walked in to see them practically snuggling in bed together, she’d have had a coronary. If she didn’t drop dead of laughing first, of course. 

Yet nothing short of nuclear apocalypse could have gotten him to move. He was feeling better lying there than he had in ages. James never wanted to move.

“It’s my favourite part of the play you know,” Andrew said.

“Prior and Louis tucked up together in bed. Just holding each other like they have all the time in the world and nothing could ever separate them. Sometimes when I’m lying there, I have to fight not to fall asleep. It’s so easy to just tune out Denise and Lee and be soothed by the sound of your breathing, at the feel of you curled up around me, holding me. It’s…different. So different to what I’m used to. Emily was always so frail I always panicked that if I rolled over in the night I’d break her by accident. And the girls in LA are not known for being…”

“Hefty?” James said. “All these tiny beautiful wee lasses throwing themselves at you. The life of Andrew Garfield must be a hard one to bear,” James said in fake concern while Andrew narrowed his eyes at him.

“Stop derailing me when I’m trying to say nice things,” Andrew said.

“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted,” Andrew continued, while James snickered. “That moment of us just lying there. It’s like the calm before the storm. Feeling you holding me all…”

“Burly and handsome?” James chipped in.

“James, for fuck’s sake, will you shut up and let me finish,” Andrew said, with a tone that recalled Prior at his pissiest.

“Sorry, darlin. They keep calling me burly, though. I think they just mean fatter than you. But then you’re practically some sort of woodland creature, like a sprite or something, so being larger than you is hardly difficult. I wonder where the word burly…”

His babbling was cut off rather abruptly by Andrew bending down and gently kissing him full on the lips. A sharp breath of surprise escaped him while Andrew hovered over him, smiling beatifically.

“I bet that was the only way Prior could shut Louis up, too. Well, that and fellatio, but I’m not sure we’re quite there yet,” Andrew said.

James’ brain was still playing catch up from “what the fuck he just kissed me,” so it took a while for the ramifications of the last sentence to sink it. When it did, he suddenly found himself flushing from head to toe. He hoped he could style it out, but judging by the way Andrew was beaming at him, he was failing dismally.

“James, what I’m trying to say is that it’s that scene that lets me do what I do for the rest of the play. It’s that moment of us together that gives me the strength to go on for another 6 & a half hours. I’m not you. I’m not as good as you. I can’t just turn it off and on like a light switch. I have to feel it. In my heart and in my soul. All of it. The love and the terror and the heartbreak. If I don’t feel it, well then, I’m just an overprivileged straight guy standing there putting on a piss poor drag act. I can’t act Prior. I have to be Prior. And it’s so, so fucking lonely at times I can’t bear it. Once you’re gone & your scenes are all with Lee, I feel so terribly alone. But I can think of that scene, and our dance, and it gives me the strength to get through it. You give me the strength to get through this. You do know that, right?”

James looked at the utter sincerity in Andrew’s face & struggled to find his voice. The lump was back in his throat, strangling all sound. Defeated, he settled for tentatively stroking Andrew’s face with his finger. Thankfully this seemed to please him, as he leant into James’ touch.

Andrew was just too close, and it was destroying James’ equilibrium. He gently rolled onto his side, taking Andrew with him. Any hopes he might have had that it would put enough distance between them for him to be able to think clearly were instantly dashed by Andrew immediately going full koala on him—arms and legs wrapped around him.

“It can be a bit lonely off stage, too,” Andrew continued. “Lee and Nate seem to be getting on like a house on fire. Nathan is…Nathan. And when you’re not entertaining our makeup girls, you and Denise are thick as thieves. And I get to be up here. On my own floor, as befits a star of my status,” Andrew said, in a tone that made it clear he didn’t give a flying fuck about his status.

“But as hard as it’s been, I just want you to know that I could never have done this without you, James. Never. You are the one constant keeping me together. I feel so terrible that you didn’t get nominated. I mean, Michael Cera? The fuck was that about? You’re so, so good, James, and I don’t think you even really know it. You should have been nominated alongside me. I was devastated you weren’t,”

James was already blushing from the kiss and Andrew being draped around him, so he figured it was just as well he couldn’t get any redder. “You’re allowed to be happy, Andrew. I was thrilled you won. You know that, right?”

Andrew shyly nodded.

“I’m not… I’m not going to pretend that I’m not happy to have won. It’s such a nice feeling to have something go right,” Andrew said quietly.

“Spider-Man was the role of a lifetime, and the scripts and the production team were just so awful that the experience was just unbearable. And now I have to be polite when total strangers tell me how much the films sucked and be gracious about being eternally compared to a 22 year old. I mean, I could cure cancer and solve the crisis in the Middle East and they’d still say, ‘yeah, but he wasn’t as good a Spider-Man as Tom Holland.’”

James started laughing and then immediately panicked that Andrew would think he was being unkind, so tried to smooth it over by wrapping his arms around Andrew in return. Andrew seemed mollified and tucked his head against James chest. He felt so nice in James’ arms.

“I spent a year preparing, well over-preparing for Silence, becoming an insufferable boyfriend in the process, and lost the girl of my dreams. And while a lot of it has helped me and stayed with me, the movie came out and no one cared. All that work, and a tiny handful of critics begrudgingly agreed it was OK. Hacksaw Ridge was…”

Andrew trailed off awkwardly while James decided now was not the time to spoil this nice moment with his views on Mel Gibson, and so kept his mouth firmly shut.

When he realised no lecture was forthcoming, Andrew continued.

“It was nice to be at the Oscars with my parents and Ellie. Everyone says they’re silly, and of course they are. Utterly meaningless, and I always knew I was the rank outsider to win. Didn’t stop me having a cry in the toilets with Ellie before the ceremony, because it was just all so fucking overwhelming. And Breathe was meant to be a huge awards contender and came out and everyone was just too bloody cynical to believe any of it, and it died a death. So, yeah, I’m embarrassed about it, but I am really happy to have won the Tony. It’s like… I can’t be the punchline anymore, you know? But that doesn’t mean that it didn’t floor me that you weren’t nominated. Didn’t mean it didn’t kill me to have to go to all those endless junkets and dinners without you.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I completely and utterly fucking adore you, James McArdle, and I know that once this is done, you’ll run screaming back to your mates in Glasgow as fast as your legs will carry you. But I have hope. Hope that once you’re back and settled and feeling like you again and not Louis Ironson, that you’ll still want me in your life. In whatever way you’re comfortable with. Because I can’t bear to contemplate the alternative. I can’t bear the thought of you going back to Glasgow and us running into each other once every three years at a premiere or press night while we make polite chit chat over warm glasses of prosecco. The thought makes me want to leap out of this window. So I have hope. I’m an optimist that way.”

James was glad he was lying down, because he was pretty sure his legs would have gone out from under him at Andrew’s declaration. Yes he wanted to go home. God he wanted to go home, he missed it so much. But in a blinding moment of clarity, he realised that it was the thought of leaving Andrew, of getting to talk to him for 30 seconds at some premiere once a year before Andrew the movie star got hustled away into a VIP area that was a no go for the likes of him, that was making him feel so violently ill all the time. The fear of being separated from Andrew was the weight crushing him into nothingness. He realised his cheeks were wet, and was horrified that Andrew was crying. He pulled him closer, holding him as tightly as he could.

Andrew was gently shushing him, murmuring nonsense into his ear. He had no idea why Andrew was trying to soothe him when he was the one…James realised to his utter mortification that Andrew’s eyes, while kind and so, so filled with adoration it was hard to look at him, were bone dry. He was the one that was crying. Andrew curled even tighter into him, trying to meld himself into James body.

“I’m not Louis. I won’t ever leave you,” James said wetly, knowing with absolute certainty as he said it that he meant every word.

Andrew beamed at him with a blinding radiance and kissed him again.

And in the darkness of Andrew’s dressing room they lay there, and for the first time in months James McArdle felt finally at peace.

#ahhhhhhhhhhhh #i love it ahhhhhhh #mcarfield #mcarfield fic #THIS IS SO ASDLKF;ASFD #ilu anons #long post #submission