[oneshot] someone you cannot reject, something i will not neglect
Title: someone you cannot reject, something i will not neglect
Pairing: jesse eisenberg/andrew garfield
Rating: pg13 for language
Genre: gen, mild romance, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, rps
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: gratuitous character sketching and dissection. 2,805 words. thank you to underhand_glory and whetstone and warmboys for listening to me whine about this.
never go on trips with
someone you do not love.
( ernest hemingway )
Jesse has never considered himself an anglophile, and, strictly speaking, he wouldn't consider himself one now; he hasn't developed a sudden interest in the monarchy or spelling things the British way. The playlists on his iPod are still largely filled with American music, Broadway show tunes and smooth indie interspersed with the occasional Beatles song or a repackaged West End album. There's just something about Andrew that makes him instantly likeable-like maybe the fact that he laughs at everything (even if it's more lame than funny, more stupid than humorous), or how he can never sit still and ends up twisted in a heap on a chair in what's supposed to be Mark's dorm room-or maybe the way his accent appears and disappears depending on where he is and what he's doing.
It's fascinating, the nuances of his transformation into Eduardo when they're on set-and perhaps it's the fact that he and Andrew's real life relationship isn't so different from what Mark and Eduardo are supposed to be like before Mark fucks him over. If they hadn't gelled so instantly, there would be bigger things for Jesse to pay attention to than the minute details that separate Andrew from Eduardo. But they had, and there aren't, and so all Jesse can do is latch onto small things about him, like the way he sometimes acts as young as Jesse looks and how he can ramble on about everything and nothing, and that fucking British twang.
He arrives with two minutes to spare at the first read-through they're at together, and so it doesn't occur to him that obviously Andrew is British and therefore the accent is part of the package until after they've gone through four scenes and Aaron's letting them out for a break. Andrew's smile splits his face in half and makes his eyes go all small and squinty as they're waiting for the coffeemaker to spit out its decaf; the corner of Jesse's mouth twitches in response.
Looking back, it's only natural that the first thing Andrew says to him is probably the cheesiest opener to any exchange he's ever had with a co-star. "Great script, wasn't it?"
Still, though, the stately drawl has Jesse's eyebrows going up, and if it's possible, Andrew's grin stretches wider. He shakes Jesse's proffered hand. "Hi, I'm Andrew. Andrew Garfield. And you're Jesse."
"I didn't know that," he automatically replies, expression cool and placid. "Tell me more."
Andrew throws his head back and laughs. Jesse stares at the pale column of his neck for a moment and studiously thinks about filming and how he's fucking excellent at keeping a straight face and the script. Yeah. The script.
He swallows and turns to pour out two cups of coffee. Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse can still see that shit-eating grin on Andrew's face. He's waving his arms around and talking his ear off, and out of nowhere, a single thought comes into Jesse's mind as he hands Andrew a Styrofoam cup and sips at his own. I could get used to this. It's stupid and overly sentimental, but Andrew seems to engender stupidity and sentimentality in everyone, and Jesse supposes with a certain resignation that he'll just have to get used to it.
He's worked with quieter, less spontaneous costars before (Kristen is the first one that comes to mind), and maybe it's because he's spent more time off set with Andrew than he has with anyone else he's worked with, but he seems to suddenly inundate every aspect of Jesse's life. The apartment in Boston is small but comfortable and Andrew fills the kitchenette with off-key humming when he's making breakfast in the morning, with loud singing in the bathroom that's never quite overtaken by the pressure from the showerhead or his nonstop stream of idle chatter when they're getting ready to go out.
It doesn't take him long to figure out that Andrew is someone who drops phrases like I love you in every other sentence that comes out of his mouth and still manages to seem like he means it every single time. He makes Jesse's practice of falling a little bit in love with his costars so easy, makes it almost too easy.
So sometimes it's a welcome reprieve when Kerry calls him on the phone from Jersey or when he's got some time to himself and he can step out of the manic atmosphere of David's sets and the specificities of his minute-by-minute, reel-by-reel direction. Being submerged in it is so surreal, like everything is happening too quickly and yet in slow motion all at once.
Baltimore is cold and wet and cold. Jesse just thanks God that most of their shooting takes place at night, because he's never been one of those annoying morning people that Andrew seems to be-waking up to Andrew's beaming face swimming in front of his would probably be unbearable otherwise.
Andrew wants to go and be a typical British tourist in America, so they take the bus to Inner Harbor on Saturday and get dinner at the Rusty Scupper and late-night dessert at the Cheesecake Factory. They sit outside the National Aquarium and watch the lights and the water taxis, and Jesse's bone-tired but Andrew makes him climb up the endless flights of stairs to get to the top of Federal Hill. Despite the distinct, sickly smell of seawater coming up the bay, the view is breathtaking, and they just lie for a bit on the steep, grassy slope underneath the Civil War cannon to take it all in.
"Hey, let's roll down this thing," Andrew says after a moment of silence.
"What, the hill?"
"Yeah, come on, it'll be fun!" He makes to get up and shift to the side, but Jesse grabs his arm before he can do anything.
"And we'll also crack our heads open on the pavement or get run over by a car," Jesse says, raising his head and pointing at the traffic on the street below.
"Fair point." Andrew shrugs. "But at least you'd be happy the second before you got hit."
They end up sliding feet-first toward the pavement (the friction makes Andrew's shirt ride up in interesting ways) and haphazardly racing up and down the slope like people possessed until Jesse can't breathe anymore and Andrew's laughing too hard to do anything but collapse back onto the prickly grass.
The Sunday before they start filming at Hopkins, Aaron procures two tickets to the Ravens v. Broncos game at M&T Stadium and ushers them out of the studio. "I don't know anything about American football," Andrew admits, fiddling with the collar of his jacket.
"I can teach you," Jesse blurts out. It doesn't occur to him until later that he barely knows anything about football himself. "Wait, isn't your dad from California? How come he never taught you anything about it?"
"He was always bigger on swimming and gymnastics," Andrew says, "so I can do the splits and stuff but I'm hopeless when it comes to a lot of other sports."
The streets around the stadium are filled with people and jersey booths when they arrive, the smells of fast food and thousands of bodies packed into one arena wafting over them. "It's going to be absolutely filthy in there, isn't it?" Andrew asks before they hand their tickets over and push through the turnstiles.
"That's just part of the full experience," Jesse answers seriously, blinking.
"Right," he says, taking a deep breath. "Well then, shall we?"
They buy a bucket of greasy fries and two hot dogs before finding their seats, Andrew managing to drip ketchup everywhere before the game even starts. They're on the same level but on the opposite side of the field of the press box, right in between the two forty-yard lines. A sea of purple roils around them, roaring when the Ravens open with the kickoff.
"Okay," Jesse says, pointing at the field. "So the whole point of the game is to advance the ball to your end of the field-that's called a touchdown, and your team get six points if you get one. Right now they're just trading punts, but-oh, look, see that guy with the ball right now? He's the quarterback, the one who tries to either find a pass down the field or make a run himself-ah, he's down. So now the team's setting up their offense again. They have four chances-those are called downs-to advance the ball at least 10 yards in their direction, and if they don't succeed after those four chances, the ball is turned over to the other team. Wow, the Broncos' defense is shit today."
By the end of his long string of commentary Andrew is gaping at him, half-eaten hot dog hanging limply in his hand. "You know what," Jesse says after an awkward pause, "let's just watch the game." Andrew grins and pats him on the shoulder.
The rather disastrous episode is all but forgotten in the second half when the Ravens actually start playing. Excitement from the surrounding fans seems to bleed into both of them, and when they finally score their first touchdown, the stands explode with brilliant, cacophonous sound. Andrew's eyes reflect the stadium lights as he turns to pull Jesse to his feet, cheering loudly as someone gets buried under a pile of bodies in the field below. People are hugging and whistling and shouting and kissing each other; Andrew wraps an arm over Jesse's shoulder and waves a purple pennant from God-knows-where.
They score two more touchdowns in the half, and by the last, Jesse's voice is a little hoarse from all the yelling and there are bits of white and purple streamer in his hair. Andrew twists around and plants a solid peck on his lips before beaming and jumping up and down again with three of the other fans in their row. Jesse freezes for a moment, but Andrew seems to think nothing of it when he sits back down. Jesse files it away in the back of his mind.
Andrew can't stop talking about the game when they get back to the hotel, interjections of that was fucking amazing and let's go again when we're in Boston streaming out of his mouth. Aaron makes a note on one of his clipboards and forces them back to their hotel suite to get some rest.
"I'm not even tired," Andrew says, lounging on the sofa in the sitting room. "I want to watch a football match."
"You just came back from one," Jesse says incredulously, toweling his hair. "Bathroom's free, by the way."
"I'll shower tomorrow morning," he murmurs, waving a dismissive hand. "And I meant association football-soccer. I missed the Arsenal game on Saturday-" here, he gets up and grabs his laptop, "-you should watch it with me."
"Soccer, huh? It's not very big in America. You'd have to explain everything."
"No worries," Andrew says, typing away at the keyboard. "Football is like breathing in England."
They squeeze in together on the tiny couch and Andrew mutes the announcer so he can commentate himself, the smooth, steady rhythm of his voice crashing against his ears and lulling him to sleep. Jesse tries to fight it, but in the end he can't help but doze off, thoughts of Fabregas and van Persie and Arsene Wenger floating around in his mind.
When he wakes up blearily the next morning, his head is in Andrew's lap and there's a scratchy wool comforter drawn over his body. It's all awfully cliché, but Jesse really couldn't care less.
Having to ignore Andrew when they start shooting the last sequences in Los Angeles is harder than he expected it to be, even though the rest of the cast is around to distract them. It's not like he can talk to Armie or Josh or Max without feeling uncomfortable either, because to them he is the epitome of douchebaggery. He and Andrew take to avoiding each other on set, but Jesse's gotten used to Andrew's almost constant companionship and so it's more than a little jarring that the only time they interact now is when a camera is in their faces and they're playing characters written out for them.
Justin smoothes everything over-well, he tries to, in his own way, and Jesse appreciates it, but Andrew is supposed to think he's a asshole and he's supposed to think everything he's done for the company is justified. If Jesse had thought it'd been hard to keep their on-and-off-set relationships separate before, it's even worse now. Sometimes he finds himself wishing he could do something to make Andrew genuinely mad at him, but then he smiles that goddamned smile or says something hilarious and Jesse forgets all about it.
Things will be better, he thinks, when it's all over.
They are, but after filming ends and the IMDb article on the movie changes its status to post-production, there comes that inevitable, excruciating period of waiting: waiting for the editors to do their work, waiting for David to find someone to score the movie, waiting to see the culmination of all their efforts for the better part of the past year.
"Jesus," Andrew says over the phone one night in early August. "I can't fucking wait anymore. I just want to know how it is, you know? I want the final product."
"I know."
"I want to hear the soundtrack and see the edited scenes in all their glory and I want people to talk about us, talk about this thing we helped make, this thing we brought to life."
"Less than two months left, Andrew," is all he can think to say. He feels it too, the pang of anticipation in the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks about the movie.
There's a distinct, physical ache in his throat when the movie's finally done and they're watching it together at an advance screening. All Jesse can think about each time he sees it are the long, languid takes they'd done for each scene, how he and Justin and Andrew had spent countless nights rehearsing that final, climactic confrontation just to get it perfect, or the 99 takes it took to get the opening sequence right. Armie looks half-delighted and half-scared to see two of himself on the big screen and Andrew laughs at every joke, even though he knows them all by heart.
The first several weeks of the promotional campaign are hectic-they fly to a different city every night, it seems, and across oceans to Europe for interviews and radio shows and press conferences. He's so used to Andrew's spontaneous bouts of affection that he doesn't even bat an eye the first time Andrew says he loves Jesse in response to a reporter's question.
Early reviews and ratings come pouring in and they're all overwhelmingly positive-Peter Travers gives them his first four of the year, Roger Ebert gives them four stars as well. They debut on Rotten Tomatoes with a 100% approval rating that only drops 3% as the days go by.
"Hey," Andrew says later, when they're in a limo on the way to some sort of after-party in Paris. "Jesse, we did it."
"Yeah," he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, we did."
Interviewer: There's a lot of talk about next year's Academy Awards ceremony, possible Oscar nominations getting thrown around. What do you think about that-who do you think deserves an Oscar?
JT: Well, it'd be nice if we could all win something.
AG: The movie is incredibly solid-Aaron's screenplay and David's directing and the way everything came together in the end-it's just, just mind-blowing, really. I don't want people to think I'm tooting my own horn here or anything-
JE: You are.
AG: (laughs) If we win, or if we're even nominated, I'd like to think we deserve it. And the score-
JT: Oh, we can't say it enough, the score was amazing. Perfect. And I think the acting on everyone's parts really brought Aaron's characters to life.
Interviewer: What would you say in your speech, if it turns out you all won something?
JE: Thirty seconds, go.
JT: I think Aaron would talk about his ad exec role and thank David for casting that particular part.
AS: Oh definitely, without a doubt. (laughs)
JE: Andrew would thank his parents and his family and then talk about me for the rest of the speech and how I was pivotal in his shaping of the Eduardo character.
AG: (laughs) You know me too well.
JT: He's completely right.
AG: They'd have to escort me off the stage because I'd just keep on talking and hogging the mic.
fin
A/N: title from rocket brothers by kashmir.
Pairing: jesse eisenberg/andrew garfield
Rating: pg13 for language
Genre: gen, mild romance, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, rps
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: gratuitous character sketching and dissection. 2,805 words. thank you to underhand_glory and whetstone and warmboys for listening to me whine about this.
never go on trips with
someone you do not love.
( ernest hemingway )
Jesse has never considered himself an anglophile, and, strictly speaking, he wouldn't consider himself one now; he hasn't developed a sudden interest in the monarchy or spelling things the British way. The playlists on his iPod are still largely filled with American music, Broadway show tunes and smooth indie interspersed with the occasional Beatles song or a repackaged West End album. There's just something about Andrew that makes him instantly likeable-like maybe the fact that he laughs at everything (even if it's more lame than funny, more stupid than humorous), or how he can never sit still and ends up twisted in a heap on a chair in what's supposed to be Mark's dorm room-or maybe the way his accent appears and disappears depending on where he is and what he's doing.
It's fascinating, the nuances of his transformation into Eduardo when they're on set-and perhaps it's the fact that he and Andrew's real life relationship isn't so different from what Mark and Eduardo are supposed to be like before Mark fucks him over. If they hadn't gelled so instantly, there would be bigger things for Jesse to pay attention to than the minute details that separate Andrew from Eduardo. But they had, and there aren't, and so all Jesse can do is latch onto small things about him, like the way he sometimes acts as young as Jesse looks and how he can ramble on about everything and nothing, and that fucking British twang.
He arrives with two minutes to spare at the first read-through they're at together, and so it doesn't occur to him that obviously Andrew is British and therefore the accent is part of the package until after they've gone through four scenes and Aaron's letting them out for a break. Andrew's smile splits his face in half and makes his eyes go all small and squinty as they're waiting for the coffeemaker to spit out its decaf; the corner of Jesse's mouth twitches in response.
Looking back, it's only natural that the first thing Andrew says to him is probably the cheesiest opener to any exchange he's ever had with a co-star. "Great script, wasn't it?"
Still, though, the stately drawl has Jesse's eyebrows going up, and if it's possible, Andrew's grin stretches wider. He shakes Jesse's proffered hand. "Hi, I'm Andrew. Andrew Garfield. And you're Jesse."
"I didn't know that," he automatically replies, expression cool and placid. "Tell me more."
Andrew throws his head back and laughs. Jesse stares at the pale column of his neck for a moment and studiously thinks about filming and how he's fucking excellent at keeping a straight face and the script. Yeah. The script.
He swallows and turns to pour out two cups of coffee. Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse can still see that shit-eating grin on Andrew's face. He's waving his arms around and talking his ear off, and out of nowhere, a single thought comes into Jesse's mind as he hands Andrew a Styrofoam cup and sips at his own. I could get used to this. It's stupid and overly sentimental, but Andrew seems to engender stupidity and sentimentality in everyone, and Jesse supposes with a certain resignation that he'll just have to get used to it.
He's worked with quieter, less spontaneous costars before (Kristen is the first one that comes to mind), and maybe it's because he's spent more time off set with Andrew than he has with anyone else he's worked with, but he seems to suddenly inundate every aspect of Jesse's life. The apartment in Boston is small but comfortable and Andrew fills the kitchenette with off-key humming when he's making breakfast in the morning, with loud singing in the bathroom that's never quite overtaken by the pressure from the showerhead or his nonstop stream of idle chatter when they're getting ready to go out.
It doesn't take him long to figure out that Andrew is someone who drops phrases like I love you in every other sentence that comes out of his mouth and still manages to seem like he means it every single time. He makes Jesse's practice of falling a little bit in love with his costars so easy, makes it almost too easy.
So sometimes it's a welcome reprieve when Kerry calls him on the phone from Jersey or when he's got some time to himself and he can step out of the manic atmosphere of David's sets and the specificities of his minute-by-minute, reel-by-reel direction. Being submerged in it is so surreal, like everything is happening too quickly and yet in slow motion all at once.
Baltimore is cold and wet and cold. Jesse just thanks God that most of their shooting takes place at night, because he's never been one of those annoying morning people that Andrew seems to be-waking up to Andrew's beaming face swimming in front of his would probably be unbearable otherwise.
Andrew wants to go and be a typical British tourist in America, so they take the bus to Inner Harbor on Saturday and get dinner at the Rusty Scupper and late-night dessert at the Cheesecake Factory. They sit outside the National Aquarium and watch the lights and the water taxis, and Jesse's bone-tired but Andrew makes him climb up the endless flights of stairs to get to the top of Federal Hill. Despite the distinct, sickly smell of seawater coming up the bay, the view is breathtaking, and they just lie for a bit on the steep, grassy slope underneath the Civil War cannon to take it all in.
"Hey, let's roll down this thing," Andrew says after a moment of silence.
"What, the hill?"
"Yeah, come on, it'll be fun!" He makes to get up and shift to the side, but Jesse grabs his arm before he can do anything.
"And we'll also crack our heads open on the pavement or get run over by a car," Jesse says, raising his head and pointing at the traffic on the street below.
"Fair point." Andrew shrugs. "But at least you'd be happy the second before you got hit."
They end up sliding feet-first toward the pavement (the friction makes Andrew's shirt ride up in interesting ways) and haphazardly racing up and down the slope like people possessed until Jesse can't breathe anymore and Andrew's laughing too hard to do anything but collapse back onto the prickly grass.
The Sunday before they start filming at Hopkins, Aaron procures two tickets to the Ravens v. Broncos game at M&T Stadium and ushers them out of the studio. "I don't know anything about American football," Andrew admits, fiddling with the collar of his jacket.
"I can teach you," Jesse blurts out. It doesn't occur to him until later that he barely knows anything about football himself. "Wait, isn't your dad from California? How come he never taught you anything about it?"
"He was always bigger on swimming and gymnastics," Andrew says, "so I can do the splits and stuff but I'm hopeless when it comes to a lot of other sports."
The streets around the stadium are filled with people and jersey booths when they arrive, the smells of fast food and thousands of bodies packed into one arena wafting over them. "It's going to be absolutely filthy in there, isn't it?" Andrew asks before they hand their tickets over and push through the turnstiles.
"That's just part of the full experience," Jesse answers seriously, blinking.
"Right," he says, taking a deep breath. "Well then, shall we?"
They buy a bucket of greasy fries and two hot dogs before finding their seats, Andrew managing to drip ketchup everywhere before the game even starts. They're on the same level but on the opposite side of the field of the press box, right in between the two forty-yard lines. A sea of purple roils around them, roaring when the Ravens open with the kickoff.
"Okay," Jesse says, pointing at the field. "So the whole point of the game is to advance the ball to your end of the field-that's called a touchdown, and your team get six points if you get one. Right now they're just trading punts, but-oh, look, see that guy with the ball right now? He's the quarterback, the one who tries to either find a pass down the field or make a run himself-ah, he's down. So now the team's setting up their offense again. They have four chances-those are called downs-to advance the ball at least 10 yards in their direction, and if they don't succeed after those four chances, the ball is turned over to the other team. Wow, the Broncos' defense is shit today."
By the end of his long string of commentary Andrew is gaping at him, half-eaten hot dog hanging limply in his hand. "You know what," Jesse says after an awkward pause, "let's just watch the game." Andrew grins and pats him on the shoulder.
The rather disastrous episode is all but forgotten in the second half when the Ravens actually start playing. Excitement from the surrounding fans seems to bleed into both of them, and when they finally score their first touchdown, the stands explode with brilliant, cacophonous sound. Andrew's eyes reflect the stadium lights as he turns to pull Jesse to his feet, cheering loudly as someone gets buried under a pile of bodies in the field below. People are hugging and whistling and shouting and kissing each other; Andrew wraps an arm over Jesse's shoulder and waves a purple pennant from God-knows-where.
They score two more touchdowns in the half, and by the last, Jesse's voice is a little hoarse from all the yelling and there are bits of white and purple streamer in his hair. Andrew twists around and plants a solid peck on his lips before beaming and jumping up and down again with three of the other fans in their row. Jesse freezes for a moment, but Andrew seems to think nothing of it when he sits back down. Jesse files it away in the back of his mind.
Andrew can't stop talking about the game when they get back to the hotel, interjections of that was fucking amazing and let's go again when we're in Boston streaming out of his mouth. Aaron makes a note on one of his clipboards and forces them back to their hotel suite to get some rest.
"I'm not even tired," Andrew says, lounging on the sofa in the sitting room. "I want to watch a football match."
"You just came back from one," Jesse says incredulously, toweling his hair. "Bathroom's free, by the way."
"I'll shower tomorrow morning," he murmurs, waving a dismissive hand. "And I meant association football-soccer. I missed the Arsenal game on Saturday-" here, he gets up and grabs his laptop, "-you should watch it with me."
"Soccer, huh? It's not very big in America. You'd have to explain everything."
"No worries," Andrew says, typing away at the keyboard. "Football is like breathing in England."
They squeeze in together on the tiny couch and Andrew mutes the announcer so he can commentate himself, the smooth, steady rhythm of his voice crashing against his ears and lulling him to sleep. Jesse tries to fight it, but in the end he can't help but doze off, thoughts of Fabregas and van Persie and Arsene Wenger floating around in his mind.
When he wakes up blearily the next morning, his head is in Andrew's lap and there's a scratchy wool comforter drawn over his body. It's all awfully cliché, but Jesse really couldn't care less.
Having to ignore Andrew when they start shooting the last sequences in Los Angeles is harder than he expected it to be, even though the rest of the cast is around to distract them. It's not like he can talk to Armie or Josh or Max without feeling uncomfortable either, because to them he is the epitome of douchebaggery. He and Andrew take to avoiding each other on set, but Jesse's gotten used to Andrew's almost constant companionship and so it's more than a little jarring that the only time they interact now is when a camera is in their faces and they're playing characters written out for them.
Justin smoothes everything over-well, he tries to, in his own way, and Jesse appreciates it, but Andrew is supposed to think he's a asshole and he's supposed to think everything he's done for the company is justified. If Jesse had thought it'd been hard to keep their on-and-off-set relationships separate before, it's even worse now. Sometimes he finds himself wishing he could do something to make Andrew genuinely mad at him, but then he smiles that goddamned smile or says something hilarious and Jesse forgets all about it.
Things will be better, he thinks, when it's all over.
They are, but after filming ends and the IMDb article on the movie changes its status to post-production, there comes that inevitable, excruciating period of waiting: waiting for the editors to do their work, waiting for David to find someone to score the movie, waiting to see the culmination of all their efforts for the better part of the past year.
"Jesus," Andrew says over the phone one night in early August. "I can't fucking wait anymore. I just want to know how it is, you know? I want the final product."
"I know."
"I want to hear the soundtrack and see the edited scenes in all their glory and I want people to talk about us, talk about this thing we helped make, this thing we brought to life."
"Less than two months left, Andrew," is all he can think to say. He feels it too, the pang of anticipation in the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks about the movie.
There's a distinct, physical ache in his throat when the movie's finally done and they're watching it together at an advance screening. All Jesse can think about each time he sees it are the long, languid takes they'd done for each scene, how he and Justin and Andrew had spent countless nights rehearsing that final, climactic confrontation just to get it perfect, or the 99 takes it took to get the opening sequence right. Armie looks half-delighted and half-scared to see two of himself on the big screen and Andrew laughs at every joke, even though he knows them all by heart.
The first several weeks of the promotional campaign are hectic-they fly to a different city every night, it seems, and across oceans to Europe for interviews and radio shows and press conferences. He's so used to Andrew's spontaneous bouts of affection that he doesn't even bat an eye the first time Andrew says he loves Jesse in response to a reporter's question.
Early reviews and ratings come pouring in and they're all overwhelmingly positive-Peter Travers gives them his first four of the year, Roger Ebert gives them four stars as well. They debut on Rotten Tomatoes with a 100% approval rating that only drops 3% as the days go by.
"Hey," Andrew says later, when they're in a limo on the way to some sort of after-party in Paris. "Jesse, we did it."
"Yeah," he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, we did."
Interviewer: There's a lot of talk about next year's Academy Awards ceremony, possible Oscar nominations getting thrown around. What do you think about that-who do you think deserves an Oscar?
JT: Well, it'd be nice if we could all win something.
AG: The movie is incredibly solid-Aaron's screenplay and David's directing and the way everything came together in the end-it's just, just mind-blowing, really. I don't want people to think I'm tooting my own horn here or anything-
JE: You are.
AG: (laughs) If we win, or if we're even nominated, I'd like to think we deserve it. And the score-
JT: Oh, we can't say it enough, the score was amazing. Perfect. And I think the acting on everyone's parts really brought Aaron's characters to life.
Interviewer: What would you say in your speech, if it turns out you all won something?
JE: Thirty seconds, go.
JT: I think Aaron would talk about his ad exec role and thank David for casting that particular part.
AS: Oh definitely, without a doubt. (laughs)
JE: Andrew would thank his parents and his family and then talk about me for the rest of the speech and how I was pivotal in his shaping of the Eduardo character.
AG: (laughs) You know me too well.
JT: He's completely right.
AG: They'd have to escort me off the stage because I'd just keep on talking and hogging the mic.
fin
A/N: title from rocket brothers by kashmir.