1. Never Known Love

ANDY

Dear Andy, 

I thought I'd start this letter off by apologizing. It's best to face the elephant in the room, my grandfather used to say, so that's what I'm doing. 

I'm sorry for everything. For the way things ended between us, for not standing by you when things got rough, even though I promised I would. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me, I'm sorry. 

I know it's been a while, but I would really love it if we could talk, my address is on the envelope, of course. 

Roz

Andy ran his hands over the ink on the page, feeling the indentations where the pen was nearly pushed though. Those almost-rips told so much; they said more than the words themselves ever could. They were more than polite apologies; they were memories and emotions that still lived close to the surface of the Roz's mind.

Andy had promised himself when he'd first gotten the letter - three weeks ago to this day - that he wouldn't get his hopes up, he wouldn't even allow himself to feel anything. But, as soon as he saw the scrawled ink, the familiar handwriting, something inside him began to ache. For twenty-one days, the ache spread into his bones. 

It bloomed in his organs and thrived behind his eyes. It wasn't the past that throbbed inside him - although it had every right to, thank you very much - it was the knowledge that at this moment, Roz was miles away, out of reach. That was the worst part, the unbearable part of it all. 

It had been two years since everything came down around them, secrets were made public knowledge, and Andy lost the little family he had left. Two years since the day he and Roz were both cornered in the school halls and beaten. 

Shortly afterward, Roz's parents picked up and moved further away than Andy could stand to think. They'd taken their sun out from under snow, hatred and dead trees to California. But while Roz thawed in the sun and escaped the stifling disgust and hostility, Andy was left to tread water. 

The time following Roz's move had been a blur, days and nights locked into a corner of Andy's mind, a corner that must never be disturbed. But the memories of Roz himself were left unrestricted, free to flow through his every thought and word. 

To attempt to stifle them would be to rob the small pieces of happiness that remained to Andy. He'd assumed that that part of his life, and so the boy that was the center of it, was over for good. You cannot repeat the past, after all. 

Then the letter arrived, and once again, Andy's entire world was spun on its axis. A flood of emotions, longing and fears ran uncontrolled in is heart, and still the letter went without a reply. At first, Andy decided he wouldn't reply at all, but couldn't bring himself to throw it out. After two and a half weeks of staring at the crumbled sheet of paper, Andy changed his mind. 

He would answer, but only because he could. He was able to be himself know, and he would answer this letter, for no other reason than because he could. At least, that's what he told himself. But with each attempt, it became clearer to Andy that it would not be that simple. 

Nothing to do with Roz ever had been simple, nor could it ever be simple. 

~

"When did you know? Like...really know you were gay? Was there a moment for you, or was it more of a slow build-up of things?" Viv leaned her chin on her palm, the microphone poised in front of her. Andy had done interviews with her several times before, but none that dealt with person questions like this. 

Viv was the voice of a college radio show that focused on 'alternative lifestyles', as she so loved to call them. She frequently brought in guests, who were not straight and grilled them endlessly, pushing boundaries or crushing them altogether. But with Andy, she had respected the need to let certain things lie, to give time to adjust to putting any aspect of himself out into the world. 

Confidence was slow in coming, but it was a small seed he now kept close to his heart, and not something he only knew others to have.

Andy shifted in his chair, leaning closer to his own microphone, pointedly ignoring Viv's intense stare. He found it easier to speak when he didn't look others in the eye. It was safer in a way he could not explain.

"It was slow, I guess. I can't remember a specific moment when I realized it, that I was gay, I mean. A lot of people talk about the sexual urges being their great indicator, you know? Sex dreams, urges and things like that. But it wasn't that way for me." He struggled to keep his voice steady, and wondered how many people were listening to this broadcast, most likely very few.

"What was it then, if not the urges and sexual component? What made you realize you were only into guys?" 

Andy knotted his fingers together, and let his himself drift in memories. Flashes of moments that he'd never spoken about, secrets and precious words he never shared with another living person. He took a deep breath, let the air fill his lungs before slowly exhaling. Maybe it was time to finally set these things free...

"It was-It was him. Yeah, him. It was how I felt when I was near him, how much I needed to be near him, or just see him. Until I met him I could ignore it, repress it, pretend it wasn't happening. But he made me face it, made me deal with it. “Andy cleared his throat and slouched against the back of the chair, wringing the hem of his threadbare hoodie. 

A small, warm hand squeezing his knee gently urged him to continue, "I wanted...I wanted to do everything with him. I'd do anything if it meant he'd be there with me. It was the simple things, small things that, alone, mean nothing, but together they mean everything in the world. Getting coffee with him, brushing his hair from his eyes, walking with him, that was what made it painfully clear."

Viv's chair gave a soft squeak as she rolled closer to him, so close that their knees almost made contact, still Andy kept his eyes down.

"What do you mean 'painfully'?" Viv ventured carefully. 

Andy chuckled softly to himself, not realizing that was the word he'd said aloud, "That's what it is, painful. You spend your life trying, fighting to be what other people think you ought to be, to realize that, no matter how hard you try, you'll never be what you are supposed to. Finally realizing that, it makes you reconsider everything you ever knew about yourself, it made your future uncertain and dark. It's only then that you begin to really hide; the hiding itself is painful, horrible, really. The worst part - well for a lot of queer people, too many, this is the worst part - is finally coming out. 

People celebrate coming out, make it into a party or something to be proud of. For some people it is, which is fantastic. But, for so many of us...for me it was the second worst day of my life."

 

 

ROZ

 "You really should quit, babe. I don't relish the idea of having to nurse you through cancer that you acquired as a side effect of a bad coping skill." Jasper's shockingly blonde hair flopped into Roz's line of vision, and strong arms drapped themselves lazily over his shoulders. 

Pointedly, Roz put the cigarette to his lips and sucked, fully aware of the toxins that flooded his body every time he repeated the action. 

Dropping his arm, and flicking ash from the tip, he mumbled, "It's freezing out here, I need to warm up; and you should eat more, but you don't see me lecturing you about that. Getting on you about BMI indexes and wasitline measurements."

 A throated chortle was the only reply Roz got, the only one he needed. Once again, he and Jasper had reached an impasse concerning each other's vices. Roz smoked, knew he should quit, but never really got around to it, whereas Jasper prefered to ignore food altogether and dug in his heels every time he was forced to eat. It wasn't because of some warped body image issue, he simply believed that 'food was for the birds'.

Roz gazed out over roof of the condo in front of them, carefully studying the color and movement of the Pacific Ocean. He'd been in California for over two years now, and the sea still took his breath away. There was something so beautiful about it, something that he couldn't adjust to. 

The condo itself - which he lived in with Jasper - was something his parents had bought as a summer home. A piece of nearly beach front property, a vacation spot; for two weeks of every summer since their arrival, they spent time in the sand and nursing sunburns. The other 50 weeks, they spent in the suburbs of some town with a name that Roz could never remember. Something Spanish, maybe.

When his parents weren't present, Roz and Jasper split the costs, kept the place up. Most of the time, it was their home more than it was his parents'. 

Paying rent and bills were small potatoes compared to other aspects of Roz's life; trying, and failing to find something that he felt passionate enough about to make a career took up most of his time. But no matter what different avenues he attempted, he always found himself falling back on fiction writing. They were a comfort to him, an anchor that he desperately needed. 

 

Jasper was supportive, sure, but there were times when he would withdraw himself from everyone and everything around him and not speak for days. At times, for weeks he would be cold and removed, pacing the halls of their home and grumbling to himself, gesturing wildly as if he were directing air traffic. 

Roz understood why - at least logically - his boyfriend acted this way from time to time. It was simply how things were; creative types often retreated inside themselves, or to specific places to nurture growing ideas out of the concept stages and urge them into life. Roz himself did the same thing, though on a much smaller scale. By trade, Jasper managed an art gallery, a small one, but a gallery none the less. He didn't own it, though, had no wishes too, he simply curated the shows and designed them. Chose what works were featured and how best to arrange them in the building he had to work with. 

 

When he wasn't curating shows or meeting with artists, he spent his time painting. When Roz had first asked about why Jasper never showed his own work, the other man simply shrugged and said, "It's not enough. I love it, but loving something isn't enough to survive on."

But even though Roz understood the need for this distance, that had never stopped the thoughts that bubbled to the surface. On nights when Jasper locked himself in his studio until after dawn, or when Roz found himself, once again, eating dinner alone, he would imagine. 

The specifics of the wondering left him with guilt, too much to even face. Jasper had been good to him, always; he'd been there from the beginning and showed Roz that California and its endless sun could be home too. 

 

And for over a year, it was, it was home and so much more than that. Being with Jasper was everything that Roz had wanted in a relationship; he was intelligent, caring, creative and inspiring. A day never passed when Roz wasn't challenged or pushed to develop in some form or shape. It wasn't an easy relationship, half the time, but it was worth the fight; and to Roz., that was all that mattered. But even though Roz understood the need for this distance, that had never stopped the thoughts that bubbled to the surface. On nights when Jasper locked himself in his studio until after dawn, or when Roz found himself, once again, eating dinner alone, he would imagine. 

The specifics of the wondering left him with guilt, too much to even face. Jasper had been good to him, always; he'd been there from the beginning and showed Roz that California and its endless sun could be home too. 

And for over a year, it was, it was home and so much more than that. Being with Jasper was everything that Roz had wanted in a relationship; he was intelligent, caring, creative and inspiring. A day never passed when Roz wasn't challenged or pushed to develop in some form or shape. It wasn't an easy relationship, half the time, but it was worth the fight; and to Roz., that was all that mattered. 

A hard kick to his shin dropped Roz back into the present, and out of the swirling depths of his thoughts. Roz locked eyes with Jasper, who was sprawled out in the chair next to him, a defiant grin on his face. 

"So, do I get to know what took you away from the world, just now, or is it a secret?" Jasper purred playfully - that was another thing Roz loved about him, his mischievous nature. 

Roz smirked and leaned over the old wood patio table, snuffing out his cigarette, fighting to control the butterflies that battled in his stomach. 

"They come at a cost; what will you give me for them?" Roz turned his chair to face the other man, and steepled his fingers against his lips. 

 

Jasper's eyes, which were pale green in color, blazed at the challenge, and the question hidden beneath the words. Without speaking, he slowly stood from his chair and closed the distance between himself and Roz. His long blonde hair hung in chaotic tendrils, golden under the light of the sun.

Roz leaned back, opening his arms to the other man, his hands tangling themselves in the hair he loved so much. Jasper eased himself onto Roz's lap, the smirk blooming into an ear-to-ear grin that had sin and sweat written all over it. 

The butterflies inside Roz's stomach crawled up his esophagus, scraping and beating against the walls of his throat. Jasper's larger, stronger, warmer hands gripped Roz's waist firmly, the tips of his fingers digging into flesh, sure to leave marks before this was ended. 

Roz craned his neck, in search of Jasper's lips, his heart slammed against his rib cage, and he found himself marveling his body's reactions. Two years, twenty-four long months with the same man, and still his heart caught in his throat whenever he came near him. It didn't seem possible. 

 Jasper chuckled softly, bringing his mouth inches away from Roz's before whispering, "You will scream your sweet secrets for me, before I am done with you."