collection of one shots about Andrew Garfield and his various characters.
Requests are open and will be happily accepted
DO NOT COPY/REPOST
I hope you'll enjoy:)
WARNING: Contains descriptions of panic attacks, italics are flashbacks
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Prior?
PRIOR: Hmmm?
LOUIS: You love me.
PRIOR: Yes.
LOUIS: What if I walked out on this?
Would you hate me forever?
(Prior kisses Louis on the forehead.)
PRIOR: Yes.
I was snapped out of my reading trance by a blanket being draped over my shoulders and a soft kiss being pressed to my forehead; I looked up from my book to see Andrew pulling on one of his too big hoodies.
"Hey," he greeted, "what are you reading?" He asked as he leaned down to press a kiss to my lips.
I pulled away and showed him the cover of the book.
"Ah," he shook his head, "you're never gonna stop re-reading that book, are you?" He asked as he sat down next to me on the porch swing.
I shook my head, "never," I confirmed, "you know I love the story, and it's only because of this book that we met," I said as I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself, scooting closer to Andrew and resting my head on his shoulder, putting my very worn out copy of Angels in America next to me.
Andrew and I had met after one of his shows; I was a huge fan of him, and I had loved the book so much that I had decided to take a plane and fly all the way to the national theatre to see his performance live.
After the show I had tried to exit the theatre but all people wanted to do was get an autograph from Andrew and they would push and push to get out faster to get it; I suffered from social anxiety and claustrophobia, so the way people would squeeze me so tight in between them, pushing me back so hard that I had fallen more than once, had my anxiety over the roof.
After the fourth time I had ended up falling on my butt, I had decided to just stay there, curled up in a ball, until the seam of people would dissipate.
I had been so focused on controlling my breathing, my knees tucked up into my chest, my hands pressed over my years, that I hadn't noticed a security guard making his way to me:
"Ma'am," a voice said, "ma'am, what are you doing still here? The theatre is about to close."
The voice came closer and closer, until I felt a hand on my shoulder; I jumped and backed into the wall.
The guard put his hands up and backed away slowly, a puzzled look into his eyes.
"What's going on?" Another male voice said, "Rob, is everything okay?"
