The pining is something that Garrett can handle, now. He expects it, so he knows how to process it at the very least. Even if his "processing" isn't always the healthiest of methods, even if sometimes "processing" means getting a little higher than he has any business being, he can deal with it and still wake up in the morning.

When Andrew texts him at two in the morning, Garrett checks it and doesn't think much of it. Then he actually reads it twice over, and realizes that Andrew is asking him if he could come pick him up from his friends place. Because he's drunk. And wants to see him.

Oh.

Oh...

...

Okay, what the hell does that mean?

And why is he saying yes? Why isn't he even hesitating? Why is he putting on his jacket, getting in his car, driving off even though he's already smoked half a joint and in no way should be behind any kind of wheel?

Those questions he does have an answer to.

Because it's Andrew. Andrew is asking him to. And he doesn't think twice when Andrew asks something of him.

If that isn't love, Garrett doesn't know what is.

/////

Something is wrong.

Andrew's outside already, sitting on the curb, shivering in just a t-shirt and sweats. He's not wearing shoes, even, just athletic socks.

Andrew isn't wearing shoes in the winter.

Garrett is concerned far before his car pulls up to a stop a few feet away, and honestly has every right to be. It's not the scene he'd expected to find, Andrew alone and cold and rumpled, drunk. He'd expected some sort of party, maybe, that Andrew just wanted someone to come get him because it'd gotten a little too loud and a little too stupid to be within his comfort zone.

Instead, he looks sad. Really sad. The kind of sad that Garrett has never seen from him before, and it makes his heart sink in his chest to see that look in his eyes when Andrew stands and faces the car.

"You're not wearing shoes."

"Guess not."

"It's.... it's cold as hell, Andrew."

"Guess so."

Andrew gets in, buckles his seatbelt (which takes him a couple tries), and sighs. Garrett, meanwhile, cranks the heat and reaches over to point the vents towards the passenger seat in the hopes that it would start warming him up.

"What happened? Are you okay, are you hurt? Is it bad? What's wrong?"

"...."

"Andrew."

"...."

"...Please, can you talk to me so I know what to do?"

Silence.

"...Thanks for coming." Is all he says. "Can we go?"

Garrett nods and pulls away from the curb, from the house he doesn't recognize and the lights of a party coming from inside of it, and u-turns back towards their apartment complex.

It's scary how quiet the drive is, how absent they both are from their usual easy demeanors. It's not common to have Andrew around and not be talking or laughing or smiling widely at each other. It only solidifies the idea in Garrett's head that something very, very bad has happened and that he has no idea what that could possible be. Or why he'd been called, of all the people in Andrew's life.

But when Garrett looks over at him from the road, he looks a little better. He's looking out the window now, watching streetlamps past, and the goosebumps on his arms have disappeared. It makes him feel a little saner, but he still feels sick at the thought that he doesn't know what's wrong. Or how bad. Or anything at all.