love-always-jordan - Tumblr blog

love-always-jordan · 2 years

Text

in agreement (b.k.)

pairing: barry keoghan x actress!reader

summary: you and barry go through a series of interviews to promote your latest movie. little did they know, there's more to the story than what meets the eye...

word count: 5,323

warnings: language, drinking, mention of death, allusions to anxiety, so much banter omg, so much fluff, a tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, smut [dirty talk, fingering (f), unprotected sex, creampie, some good ol' vanilla shit 👌]

notes: my taglist has ended. follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words! big thanks to @tommysparker @inklore @cocoamoonmalfoy my besties in suffering for giving me endless inspo and encouragement <333 happy reading and reblog if you liked it!

***

“Guys, congratulations on Til Kingdom Come. I got to see it at an early screening, it was amazing.”

Sat in a Manhattan hotel-suite-turned-press-room, you and Barry smile warmly at the interviewer in front of you, graciously saying your thanks.

“So, let’s talk about the movie and what it’s about,” the interviewer beams.

“Yeah! So Ben and Anna…” you motion at yourself and the man next to you, “two childhood friends who grew up in a small village. They both felt stuck and as kids, they made a promise to go away together. Marry each other if they’re still single by the time they’re 25…”

The two of you chuckle wryly, like it’s your own childish vow you made.

“Didn’t happen obviously. Things happened and they drifted apart,” Barry chimes in. “So now here they are, 25 years old, getting reacquainted with each other and pondering about how little they knew then.”

“And how little they know now.”

You knock at the door. No answer, though you’re almost completely sure he’s in there. You consider leaving him alone, give him some space —God knows he needs it.

But you hear a soft thud and a quiet ‘fuck!’ on the other side, so you turn the doorknob and peek into his room. “Ben?”

He’s sitting on the floor against the bed, and you can see the top of his head turning at the sound of your voice.

“Hey. Wanna join me?” he calls over his shoulder, raising a beer bottle in his hand.

You sit next to him, legs stretched out like his, accepting the bottle he offers without a word. You don’t drink it. You just… look at your best friend for a while. His head leaning back against the mattress. Staring out the window absently. One hand balled up into a fist; the other peeling the wet label of the beer bottle.

It’s a jarring mirror image of your old life. You’ve lost count how many times the two of you have sat in this position your whole life. Over heartbreak. Love. Hope. Uncertainties. The future.

But it’s been a long time since then. This spot, this room, this friendship has turned cold and unfamiliar. And so has Ben. And you’re hoping for him to say something-- anything because nothing that comes into your mind sounds remotely right.

“You look great,” he pipes up quietly, head lolling to the side. “How’s New York?”

“Busy.” you nod a little, and it feels so stilted. “How’s home?”

“Quiet,” he retorts without missing a beat. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Well…” you turn to face him, studying his disheveled hair and tired eyes and wrinkled black suit, “You look like shit.”

He chuckles, low and deep in his chest, and you almost sigh in relief. There’s the cheeky boy you knew and loved growing up. Maybe this thing isn’t entirely lost after all.

But as that little moment of reprieve dies down, the more it dawns on you how much you’ve lost. Your person is no longer your person --and it’s killing you. The grief floods your chest and you’re just aching. You’re aching to reach out to him. You’re aching to go back in time, or start over. But the only thing that comes out of your mouth is,

“I’m sorry about your mum.” you find yourself choking up as the unsaid apology goes on in your head, I’m sorry about us. I’m sorry you had to go through this alone when I was supposed to be there for you. I’m sorry…

And he looks up, finally looking you in the eye for the first time since you’ve seen each other in 10 years. Really look. He sees your jaw quiver and promptly grabs your hand, squeezing it firmly.

He blinks back the tears brimming in his eyes. “Thank you, Anna.”

And just like that, you know he understands. He knows exactly what you meant to say, and it’s enough. You both understand.

And there you are. Sitting on his bedroom floor, your heads leaning against each other as you hold hands through the tears and the sorrow. Grown up. Different.

“And… cut!” Jane, the director, calls out clearly. Definitively.

The little rehearsal studio swells back into life, as everyone in the room takes a deep, sobering breath. The casting director wipes a tear from her eye and smiles sheepishly at the assistant director who’s recording the screen test. There are cheers and applauds, but it all feels surreal.

Barry, the amazing actor playing opposite you, turns to look at you with a big, open grin in surprise and insane disbelief.

“Fucking hell, thank you so much, Y/N,” he beams at you, nudging your knee with his knuckles, and you’d just realized that you’re still holding hands.

And what’s crazier is that neither of you let go. The two of you just lie there in a daze, laughing at the ridiculousness of doing that little emotional scene with a perfect stranger.

You wouldn’t say it out loud, but you knew at this moment that this is it. You and Barry and this story you brought to life together… everything falls perfectly into place.

“What drew you into this project?” another interviewer asks later on in the day.

You pause thoughtfully, but Barry chuckles next to you.

“I… didn’t have to get ripped or become a psycho for the role.”

“Oh, come on. You love doing all of that!” you roll your eyes.

“It’s the age, man. I’m getting old now, I appreciate the little things in life a little more…” he feigns a grimace, which prompts another laugh from both of you. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

“It’s a very raw and intimate story,” you swiftly bring the focus back to the interview, “It’s almost like a play, really. And it’s just… such a private moment of people’s lives, and it’s really interesting to dive into that.”

Barry, now back to serious mode, nods in agreement. “Yeah, and to find the perfect people to do it with —our director Jane and this woman right here— it’s quite remarkable, too.”

“Aww…” you coo, nudging his elbow and making moony eyes at him, and he makes moony eyes right back at you, leaning his head on your shoulders and cackling like a dork.

He sits stiffly on the driver’s seat of the car, hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes fixed forward even as the crew adjusts the lights. You can feel the tension radiating off of him from the driver’s seat, and you place a calming hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, dude. You wanna take a walk?” you smile softly. “I think we’re getting cabin fever here.”

He takes a deep breath and with his exhale, he releases the steering wheel and rolls back his shoulders. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You step out of the car and immediately shudder at the cold gust of late night air. “Hey, Barry and I are gonna stretch our legs a bit, alright?” you wave at Ella, the 1st AD, across the field, earning a quick thumbs up in return.

The two of you make your way towards the edge of the woods, hands stuffed in your coat, shoulders hunched from the cold. You’ve spent a good part of the night playing out the argument scene, screaming at each other and the fatigue is starting to get to him. Lines get flubbed and pockets of emotions slipping away and technical difficulties, leading to (quite frankly) shit takes.

“I need to get out of me head,” he groans, gripping his hair like he can pluck the intrusive thoughts away.

“It’s all good, man. You got this,” you try to reassure him, while still giving him plenty of space to move around.

He keeps pacing back and forth, even jumping on his feet a few times to shake off his anxious energy. You’ve seen this a few times now over the three weeks you’ve been filming, but now, at the pinnacle scene of the movie, you feel like you need to step in.

“Barry.” you hold his arms firmly, stopping him in his motion

And he does. Eyes wide and alert. “Yeah?”

You cup his cheeks with both hands. You don’t miss how he jumps at the cold, but relaxes almost immediately at how it cools down his red flush. “Fucking breathe, okay?”

“Okay, okay.” he puts his hands over yours, for warmth. For reassurance. For companionship, moving one of your hands onto his chest, like you’re cooling down his heart as well, as you breathe in and out with him.

You’re lucky it’s not the other way around, because your heart just about jumps out of your ribcage at that shift. “I’m gonna try something. Can I try something with you?”

“Be my guest,” he immediately replies. At this point, he’s willing to leave his life at your hands with no hesitation.

You let go of him, and for a fleeting moment, you partly regret not staying close and connected for longer. But you put your game face on and straighten up.

“Alright. Hold your hand out like this.”

He lets you flip his hands over, palms facing up. Far be it for him to complain if your hand lingers a little too much and caresses him from wrist to fingertip before she lets go.

“Close your eyes.”

And he does. For a moment, there’s just his breath —and yours, fogging up the air. The crickets and the leaves whispering close by. The film crew chattering and working tuned out of his mind. And then…

SMACK!

“Motherfucker!” his eyes snap open as your palms come down hard on his, burning heat spreads all the way down his spine. He finds you in front of him, shaking off the stinging sensation, too.

“Snaps you right out of it, right?” you breathlessly chuckle. “Whoo, that burns.”

“Yeah, no shit.” he opens and closes his palms. But something changes in his posture as he goes; it’s very subtle, but the jittery Barry subsides into the calm, quiet energy of Ben. “It’s… kind of working, though. Wanna go back?”

“Sure, let’s go.” you nod, excited and at ease to get back into the scene at the same time.

You let him walk ahead of you, allowing you some room to wave to Ella and gesture, he’s good to go. Let’s roll. Careful to not set him off or bring him out of that headspace again.

But he slows down, opens his arm to wrap it around your shoulders as the two of you walk back to the set.

“I see what you’re doing,” he chimes in quietly. With a glance, he smiles at you. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I might just fuck up my lines after this.” Your arm finds his waist, pulling yourself closer to him until you’re attached at the hip with him.

He opens the car door for you before walking over to his side. The crew shuffles around to get ready for the take; hair and makeup doing their final touches, the script supervisor reminding you where your hand goes and how you sit, the clapper slides in front of the windshield to bring the slate in.

Even with tens of people around you, this work gets lonely sometimes. You spend most days in your head, digging out the most vulnerable parts of you to tell this story. To have Barry next to you, going through the same thing –knowing he’d do the same for you as you did for him earlier is… such a comfort.

You close your eyes and imagine having this feeling with this person for as long as you can remember –this feeling of home more than a house to live in or family to live with. Just this boy, and his blue eyes and his cheeky smile and his hand on yours.

Of course, you still want that home. You want him, in every which way you can get him. Especially since the previous night that you spent together. Where you had all of him. The tinge of ache starts in your throat, and you draw a slow breath, willing it to spread deeper into your chest, your core. Your fingertips, that are dying to reach out to him.

But you’ve lost the right to reach out now. It’s been 10 years and he is not your home anymore. Nor he wants to be. Maybe. And the thought hurts you to the bone.

“And… action!”

“Did you guys know each other before this project?”

The two of you shake your heads, both amused, watching the look of surprise on the interviewer’s face.

“We had maybe 5 minutes worth of chatting before our screen test!” you laugh incredulously.

“We kind of just met, said ‘hi, nice to meet you, big fan’, and then went straight into, you know, the scene,” he explains, but then adds quietly, “But it was special, though.”

You don’t look up, but you can picture the soft gaze in his eyes. Instead, you just nod diplomatically in agreement. Your arm, which perches on the armrest, presses against his like a little reassurance that you’re there. You acknowledge what he’s saying.

Thankfully, the interviewer doesn’t catch it (or if they do, they don't address it), because the next thing they say is,

“That’s amazing because you had to play best friends. How did you guys build that chemistry?”

You speak up first. “Well, we spent quite a long time –after we were cast– to get to know each other and talk about the history of our characters…”

“But also we filmed in a really small village. There wasn’t much to do. We just hung out a bunch,” Barry jumps in as he opens his water bottle. “So, yeah. We became really good mates.”

It’s a night off after six long days of filming in the middle of nowhere, and the two of you are stuck in your hotel during a thunderstorm. It would’ve been a bummer not to go out… if only you weren’t so darn comfortable, lounging in his bed, sharing a packet of gummy bears while watching Crazy Stupid Love on Netflix.

Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone are doing the legendary Dirty Dancing lift on the screen. It’s hilarious and ridiculous, and sure enough, it’s the exact moment where the sparks start to fly and they have their romantic kiss.

“Mm, classic.” Barry absently hums.

Your eyebrows furrow at him. “What do you mean, classic? Who does that in real life?”

He tilts his head to the side, pursing his lower lip. “I mean, I can.”

”Pfft, please.”

“I’m serious! You want me to prove it?” He's already making his way out of the bed, standing ready in his grey sweatpants and worn Oasis t-shirt.

“I am not gonna let you break my neck over your ego, Barry.” You pull him back to bed by the hem of his shirt. “Besides, that can’t be your move.”

“Why not?“ he throws himself back on the bouncy mattress, chin jutting out in defiance.

“Because!” you motion at the TV, “you’re taking a page out of a Ryan Gosling movie!”

He laughs. “Okay, okay. My thing is… much more lowkey than that.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d seduce them with… overpriced minibar snacks,” he picks up the packet and pops a gummy bear into his mouth, stealing a cheeky glance your way, “let ‘em pick the movie and take over my bed and my Netflix…”

“Is that right?” You raise your eyebrows and nod slowly, coolly, to hide your racing heart. Banters that border on flirting are common with Barry, but it has never been addressed so openly like this.

Or maybe you’ve just never had the time or courage to face it head on.

“Mm-hm.” he shifts closer to you, tucking his arm underneath the pillow, and you find yourself mirroring his position.

“And then what?” you find yourself lowering your voice, just slightly above a whisper. Not wanting to overwhelm this closeness between you.

He chews on his lower lips, like he’s anxious, and sighs. “And then I just hope to God that… you don’t find Ryan Gosling more interesting than me.”

“Tsk, compared to you? Never.” your eyes light up in mischief, lips pulling into an easy smile.

He smiles so hard, his eyes crinkle to a close, but as it dwindles down, it turns sheepish. Shy, almost, if the rosy flush on his cheeks is anything to go by. “Fuck, I really like you.”

Your heart grows about three sizes, but you keep yourself calm with all your might. “Is that you talking, or is it Ben?” you ask, only half-joking because the other half is absolutely terrified that this is just the euphoria of filming.

“Is that you asking, or is it Anna?” he replies. In humor. But also in earnest.

“Maybe it’s both,” you shrug, then look at him expectantly.

“I thought it was a… movie magic, spur-of-the-moment kind of thing— when we did the screen test. But then I got to know you, and…” he trails off, shaking his head.

It’s quiet. You know exactly what he’s talking about. All the conversations that last through the day, into the night, as you talk about your fictional characters so much that you feel like you’ve lived in their shoes. The way his own real life stories have been imprinted on yours, even though they never crossed paths once. How his presence near you has felt like second nature to you.

How badly you yearn for him to be closer.

The tension all but crackles between you, but at the same time, the heat feels nice. It feels perfect. You don’t even realize your legs are tangled up in each other, or that your nose is an inch away from colliding with his. You summon all the courage to close in on him, and then…

Some raucous noise and music blares through the TV and it makes you both jump out of your skin. Barry sits up scrambling for the remote, turning it off, and the little wake-up call sobers you up a little.

“Aw, fuck.” you lean back against the pillow.

“What, what is it?” his face, his voice, his shoulders square up –worried that the novelty has faded and the moment has passed.

“Can’t believe your stupid move worked, oh my God…” you pinch the bridge of your nose in feigned disappointment and full melodrama.

He relaxes, letting his body flop on top of you despite your little groan. “Admit it, you like me.” he tickles at your wrist, trying to get you to look at him.

“Well, you like me first, so…” you smile, patting his cheek smugly.

He makes a face to mock you, and you make a similar face to mock him, somehow, somewhere along the way, your lips find their way to each other. It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed, and somehow… it doesn’t feel like it. His lips feel just right, just as you imagined. The way his hand caresses your face. How his skin feels under the pads of your fingers.

Soft. Warm. Inviting.

“So what’s your move, then?” he murmurs into your lips, your cheek, your jaw. Hot and teasing on your skin.

“Well, it��s not so much of a move, more like a…” you twirl random strands in his hair as you pause, “…combination of my wit and sex appeal.”

“You’re such a nerd, I love it.” he nibbles at your earlobe, a little chuckle humming low in his chest.

“Yeah? Is that doing it for you?” you bite your lip, overdramatic, as you grind your hips into his.

It’s a silly mix of giggles and moans and it really shouldn’t be sexy. Not when you’re taking the mick out of each other while you’re making out in ratty sleepwear and God knows what kind of underwear you’ve put on. But you move with the familiarity of old lovers. There is no uncertainty in the deepening of the kiss. No hesitation in the treading of your hands all over each other’s bodies. Unfazed by clothes getting tugged off and stuff getting brushed off the bed –nevermind the crinkles of plastic wrappers, nor the limbs getting caught in the way.

He hovers over you for a moment, admiring the view of you undressed underneath him. Tits splayed out, nipples diamond hard. Thighs closing and ever so slightly dragging at his crotch. A little smile tugs on one corner of his lips as something catches his eye.

“Bananas and peaches, huh?” he remarks, no doubt about the cheeky panties you’re wearing. “Bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“What can I say? It’s my lucky charm—” the words die on your lips as he trails his along your chest. Hungry mouth and sly fingers plucking and devouring the sensitive buds on top.

And he’s there for quite a while; seemingly happy to keep his mouth occupied and find ways to make you whiny and needy for him. But before long, his hand gets antsy, and he moves to take the obstructing fabric off of you.

Of course, it’s not Barry if he’s not being a shithead about it.

“I gotta say,” he lifts the panties with his forefinger, studying the patterns, “This is really cute. I might just steal this off of you.”

“What, and then wear it?”

He grins. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you.” he throws it to the side and returns to kiss you on the mouth.

It’s sweet and intimate and entirely too short as your lips fall open the moment his finger grazes your wet folds. You gasp a little when he glides so easily along your slit.

“Fuck…” you breathe out, arching into his touch as he starts drawing circles on your clit.

He kisses you everywhere. Your lips, your shoulders, your breasts. His mouth seems to make a home out of every inch of skin he can find. Drawing your little sighs and drinking them in as he picks up the pace between your legs. He slides a finger into your sopping cunt so easily, he moans.

“Christ’s sake, you’re unreal,” he rasps, low and breathless. There’s no banter in his tone. Just genuine observation, and dare you say… admiration?

All thoughts go out the window when another finger enters you, coaxing and caressing your silky walls just right, and if he’s trying to find your sweet spot, he’s not in any rush. He enjoys every motion –every time you tug at his messy hair, every time you pull him in for a kiss. He swallows all your pretty sounds all for himself.

And through it all, you keep him close. Committing the feeling of his back muscles on your palms to memory. The way his forehead rests on yours. The way he kisses –and God, doesn’t he kiss you like heaven. Plays you and makes you fall apart like heaven, too. The euphoric heat spreads from your core to the rest of your body, but you feel… calm. At ease.

Perfect.

“Shit, you’re… I…” he brushes his nose against yours, his sweats-clad stiffness rubbing your thigh.

“Shut up and get your dick inside me now,” you slur nonchalantly.

His eyes darken, taken aback by your words that he no longer has anything to say. He just hurriedly pushes his sweatpants off and lets his beautiful cock spring free.

You flip him onto his back, straddling his lithe waist. “Told ya. It’s my wit-slash-sex-appeal combo.”

Barry laughs breathlessly, hands snaking up your sides, his blue eyes marveling up at you in wonder.

A little lazy giggle escapes from your lips as you spread your wetness all over his length, stroking him until he’s nice and slick, sinking him into your tight little cunt. You pull yourself nearly all the way off of him, and plunge him back in, and you nearly black out. Watching him melt into the bed from how impossibly close, impossibly delicious he is with you.

You find the perfect pace to ride his cock. And he meets you halfway, hips canting up and hands keeping your hips in place. His dark locks a disheveled mess and blue eyes heavy, lips pink and spent from kisses. A breathtaking sight on top of the perfect fit into your deepest core.

A smile breaks out from your lips. “Is this doin’ it for you?”

“You have no fucking idea.” he lets out a big exhale, pulling you back into his heaving, naked chest. Into his kiss –gentle, especially in contrast with the sharp slapping of skin clashing together filling the room.

It’s so liberating to openly want him. To clench around his cock and let the stretch fill your senses. To meet him halfway when he thrusts up into you so eagerly. You didn’t realize how much you had deprived yourself of that —you never even admitted how your mind lingers on the way he leaned into your shoulder or wrapped his arm around your waist or whatever the hell he was doing that made your heart skip a beat that day.

And now, without the cameras and the crew, the two of you chase after your wanting and pull each other closer to your highs. You bounce on his cock without a single care, but the need for that burst of warmth from your pussy again. And to have him fill you up to the brim. God, what bliss.

“I’m so close… right there— fuck…” You tuck your head in the crook of his shoulder, tasting the sheen of sweat on his skin.

And he wraps his arms around you, gently turning you on your back so he’s on top. With a kiss, he murmurs, “I’ve got you, darling girl. I’ve got you.”

His weight on top of you feels grounding, but the swelling ache in your core grows overwhelming. He thrusts into you, deep and purposeful, his silver chain hanging off of his neck and dangling on your chest. He wets his thumb in his mouth and sneaks it where your bodies meet, right on your clit. He strokes on along with the motion of his hips, his blue eyes unwaveringly locked into yours —pleading and searching and finding at the same time.

You fall apart with his name on your lips, clenching and convulsing around him so hard that you feel his release himself inside you. Grasping and groaning in pleasure. All for you.

And for the longest time, you just stay there. Still and wrapped up in each other as you catch your breath. As the world comes back into vision. Into reality.

“Well,” you run your hands through his hair, “Filming the sex scene tomorrow is gonna be… an experience.”

The two of you break out in a fit of giggles, over the sheer absurdness of this whole situation. The frenzy. The melancholy, as it dies down.

“Don’t— don’t go anywhere just yet,” you say quietly, your hand soft but sure on his waist.

And he understands what you mean perfectly. You just want this to yourself for tonight, and so does he. So he kisses your lips ever so softly. And your cheek and your nose and your forehead. “I won’t.”

“Was it hard doing the romantic scenes? I mean, you guys even had –very beautiful and emotional, might I add– sex scenes in it.”

You groan and roll your eyes. “It’s the worst. Barry’s the worst! He keeps laughing and messing up takes and I’m just here like, ‘can we wrap this up, please? I’m just wearing pasties here– it’s cold!’”

Meanwhile, the man in question is keeling in his seat, dying with laughter, not even denying your strong accusations.

The lights are low and he is hunched over, curling up into himself, sniffling into your bare shoulder. And all you can do is just hold him. Hold him because this might be your last chance before you fly back to New York, to your old life, and leave this –leave him in your distant memory.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not sure if I have the ability… like if I’ve ever really truly loved anyone.” you feel the crease in his forehead on your skin. And then a drop of tear. “Or if I’ve ever really been loved.”

“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.” You instantly pull up his face to look at him. Smiling fondly, comfortingly at him as he fights back his sobs.

“Am I?” he remarks lamely.

You nod, and for a split second, amidst the chaos of your tumultuous relationship, things become clear. And these words flow out from your lips with no pretense,

“I love you. And I always have, in my own… deranged way. And you love me in your own complicated way. And you’ll always love me.”

And with that, he can finally breathe easy. He nuzzles your nose with his own and caresses your face like it’s the most precious thing he’ll ever have. You feel like a child again. Things are simple, and there’s nobody to prove anything to. Just you and your best friend that you adore with all your heart.

“CUT!” the director calls out.

Neither of you move –neither of you want to– and when you do, it’s out of necessity more than anything else. They call it a wrap and there’s applause and cheering and high-fives and backing out quietly into your trailer, but it all feels like an out-of-body experience.

Why they chose that particular scene as the last ever to shoot is beyond you. You feel like an old wound cut open again and you need a moment to recover. A long indefinite moment to just breathe and sort out the situation in the movie and in real life between you and Barry and—

There’s a knock on the door.

You sigh and answer halfheartedly, “Who is it?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

You could recognize that voice anywhere now. The one that has been home to you for the past two months. And the next thing you know, you’re rushing over towards the door.

And there he stands. Still wearing the thick bathrobe the PA put on him earlier, hunched over in the cold autumn air.

Barry smiles smally. “Can I come in?”

There’s only one obvious answer to that, and you stepping aside to let him into your trailer is enough.

He closes the door behind him. Acutely aware of how jittery you are, even as you stand still, staring out the window with your hands on the edge of the kitchenette counter.

You feel him standing behind you. His forehead slowly rests on the back of your head. Chest flush against your back. Arms snaking around your waist. And it’s oh so easy to just melt into his embrace.

“Are we okay?” he whispers faintly, carefully.

“Yeah.” you caress the strong hand that rests on your stomach. “Just… art imitating life.”

His hug tightens around you, as if in reassurance. “I know.”

You turn around to face him, throwing your arms around him, kissing him with all your might. There’s no more parts to play, lines to deliver. There’s just you and him. And it scares the fuck out of you because you don’t know how long this will last.

But then he says, “Come home with me,” and you’re fighting back tears.

“What?”

“Come home with me,” he repeats. “Just for a couple weeks. Just… until we’re called to an audition or work or, or, or–”

He trails off, but you understand him perfectly. Come home and be with me until we grow old, or grow out of each other, whenever that may be. That’s all he asks for, and that’s all you need. So you cup his face in your hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks, kissing him so tenderly, and you say,

“Okay. Take me home.”

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