by E. Davies
“That kind of energy, yeah, yeah,” Fitzgerald approved. “But more, you know. Playful. Like you don’t really know what you’re doing out here.”
“Like I’m a dumb twink.” Tristan caught himself a moment too late, his heart pounding, but Fitzgerald didn’t even seem to notice the word. Was that a word everyone knew these days?
“Oh, not that extreme. But yeah, we want to make this seem approachable.”
“Like, telling the viewer, if I can do it, so can you?” Tristan was a little less impressed with everything Fitzgerald told him. At least it was paying him well. He could do this job and then be a little choosier about his next gig.
Maybe.
“Exactly!”
“Okay.” Tristan shrugged it off and put it firmly in the think about this when I’ve had more wine category in his head. For now, he was free to go.
He thanked everyone in sight, wished them a good night, tried to think less murderous thoughts, and fled for his car at the earliest opportunity.
Before he hit the road, Tristan dug his silenced phone out of his pocket.
It stayed on silent any day that he was working, from the minute he left the house for work to the minute he was back in his car. A phone ringing during a take could cost the production team hundreds or thousands of dollars. Even on vibrate, it could be audible.
He found a string of texts from Jake, and he scrolled up to read them in the right order.
Wanna come over tonight?
That was the one he’d seen earlier.
If not it’s cool.
Just don’t ghost me, LOL.
Fuck, I’m needy tonight. Sorry. I’m trying to shut up now! :)
…But let me know when you’re free LOL.
The last one was sent just twenty minutes ago.
He quickly typed out a message in reply.
Everything OK? Just got off work.
The response was almost instant, as typing dots appeared in the little bubble on Jake’s side of the screen, followed by another message.
Oh! Congrats on the booking! I didn’t know you were working. Sorry. I’m OK.
Tristan’s heart raced. Still want me to come over?
If you wanted to?
Are you asking me or agreeing?
Fine, Jake texted back with a winking face. I’m ordering you to come over if that’s what it takes. :P Here’s my address.
Tristan laughed under his breath. He could picture that bossy tone, and it did all kinds of things to him. No matter what they did together, he hadn’t had bad sex with Jake yet. Jake’s name gave him an subconscious thrill of pleasure now, like a Pavlovian response.
On my way… ;) Tristan answered and plugged the address into his GPS, then snapped the phone into the holder and pulled out of the parking lot.
At least ten PM had one advantage: way better traffic. In L.A., rush hour became rush morning and evening. Only late at night or very early in the morning did he have a chance of avoiding it.
Usually he went over his lines for the next day, but firstly, fuck that noise, and secondly, at least this commercial was mostly physical with little actual spoken dialog.
“Fuck that guy,” he muttered under his breath as he drove on autopilot. “He just wants me to be… more gay, doesn’t he?”
Which presented several problems: not only did Tristan not want to play gay on a commercial for laughs, and to imply that gay guys couldn’t do anything outdoorsy, and not only did he want to avoid having his brand become camp, but…
Well… how could he play gay, anyway? That was what was really sticking in his gullet about the role Bobby wanted him to take in the movie.
He was an actor. He picked up people’s speech, mannerisms, habits, almost unconsciously. It was easy to blend into a crowd.
But if anything, he was a method actor. Without experiencing it himself, how could he convey what that kind of self-expression meant? And he couldn’t act straight in real life and gay on screen, and take the praise for being realistic. God, he’d be the worst hypocrite ever.
But, then, what did playing gay really mean? Gay men acted all kinds of ways, and that was fine. Some, like River, were camper than summer camp, and some were the butchest guys you could imagine, and everything in between.
This was exactly why he didn’t like opening that box in his head. It made him think too much, and then he started thinking about himself, and he’d done enough of that since starting to see Jake.
Yet here he was, on his way to Jake’s again.
It’s playing with fire, but I can’t keep away. Even if I’m gonna get my fingers burned, it’ll be fun for now.
He pulled up outside the apartment building and squinted to double-check the address, then found a parking spot. Everyone was home, so it took him one circle around the block before he did.
By the time he approached the front door, Jake was already waiting there for him. “Hey.”
The smile on Jake’s lips made Tristan smile. Even if it was late on a weeknight, and Jake was already in sweatpants and a t-shirt, he looked gorgeous—and happy to see Tristan.
“Hi,” Tristan answered with a smile. Unlike those he’d been giving people on set, this wasn’t forced. He liked seeing Jake, and for more than sexual reasons.
So far, every time, they’d cuddled afterward for a few minutes. Talked, for at least a bit.
He knew that Jake was from somewhere further east, and that he’d left his family when they were dicks. Tristan had shared that he was in a similar boat. He had some supportive family members, at least, but not his parents.
Weirdly, they’d been more okay with him being gay than him being an actor. In any case, as far as he was concerned, his life was his own to ruin however he chose.
“How was your day? God, you look beat. I’m sorry for making you come all this way,” Jake frowned.
“Nah,” Tristan told him with a smile. “My place isn’t even twenty minutes away.”
“Still.” Jake put his hand on Tristan’s back and then pulled away slightly, casting him an uncertain look.
Tristan leaned into his shoulder to show him that it was okay. God, more than privacy right now, he just needed someone there to distract him from his thoughts. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I will be,” Jake promised. “Just moody. Long story. Are you okay?”
“What? Of course. Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Tristan couldn’t stop himself before confirming at least three times that he was fine, and the more he talked, the more he blushed. “Just fine.”
“Uh huh.” Jake cast him an amused glance but took his hand as he led him to the staircase, and up the concrete steps two at a time. “Hot chocolate with Baileys it is.”
“God, yes, please.” Tristan’s heart skipped a beat when his hand touched Jake’s. He’d wondered if he was overstepping his bounds at the club last weekend, but apparently not.
He followed Jake upstairs to the third floor, and into the little apartment. It was modest and small, but not shabby. They passed by a few doors close to the front door, and into a living room area. A kitchen was tucked into a niche in the wall.
“Not a bad place. On your own?”
“Yep.” Jake smiled at him. “I’m tired of roommates. If it’s a little crappy, I don’t care.”
Tristan completely understood. The tradeoff between a nice place and privacy was a classic choice. Frankly, if he didn’t get his ass into gear, he wasn’t going to be able to afford his current place anyway without dipping into savings… but that was a problem for Future Tristan.
Tonight Tristan was more concerned with crashing on the couch, watching Jake flit around the kitchen making them mugs of hot chocolate. He smiled as he glanced around the living room. He didn’t want to feel like he was spying on Jake, but he was curious.
Hints of Jake’s personality shone through even at a quick glance: a world map on the wall, a small army of cushions lined up along the back of the couch, and coffee table books about fo
rests and tiny homes.
Tristan smiled as Jake crashed next to him, carefully balancing a cup in each hand. He handed a mug to Tristan and held his own out to clink. “Cheers.”
“To the healing power of chocolate.” Tristan grinned and sipped, then moaned his appreciation for the hot mug of liquid heaven in his hands. “God. Thanks. This was just what I needed.”
“I could tell.” Jake beamed. “Serious chocolate deficiency shouldn’t go untreated. And I can’t drink right now anyway. Someone should use up the sad, neglected bottle of Bailey’s.”
Tristan was already unwinding and laughing as Jake teased him. “Yeah, I’ll follow your prescription.”
Jake turned sideways and pulled his legs up under himself, then balanced a cushion on his knees and propped his mug on it. “So, what’s up?”
“Oh, I’ve been filming a commercial for the last few days. We wrap it up tomorrow.”
“Commercials,” Jake echoed approvingly. “Those are good work. At least on our side of the industry, they pay better than most jobs.”
“Yeah…” Tristan trailed off. He shouldn’t let it bother him, he knew. There was no point in getting angry at some heavyhanded and slightly homophobic creative direction. He’d endured worse.
“But?” Jake’s gaze was perceptive.
“But…” Tristan trailed off, and then shook his head. “He wants me to be more flamboyant and less competent at the outdoors.”
Jake snorted. “Classy.”
“Yeah. I could have seen that coming, in retrospect.”
“How are you gonna handle it?”
Another good question. Jake was full of them. “I don’t know,” Tristan admitted. “I think I’ll suck it up and get the job done. But, you know, it’s this kind of crap that burns me out.”
Jake’s gaze sharpened again. “Are you happy with your career?”
“Yeah.” Tristan had said so for so long that he wasn’t really sure anymore. He paused and frowned. “Maybe.”
Jake nodded. “Love to hate it, or hate that you love it?”
“Ouch.” Tristan chuckled, cradling his mug by his chest and sipping a few times as he thought about it. “I hate that I love it. It feels like it’s got me by the balls.” It was the first time he’d really thought about that, let alone said it out loud, and he reeled as he did so.
“Hmm.” Jake didn’t seem in a rush to diagnose or fix his problem. He let it stay hanging in the air between them as he leaned back and sipped from his mug. “You look… surprised.”
“I am.” Tristan laughed abruptly and touched Jake’s knee—the sliver of it he could see under the pillow. “Sorry. I don’t wanna make you play psychotherapist.”
Jake shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said with a gentle smile.
There was something in the air between them, or perhaps around them. A cocoon of sorts, keeping the rest of the world and all their goddamn problems out. It was that late-night spell between lovers, or friends, or just two souls that needed to meet at that moment in time and share something special.
Something that they’d never forget.
The two of them, all alone save for their own thoughts and fears, memories and dreams.
Jake’s hand slid into Tristan’s, and they held eye contact for a few moments. Somehow, though, Tristan didn’t feel the need to kiss him to prove anything. It felt like they were beyond that stage of intimacy, without even needing words to confirm it.
“Are you—”
“What—”
They started speaking at the same time, then tripped over their own tongues to gesture the other one to go ahead instead. They shared a laugh, and finally, Tristan felt compelled to speak.
“Are you happy working in the industry? I mean, I know it’s only part-time, but… is that what you want to do more of?”
Jake blew out a little sigh and laughed. “I don’t know. It’s not stable work, and it’s physically demanding. I have some things I want to do and it wouldn’t be… the best idea.” He frowned. “I enjoy it, but it’s not my life’s work.”
“What is?”
“Now you’re getting into real talk,” Jake said. He grinned as he sipped his hot chocolate, then set the mug aside and kicked the pillow away to scoot closer to Tristan. “I want a family, someday. Maybe a boyfriend. I don’t know. But a kid. I’ve always wanted that. I thought for a long time I couldn’t have one, but… one way or another, that’s what I want.”
Tristan blinked a few times. “Wow. Okay. You know what you want. I was expecting a little more I don’t know, I need to go practice yoga in India and find myself.”
Jake snorted with laughter. “Most people don’t need that. They just need to learn to find the small good things right here.”
“You’re gonna be good at that whole parenting thing,” Tristan told him with a chuckle. “You have the wisdom down pat. What about the wisecracks?”
“Don’t get me started,” Jake warned. “Not unless you’re really willing to open that Pandora’s box.”
Tristan winked. “Is that a challenge?”
Jake elbowed him but settled against his side. “What about you? Besides acting, what’s your ideal life like?”
“I always thought it was out here being a big-name star, but the more I think about it, the less I like that idea. I’m already afraid of the spotlight, of being outed.” Tristan wasn’t afraid to speak so frankly—not to Jake. “It would make all of that worse. Unless I came out. But I’d have to be a big enough name for that, and even then… everyone’s told me not to. Except my agent, who wants me to be more gay. I don’t know who to listen to.”
“Does what you’re doing now feel right?”
“For now, yeah. Forever? I don’t think so.” Tristan frowned. “I’ve always listened a little too much to authority.”
Jake squeezed his fingers, lacing them tightly. “A lot of people do. Most of us, really. I think it’s the default, unless you had really rebellious parents, or… I don’t know, you’re pushed into it. Or you’ve had to fight for your right to exist.”
Tristan quietly nodded. Maybe that was part of his attraction to Jake: how fiercely unapologetic he was for who he was. Tristan drew a breath and let it out, then rested his head on Jake’s shoulder. He felt safe talking to him in a way he hadn’t experienced before, outside of Zeph.
But Zeph was a friend. This? This was more than that.
He couldn’t put words to the attraction without stopping to think about it, and if he did that, he might just lose his grip and fall towards Jake.
“I guess if I did something else, I’d have to get trained in it.” Tristan smiled ruefully. “I’ve had so much acting training that it feels like a waste.”
“Sunk cost fallacy,” Jake said succinctly. When Tristan just blinked at him, Jake explained. “When you’ve already spent time or energy or money on something, you’ll keep spending because you feel like it’s a waste of what you’ve already spent. That’s how companies get away, with like…” He looked around, and then his eyes lit up. “Laptops!”
Watching him get passionate about explaining this was so adorable that it took Tristan some effort to listen to what he was saying. “Laptops?”
“You know how, like, the screen will break? And then the power adapter? And then the keyboard? And you’ll pay a couple hundred bucks and get it fixed over and over? And if you do the math, you’ve spent more on parts than you did on the damn thing in the first place. But you feel like you’ve wasted both the original investment and money on all the parts you’ve fixed if you don’t stick with it.”
Tristan nodded. “But it would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”
“No. That money’s already gone. They call that throwing good money after bad. Same with your time or energy,” Jake said.
Tristan rubbed his thumb along the side of Jake’s hand as he turned the ideas over in his head.
“Plus,” Jake added, squeezing his hand until he looked, “nothing you do is a waste. You had
a great time. You did good work. If you move on, or if you switch to the stage, or only commercials, or whatever the hell you do… that doesn’t mean the other stuff you did wasn’t worth it.”
Tristan grinned. “Yes, Yoda.”
“Shut up.” Jake looked embarrassed now.
Tristan didn’t want him feeling bad, so he hurried to add, “You’re right, though. I’m compelled to accept the words of wisdom. Should I wax on and off?”
Jake’s embarrassment gave way to laughter again. “I’m just saying.”
“You’re smart and put-together. It’s kind of intimidating,” Tristan admitted.
“You’ve got a better house, though. And career. I’m nowhere near ready for anything I want in life,” Jake told him.
Tristan snorted. “It’s not about that.”
“Oh, but it is.” Jake was playing with Tristan’s fingers now, running his fingers along each one and touching the back of his hand. Perhaps as an excuse for looking down at his hand, rather than meeting his gaze.
Tristan nearly held his breath as he waited for Jake to say more. He sensed he was at the edge of something delicate here—though they’d been treading carefully all evening.
“It’s like… I’m twenty-seven. My mom was four years younger when she had me. I’ve barely got my feet under me.” Jake frowned at Tristan’s hand, and he slowly looked up at him. “Sorry. I’m just hormonal.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Tristan shook his head. “Wanting a family, feeling worried about the future… all that stuff is universal.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. I’ve often wondered when the hell I’ll grow up and stop chasing this fairytale.”
Jake’s brows climbed. “Really? But you’re… successful.”
“From a certain vantage point, yeah. You know when you’re climbing a mountain?”
Jake snorted. “Like you’d catch me on a mountain. But yeah?”
“You feel like you’re gonna get to the top, and then you get over the hill and you realize there’s another real mountain top, you’re not there yet. And sometimes you get there and that’s fake, too.”
“I see where you’re going with that.” Jake laughed quietly.