MAJOR spoilers for the main story, so I wouldn’t recommend reading this until you’re caught up to the LACMA scene :p
You can also read the entirety of chapters 1 through 8 TOTALLY FOR FREE here:
~~
That evening, the day that Theo had, for the first time, explicitly rejected Lysander’s efforts to get closer to him, Lysander had rushed home and, for the first time in maybe a decade, openly cried.
He didn’t let anyone see it, of course. That would have been crazy. His illusion of impregnable self-assuredness, either cheerful or sensual, had taken years of practice and therapy to achieve. He couldn’t let anyone know he had feelings; that even he, with all his money and looks and fame and millions of people around the world ready and willing to do whatever he wanted of them, was also capable of being sad.
So, locking down that illusion for the space it had taken to escape that grubby little apartment without visibly falling to pieces, he’d said his goodbyes to Theo, given him a vague promise to finish work on their musical collaboration via email. Then, with practiced calmness, he’d returned to the plain white sedan he’d left in the unused-except-for-him spot in the carport and driven home.
Then he’d sulked frustratedly on the elevator ride to the top and stormed inside his apartment, into his walk-in closet where sometimes the feeling of closeness helped temper the loneliness whenever he returned to his own penthouse apartment alone. There he’d dropped to the floor to pull his long legs to his chest, buried his face between them, and let fat tears start quietly descending at last.
Fuck. He hated to show weakness like this, even if no one was around to see it. He wasn’t supposed to be weak. He was supposed to be strong, confident, charming, talented, able to entertain nearly a hundred thousand people live on stage without breaking a sweat—what would any of those fans think if they could see him now? Would they start to hate him? Would they despise him after realizing what a pathetic loser he actually was?
“Fuck,” Lysander rasped to himself after several long moments of crying had apparently done little to temper the ravaged shreds of his heart. Every time he started to calm down a little, he recalled how stiff Theo’s posture had been, shoulders arched and hackles raised as if he really were a cat, trapped in a corner and ready to fight or flee if Lysander dared reach out. The venom in Theo’s voice as he’d more or less told Lysander to fuck off, that it “wasn’t his fucking business” why Theo had abruptly stopped replying to his texts for the better part of a week.
Yes, maybe logically, Theo was right…they weren’t actually dating after all; he wasn’t, especially in that moment of emotional turbulence, particularly convinced they could even be counted as friends. But still, Theo needn’t have sounded so…vicious about it. A simple “I appreciate your inquiry as to my feelings on the matter, but I do not at this time believe it is within the parameters of our undefined relationship for me to share those private reasonings with you” would have been just fine.
After a while, some thought went to calling Liliana, to pouring his heart out to her as he was unwilling to pour his heart out to a single other person on this planet, not even his therapist of seven years. But she was in a foreign country nine hours ahead of him, where it was currently four in the morning…surely she was asleep, and even though she probably would have said she didn’t mind the interruption if he’d needed to reach out to her, his sense of guilt wouldn’t let him interrupt that sleep.
Her daughter was young enough that Liliana still had trouble getting Jubee to stay in her bedroom at night…she might be even more sleepy because of it, and even though Liliana was every bit as beautiful as she’d been while strutting down catwalks in Milan wearing hundred-thousand-dollar haute couture five years prior to getting married, moving to Italy, then having a child, she still needed her “beauty sleep.”
So, having no one else to bother with his emotional agony, Lysander stayed curled up in his closet, cried for another few long minutes (maybe hours, though he doubted it). Then he decided to take a shower and go back to finding a way to tamp all that weak shit down before anyone else discovered his dirty secret—that he was actually human, despite all his privileges and façade of inward as well as outward perfection. Maybe work out in his home gym afterward; try to sweat his stresses and sadness out.
He couldn’t afford to continue wallowing in self-pity anyway; he had to fly back to New York in the morning, had to put on an illusion of confident calmness as he negotiated terms with avaricious businessmen for the New Year’s show and for the upcoming tour. They were middle-aged men who thought he couldn’t possibly have the skills or the arrogance to demand fair treatment, simply because he had been born to a life of privilege and was only 25; he literally couldn’t afford to give them a single inch, a chink in his armor to stab into and pry him apart.
So, with great effort, he indulged in one more shivering sigh, then brushed the tear streaks away with the heels of his hands and forced himself to stop wallowing in self-pity and weakness.
Time to get to work.
~~
It was late morning, two days later, when Lysander received a phone call from a number that made his heart lurch with worry and hope.
He was especially tired—after a long day of artfully exchanging words with reps and agents and other businessmen while he employed practiced smiles and silver-tongued scheming, some of those suits had insisted on taking Lysander out for drinks, and he knew better than to turn down the ‘offer’. A lot of the most important deals he’d secured in the past happened in the after-hours, when tongues were loosened and willpowers frayed by liquid libation and the presence of attractive women (though generally Lysander was too professional to partake of the latter, aside from a few well-timed winks that had the women giggling coquettishly and giving him fawning looks).
He was still worn out from the time-change, too—even though the clock said it was ten, his internal clock still thought it was seven, and the confusion caused by that dissonance threw his internal rhythms all out of whack. It was going to be even worse when he’d be returning to LA in another three days, his body thrown into even more confusion as he was forced to readjust to everything being three hours earlier.
That tiredness evaporated in a second, though, as soon as the now-familiar number—and the name—flashed on his screen.
Theo was calling him. Two days after telling him to fuck off, Theo was calling him. What did he want? Was he going to lecture Lysander further? Was he calling to tell him to fuck off permanently?
Or…maybe, just maybe, Theo was regretting his harshness? Maybe he wanted to make up?
Tentatively, afraid to trust himself not to pour out all his apologies for his invasiveness and beg Theo to take him back—at least as a friend, even if Theo had made it clear he never intended to become lovers—Lysander slid the digital button to accept the call and waited with bated breath for Theo to speak first.
No sooner had the call connected than Theo’s agitated, excited voice stammered out, “Listen to th-this,” and then music started playing through the receiver.
Parts of it were familiar already, but so much more had been added in since Lysander had heard bits and pieces in the recording studio weeks ago; presumably in the file that Theo had emailed over yesterday that Lysander had not yet been strong enough to listen to on his own. It wasn’t in disjointed fragments anymore, though—all of it had been mended together, and even if some parts were a little chaotic, on the whole it sounded very, very good.
When Lysander heard his own singing voice played back to him, this time with effects added that gave it a dreamy, evocative feel, he almost gasped in shock. He’d never heard his voice sound like that…not crisp and charming but eerie, enchanting. The lyrics were only a few lines long, vague references to exploring uncharted territory in a deep, dark forest that he himself had written, but whatever Theo had done to them made it sound like so much more.
Minutes, maybe hours later, the song faded, and Lysander finally loosed a quiet, stunned breath.
Then, hearing Theo’s own shallow, anticipatory breathing, a startled laugh burst out of Lysander and he said with helpless automation, “Wow.”
He could practically hear Theo smile hugely in response, the shy DJ’s voice vibrating with pleased excitement as he replied rapidly, “Isn’t it p-perfect?!”
His own lips twitching into a bemused smirk, Lysander replied softly, still processing both the music and the fact that Theo sounded happy to be talking to him again, “It’s…pretty great.”
Glancing at the alarm clock visible next to the bed from where he’d been sitting in an armchair while checking emails on his phone, Lysander asked in subtle amusement, “Did you just finish that? Is that why you called me at…” Ten in the morning, minus three hours for the time change… “What is it there right now?…Seven AM?”
It was a strange hour for Theo to be awake and talking on the phone with him—the DJ ought to have either been working one of his ungodly 4 AM-to-noon warehouse shifts, or else sleeping in preparation for an evening shift instead. He had two jobs after all, and barely seemed to have a chance to take a break between them. Poor, overworked Theo. It was so fucking unfair that he had to work so hard for so little. Maybe someday, Lysander could convince the DJ to let him take care of him instead.
“S-Sorry.” Theo giggled, then rambled with absurd eagerness, “Ssss….Sorry…s-sorry’s such a weird w-word…”
Oh. Smiling to himself again, Lysander kept his tone light as he interjected, “Theo.”
“Mmmmm?”
“Are you… high right now?”
“Mmmmmm.” Theo punctuated his non-answer answer with another giggle, and Lysander’s lips twisted into an even deeper grin, relief slowly supplanting his worry that Theo had called to say something negative to him. Hopefully he wasn’t only feeling giddy because he was evidently stoned as fuck.
The breath rushed out of Lysander in a startled, touched, surge of emotion as the person he was completely infatuated with asked, “When are you c-coming over ag-gain? I wanna show this t-to you with th-the viss..vish…vishiliser app…”
Fuck. Suddenly, Lysander was very resentful of the fact that he was a thousand miles away right now. He wanted nothing more than to jump in his car, drive over like a bat out of hell over to that tiny apartment, and take Theo into his arms as he’d been longing to do since September. Maybe push him up against a wall and kiss him desperately. Maybe take this phone call as a sign that Theo, at last, would be receptive to that kiss.
Still afraid to confidently interpret Theo’s inquiry as such a sign, Lysander studiously kept his voice quiet, unassuming as he asked, “Do you want me to come over?”
“Yes!” Theo gusted out in immediate reply, and Lysander almost wept all over again, this time with relief. “So when? Whenwhenwhen? Today? T-tomorrow? Now?”
God, he was so fucking adorable that Lysander could hardly stand it.
As pleased as he was to hear his crush entreaty him for a rapid return, Lysander was tired, and a yawn leaked out of him as he debated his reply. “Not tomorrow…Hmm. Let me look at my schedule. Hold on.” Reluctantly pulling the phone away from his ear, feeling ridiculously like he might increase the chances that Theo would end the call if he did so, Lysander switched apps to check his calendar.
Goddamnit. Why was Theo finally talking to him like this now? “I can do…Wednesday evening? Assuming my flight doesn’t get delayed.”
“Nooooo…” The plaintive whine in the DJ’s voice should have been annoying, but all it did was make Lysander smile hugely again. “Nowwww.” Perhaps it was a good thing after all that Theo was so far away from him at the moment, or Lysander would have been sorely tempted to gobble him up for his unbearable cuteness.
“I can’t come over ‘nowwww’,” Lysander replied, hiding his disappointment at the fact with a wry chuckle. “I’m across the country right now. What am I supposed to do, teleport there?” If only such a thing were possible. Maybe, whenever he was back in LA again, Lysander should apply himself to inventing a teleportation device so that he needn’t be unnecessarily far away from Theo ever again.
“Yes. T-Teleport. I need you h-here.” If Theo sounded any more adorable, Lysander was going to faint. And…’need’. Theo had said he needed Lysander there with him. Even if he was being extra silly thanks to inebriation, surely he wouldn’t have said he needed him if he only viewed Lysander as a casual friend.
Either way, teleportation was not at that time possible, and as much as Lysander longed to be physically next to Theo, he still felt too much responsibility to his career and to all the people who depended on him to wildly chase after his crush by leaving New York early when he still had three more days of boring-ass meetings to get through. “Well…” It was a pathetic half-measure, but it was all Lysander could offer at the moment. “How about a video chat instead? It’s not the same, but…”
“Fine.”
Smirking ruefully at Theo’s pouty tone, Lysander drew his phone back again, stared anxiously at the screen for a long moment, then, trying not to panic that Theo might change his mind, forced himself to end the call and send a FaceTime request instead.
Saints be praised, Theo accepted it, and Lysander’s heart leapt yet again as soon as he could see that (unfortunately tiny) pretty, pouty face. Holy fuck did he want to kiss Theo so badly right then. Even if he had three days to get his longing back under control, could Lysander really trust himself not to put his hands all over the DJ as soon as physical distance was no longer a barrier?
“There you are,” Lysander heard himself murmur, sure he must have been wearing an embarrassingly dopey grin. Theo, instead, was scowling, though Lysander supposed (hoped) it was more that he was feeling sour about Lysander not dropping everything and returning to him as soon as Theo had asked him to. “Wow…you are high. I can see the red in your eyes from here.”
Actually, wasn’t this the first time Lysander had seen Theo stoned? He knew Theo smoked sometimes—the well-used bong in his apartment proved that obviously enough—but it was a bizarre and beautiful experience to see Theo so…unguarded for once. Wearing his silly, sulky, adorably needy true emotions on his sleeve. Lysander resolved that he would be encouraging Theo to smoke more whenever it was politely possible, if it meant he got the pleasure of seeing Theo relax his defenses this much.
Meanwhile, Theo had made a noise like a frightened rabbit and hidden his face after Lysander’s comment. So Lysander chuckled disarmingly and offered, “Hey, it’s fine, no judgement. We all have those days.”
Revealing only his red-rimmed eyes again, Theo mumbled from within the nest of his arms, “Where’re you?”
“I told you. New York.” Regrettably. “Did you think I was lying?”
“No…maybe.” Slowly, some of the silliness faded from Theo’s voice, and Lysander fought back a frown, sad to have caused Theo any discomfort; if it was indeed his fault that Theo’s giddy light had dimmed. The DJ’s face disappeared between his arms again, voice sadder still as he continued, “Lys…I’m…I’m s-sorry…”
It’s okay, baby, I forgive you. Fuck, please, I’m the one who’s sorry. I never meant to make you feel like I was intruding…I never meant to push you into rejecting me, because I was too presumptuous in thinking that you trusted me as much as I hoped you did.
Biting back the ridiculously honest admission of how desperately he wanted Theo to like him, Lysander was preparing a noncommittal word of dismissal when Theo started drawling his name. His name. Something that Lysander couldn’t remember him saying a single time before, as if acknowledging him by name might be confessing a closeness that Theo was still, for whatever reason, unwilling to admit.
“Lys. Lysss. Lyyyyyssssss.”
Swallowing back that lingering urge to beg Theo to forgive him entirely, Lysander kept his voice neutral as he said, “Theo. Look at me.”
Slowly, with obvious reluctance, Theo pulled his face back up until it was visible, his morose expression tearing into Lysander’s chest. Uncertainty flickered in the warm brown depths of his eyes, gaze darting to the sides of Lysander’s face on the screen; or so Lysander supposed, small as the view of Theo was on the phone. “You’re b-busy. ‘M sorry, ‘m gonna g-go—”
“Wait.” The plea burst out of him before Lysander even realized he was speaking, his tone frantic, or so it sounded to his own ears.
The hand that Theo had started reaching towards his phone hesitated, dropped to the couch. The DJ’s eyes were so wide as Lysander continued carefully, putting every drop of emphatic encouragement into his tone that he could, “Theo. Your song—our song—is beautiful. You did an amazing job.”
Theo’s resulting smile was so beautiful that Lysander couldn’t help automatically echoing it, relieved and happy and hopeful and full of longing to see Theo again. He said, voice trembling a little bit with how hard he was trying not to reveal how deeply affected he was, “And I mean it—Wednesday. I’ll see you Wednesday. Okay? As soon as my plane lands, I’ll call you and we’ll figure something out.”
“Okay,” Theo replied quietly, shyly, then, “Miss you.”
Fuck. He was done for. Lysander was in love.
Smiling gently in direct contrast to the surge of awestruck emotion that internally assaulted him at the realization, Lysander murmured back to him, “Miss you too. Now get some sleep. Goodnight, Theo.”
Theo’s own smile looked serene, but there was a little bit of sheen to his eyes as if he, too, were holding back tears. “I l-love when you s-say that. G’night, Lys.”
Quickly, before he could start crying for real, Lysander ended the call. Then he stared at his phone where he was still clutching it for one long moment then another, breath rattling shakily in his chest as he stared at the blank screen.
He loved Theo. He loved Theo. Fuck, it was utterly ridiculous; he’d only met Theo months ago, and really, he barely knew him. Theo revealed only tiny parts of himself bit by bit, and Lysander doubted he’d ever fully know or understand the DJ, understand what it was that had happened to him in the past to make him so fragile and withdrawn.
It didn’t matter though. The scarcity of those admissions was what made each one of them so precious.
Well…if he truly did love Theo, was in love with him, then that only crystallized his mission. Breathing out deeply, Lysander resolved to dedicate himself to his newfound intent.
He’d just have to find a way to make Theo love him back.
~~
