Chapter 4

 

Paul wakes up first. Alex's face in sleep is a study; even younger than it looks when he's awake, relaxed and at ease except for the way his brow furrows when Paul disentangles their limbs. As much as he would love to stay in bed with him, Paul remembers his brief flight the night before and wants to give him whatever space he needs for now.

He leaves the bedroom door cracked open and goes downstairs to start tackling the last of the cleanup from the party. Todd is sprawled blissfully in a puddle of midmorning sunshine, and Paul stops on his way to the dishwasher to rub his belly with a foot.

Most of the mess left in the kitchen is dealt with by the time he hears movement from the bedroom, and he takes a last private moment to grin to himself before the footsteps start down the stairs.

He turns around to see Alex hovering at the bottom of the flight, one hand on the railing.

"Good morning," Paul says, and grins at the way Alex bites his lip before he smiles back. He's in his clothes from last night but is still barefoot. It's absolutely adorable.

"Hi."

"How did you sleep?"

"Are you always so polite to your guests?" Alex asks as he leaves his perch by the stairs and comes into the kitchen.

"Southern hospitality," he says with a shrug and another smile. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"No, thanks." Alex smiles slyly, steps into his space, and kisses him.

Paul expects a quick good-morning peck; instead, he gets pushed up against the counter with Alex's hands in his hair and his tongue in his mouth.

He groans into it and grabs Alex's hips to hold him there. When Alex tries to pull away, he follows. Alex's eyes are a brown that's on the edge of black, unnervingly dark with the rest of him so fair, and when he blinks them open as he presses a last, soft kiss to Paul's mouth they catch and drink the sunlight in a way that makes Paul need to take a breath.

Alex asks, "Can I invite you to take a shower in your own bathroom too?"

Paul laughs, and tightens his hands on Alex's hips. "Yeah. Yes."

 

***

 

Paul's body is glorious -- lean but thoroughly muscled, with good abs and strong thighs. Alex savors the opportunity to get his hands on it again, this time in the light and under soap and water.

Paul offers to do his back for him with a grin that's a little wicked, and Alex closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the cool tile while Paul's hands, firm and sure, knead their way across his skin. His brain is still churning, wanting to analyze every one of Paul's movements and find the correct response, but it quiets as Paul keeps touching him.

Alex feels lazy, heavy with the heat and with arousal, but eventually he pushes Paul out of the way and rinses the last of the shampoo out of his hair before reaching for the tap.

"I should get going," he says regretfully, and smirks at Paul when he pouts.

Paul presses his fingers to Alex's naked side when Alex turns the water off and grins at him before grabbing towels for them both.

"Thanks," Alex says, as he starts scrubbing out his hair.

"Anytime." Paul kisses him again before wrapping himself in his own towel and disappearing into the bedroom.

Alex grins to himself as he gets dressed, because the lessons of storytelling and fame -- leave everyone wanting more -- apply to real life, too.

Paul teases him at the door when Alex whines about having to go out in last night's clothes -- Sweetheart, no one will think you're doing the walk of shame in that shirt -- and then offers to lend him something. Alex makes a face at him and turns him down.

Paul holds Alex around waist and asks, "Can I call you?"

Alex doesn't know what to say, but Paul seems determined to wait him out as Alex flicks his eyes over his face. Eventually he nods with a smile both happy and hesitant.

With Alex's hand on the doorknob, Paul catches him for one last kiss. Then he's out in the driveway and giving Paul a nod and a smile back in response to his wave from the door.

If he puts his dumb victory playlist on and sings along as he drives home, there's no one around to judge.

Gemma is crazy and loud when he gets home, even though he texted her the night before. She wants to know who, and if it was really a good idea with the you know... and all because she actually can almost never bring herself to say the word fame around him without whispering it. Mostly, she doesn't even do that.

And then she wants to know what, in a blow by blow (and oh how accurate that request is) way, until Alex retreats into the shower again just to have space from her. He's fairly sure that, unlike his bedroom, that's somewhere she won't barge in on.

He knows he's going to have to look for a new place soon; it's way overdue, but he's used to this crappy little apartment and he's had enough change for a lifetime. Even if it's too small and probably not even safe for him anymore, it's a thing that keeps seeming to languish.

Despite his assumptions, Gemma actually has the audacity to storm into the bathroom while he's under the water. He's glad their current shower curtain isn't clear like the last one, which mold and mildew totally destroyed both because their apartment is inherently gross and because they are terrible housekeepers. Even so, it feels ridiculous, her trying to get a look at his dick or just being too familiar to care, while he checks his body for marks. Alex feels like there should be some, even though there aren't.

"What are you doing in there? Your hair was wet when you came in," she demands.

"I will have this conversation with you later," he states as authoritatively as he can. After all, it's Sunday, and that means HBO and violating their diets on the couch tonight. He laughs to himself for a minute, because a year ago, he couldn't even afford fucking HBO and didn't even have a reason to need a diet. L.A. couldn't be sadder and crazier that that's a marker of anything.

"Why not now? Is it because you need more private time?"

"I am late to brunch and in the shower, not trying to jerk off," he says sharply before turning off the water and waiting pointedly for her retreat.

 

***

 

Paul's early to brunch, because after Alex leaves and he finishes cleaning, the house feels lonely and empty again without anyone in it. He tells himself to stop it, because getting used to having Alex around after just one night is not going to lead anywhere good and decides that getting out of the house sooner rather than later is the better part of valor.

Besides, brunch brings with it friends, mimosas, and the prospect of his dog. Thank god for restaurants with outdoor patios.

It's as he's crouching next to his chair to rub Beau's ears, carrying on a conversation half with Craig and half with Josh on the other side of the table that he hears Shawna's voice, bright and excited, saying, "My darling Alexander, you made it!"

"Yeah, sorry, couldn't find a parking spot."

Paul's heart gives a sudden jolt, because, holy shit, that's Alex, in one of the last places Paul would have expected to encounter him.

He gives Beau a last distracted pat between the ears and gets back up in his seat to find Alex staring at him, just for an instant, before he turns, obviously tense, to say something else to Shawna.

Alex has changed out of the T-shirt into another of those tight V-necks, with his sunglasses shoved on top of his head over a knit beanie that hides at least most of his distinctive hair. Paul wants nothing more than to get up from his chair and round the table and kiss him, but even if Alex weren't someone who everyone pays an enormous amount of attention to in public, they haven't talked about this. Whatever happens here needs to be Alex's call.

Since Alex isn't smiling and just looks more startled even than he usually does as he follows whatever Shawna's saying, his call is, apparently, to pretend last night didn't happen.

There are good reasons for that; Paul understands that entirely. But he wishes they were at least sitting next to each other.

"Hey, so, I think you know most of these guys--" Shawna says, putting a hand on Alex's shoulder until he sits down.

"I'm Brian," says Brian, interrupting her because that's the kind of thing he does. Alex turns to look at him, clearly judging the weedy-looking guy with the obnoxious moustache. Paul grins to himself. "And that is Josh," Brian points, and then goes around the rest of the table, before he winds up at, "Paul, and Craig, and that's Divorce Dog."

"Excuse me?" Alex asks.

"Honey, there have been custody battles waged over actual children of actual marriages far less ugly." Brian says.

Alex's eyes go to Beau, whose ears perk up in hope of a new friend, and then to Paul. Alex stills just for an instant before he gives Paul a very small smile. Paul is reminded that Alex is an actor not because he ever studied to be but because he's very, very good at it.

"His name is Beau," Paul tells him, after a pointed look at Brian.

Alex leans out of his chair, and offers the dog a hand to sniff. "Hi, Beau."

"If you had been subjected to your own shrieking on the matter, he'd be Divorce Dog to you too," Josh supplies helpfully.

Paul rolls his eyes and grins when he sees Craig do the same; Alex sits up again, smiles sharply, and focuses on his menu.

 

***

 

Alex is grateful when the food finally comes and he has something to concentrate on other than not doing what he wants to do, which is to grin at Paul and nudge their feet together under the table.

If the damn dog (he's a really cute dog) is anything to go by, Craig is the same ex who walked out on Paul the same day Paul walked in on him and Nick; the day Alex's life changed forever. In light of that, he can't help but take a moment to look over Craig appraisingly; he's certainly attractive, built more or less like Paul but shorter, and a couple years older going by the lines on his sun-weathered face and the little bit of grey in his short black hair.

That they're all at brunch together the morning after he and Paul have hooked up is bizarre, and spooky, and awkward. Alex isn't particularly superstitious, mostly because Gemma has her rituals and Alex has no patience for them, but he is starting to wonder what it is that Paul's doing to him -- or what the fuck that one day over a year ago is doing to all of them.

As the conversation spins around him, he feels increasingly out of place. It's not because of what he does or how many people know his face; it's that he's twenty and living in a tiny apartment with a roommate he met obsessing on television shows via the Internet. He still can't even order a drink in public.

Alex vaguely remembers that Paul turned thirty -- there'd been a party; any excuse for a party at work is taken -- a few months back. The table laughs over his and Craig's "divorce," and someone else starts talking about a play date they had with their nephews and starts showing photos around. As Alex passes the phone with the pictures of two little toddlers along the table, he feels miserably young.

Young and impermanent. Paul has a history with Craig; however terrible their breakup was, they have a dog and seem easy enough together now. Alex wonders if, like the story of his fame, his story with Paul will just be about how he didn't exist and wasn't supposed to, and then, one day, how he didn't anymore.

He's pulled out of his thoughts by someone yelling "cheese!" and then laughing as they hand a phone to Paul, who grins and starts typing on it. Twitter, or maybe Instagram, because someone else takes a picture of their plate and Paul is laughing about hashtags and "New mystery members of #TeamBrunch!"

Alex doesn't get caught in any of the pictures, and he knows enough of this crew to know he won't be named anyway. It's still weird. It's hard enough to be in the world as it is. No matter how much Margaret exasperatedly assures him that he can actually go out for simple things like meals without the world ending, it's strange enough to be stared at and interrupted on the street without getting put on the Internet he once loved so much too.

Eventually the meal winds down, and Paul catches his eye more frequently. Alex doesn't know what to do, so he doesn't do anything.

In his car, he pulls his sunglasses down to see his phone over the top of them, and texts Paul: Sorry that was weird. It was good to see you. He turns the engine on to get the AC going when the car starts to heat up before he gets a reply.

What are the chances we both ended up at the same brunch? Paul sends.

Given Shawna, apparently pretty good, Alex texts back.

I didn't put her up to that.

I know.

Come over for dinner sometime this week? Paul asks.

Alex grins to himself. When?

Friday?