Chapter 14

 

New York is cold, and dark, and tall.

Alex arrives at night, because his life no longer has any recognizable cycles to the days, and spends the car ride to the hotel looking out the windows and wishing he were anywhere else. This city is never easy for him, and as often as he's been here since, the lights and the skyline and the noise always evoke for him the first time he came here, when his life was an unrecognizable whirlwind of fairytale insanity. When Fourth had sent him to New York for that first round of press, he'd never even been on a plane before.

That in a couple of days he's going to start something entirely new -- a movie, with all the attendant glamour -- just makes it all a little crazier.

Alone in his hotel room, Alex turns off the lights and lies on the bed, looking out at the night. He feels small, and not the good kind. Liam will be in New York in another couple of days, visiting friends and family over his own break from Fourth, but he's not here now. If he were, Alex would go find him and undoubtedly spend the night with him. Who he really wants, though, is Paul. Alex has been fucking Liam for the last few weeks, but it's still Paul who feels the most familiar.

It's not that late in L.A. so Alex pulls out his phone.

 

***

 

"Alex?" Paul answers, surprised. He's just gotten home from a long and frankly shitty day at work, and a call from Alex is the last thing he expects. At least Craig isn't staying over tonight.

When Alex doesn't say anything right away, Paul says "Hello?" and then, "Alex? Are you okay?"

"Tell me about your first night in L.A.," Alex finally says. It's the first time Paul has heard his voice in weeks.

"What?"

"It's home, and it's you, and New York is really hard right now."

Paul isn't sure what is going on or how much stock and hope he should place in Alex's use of the word home; he's completely taken aback, both by Alex's entirely unexpected call, and by his question.

He also has no idea what he's supposed to do, so he just does as he's told.

He sits on the loveseat by the window in the living room and looks out at the quiet street while he tells Alex about the day he'd spent moving into his first apartment here.

"I think it was as shitty as you say yours is, and my roommate was even crazier than Gemma." Alex chuckles softly, and Paul goes on to tell him about how he'd fallen asleep that first night on his bed, just a mattress on the floor at that point.

"I couldn't find where I'd packed my sheets. And then I woke up in the middle of night because the pipes were clanking. That stopped, finally, but then the streetlight outside was too bright and the crappy strip blinds were not a help at all."

"I hung towels over the windows for the first couple weeks," Alex offers.

It's one of the few mentions he's ever made of his own apartment, and Paul is wary of asking for more no matter how much he still wants all of Alex's stories.

"Yeah. See, that makes sense. I went running."

"In the middle of the night?"

"My instincts for self-preservation have never been the best."

Alex asks more questions, and Paul tells him more of the story. After every question and answer, the silences get longer. Eventually, Paul watches three minutes tick by on the clock on the nightstand without either of them saying anything.

Finally Paul says, his voice is soft and close, as if Alex were right here on the couch with him, "What time's your call tomorrow?"

"Seven."

"I'll let you get to sleep, then."

"Okay," Alex says, but doesn't add anything else. It's at least thirty seconds before he says, his voice barely a breath, "Good night."

"Good night."

And then the line clicks silent.

Paul has no idea what the hell just happened, and is entirely sure he's never going to tell anyone about it.

 

***

 

On the Fourth lot, the office starts to feel devoid of human life without the manic bustle of filming and as people start to take off for the holidays. The dingy hallways look even sadder, and the sets and soundstages are quiet and empty.

Paul misses Alex at home and at work, where Alex never appears anywhere he shouldn't anymore. Paul can't figure out the midnight phone call and after a while he just stops trying. If nothing else he's grateful for another sign that Alex was actually real.

A quiet office and no crises to fix means more time for his own projects, and when Victor finds Paul at his desk late one night with his laptop open and glasses on, working not on Fourth but on a pilot, for once he doesn't even stop to say or ask anything, just nods from the doorway and moves on.

Paul leans his cheek on his fist and scrolls back through the pages he's just written. At least he's doing something right.

 

***

 

Alex finds that filming Paradise Square is a little different from doing TV, but the essentials are the same. The familiarity of the routine is good, because it's the only thing he's used to right now.

He's got a different character, and after the terror of the first few days -- he can act, yes, but he's only ever acted Zach -- he actually starts to think that this might be something he can do. It's a challenge, but it's a good challenge, and he's actually making progress towards proving himself.

New York, however, remains hard.

He thinks about sneaking out one morning before the city and the fans -- they've found the hotel, again -- can wake up, and walking all over town. It's not actually a safe option for him and the schedule leaves no time anyway, but he still wishes.

He's glad when Liam arrives in town.

Assuming nothing, Alex texts him on his way back to his hotel from set that evening. I want to see you tonight.

Come out with us, Liam texts back. I'll make it worth it after.

Who's us? And I'm not bargaining with you for sex.

I'm bargaining for your time. Just wear your damn hat.

Us turns out to be a group of Liam's old friends from high school, including his childhood best friend, Charles, and a bunch of film school geeks, all of whom who think they're going to be the next Tarantino. As a whole, the group is almost as loud and obnoxious as Liam is, and, on the surface, are even less to Alex's taste. Yet, none of them give a shit about who he is when he's not a guy in jeans and a beanie, even if Charles watches Alex closely in a way that just screams Liam-related backstory.

Alex watches back with an intensity he knows is almost confrontational.

Obviously, he's always found Liam attractive, ever since he and Gemma used to watch TV together and talk about actors neither of them knew. But next to Charles, Alex thinks he finally understands why Liam's worked so hard to be as charming and charismatic as he is, if Charles – possessed of deep brown skin and a classical dancer's body -- is what he's been competing with since he was a kid. Somehow, though, the observation only helps Alex look at Liam with a level of fondness that he knows is probably unwise.

At one drunken point Liam polls everyone on what the word for a male starlet should be. When everyone but Alex gets distracted by a discussion of which it-girls they would, and would not, do, Liam tells him he's decided it's starling. They are, he notes, an invasive species.

As much as Alex doesn't like people, particularly people he doesn't know, the unfamiliarity is bracing and Liam is bordering on oddly sweet. It may just be that New York sets the bar low.

Liam and Alex end up back at Liam's parents' Brooklyn brownstone. Without any good reason to be in the same hotel anymore, Alex's accommodations are entirely out of the question. Even with the separate garden entrance and no sign of Liam's parents, it's still awkward.

"Don't they know Carly?" Alex hisses as they make their way down the hall to Liam's old room.

"Sure. They know a lot of things. It's cool."

It's certainly a different kind of discretion than Alex telling Paul not to hold his hand.

Any worries about closets and secrets or the immense, persistent loneliness of New York get burned away once Liam shuts the door of his room behind them and leads Alex to the bed.

Once they get naked, Liam digs his fingers into Alex's bare hips and grins at him. It makes it so easy to let go of everything as Alex sinks down onto him with the same steady concentration and ruthless determination he does everything with.

"Holy shit," Liam gasps, as Alex starts to move. "You learned a new trick."

Alex smirks and shifts to brace his weight right on his thighs. "Practice makes perfect."

"Bullshit. You've never practiced a thing in your life."

"Yeah," Alex says, and leans down to brace his weight on his elbows and bite at Liam's mouth. "But I still get better."

"Fuck yes, you do," Liam pants, and grabs the back of his head to yank him into the kiss.

 

***

 

Over the next few days, Alex settles into a rhythm of work, Liam, and not sleeping particularly well.

Spending nights at Liam's parents' house is the best. Even if it's more lavish than anywhere he grew up, it's a home, and he's honored and touched by Liam's trust in inviting him in and essentially letting him stay.

Wrapping himself up in Liam means things are a lot less hard no matter how much he loves his work, if not the spaces in between.

 

***

 

"So you want to tell me what you're doing, wasting all your time in New York with me?"

They've gotten naked and into bed, and this is not what Alex was expecting. Liam bats his hand away when he reaches for him, and Alex isn't sure if he's supposed to be hurt, embarrassed, or amused, but he does pull back a little.

"There's a whole city out there full of guys prettier, and probably less annoying to you, than me. So what gives?" Even with the self-deprecation, Liam's charisma is still stunning.

"I told you I changed my mind about you," Alex says, and while it's defensive, it's breezy. It's also conspicuously theater.

"Mmmmm, yeah, I know," Liam says, playing with Alex's hair. "I'm just trying to figure out how much."

Alex rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. There are glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to it from when, presumably, Liam was a kid. The light's on though, so Alex can only see their outlines.

"Fuck," he says to himself.

Liam says nothing, but continues to pet his arm.

"This is the thing where I have to tell you the truth because of one of your stupid lists of things, isn't it?" Alex says, still not looking at him.

"It would help."

"Should I just go?"

"No. Talk."

"But I don't talk, Liam."

"You do to me."

"Because you're annoying and won't shut up."

Liam grabs his hand and squeezes.

"This is so good," Alex says. There's a hint of anguish in his voice.

"It really is. The best, even," Liam says, bringing Alex's hand up to his mouth to kiss. "But I can't be for you the way you want right now."

"Carly."

"Not Carly. Not really. Although, yes. Look, you're not the only one people are hard for. Like, love -- awesome. But don't fall for me. 'Cause I can't, okay? I love you, and I don't work that way, and you're just being fucked up over Paul anyway. So... okay?"

"You're not even making sense."

"You've understood every word I've said. And you're an asshole for making me say them without confessing first."

"You're still holding my hand."

"So?"

For a long time, Alex says nothing. When he finally turns to look at Liam, Liam is looking at their hands instead. He asks to stay anyway.

"Yes, yes, totally, thank god," Liam says, buoyant as ever. "You're an idiot," he adds, and then grabs the back of Alex's head, kissing him hard.

It's startling and then funny before it melts into something else, slow and strange and difficult.

Liam rolls on top of him, tells him he's going to fuck him, and then takes forever about getting to it. Normally, it's the sort of thing that has Alex bantering impatiently or -- with Paul, anyway -- begging. But this feels like Liam is memorizing him, or mourning him. Alex knows he's likely supposed to do the same in return.

But it's hard to bring himself into the moment as if it's truly the end. He knows that after Fourth's winter break is over, they'll be back to being paid to kiss each other as two men who don't even exist.

It's that which makes it click for him. Right now, this is the most of Liam Alex is ever going to have. He knows in a moment it's going to be more than it's ever been before, and that after that it will become less forever. It's an awful feeling.

When Liam finally pushes into him, Alex is on his back, folded in half, and he's never been fucked like this before. The angle's insane, and the claustrophobia of the position is only working for him because everything else is such a mess. His throat is tight with tears he's fairly, but not entirely, sure he hasn't shed, and he's not even hard.

It feels good anyway. Arousal, as he's used to understanding it, creeps up on him eventually.

Liam's face above him is beautiful, shuttered, and pained. He's clearly trying to make this last. When his eyes open, it startles Alex badly, and he tries to push his head further back into the pillow to get some space from his gaze.

But there's no space to get, and Liam whispers "No," softly in his ear when Alex closes his eyes.

So he does as he's told. This is a gift, and Alex knows enough to take it on the terms it's being offered.

It's when Liam says, "I promise you I'll miss this," and shoves his hands, grabbing sharp and tight, into his hair that Alex comes.

Liam lets him close his eyes then as he works towards his own orgasm. His panting in his ear sounds not quite like exertion to Alex, but the soothing noises made toward children and wounded animals.

Other than dealing with the condom, Liam doesn't even bother to clean them up after. He just pulls Alex close, tangles their legs, and presses their foreheads together. It reminds Alex of Paul, and that's when he breaks.

The only thing Liam does in response is to briefly take his hand again and kiss his palm.

 

***

 

When Alex opens his eyes in the morning, it's to find Liam on his side, dressed now and watching him. When he sees he's awake, Liam squeezes his hand and silently slides out of the bed.

There are very few other options, and none of them are good, so Alex drags on his clothes and follows him upstairs where the deep silence of the morning is suddenly broken by Liam's mom, whose unexpected presence in the kitchen may just be the strangest thing to happen to Alex all month.

She greets them both with hugs and with pancakes. Surrealism, apparently, comes with chocolate chips. Alex says yes, please to orange juice and wonders how many broken hearts she's nursed for Liam in mornings-after through the years.

He doesn't really feel heartbroken, though, not exactly, as he pours syrup and listens to their friendly chatter. Heartbreak was walking out of Paul's house. This is something else, something profound and deeply aching.

His relationship with Liam only ever had a name as it was ending, and maybe even only because it was ending. Alex is still not sure what that name even is because this does not feel like anything he thought it would except for the grief that he's holding, precious and odd.

But then, Paul never felt like anything Alex expected either. That was different than this, but maybe that's part of the point. All Alex is sure about right now is that of everything Liam has taught him, the least important has been the mechanics.

Liam and his mom don't require much from him in the way of conversation, and Alex is glad for the chance to simply sit with his thoughts and process. There will be more of that, later, when he's well and truly alone, but for now it's enough to be here, where it's warm and home-feeling, and watch out the windows as the snow start to fall.