Inspired by Much Ado About Nothing
A. R. Capetta and Cory McCarthy
Leonato: Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.
Beatrice: Not till God make men of some other metal than earth.
—ACT 2, SCENE 1
“Strike up, pipers!” Benedick bellowed, taking Beatrice’s hand and starting a riotous, streaming dance across the stage and down into the pit of delighted, drunken groundlings.
The performance was a success for certain, The Globe on fire this night, and even though both leads of this particular play had railed against the typecasting, the Ods Bodkins were on their way to becoming the best Shakespearean troupe in the damn galaxy.
Beatrice made her infamous move of twirling Benedick out of the dance and into an embrace that landed his face in her glorious cleavage. There he placed as many kisses as the cheers demanded before spinning them both back onto the stage and behind it, where the crowd’s enthusiasm blurred to raucous white noise. The actors snapped out of their roles: no longer Beatrice and Benedick but Tegan and Taron.
Tegan let go of Taron’s hand with a vengeance. “Why are your palms always so sweaty?”
“Stage lights and leather pants,” Taron returned. “What’s your excuse? My lips are all salty from your…” He motioned to their healthily exposed bosom, thoughts steaming. “You’re hardly wearing clothes.”
“Come to think of it, I am warm.” Tegan hauled their muslin dress off the shoulder it still clung to, revealing at least 60 percent more breasts. “There. That’s better.”
“I’ God’s name; I have done!” Taron hollered, shielding his eyes with one hand and turning to his side backstage, where he wouldn’t be bothered by the most unfortunate costar of his promising young career.
Taron whipped open the reclaimed, old oak door to his dressing room, stepping into a small box of pristine stainless steel, which he’d buffed and polished to act as mirrors from every angle. Out the small porthole, the gigantic gas planet of New Vegas—famous for a highly debauched colony and the occasional diamond rain—filled the view with orange and teal stripes. Taron preferred a view of the stars, but then, this had not been a season of Taron getting what he wanted.
He stripped away his costume down to his sweaty boxers, filled the small sink, and stuck his head all the way into the icy water, banishing thoughts, washing away Tegan’s soft touches and hard kisses and lines delivered so close to his lips. And not just from this night but the long and many months of this play’s season.
When someone pulled him up by one shoulder, he didn’t need to peel his eyes to know Hazem’s hand. “I come to launch the merriment of our wrapped show and find you drowning your sorrows. You do know that’s meant to be done with alcohol.”
“As I don’t drink, I must do it the old-fashioned way.”
“I believe alcohol is the old-fashioned way,” Hazem countered.
“Call me new-fashioned, then.”
“Never.” Hazem grinned and tossed a hand towel at Taron’s dripping face. His good friend used the polished steel to examine his going-out look. Shirtless with gold suspenders, Hazem was advertising his lean, brown body this evening, still wearing his Don John eyeliner and knee-high boots. “You know I play each villain with glee, but the ‘bastard brother’ with a bizarrely anglicized name might be the lowest of the Bard’s baddies. I spent nearly six months stomping the stage, indicating evilness until my eyebrows hurt. Evil eyebrows are a thing, did you know?”
“Do you honestly want to compare short straws?” Taron asked. “I had my literal breath cut off by Tegan’s…”
“Glorious bosom?”
Taron flipped twin middle fingers. “Yes, do torture the demisexual mouse with your sex kitten persona. This game never gets old.”
Hazem lifted Taron to his feet by both shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “You know I jest from a place of deep love and a complete lack of understanding.” His comfort turned wicked. “Plus, I, too, have lost my breath in Tegan’s great asset. I wouldn’t dare complain about it, though.”
They struck up a mutual slapping spree that ended with Taron in a headlock beneath Hazem’s muscular, bare arm.
“I yield!” Taron yelled, and Hazem released him.
“Come, get dressed. Let us move from pity party to cast party.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Taron pulled on a baggy sweater and the pants with the stylish rips up the leg.
Hazem frowned at the aesthetic. “After having spent so much time and energy on your chest, I’d think you’d show it off a little. You’re healed now?”
Taron lifted the neck of his sweater and looked down. “It is a lovely chest. Next time, maybe. I’m always a mess of nerves after this damned play.”
Hazem shook his head in disappointment. “We sold out the house, brother. As in, we’re all getting paid this week, and you’ll never have to play Benedick to their Beatrice again. Let us have an end to the punishment we all deserved from the moment we first conceived of slamming you two together.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Haz. We knew all along what mischief the company was doing, setting us up like that.”
Hazem stopped perfecting the coif of his dark, curly hair, staring instead at Taron’s reflection in the riveted steel wall. “You knew?”
“Of course we did! You used our—let’s just say ‘merry war’—for the profit of this troupe. You and Icon and the rest knew you’d get nothing short of our rich disdain, and that is the check we will be cashing tonight.” Hazem gusted a sigh of relief, and Taron washed with suspicion. “That’s not what you thought I’d say.”
Hazem held up his palms, eyes closed. “We also thought that … mayhaps … you two might spark, like your roles.” Taron’s mouth fell open, and his friend pushed on, seemingly unaware that something fiery—and pissed—had indeed sparked in Taron. “We’ve learned our lesson. You two are as incompatible as oil and, well, a different type of oil.”
Taron had lost all words, which was rare indeed. His brain was stuck on two separate hooks. The first was his friend’s and their company’s most sincere betrayal. The second was much more Tegan-based, which always sharpened his thoughts to the point of puncture.
“You’re not mad,” Hazem tried. “Say you’re not.”
“Mad is too few letters for my current feeling. Get out.”
“Taron, curb your dramatic instincts for a moment. Nothing is damaged! You were an incandescent star these last months, and Tegan got to shout endlessly onstage, eyes fixed upon you, which we all appreciated. Their attentiveness can zap a person straight through and has done to so many of us, if you know what I mean.”
Taron did. That was at least part of the problem.
And now if Hazem wouldn’t leave, Taron would have to. He stormed out of his own dressing room, right into the rest of the company who’d merged the better elements of their costumes with clubbing clothes to take the shuttle down to New Vegas.
Iconoclast hooked Taron’s elbow with hers, preventing him from going farther. “It’s time to get our revelry on at your daddy’s grand estate! Where are you huffing off to?”
“To spread news of your endless injustice,” Taron hissed, flinging her off his arm.
The rest of the company quieted, laughter barely held in check by a series of quirked mouths. Icon turned on Hazem. “Oh, lords, did you tell him?”
“He guessed! Or maybe I cracked.”
“Where is Tegan?” Taron snapped, avoiding the multitude of dubious faces. The Ods Bodkins were a motley and many-talented family, all part-owners of The Globe, the mighty ship they’d outfitted with a replica of Shakespeare’s long-lost theatre, and like true family, he suddenly couldn’t stand a single one of them.
Icon pointed to Tegan’s dressing room, and Taron stomped onward, avoiding Hazem undoubtedly recapping this particular cat’s escape from the bag.
Taron banged a fist on Tegan’s door. “Open up, harlot!”
Tegan flung the door ajar, blocking the entrance. “Call me one more womanly slur, even one Uncle Will penned himself, and I will destroy you and the antiquated gender binary you rode in on.”
“Harlots can be any and all genders. Now, we need to talk.” Taron slipped inside their dressing room and shut the door, glancing at the familiar space that had been set up so differently from his own. The stainless-steel walls and floor were hidden beneath velvety curtains, tapestries, and small, brightly patched rugs. The long, soft curls of the Beatrice wig had been flung onto a rack, making Tegan’s shaved head stand out. Gorgeously round and impossibly hard.
“I’ve discovered they set us up to be Benedick and Beatrice. We’ve been their toys.”
“Of course,” Tegan said, popping in the sparkly nose piercing stud that they wore whenever they weren’t acting. Next they sat down to lace up the massive boots that had stamped a few overly aggressive suitors into fine powder. “The best actors in the galaxy couldn’t conjure this amount of vivid tension. We’re natural enemies.”
“You misunderstand me. They set us up … to live out the story of Benedick and Beatrice. To fall for one another or some such nonsense. Hazem admitted it moments ago.”
Tegan stood, now as tall as Taron, and got very close to his nose. “They were playing matchmaker with our roles? That’s too meta, even for them. Besides, they failed spectacularly. I loathe you more now than when I played Horatio to your whiny-ass Hamlet.”
“I was not whiny!”
“Thou doth protest so much,” they said with a haughty laugh that cut off abruptly. “Plus, it’s a direct quote from one of our reviews.”
“I’ll have you know—”
Tegan slapped a hand over Taron’s mouth. “Before we banter into oblivion, if what you say is true, we need a revenge plan. Our so-called friends must be punished.” They lowered their hand.
“Agreed,” Taron said. “Which must be a first.”
Tegan nodded once and began to scheme. Truly, scheming should have been in the Special Skills section of their acting resume, along with scansion, fight training, and speaking four interplanetary languages. “Now, what is the best rebuke for this foul act?” they asked.
Taron looked around the little room with skittish eyes as if the worst punishment imaginable might be hiding under one of Tegan’s wildly flung dressing robes.
“Isn’t the answer obvious?” they asked with a put-upon sigh. “We let them believe we are in a mountain of affection. Let their special hell be the one where they get exactly what they asked for. A couple.” They booped Taron’s nose with their finger. “The worst, most obnoxiously in love couple The Globe has ever seen.”
“Why couldn’t you just ask me to kill Claudio?” he muttered. “That would be easier.”
“It would be easier to run Marius through with a rapier than pretend to be my boyfriend for a single night?”
“I should think you’d thank me,” he said. “Marius is a jerk of the highest order.”
“Oh, look, we agree on two whole things. Don’t get cocky and try for a third.” Of course, Tegan hadn’t always disliked the company member who’d nightly overacted the role of Claudio. Post-breakup, it did help that Tegan’s character hated Marius’s so much in Much Ado. It gave Tegan an excuse for all of the eye-daggers they needed to fling at him. “Now do you want to punish the wayward Bodkins or not?”
Taron stood to his full height and inhaled, breath control so obvious that Tegan wanted to kill this soliloquy before it started. “I will create a tempest of flirtation. I will love you with such sloppy, unstoppable passion that—”
“Stop.” Tegan let their not-quite-impressed face settle. “This might be too hard. I mean, it’s acting, which is not exactly your strong suit.”
“It is my only suit,” Taron said with pride and affliction.
“Right, speaking of which, you need to change.”
“If I change in order to woo you, no one will believe it,” Taron tossed back. “If this ruse has any chance of working, I must be myself.”
“I meant changing your questionable sweater, not your equally questionable personality.”
Taron smirked. A most pernicious smirk. “I’m not sure I have anything tawdry enough. Do you still prefer stringy tank tops and hot pants? Or are you on to something more subtle, like invisible shirts and mood-changing underwear? I hear they are the rage in the Tanaka System.”
Tegan rifled through a rack of outfits. “Stop talking and take off your clothes.”
“See, it’s like we’re in love already,” Taron said, so flatly, it was almost impressive. Almost.
Tegan looked for something that shouted “boy, newly in love.” They kept their room stocked with clothes for every possible gender presentation. When Tegan took on a role, they rolled with the gender—held their body differently, bound their breasts or displayed them proudly, took on whichever pronouns suited. And when Tegan finished with the part, it was back to shaved head, murderboots, and they/them.
Tegan threw an armful of clothes, and Taron ducked like they’d just tossed a grenade. “Oh, you’re fine,” they said. “And you’ll be much finer in a minute.”
Taron snorted. Not quite a laugh. He tugged off his sweater and grabbed the shirt, pulling it on in a smooth motion that gave Tegan a single flashburn of seeing him. Really seeing him. Without that hapless sweater, Taron had a strong, dashing torso that stayed broad all the way until a notch before the hips then narrowed fast.
“Your scars are fading. That’s good,” they said matter-of-factly when Taron caught them looking. They’d seen him during countless quick changes. Why should this be different? “Hurry up.” Tegan buried a pinch of breathlessness under a pound of impatience. “Pants.”
They got on their knees, tugging at Taron’s weirdly adhesive yet fully shredded pants. Tegan tugged, and he pushed, and they both kicked and—
Icon barged in.
“Everyone is leaving! Are you…” She took note of Taron’s state of semi-undress and Tegan, holding his cast-off pants. “Wow.”
“We’re, uh, a tad busy,” Tegan said, calling up the breathless intensity they’d dismissed a minute ago. “Meet at the party?”
Icon backed out, fast, flashing oh my gods! eyes at Tegan, and shut the door.
Tegan took a slight, rolling bow from the waist. “That’s how it’s done.”
Taron clapped: a paltry bit of applause, especially from someone pantless. “We’ll have to do better than that if we want them to truly suffer our love.”
Tegan took a single unsteady breath; preshow nerves they hadn’t felt in years were creeping back in for this special, command performance. “What do you have in mind?”
As it turned out, Taron’s ideas were voluminous enough to fill the entire shuttle ride to the party. Now that they were both invested in the plan, opinions clashed about how it should play out. They bickered about blocking, backstory (how long they’d been hooking up, who instigated this tryst), and most of all about their lines.
“You’ll have to compliment me until you’re short of breath,” Tegan said.
“I’ll heap a horrible amount of praise on you,” Taron mumbled, distracted by the view of the palatial estate orbiting New Vegas. Tegan glanced out too. When it came to cast parties, Ods Bodkins went all out, but this would be grander than usual thanks to Taron’s parents’ lavish, empty vacation house. Apparently he’d sent one message asking if the company could borrow the place for the evening, and his mother had written back that they’d forgotten they still owned it. This sort of vapid family arrangement had unfortunately put Taron’s constant oddness into a new context. Tegan could see the lonely rich boy all grown up. Especially now.
“You’re sure about the touching?” Tegan asked, to double-check. They didn’t want this charade to make Taron uncomfortable. They wanted to make everyone else uncomfortable.
“Despite your need to slander me, I am an actor. We’ve been touching every night for theatrical purposes. Don’t you remember my hand all over your…?” He pointed vaguely at their entire backside.
“Indeed. My ass has only the fondest memories of your fingers,” Tegan deadpanned.
Taron went a little pale, but when the shuttle door hissed open, he squatted gamely. “Time for our grand entrance.”
Tegan crashed into the cast party astride their costar. Taron had sworn that the most distastefully coupled way to arrive was full piggyback, and despite the jiggling and jostling, Tegan had a good view of the company’s reaction. Eyes turned their way, followed by grand cheers and a tipsy, lewd shout of “hey, nonny nonny!”
“Not working,” Tegan grumbled. “They seem to think this is all good, drunken fun.”
That’s when they noticed a large fountain ringed with cups. Booze was the font of merriment for most—and Tegan wasn’t above taking revenge by spoiling the company’s drink. “Drop me in there,” they whispered in his ear.
“If I must.” Taron dumped them in the fountain. Tegan bobbed up, sticky and spitting.
They braced for cries of party foul! Instead, everyone merely laughed.
“To Taron!” Tegan shouted, grabbing a cup and holding a drink aloft, knee-deep and dripping toxic punch. “For making the Bard’s best love story come true.” The company didn’t look nearly as grossed out by that sickly sweet declaration as they wanted. What kind of speech would snare the company? Acting was best with a drop of truth, right? “My Taron, who turns the color of a red dwarf star when he’s nervous. Who sings to himself in the shower. Who has this blindingly cute expression every time I touch his chest.” They raised their cup. “He is the only one of you I would bother fighting with!” Tegan took a deep, much-needed swig.
Taron pretended to nuzzle their neck. “Um, that’s not what we scripted.”
Tegan barreled on to the next step, squeezing Taron’s hand and waiting for a squeeze in return before launching into a showy, handsy stage kiss. His lips grazed the barest corner of theirs—cheating the kiss as ever.
Tegan waited for the inevitable groans, but everyone roared, “To Taron!” and rushed to refill their drinks, even though the punch was now Tegan-infused.
So that hadn’t worked either.
Icon pulled Tegan out of the fountain, whispering, “You don’t date actors. Last week you literally carved it into your headboard with a knife. No thespians allowed.”
“Oh, you do remember?” Tegan asked, a drip of acid in their voice. “I vowed to be done with dramatics everywhere but onstage.” Dating in-company never worked out, and Tegan wasn’t a fan of such misery, which their friends obviously knew, so the fact that the cast was behind this setup only hurt more. And now Tegan would eat all of their hearts in the marketplace.
“Just yesterday you told me, ‘Love is a self-inflicted wound,’” Icon reminded them. “And today you’re willing to fall on your sword for Taron?”
“You have no idea what I’m willing to do.” They pulled Taron so close that their bodies welded together.
“What now?” he asked, his voice warm and familiar. A tone he saved for rehearsal when they were both too tired from bantering lines and actually spoke like humans to each other.
Tegan eyed the party. The alcoholic fountain, the feast of a banquet, the huge palatial home, and finally the patio square of loud, thumping music and swirling lights. “Next, we destroy the dance floor.” They dragged him away.
“One moment.” Taron swung Tegan by the table of treats, and before they could complain, he’d poured a jug of water over their shaved head and patted them down with a hundred small napkins.
Tegan was surprised enough to let Taron care for them without complaint. And it was better, not being so sticky. “Thank you,” they said, mildly surprised and suddenly connecting this gratitude with the opening night of Much Ado. Marius had broken up with them ten minutes before the doors opened. Tegan had lost half of their lines in that heart-twisted surprise, and Taron had whisper-fed them the phrases like small bites, without a hint of frustration. “You’re thoughtful.”
“For you? With pleasure.” And he must have meant it, because he truly was a terrible actor. Well, he was terrible when he had to stretch. Benedick was firmly in his wheelhouse, which said all sorts of things about Taron that Tegan didn’t want to think about.
Right now Taron couldn’t stop thinking about how much Tegan pushed themself. In every strong direction, all the time. Even now, he was ready to let this latest, greatest, torturous teasing by the company go, but Tegan would have their soulful regret and nothing less.
“You said something about dancing?” he asked, taking their less tacky fingers and leading them toward the dance floor, a marbled patio beneath the mighty crystal dome that separated the toxic gas of this planet from the floating palatial estate.
“I can’t believe you grew up here,” Tegan said, sparing a moment to take in the scenery.
“Not exactly. I came here only twice to memory.” Taron managed not to admit that the last time he’d been on this patio, he’d been small enough to build a lonely tower of blocks, watching the diamond rain, wishing for friends. He wondered what that little kid would think of him now, body reclaimed, a ship full of mates, an electric person on his arm … even if they were only there to make a point.
He had to admit that most of the company was so far into their cups that this plan could hardly work. Icon was drawing everyone’s eyes with her gymnastic dance style, walking on her hands, the music loud and throbbing over the company’s cheers.
Tegan seemed to take this as just another challenge. They shimmied through, pressing their friends out of the way, tugging Taron along. Taron made the mistake of clapping eyes with Hazem, who shook his head and laughed in a way that made his too-visible abs clench, which was … annoying. Why couldn’t he be in love with Tegan? Why was that the funniest, most audacious reality the company could imagine?
He swung Tegan tightly to him and started dancing. They were good, too good. Taron worked hard to keep up, biting his lip with the utmost concentration.
Tegan’s eyes grew very big, very brown while they took him in. They tucked his head to the side of theirs and shouted over the music, “Why are you fighting the rhythm?”
“Is it not a battle?”
“No!” Tegan smiled and dropped two soft fingers over his eyes, closing them, making themself the lead. Taron followed and moved, as in rehearsals. He found their waist, so familiar after the show, but this was not a stage, and they were not trading lines. His hands drifted lower to their hips, enjoying the way they moved so fluidly, sailing on the surface of a liquid beat. For the first time in a very long time, he let himself imagine Tegan’s fingers on his lips, his hand finding the edge of their pants and all that waited beneath.
Taron’s eyes shot open, and he was two steps away from Tegan before he thought to run, and then he wasn’t anywhere near the dance floor, instead slamming through his parents’ cold house into the bathroom full of polished, gleaming tile.
Too much, too much, too much, the words were a prayer in his mind. He filled the sink out of habit, but before he could drown these dizzying feelings, Hazem was there, perfectly sculpted eyebrows reaching for the ceiling, the imaginary brother Taron had wished for so long ago now come to life.
“My dear friend, you are a terrific mess. Tell me our gamble didn’t pay off now. I want to judge your delivery.”
“We mean to punish you for that gamble,” Taron said, because that part still made sense. “And you did not succeed! But it may be that our plans to make you see how viciously wrong you were have … turned against me … most foully…”
“Don’t write the Bard’s lines, brother. That’s not your art.”
Taron turned to Hazem, the feel of Tegan’s hips still in his open hands, a mental picture of them smoldering in his bed. And not for the first time, no. “Do you really want us together?”
“Do you really think it would be so bad?” Hazem’s usual smile rested. He put a hand on Taron’s shoulder. “Tegan does something to you that no one else does.”
“I told you about those dreams in the strictest of confidence!” Taron roared.
Hazem grabbed Taron’s other shoulder and spoke with punctuated enunciation. “I am not teasing you! You like Tegan. More than like them! We all noticed.”
“Yes, and they do not like me, so you are worse than teasing. You’re breaking my heart. It’s been endless months of cracks. Every single show a new fracture.”
“Taron.” Hazem’s eyes actually clouded, a small, disbelieving laugh slipping out. “I’m so happy for you. You’re in love.”
“How are you happy? After Marius … after you, even! Tegan swore off dating in the company. They will never have me.”
“You have never tried.”
And there, Hazem had Taron pegged. To try would be to unlock the door to his feelings, to unlock it meant that it could spring open, and while he might find pleasure in going out, Tegan could also come in and wreck up the place.
Not to mention, he honestly did not know where to start.
Taron eyed himself in the mirror. Even while goading him to be braver in his clothes, Tegan had redressed him in a tasteful outfit, always careful of his inner ledges. The vertigo inside of his sexuality. But Taron had more to offer them. More to offer himself, even. After years and years of binding his chest, his skin was free now beneath his shirt, his scars healed and handsome. And he was damn proud of that.
He glanced at Hazem, eyes taking in his neatly exposed body, those gold suspenders and pants that clung tight. “Trade clothes with me.”
Hazem’s grin lit up his face. “Brother, I thought you’d never ask.”
As Taron strode out of the bathroom, crossing the long, pristine hallway, Tegan fell in love. While there were bright new parts of his body on display, it was Taron’s dark, determined eyes that made Tegan catch their bottom lip with their teeth. They gave it a good, sobering bite. Taron had upped the stakes, yes, but this was still just part of the game. After all, he’d only lasted a mere half song of dancing before running away. People did that. Swore they wanted to be Tegan’s love interest then half-assed it. Actors.
“I’m enamored with this look!” Tegan said, instantly questioning their overdone delivery. “Ready for phase three? I’m afraid the company has discovered your parents’ grand hall.”
Taron gave a smile that was mischief let off its leash. “I am ready for whatever the night could bring.”
“Good, because your outfit is going to make the next bit a challenge.” Tegan led him by the suspender into a voluminous room, filled with actors standing on golden chairs, brazenly shouting lines, lacking a notable amount of clothing. Strip Shakespeare was a proud invention of the Ods Bodkins. Marius had just doffed his hat, having missed a bit of doggerel from The Tempest.
“Amateurs,” Tegan announced, standing atop a chair. Taron leapt onto one beside them.
They dueled lines from all over the canon, and Taron kept up. More than that—he drove the iambic pentameter faster, bouncing on his feet with each upward inflection. Tegan was the first to stumble, distracted by either the bold, new display of his body, or the wild edge of his personality, or was it a combination of the two?
“Strip! Strip! Strip!”
Tegan was known for not caring about nudity, so they did something far more scandalous. They slowly, deliberately removed one murderboot.
Taron clapped, delighted. “I’ve never seen your toes before!”
As the rules demanded, he started the game back up, surprising Tegan fully.
“Come, I will have thee, but by this light, I take thee for pity.”
These were their lines from Much Ado. Tegan cocked an eyebrow. Taron always insisted that pulling from the current play was as good as cheating because the quotes were all freshly stamped in everyone’s minds. The fact that he hadn’t even tried to trip Tegan up with some obscure bit of a Dogberry scene that they’d cut from their production felt even more suspicious. What was he up to?
“I would not deny you,” they rattled off, “but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.”
“Too easy!” Marius shouted.
But they were barreling toward a moment that hardly felt simple. A kiss that Tegan had thought they were done with. And why did it feel like Taron had willed them back here?
“Peace, I will stop your mouth,” he said. Their bodies, so used to cheating out to face the audience, sealed together, and his mouth pressed theirs, full-on. This was categorically not a stage kiss. When Taron’s lips warmed and his hands moved to the softly shaved nape of their neck, feelings Tegan had tried to banish for months were right there, waiting.
Taron kept his face close, cupping their cheek, and whispered softly, “How was that, my dear disdain?”
Zounds. Taron was trying to prove his acting chops. Whatever emotions that kiss had set free, Tegan was alone with them. Taron was merely playing along with Tegan’s plotting.
They pulled him abruptly into the hall, shutting the door and the rest of the company’s chaos out. “I’m going to say something I never thought I’d say to you.”
Taron waited, looking hopeful. Bright-eyed. Sweet, even. It was too much.
“You’re quite a scene partner.”
“Scene partner?” Taron mumbled, expression folding up. “I thought … but it seemed…”
“You thought I felt something?” Tegan’s nerves spiked. “No. Of course not. I mean, I felt you pop my nose ring up.” Their finger went to the spot where the sparkly little stud had lifted after Taron’s face collided with theirs.
Taron nodded with his eyes closed. “Right. Good. That’s what I thought.”
“I mean, you certainly didn’t feel anything. Did you?”
Taron stared down at Tegan’s one bare foot. “No more than reason.”
The mighty doors of the grand hall blasted back open, a few crew members stumbling out along with Icon’s screeching Viola delivery. Tegan shot back in to collect their boot, unnerved by being so uneven and ready to blame this weird imbalance of feeling on their feet. When they’d returned to their preferred and steady height, they couldn’t find Taron anywhere.
And that was because Taron had made his escape.
“Fool,” Taron whispered as he took the stairs to the third level, crossed the long, dark mezzanine to the room that had been assigned to him when he’d stayed here, although that hardly made it his. He closed the door and leaned against it, the only light coming in from the balcony, all orange and teal atmospheric stripes. No sunset or sunrise. A perfect place to echo Earth’s infamously nocturnal city that he’d read so much about.
The room hadn’t been touched since he’d last been here. He shrugged off Hazem’s suspenders, trying not to remember the sweet shiver when Tegan had led him to those chairs by tugging on one. They were really good at not making Taron feel like an oddball for not wanting to grope everyone all the time like everyone else. They were really good at acting.
“Fool,” Taron said again. “Idiot. Dreamer.”
He crossed to the balcony and stepped out. Soon the company would be back aboard The Globe, voting on the next play, laying out the course for rehearsals and intergalactic travel. He wouldn’t be a lead next time; it wouldn’t be his turn. Maybe he’d take a break, leave them for a few months. Unlike the rest of the company, he had all the money in the universe. And unlike the lot of them, he knew intimately what money could never, ever buy. Maybe he’d go find an entire water planet to stick his head in and erase the too-pleasing memory of Tegan’s mouth and hands and words and wiles.
This time the hand on his shoulder was not Hazem’s.
He turned to find Tegan’s mouth tipped open, looking out from the balcony across the view that was the actual winning facet of this forgotten vacation home.
“Oh, wow.”
“It is something else.” He leaned on the railing, folding his arms over his exposed chest. “You need something? I have to admit I’m burnt out. Sorry we weren’t able to turn them inside out with regret.” Heavens, his voice was the piece turned inside out. He felt sure that Tegan could hear it.
“You do like me, don’t you?” they asked.
Taron looked away. He thought of about twenty things to say. He said none of them.
“Here’s our own hands against our hearts.”
Taron turned swiftly, puzzled. “That’s my line. And if it were true, you…”
“I would what?” Tegan was sort of smiling at him. “I could swear you off in the name of all the fools I’ve kissed in the past. I could ignore these feelings now and bring them out onstage, when it’s safe and convenient. Or I could tally up all the moments that have fashioned the seemingly inextinguishable truth that we are incompatible … and toss them out. I could kiss you right now. Not the way we’ve kissed a thousand times before, but a real kiss.”
Taron’s arms dropped to his sides. “You’re teasing me.”
“No,” Tegan said with a small shrug, hands slipping up his shoulders, his neck, cradling Taron’s face in both hands. “I’m not.”
They waited for him.
And it felt like a very long time indeed, from the moment he’d met them at theatre school years ago … to the day he’d agreed to make them a part of the company his parents had funded, despite their endless bickering … to the posting of the roles for this Much Ado and the scenes they wove together, which amounted to a love story almost against their wills. Almost.
Taron leaned down and kissed them.
And the sky rained diamonds in applause.
Authors’ Note
So many things in this story actually happened. But we can’t tell you which ones.