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Not to be dramatic (OK it’s the sandbox, we’re allowed, nay expected, to be) but I honestly feel like the flood of hudcontent over the past couple of weeks has been like low grade narcotics. Every day another little hit of dopamine. And the last couple of days have started to feel like a bit of a comedown. This post has topped me up. Thank for your service. Now my ask. How do you think are ourthem feel about going back onto set with everyone else on Monday? No longer in their little bubble.
It's been ten whole days but it feels like nothing at all, like it's passed in the blink of an eye. like the tension wound in both of them all year has slowly unspooled, taffy melting in the sun, leaving them both sticky and elastic, glued to each other. hudson can't tell you what they're been doing. just...existing. hangin' out. talking about everything and nothing and finding a new rhythm. because it's not like the first time, the whole thing powered by nervous excitement, figuring each other out but also the rigorous schedule of being co-leads on a show that entirely revolved around their performances. now they know they had something magical, validation for those crazy, dream-like 37 days last spring. they'd both thought, ok, let's try to carve out some time to be just us. it's been so long, let's find a way to be me and you, before we're shane and ilya.
and there's an element of carefulness there that wasn't there before. before they were always pushing each other's boundaries. where is it ok to touch you? can I call you baby? if we kiss as practise, it's just shane and ilya, right? but this time it's like they're redrawing the lines. hudson is on final warning. connor has his protective shell on. they are two sponges entirely soaked in love for the other, dripping all over the place, but they have to wring it out or else they will drown spending this long in each other's company without making a mess they can't un-make. so they are Casual. they are careful where they touch. they hug and sit close on the couch but no matter how much hudson's fingers twitch to take connor's hand in his he doesn't. he's a good and dutiful boyfriend and calls home every night. he doesn't look when connor lifts his shirt in the gym, exposing sweaty abs. he listens to connor talk around the topic of his love life and he gives his own 30,000ft-view of his relationship and they talk about everything but the thing they should talk about. me and you. you and me. it feels different now, doesn't it? why does it not feel exactly right. why does it feel like it's always churning in the pit of my stomach? why can't I stop thinking about the last time, after the met gala, the way you licked your lips after we kissed, one hand curled around the busted bathroom stall door, holding it closed? why did we never talk about that in the end?
they've read their lines over and over. they know exactly how they're going to play it, the sweet domesticity, the aching longing, the building resentment. they've gone through all the notes together, practised the blocking, but this time when they get to the they kiss they stop. stare carefully into each other's eyes. hold it a beat, connor clears his throat, the rustle of pages. shall we try this one again? they don't talk about that either.
they go for dinner with the whole cast and crew the night before. a fun little ritual, so good to see all the old faces together again, as well as the new ones. they don't sit next to each other (ha, we'll be sick of each other soon!) their goodnight hug lingers though, under the flickering lights of the hallway separating them for the next few months. call time is 6am; they need their rest. connor's had some wine, and his cheeks are pink with it. hudson lets his head rest on his shoulder, feels connor's hand slowly stroke his lower back. they're by hudson's door, the onyl sound the low buzzing of the overhead light. hudson lets his hands slide around connor's jaw, lifting his head so their foreheads knock. nose-to-nose intimacy, that was what jackson had told them-in every shot, it should feel like you couldn't even slide a piece of paper between them. tomorrow can't be the first time they kiss since 4am in new york, connor's knee between hudson's thighs, feeling his pulse go wild under lips on his neck. he touches his thumbs to connor's cheeks. warm, from the alcohol, the company. eyes heavy lidded. remembers what he said the last time. I literally never stop thinking about you. ever. I think i'm going crazy. you make me absolutely crazy. touches his lips to connor's, closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at the love he can see there. the kiss is slow. sweet. ten days and he's already broken his one and only promise. ten days and it's like they're back here again a year ago, saying goodbye, tears mixing as they pressed their faces together and promised to actually stay friends, please, I need you to promise me, please, we'll see each other so soon.
It takes him a couple of tries to get the key in the lock, one hand twisted with connor's. sure, call time is 6am. but maybe this time they won't be talking.
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