* 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 / ᴍʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ!

he watches as meredith gathers the cups. normally, he’d be out of here like a flash, too much respect for her boundaries to overstay his welcome. but it felt wrong. to show up so late and not even display a single gesture to show appreciation for her time. a smile pulls tightly on his lips as her hand reaches out to his hair, as he tries to hide the fact that he eats physical affection up with a spoon. “yeah?” he quirks a brow at her comment, “well lucky for you, i grew up in a plant-based household. even the word bacon was a no-gone zone.” hyperbole, sure, but the point still stands somewhat. “’sides it would have spoiled the flavouring.” 

he’s almost tempted to tap at her toes playfully when she raises her feet to his lap, but no sooner has he had the thought than she’s using them as weapons to jab into his side instead. the shocked gasp that emits from his mouth is the only sound that comes from his mouth as she continues to speak. a brief pout on his face as he reaches up with his hand to rub at the afflicted area. “maybe i’ll write one about an assassin who kills people with her feet,” he muses, leaning in as she pokes him on the forehead. “every toe is actually a little gun and she walks barefooted in the face of her enemies just to piss them off. how ‘bout it? you up for a neo-western, cowgirl? but,” leaning back once more, he’s grinning from ear to ear as the next idea comes to mind. the look he only gets on his face when he’s about to suggest something terrible. “for now i’m content. i’m sure sometime soon my fanny and alexander will come to me in a fever dream, but for now... what was that about kicking my ass at ddr? did i mishear you?” 

he furrows his brow, hands digging deep into his pockets, not knowing enough about algorithms to comment either way. even if he’s still fighting an urge to repeat that it’s most definitely busted. “it actually might have been better if they were separate people, but no. she was both the devil and a catfish in the body of a forty-year-old woman playing twenty-five,” he groans, before digging around in his pocket to find his phone, just to check if the two were still matched on the app. it’s then that another dramatic whine slips out of his mouth. “oh and sure enough, she wants a second date. demands it, in fact,” heath huffs, twirling the screen around in julian’s direction to show him the plethora of messages that had come in since the morning, before nodding glumly at the offer. “sure. it may be the last time you see me before francine marries me off to one of her eighty matryoshka dolls.” 

he leans forward on his elbows on the table, loud laughter leaving his mouth as he shakes his head fondly, “holy shit, that’s too deep to be asking me right now, ruth. but,” heath clears his throat, trying his best to regain his composure. a serious look suddenly appearing on his face as he straightens his back with all the propriety he remembers his parents’ life coach having. “i think… we’re on this funky space rock for too short a time to take it too seriously, for one. and for two,” another quick swig from the pint glass punctuates his words, “it absolutely has no fuckin’ general meaning whatsoever and that’s just fine. just gotta make your own, ya know?” 

“you told me you were gonna run away and never come back! parallels, man!” heath shakes his head with a huff, wondering for a split second if he had paid more attention to what was happening on the screen rather than telling stories about his dog, would he have won? nah, the two were separate. “we gonna talk about how you totally blocked the screen at the end there? i see your tricks, buckingham,” he taunts, putting the guitar down before taking a swig from a glass of water on the coffee table, eyes narrowing in jest. “i see ‘em... and you know what? i don’t particularly care for ‘em. you’re going down in the next round of the league — i hope you know this.” 

“yes, my mineral,” he nods sadly in agreement. although as his head turns and he notices the guilt on her face, he almost wants to point out that it really isn’t a big deal. he can always buy another. that is, of course, until she’s darting off to go fetch it for him. a warm smile washes over his face as she returns, taking the bottle from her grasp rather happily, “you are just fine, swindler.” with his unoccupied hand he takes a second to reach into his work satchel, digging through flyers before finally pulling out the coveted item. a milky way. in pristine condition if he dared to say so himself from where he'd chosen not to eat it during his lunch break. “not many criminals of your calibre would return my child to me, and for this, i must... i'm obligated to give you the goods.” it’s times like these he wonders why he didn’t become an actor rather than a director; as he bows his head solemnly as he extends the chocolate out for her to take, all the while masking another short laugh. something about emily’s company always made him feel like they were making up for the days they lost had they been able to share a playground growing up. “i totally realise it wasn’t within the three-second timeframe you requested, so... do what you must.” 

a loud belly laugh emits itself from his mouth as heath leans forward onto his haunches as if he’s about to reveal his deepest, darkest secret. “okay, but you cannot tell anyone.” his eyes sparkle with playfulness at the mere thought of the object tucked into the corner of his room. “you know cthulhu? lovecraftian cosmic monster, about yay high?” reaching a wobbly hand as far above his head as heath can reach, he can only hope he’s providing a good image of the creature before continuing, “well. right. how do i say this… my friend bought me a cthulhu sex pillow for my twenty-first. i don’t know why, i don’t know where from, although honestly? i’d love to because the mind behind that…” he whistles, “ i can’t bring myself to throw the thing out because it’s fucking hilarious, as much as i think anyone would run from my room if they saw it.” 

“well you’re the best, lor.” heath grins at her over his shoulder before turning back to continue rummaging through a pile of papers, tutting under his breath when he isn’t blessed with instant results. “it’s an adaptation of a screenplay written by a classmate of mine at tisch. about a man who is convinced he meets the love of his life on a bus one morning in the city back in the 60s. sort of a classic ‘but fate won’t allow it to happen’ kinda tale. but i wanna reshoot the ending - i’m not doing it justice as it’s so beautifully, wonderfully, sad,” he explains, all whilst rummaging through papers that seem to contain his predicament - messes of ‘no!’s written in capital letters and crossings out. “anyway, a couple decades pass and the couple are no longer in contact, and it’s all just confined to late-night reminiscing and nostalgia. well, that is, until he sees her face on the cover of this magazine and ya know. it’s this very poignant moment; rose-tinted frames, the works. until he reads it... and well, he discovers that she’s lived this incredible, amazing, life completely separate from him. then there’s ... a montage from her point of view this time, and we - as an audience - realise their entire relationship was mostly him filling in the gaps in his head.” finally, he huffs, tucking his hands in his back pockets as his brow furrows, his eyes glancing furtively around the room in thought of just where the baggie had disappeared to. it’s only then that his fingers brush off the all too familiar plastic. “aha!” heath grins, whipping it out and waving it in the air like a victory banner. “don’t worry, lor. crisis averted.” 

for a moment he fiddles with his thumbs, a little taken aback by the question. crying? when such a wide smile is usually tapered to his face? “i cried after my parents didn’t invite me to their handfasting vow renewal a few months back.” still clearly a sore spot from the way his brows knit together, folding back in the chair as if the more he collapses into the soft fabric, the less this is all real. particularly when his head is spinning from the alcohol. “like, i get it, i guess. they thought i’d be busy and they’ve never really approved of me moving to new york and working for a big film company to begin with,” he trails off, gnawing on his bottom lip in thought before adding in explanation, “… they think i’m selling my soul to corporate just by working where i do. ‘those production companies are where creativity goes to die in favour of profit, heath!’ as my mom always said.” he smiles momentarily, slightly pained. “my brother, rowan, sent the pictures over the next day. none of them even reached out before like… they knew. they all did and yet… you know, i never really subscribed to the whole ‘parents have a favourite child even if they don’t tell you’ thing. but maybe that’s because i was for so long that the whole thing kinda just…” he sighs defeatedly. “anyway. i’m getting another beer, fuck.” 

breakfast had always been an integral part of his home life growing up. growing from practically being a line chef in the morning with his older brothers when they’d cook for the guests, to moving to new york and it being the only kind of food he could stomach whenever he was feeling homesick. the thought of it being unnormal hadn’t even crossed his mind. “what do you mean?” he asks genuinely, a customary grin on his face even as he realises she’s serious. “oh. oh!” suddenly it’s as if the gears are turning in his head, a brief grimace replacing his smile before it’s quickly sneaking back. “that’s... kinda sad don’t you think? sex is a hungry business, mer. i, personally, think it’s a travesty that we’re not ALL blessed with a heaping pile of pancakes when it’s said and done. dating or not,” he pauses, biting down on his lower lip. “that said, i mean... i’m happy to leave you with the lot if you’d prefer.” 

[ text: ] gonna hype it up but i have the best story from set to tell you tonight [ text: ] like we’re currently dealing with it but it involves one of those prop trees, a whiskey bottle and a clown(!) [ text: ] and no i did not accidentally fall asleep on the job again 

[ text : ] hey [ text: ] do you still have that copy of anansi boys i left at yours?[ text : ] if so could you drop it by to mine? or leave it in the mailbox or something [ text: ] thanks 

[ text: ] i’ll make it up to you! i’ll bring the cookies from craft service! 🍪

[ text : ] so i fell down a pothole just now [ text : ] not mad just… twisted my ankle a little[ text: ] did holly say something? like maybe about my shirt again?[ text: ] unrelated ofc 

[ text : ] okay i know it’s late… but i have a theory! [ text: ] you know the story about the old woman who lived in a shoe? well i don’t think it’s as fictional as they’d lead us all to think[ text: ] she totally lived in the MASSIVE boot outside the ll bean in freeport, maine.[ text: ] not even a conspiracy theory. she’s there. i hope she’s doing well fuck 

[ text : ] best believe i’m on the way over with my finest blankets[ text: ] with the FINEST twix that i could find in walgreens[ text: ] armed with ALL!! the hugs [ text: ] and we’re gonna make every. single. other. movie night pale in comparison okay?!