He’s already there when you arrive, hands in his jacket pockets, and the second he sees you his whole face does something helpless and unguarded that he clearly doesn’t mean to let you see.

“Hey.” His voice comes out rougher than usual.

“Hey yourself.” You look up at the marquee.

FOOL’S RUSH IN — ONE NIGHT ONLY.

“Okay. Late 90’s rom-com. Bold choice, Abbot.”

“You know it?”

“I know of it. I was, what, one when it came out.” You watch his jaw tighten, anxious. “Relax. I’m messing with you.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’ve checked your watch 4 times since I walked up.”

“That’s a medical habit. Occupational hazard.” But he’s fighting a smile, and he holds the door for you, and inside the theater is nearly empty… a scattering of other people, mismatched velvet seats, the kind of hush that only exists in old buildings that have outlived their purpose and don’t care. Inside it smells like butter, candy, and old dusty carpet with something underneath that might just be decades of other people’s first dates.

You end up in the back row because Jack Abbot, apparently, is a back-row person, and you don’t dislike that about him. Or anything whatsoever.

“So why this one,” you ask, once you’re settled, his arm already finding its way along the back of your seat like he can’t help it. “Out of every movie in the world.”

He’s quiet for a second. Current trailers are still running, throwing blue light across his face.

“My sister loved it. When I was in my residency, when I never had time for anything, she’d make me watch it whenever I came home. Said I needed at least one thing in my life that wasn’t a medical journal or a chart.” He shrugs. “Haven’t watched it in years but I saw it announced on my way to work and thought maybe—” He stops.

“Thought maybe what?”

“Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Jack.”

“I thought maybe I could watch again with another person I care about.” He says it fast, like ripping off a bandage, eyes on the screen instead of you. “That’s it. That’s the whole reason.”

You don’t say anything right away, because your chest has gone soft and full in a way you’re not used to, and you’re worried if you open your mouth it’ll come out as something bigger than you’re ready for. So instead you reach over and lace your fingers through his on the armrest, and you feel him exhale.

“I like it already,” you tell him. “And it hasn’t even begun.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The movie is exactly as ridiculous and charming as you’d expect. Las Vegas neon and impulsive marriage and two people who have no business being together making it work anyway.

The plot feels extremely relatable.

Almost at the end you find yourself humming along under your breath to It’s Now Or Never by Elvis Presley.

“You know this song?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “I have an unreasonable amount of music knowledge from decades I wasn’t alive for. It’s a whole thing.”

He shakes his head, staring at you like you’ve short-circuited something within him. “That’s my exact music taste. That’s disturbing.”

“Weird disturbing, or regular disturbing?”

“Don’t,” he says, but he’s grinning now, wide and unguarded, the kind of grin that makes the almost 20 years between you feel less like a gap and more like a coincidence of timing. “You’re supposed to be nice to me. I’m nervous.”

“You said you weren’t nervous.”

“I lied. Occupational hazard of that too, apparently.”

You laugh, and somebody in the row ahead shushes you both, and you spend the rest of the movie with your head on his shoulder and his thumb tracing slow, absent circles against your hand, and it is, without question, the best old romcom you’ve ever seen.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The credits roll. The lights come up slowly, like they’re giving everyone a second to remember where they are.

Neither of you moves. A couple minutes pass and then he turns to look at you.

“That line,” Jack says, staring straight ahead at the blank screen like it’s easier than looking at you. “Near the end. Where he tells her he loves her so much it hurts and he realizes he doesn’t want the version of his life where he doesn’t take the chance on her—”

“I remember.” You do… it had landed somewhere under your ribs a few minutes ago and hadn’t left.

“I know it’s too soon but I’ve been thinking about that line for three weeks.” He finally turns to look at you, and for once there’s nothing careful in his expression, none of the hallway-glance restraint, just him. “I don’t want to live the version where I don’t ask. So. I’m asking. Be my girlfriend, sweetheart.”

It’s not smooth. It’s not the speech he probably practiced in his head on the drive over. It’s better than that, because you can tell it’s real and the same man who checked his watch four times and texted you three panicked messages about a movie theater, laid bare in the worst lighting a single-screen cinema in the middle of Pittsburgh has to offer.

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel, which feels like its own small miracle. “Of course. Yes.”

He kisses you like he’s been waiting ages to do it properly, and somewhere behind you the ancient sound system is still playing the last few bars of the classical rendition of an old song neither of you can name.

And you think, for the first time, that you’d sit through every movie in the world if it meant more nights exactly like this one because you love him too. So much it hurts.

—

pope ignored the question and started to make his exit by simply saying, "gotta go."

you're not the type of person to talk people into watching your shows or other musicals with you. you know musicals aren't everyone's cup of tea. so you didn't talk about it with pope, even if you so badly wanted to share your passion with him until— he asked you if he could see you perform.

you excitedly pulled out your phone to show him the footage of your shows. your focus was solely on him as he watched intently— he cringed at the other actors, sounded like fucking shrieking hyenas, he thought.

you started to become nervous as your part was getting closer, you wanted pope's approval. you wanted him to be proud of you.

pope's expression softened when you appeared. he has a tiny smile on his face as he listened to you sing. you felt your heart constrict at the sight.

"you look so beautiful, baby."

it was a quiet remark, very easy to miss but you heard him clear as day. you thought he maybe hadn't even realised that he said it, he still couldn't take his eyes off the phone screen.

you invited him to come see your show, his very first time seeing you live. you told him that he's welcome to bring his family too. you doubt his brothers would come along, but it was worth a shot.

you were surprised to read his text message he'd sent you that he's all driving them to the theatre.

you're usually confident, you're not one to get easily embarrassed to look foolish on stage. it's a quality anyone should have if they're getting into the business.

but now you're feeling embarrassed— you feel hot and sweat is starting to form on your back. because they'll watch you perform that song, and see you do that part.

♪ and you know, you know, you know it's 'cause you're beautiful you say you're numb inside, but i can't agree so the world's unfair, keep it locked out there in here it's beautiful let's make this beautiful

that works for me— ♪

the cody's watched as you started to make out with your co-star during the instrumental break.

craig was weirdly into the song, bobbing his head and snapping his fingers. meanwhile, poor deran sat right beside pope, looking uneasy.

then you and your co-star started to strip both of your clothes, becoming touchy with each other in the process.

craig wolf-whistled, deran wanted this whole thing to be over. he still hadn't taken the leap to spare a glance at pope.

♪ love this dead girl walkin' (woah, woah, hey, hey, yeah, yeah) love this dead girl walkin' (woah, woah, hey, hey, wait, wait) love this dead girl, yeah, yeah, yeah, ow yeah ♪

now, you're dry humping the actor. craig's wide smile started to fall. deran groaned and roughly rubbed his face with his hands, bracing for the worst. this is going to be the most awkward drive back home ever.

when the song ended, pope was the first one to stand up from his seat and clap loudly before anyone else in the audience did.

both craig and deran snapped their heads up to look incredulously at their brother. they were expecting him to be gripping the handles of the chair so hard it breaks and punch the first person he sees, but pope looked so proud of you, and very much in love.

'who is this evil pope and what have you done to our brother?'

deran slowly stood up to lean into pope's ear, "pope, you've seen the whole thing right? you haven't fallen asleep?" he had to raise his voice a little over the loud cheers from everyone around them.

still clapping, pope said, "yeah, wasn't she perfect? we rehearsed that back at home hundreds of times."

and the "rehearsals" consisted of long, steamy makeouts that led to him fucking you in your veronica costume.

turns out deran had nothing to worry about. ♡