#class divide

Currently editing this scene I wrote yesterday where the MC in my gay romance story Fractured Heart is playing the guitar version of one of his pop star boyfriend's songs for him after learning it on his own and omg they're so sweet I'm gonna die TT_TT

(Spoiler alert: the boys in my 'boys love' story do, in fact, fall in love)

~~

Those emerald eyes were widened as Lysander joined Theo in the room. The singer paused at the doorway before slowly folding his long legs beneath him to copy Theo’s pose, sitting only a foot away so that their knees were almost close enough to touch. Theo kept his eyes downcast, trying not to grimace as his hand stilled on the frets.

“Don’t s-say anything if I mess up,” he commanded by way of greeting, flickering his eyes up only momentarily to see his boyfriend furrow his brows before the singer offered a soft nod. “I’m…I’m s-still practicing.”

“I won’t,” Lysander promised, fingers lightly curling as he clasped either knee.

The position reminded Theo a little of a karate student awaiting instruction from his master, and an uncomfortable titter almost burst out of Theo before he quickly tamped it down. Then, because the poignant silence was only making him more nervous, he forced himself to start playing.

It was the underlying rhythm to Fractured Heart, learned after he’d shyly asked Lysander for the guitar sheet music for some of his songs more than a month prior. Lysander had grinned brilliantly at the request, obviously smug about Theo’s desire to teach himself something so important to his lover, and Theo had scowled and made some snarky response to counteract that arrogance. Still, Lysander had whisked immediately to his office and printed out the scoresheets that same day, though Theo had waited until his lover was gone at work before he’d started plucking out the melodies on his own.

He still wasn’t all that confident about it, so he played slowly, giving himself time to make sure he had his fingers properly positioned before he tried to strum the note. Once or twice a note came out slightly wrong anyway, and he grimaced, fighting the urge to give up in a huff. Lysander stayed absolutely silent throughout the whole song, and with his eyes trained on the guitar, Theo could almost pretend as if his lover wasn’t there; as if he was just practicing on his own as he’d gotten into the habit of doing (almost) every single day.

At the end of it, his hands on the edge of trembling from nerves, Theo looked up at last. And found his boyfriend crying, though Lysander’s smile was effervescent.

“Fuck,” Theo breathed in startlement, unable to prevent himself from gawking even as his boyfriend sniffled and rubbed his tears away with the heels of his calloused hands. Theo had thought Lysander might be happy to see the efforts he’d put into learning the song, but he wasn’t supposed to be crying, damnit.

“Theo,” Lysander breathed in response, and then he was laughing, delighted and overwhelmed. He scarcely gave Theo time to set the guitar aside before the singer grabbed him by the middle and yanked him into a straddling position so Lysander could kiss him, deep and long.

Theo was gasping as he pulled back at last, still on the edge of gawking as Lysander cupped his face and just…held him, staring at him with every drop of love and admiration that the singer apparently felt for him suffused throughout his expression.

“That was beautiful,” the singer murmured happily at last, and Theo averted his eyes sideways, too overcome by his lover’s unabashed profusion of emotion to hold his gaze for another second. “Ah, my beautiful, amazing, irreplaceable Theo.”

Theo didn’t know what to say in response to that, never knew what to say in response to any of his boyfriend’s unbearably romantic sentiments. Lysander always seemed to know what to say or do to sweep him entirely off his feet, just as he always knew how to diffuse Theo’s sullen moods, or to comfort him when he was feeling utterly bereft. Whereas Theo, well...

Refusing to let himself fall into old patterns of feeling sorry for himself, Theo mentally grit his teeth, shifted his gaze to his blue-tipped fingers where they were curled in his lap between them, resolved that he’d just have to dedicate himself to finding a way to make himself ‘worthy’ of Lysander’s incredible love. If such a thing was even possible. Maybe therapy really would help; maybe he could identify the parts of himself that were the most broken, and start the process of mending them into something that at least approached “fixed.”

“Theo?” Lysander murmured gently, drawing Theo’s attention back to the present with a blink. Theo met his boyfriend’s gaze again, chest fluttering at the look of unease that had crept into his emerald eyes, of worry.

Immediately Theo applied himself to easing that worry, forcing himself to smile, to trace away a lingering tear with the pad of his thumb. “You weren’t s-supposed to cry,” he said, a little wryly, and Lysander broke into an embarrassed smile under his touch.

“Yes, well. Who was it that said ‘I’m human, too; anyone would cry after hearing that song’?” Lysander retorted, echoing his wry tone.

~~

a continuation of where https://www.tumblr.com/fracturedheartbl/818330847911493632/another-chapter-from-lysanders-perspective-in-my left off.

Again major spoilers so I wouldn't recommend reading it until you're caught up to the LACMA chapter in the actual story, which you can read at fracturedheart.net :p

~~

Lysander slept very poorly over the remaining days of his New York trip, and it made itself known in his lethargy of thought, in the dark shadows under his eyes that even makeup couldn’t completely hide.

He tried to tell himself it was just the time-shift, the exhaustion of slogging through endless meetings with greedy assholes all day, but he knew the truth of it; he was lovesick, as elated that Theo apparently wanted to see him again as he was scared he’d reveal that obsession the moment he actually saw the DJ in the flesh.

He couldn’t let Theo know about the feelings he’d just discovered that he felt; shy and guarded as the DJ was, Lysander knew it would spook him to find out just how obsessed with him Lysander already found himself. Hell, all he’d done was ask Theo why he’d stopped responding to Lysander’s texts for a few days, and it had angered and upset the DJ enough into hissing at him to leave Theo alone. He still felt anguished about it, even if that sentiment had only ended up lasting a couple days more until Theo had called him again, begging him to come back and hear their song in person.

But…what if Theo hadn’t gotten high that night? What if the only reason he wanted to see Lysander again was because he’d been distracted by his intoxication into forgetting why he’d been upset? If he hadn’t gotten stoned…would the DJ have let his awkward shyness prevent him from reaching out again? Would the distance have grown between them more and more until, devastatingly, Lysander never heard from him again?

Fretting himself to pieces internally, Lysander was miserable by the time he reached the end of the intended duration of the trip. And then, fucking bastard that Bryant was, he’d arranged for Lysander to attend one more important dinner, and he’d had to push his flight ahead to the next morning. He’d been sorely tempted to curse a blue streak and refuse Bryant outright, but instead he’d grit out a smile and responded with passive acceptance, knowing he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to keep his career from faltering.

At last, the morning of his rescheduled flight arrived, and this time, miraculously, he managed not to have to delay it again. It was a shit flight…because he tried not to be a total asshole, Lysander avoided private chartered flights if he could help it, riding First Class instead. But that meant he had to occasionally share the cabin with others, and once again he found himself doing that that morning. There was a fussy young child in the cabin at one end of the cabin, and a woman who talked noisily on her phone the entire time on the other, so despite putting on headphones with the soothing sounds of a jungle waterfall piping through them, he hadn’t been able to take a nap.

Thus, he was feeling downright petulant as he got stuck killing time between one flight and another, and he didn’t bother maintaining a false smile as he slumped into one of the lounge chairs while his luggage was transferred by handlers to the second aircraft. The one solace of the delay was that he had an excuse to text Theo, praying that it wouldn’t be irritating, that Theo wouldn’t ignore the text or, worse, respond that he was too busy to meet up after all.

in a layover in dallas. so fucking tired lol, ready 2 go home n sleep in my own bed. whatre u up 2?

Lysander didn’t know why he’d started typing like an idiot the first time he’d messaged Theo, following their first proper conversation they’d had when Lysander had perhaps somewhat creepily shown up uninvited to Theo’s DJ show, a week after meeting him at Halo. It had happened spontaneously while typing out the DM over Friendlink; his only form of digital contact because Theo hadn’t given him his actual number yet. Maybe, subconsciously, Lysander had feared that proper grammar would be too intimidating—he knew how awkwardly people tended to treat him, intimidated by his fame or his money or simply the fact that he was nearly seven feet tall.

But once Theo had replied favorably to that DM, the habit had stuck, and now he struggled to shake it. Only once Theo had gone through that gap between messages did Lysander’s fond familiarity for the immature manner of texting broken, and he’d said honestly, anxiously, I want to see you. And that had been enough...Theo had agreed to see him again, even if Lysander had then fucked everything up by asking in person why Theo had stopped replying days earlier.

But that didn’t matter now, he tried to remind himself. Whatever that disaster had been, Theo had since said that he needed to see Lysander again. So, now that he finally could return to LA, Lysander was doing his best to fulfill that unfiltered request.

It took a few minutes—well, Theo had his own shit going on, and Lysander couldn’t expect him to drop everything and reply immediately just because Lysander was practically holding his breath waiting for a response—but the DJ texted back at last, At LACMA. Very naughtily looking at my phone in a ‘no cell phones’ area. If I stop replying, it’s because they threw me in jail.

LACMA? The museum? That was certainly not an answer Lysander had been expecting to hear…but then, Theo had gone to art school, and Lysander had seen from those sketches Theo had unwittingly revealed in his bedroom that not only was Theo a wickedly talented musician, he wasn’t half bad at visual arts, either. Lysander had absolutely meant it when he’d offered to model for Theo, even if he’d made it a sensual, sexy offer because that was how he’d been trained to talk to people. Especially people he very much wanted to get into his bed.

It hadn’t been because he wanted a drawing of himself, though that would have been a cool memento from Theo. Rather, he’d just liked the idea of Theo observing him, studying him, hopefully appreciating his allegedly handsome body with an intensity that had so far been lacking, shy as Theo had been about looking directly at him so far. Maybe, now that Theo ‘needed’ him, he could actually find a way to inspire Theo to sketch that drawing for real.

Swallowing back what would have been an embarrassingly unsexy giggle, Lysander bit his lip and replied, So naughty. He threw in a gif of a cartoon secretary tut-tutting for good measure, just in case his text-only message somehow came across as too serious.

Then an announcement came over the speakers in the lounge that his flight would soon be departing, and Lysander heaved a sigh, though he should have been relieved because it meant he was that much closer to seeing Theo in the flesh.

almost time 2 board. c u laterz he texted, then, too anxious to wait for a reply to that, if indeed a reply came, Lysander shoved his phone back into his pocket. He used the back of the armchair to push sluggishly to his feet then made his way to the entrance for the aircraft that would take him the rest of the way back into LA.

~~

When Cindy came in the SUV to retrieve his luggage as well as Lysander himself, she’d assumed he’d want to be taken back to his apartment, exhausted as he clearly was. But he’d confused her entirely when he’d only said he’d be taking over driving his vehicle, only giving her a crafty little smile when she’d blinked then said, “Okay, sir,” knowing better than to pry him for additional information he hadn’t chosen on his own to give.

He was a little regretful over his decision as he drove towards his destination, though, immediately getting stuck in traffic as any drive through LA always resulted in, forced to agonizingly lurch forward bumper to bumper to the point where he was half-considering abandoning his vehicle on the side of the road and just walking the forty miles or so that remained between him and the museum. But, knowing that would be ridiculous, he forced himself to stay in his SUV, tried to distract himself by listening to the radio, grew annoyed when one of his own songs started playing then switched it to classical instead.

As the day grew later, he started to panic that Theo might be leaving the museum soon, and so he risked a traffic ticket to slide his phone up to rest unobtrusively before the steering wheel and texted, u still at LACMA?

A relieved sigh gusted out of him when the DJ replied promptly, Yeah. Waiting for the bus.

Then panic flooded through him once again at the idea of a missed connection—that fucking traffic would still take so long that by the time he got to the museum, Theo would already have boarded the bus to return home. If that was the case, it would have taken hours more before Lysander could meet him at his apartment instead, probably by then too exhausted to manage more than a quick word. Maybe—if he was extremely daring—a hand squeeze, before he knew realistically he’d have to return to his own home and sleep before he passed out on the drive back.

More than a little desperate to avoid that eventuality, he virtually slammed his thumb to the phone to type his reply with one hand while he guided his car another few inches forward with the other, no, stay there.

He had to get there. Had to get to the museum before Theo left. Had to at least see him, or he might expire from sheer want of once again interacting with his crush.

Blessed angel that he was, Theo soon offered a reply, and Lysander found he could (shakily) breathe again. Okay. I’ll wait.

~~

Nearly an hour later, at-fucking-last Lysander made it to the museum, and his only saving grace was that it was late enough in the day that ample parking had become available in the surrounding lots, The campus was big enough, though, that he had no idea where to start looking for Theo. So after temporarily pulling alongside a curb, he texted, I’m here. Where are you?

‘Urban Lights’ the DJ replied, and a smile tugged at Lysander’s lips. Was he living in a movie right now? Was Theo actually at that famous installation, the site of so many romantic scenes in fictional media, perfect dates or tearful reunions or dramatic kisses beneath the moonlight? Had Theo been planning to meet him there? Did that mean, perhaps unconsciously, that Theo really did see him as more than a friend?

Suddenly feeling almost giddy, Lysander found the closest parking spot he could to that side of the campus, barely remembering to take the time to throw on a hoodie and mask so he was unlikely to get mobbed by fans enroute. Then, feeling like he was walking on air, he started loping towards the installation in bouncy, cheerfully apprehensive strides.

At last, approaching from the far side of the rows of lights, Lysander saw him—dressed dark and gloomy like always, though wearing a simpler outfit than he did for his DJ gigs. Theo appeared to be trying to look cool and disaffected as he leaned against a lamppost with his arms folded over his chest, but his gaze darting sideways belied how anxious he actually was.

A very uncharacteristic flutter of nerves almost had Lysander lurching to a stop while he was still on the far side of the installation, resisting the urge to disappear among the lampposts and give himself a moment to collect himself.

But desire to be close to the object of his affection superseded all else, and so he approached anyway, glad for the mask as it hid his enormous, dopey grin.

Theo glanced up at him as soon as he was within eyeshot, his brown eyes very wide, and for just a second, Lysander feared that Theo was actually afraid to see him again, shellshocked as the DJ looked. But rather than spook into safety, Theo slowly dropped his hands to his sides and turned to face Lysander directly. Lysander saw the slight tremor in his limbs, the subtle, unconscious movements towards him as if Theo, too, felt a magnetic pull drawing them across the last small distance that remained.

The breathless silence stretched to an unbearable degree, so finally, unable to withstand it any longer, Lysander pulled his mask down briefly to reveal just a small sign of his ecstatic relief. He let his muted smile shine through as he murmured with a façade of calmness that was in direct opposition to how he was actually feeling, “Hi.”

Theo’s eyes widened even further, shy but eager, practically gawking at him with his longing for connection written all over his face. “Hi…”

The tension hardly felt abated. Feeling slightly desperate to make another attempt at breaking it, Lysander smiled wryly then joked, “Come here often?”

Theo burst into a slightly erratic laugh in response, and Lysander smiled more easily, glad his efforts to lighten the mood had borne fruit.

Then Lysander moved almost unconsciously, his arm reaching forward from its own accord, draping carefully, critically, about Theo’s shoulders. “Missed you,” he breathed as he did so, internally praying his voice didn’t betray how worried he was that Theo would reject the gesture.

It was the first time ever that Lysander had let himself deliberately make physical contact with the DJ, and for a panicked moment he wondered if he’d been too presumptuous; if Theo would jump away from him as if he’d touched a burned stove, as he had the few times Lysander’s fingers had “accidentally” brushed against his.

But, impossibly, Theo did the opposite…he shuffled forward, slim arms wrapping around Lysander’s waist and squeezing tightly. Lysander almost died of happiness right then and there.

“M-Missed you,” Theo murmured, voice buried adorably against Lysander’s shoulder as if he were far too bashful to let his expression show as he said it. It took all of Lysander’s willpower not to wrap his other arm around the DJ reciprocally and draw him even tighter into an all-encompassing hug.

The moment was over much too quickly—already, Theo was retreating again, taking a nervous step backward with his eyes on the ground. But Lysander felt warm all over, the slight pressure where Theo’s arms had wrapped around him burning with the memory of that imprint, feeling as if he’d been stamped by a brand.

Resisting with great effort the urge to yank Theo back against him, to wrap around him entirely and pluck him up like a doll for a full-bodied hug—maybe more, if he was that foolishly daring—Lysander tucked his hands back into his jacket pockets and forced himself not to move as Theo said in his own shy, teasing voice, “Long flight?”

At last, the spell of anxious enchantment broke, and Lysander felt that air of easy camaraderie he so often felt around Theo, in a way he extremely seldom felt around anyone else, settle back into place. “Agonizing,” he replied, giving himself permission to sound silly, knowing Theo wouldn’t cruelly reject him for letting the illusion of ‘imperturbable coolness’ slip at least that little bit. “I don’t understand why the old farts always want to have meetings in person. This is the age of the internet, man. Can’t we do that shit over Zoom?”

A wry look tugged at Theo’s expression, and then Lysander almost jumped in startlement as the DJ reached out to him and gave his shoulder a patronizing pat. “P-Poor little f-famous pop star. Life is so h-hard.”

“It is hard,” Lysander replied in an exaggerated whine, indulging in sounding even more silly. Encouraged by Theo’s resulting laughter, Lysander bit his lip to hold back a smile (that would have been invisible under the mask anyway), then lifted his eyes to the lampposts all around them, giving himself the opportunity to thoroughly observe their romantic surroundings. He vaguely remembered being there a time or two before, but at the moment, his entire being was vibrating too intensely with awareness of Theo’s closeness to recall any specific memories. “God, I haven’t been here in…I don’t know how long.”

And then, in a flash of daring that would have been easy if he’d shown it to anyone but Theo, Lysander offered him his upturned palm. Shyer than ever but with a determined-looking expression, the DJ rested his hand lightly within Lysander’s grasp, and the touch was utterly electric.

Applying every remaining dreg of self-control to keep himself in check, Lysander forced his tone to sound casual as he offered, “Want to walk through it together?”

Theo offered a tiny nod, and, smiling so brightly his cheeks hurt, Lysander took a step towards the lights. He felt like a ballroom dancer leading his lady as they began strolling casually, contentedly, beneath the halos of solemn yellow light.

MAJOR spoilers for the main story, so I wouldn't recommend reading this until you're caught up to the LACMA scene :p You can read the first eight chapters for free, as well as a free first page preview of all subsequent chapters, at fracturedheart.net :D

~~

That evening, the day that Theo had, for the first time, explicitly rejected Lysander’s efforts to get closer to him, Lysander had rushed home and, for the first time in maybe a decade, openly cried.

He didn’t let anyone see it, of course. That would have been crazy. His illusion of impregnable self-assuredness, either cheerful or sensual, had taken years of practice and therapy to achieve. He couldn’t let anyone know he had feelings; that even he, with all his money and looks and fame and millions of people around the world ready and willing to do whatever he wanted of them, was also capable of being sad.

So, locking down that illusion for the space it had taken to escape that grubby little apartment without visibly falling to pieces, he’d said his goodbyes to Theo, given him a vague promise to finish work on their musical collaboration via email. Then, with practiced calmness, he’d returned to the plain white sedan he’d left in the unused-except-for-him spot in the carport and driven home.

Then he’d sulked frustratedly on the elevator ride to the top and stormed inside his apartment, into his walk-in closet where sometimes the feeling of closeness helped temper the loneliness whenever he returned to his own penthouse apartment alone. There he’d dropped to the floor to pull his long legs to his chest, buried his face between them, and let fat tears start quietly descending at last.

Fuck. He hated to show weakness like this, even if no one was around to see it. He wasn’t supposed to be weak. He was supposed to be strong, confident, charming, talented, able to entertain nearly a hundred thousand people live on stage without breaking a sweat—what would any of those fans think if they could see him now? Would they start to hate him? Would they despise him after realizing what a pathetic loser he actually was?

“Fuck,” Lysander rasped to himself after several long moments of crying had apparently done little to temper the ravaged shreds of his heart. Every time he started to calm down a little, he recalled how stiff Theo’s posture had been, shoulders arched and hackles raised as if he really were a cat, trapped in a corner and ready to fight or flee if Lysander dared reach out. The venom in Theo’s voice as he’d more or less told Lysander to fuck off, that it “wasn’t his fucking business” why Theo had abruptly stopped replying to his texts for the better part of a week.

Yes, maybe logically, Theo was right…they weren’t actually dating after all; he wasn’t, especially in that moment of emotional turbulence, particularly convinced they could even be counted as friends. But still, Theo needn’t have sounded so…vicious about it. A simple “I appreciate your inquiry as to my feelings on the matter, but I do not at this time believe it is within the parameters of our undefined relationship for me to share those private reasonings with you" would have been just fine.

After a while, some thought went to calling Liliana, to pouring his heart out to her as he was unwilling to pour his heart out to a single other person on this planet, not even his therapist of seven years. But she was in a foreign country nine hours ahead of him, where it was currently four in the morning…surely she was asleep, and even though she probably would have said she didn’t mind the interruption if he’d needed to reach out to her, his sense of guilt wouldn’t let him interrupt that sleep.

Her daughter was young enough that Liliana still had trouble getting Jubee to stay in her bedroom at night…she might be even more sleepy because of it, and even though Liliana was every bit as beautiful as she’d been while strutting down catwalks in Milan wearing hundred-thousand-dollar haute couture five years prior to getting married, moving to Italy, then having a child, she still needed her “beauty sleep.”

So, having no one else to bother with his emotional agony, Lysander stayed curled up in his closet, cried for another few long minutes (maybe hours, though he doubted it). Then he decided to take a shower and go back to finding a way to tamp all that weak shit down before anyone else discovered his dirty secret—that he was actually human, despite all his privileges and façade of inward as well as outward perfection. Maybe work out in his home gym afterward; try to sweat his stresses and sadness out.

He couldn’t afford to continue wallowing in self-pity anyway; he had to fly back to New York in the morning, had to put on an illusion of confident calmness as he negotiated terms with avaricious businessmen for the New Year’s show and for the upcoming tour. They were middle-aged men who thought he couldn’t possibly have the skills or the arrogance to demand fair treatment, simply because he had been born to a life of privilege and was only 25; he literally couldn’t afford to give them a single inch, a chink in his armor to stab into and pry him apart.

So, with great effort, he indulged in one more shivering sigh, then brushed the tear streaks away with the heels of his hands and forced himself to stop wallowing in self-pity and weakness.

Time to get to work.

~~

It was late morning, two days later, when Lysander received a phone call from a number that made his heart lurch with worry and hope.

He was especially tired—after a long day of artfully exchanging words with reps and agents and other businessmen while he employed practiced smiles and silver-tongued scheming, some of those suits had insisted on taking Lysander out for drinks, and he knew better than to turn down the ‘offer’. A lot of the most important deals he’d secured in the past happened in the after-hours, when tongues were loosened and willpowers frayed by liquid libation and the presence of attractive women (though generally Lysander was too professional to partake of the latter, aside from a few well-timed winks that had the women giggling coquettishly and giving him fawning looks).

He was still worn out from the time-change, too—even though the clock said it was ten, his internal clock still thought it was seven, and the confusion caused by that dissonance threw his internal rhythms all out of whack. It was going to be even worse when he’d be returning to LA in another three days, his body thrown into even more confusion as he was forced to readjust to everything being three hours earlier.

That tiredness evaporated in a second, though, as soon as the now-familiar number—and the name—flashed on his screen.

Theo was calling him. Two days after telling him to fuck off, Theo was calling him. What did he want? Was he going to lecture Lysander further? Was he calling to tell him to fuck off permanently?

Or…maybe, just maybe, Theo was regretting his harshness? Maybe he wanted to make up?

Tentatively, afraid to trust himself not to pour out all his apologies for his invasiveness and beg Theo to take him back—at least as a friend, even if Theo had made it clear he never intended to become lovers—Lysander slid the digital button to accept the call and waited with bated breath for Theo to speak first.

No sooner had the call connected than Theo’s agitated, excited voice stammered out, “Listen to th-this,” and then music started playing through the receiver.

Parts of it were familiar already, but so much more had been added in since Lysander had heard bits and pieces in the recording studio weeks ago; presumably in the file that Theo had emailed over yesterday that Lysander had not yet been strong enough to listen to on his own. It wasn’t in disjointed fragments anymore, though—all of it had been mended together, and even if some parts were a little chaotic, on the whole it sounded very, very good.

When Lysander heard his own singing voice played back to him, this time with effects added that gave it a dreamy, evocative feel, he almost gasped in shock. He’d never heard his voice sound like that…not crisp and charming but eerie, enchanting. The lyrics were only a few lines long, vague references to exploring uncharted territory in a deep, dark forest that he himself had written, but whatever Theo had done to them made it sound like so much more.

Minutes, maybe hours later, the song faded, and Lysander finally loosed a quiet, stunned breath.

Then, hearing Theo’s own shallow, anticipatory breathing, a startled laugh burst out of Lysander and he said with helpless automation, “Wow.”

He could practically hear Theo smile hugely in response, the shy DJ’s voice vibrating with pleased excitement as he replied rapidly, “Isn’t it p-perfect?!”

His own lips twitching into a bemused smirk, Lysander replied softly, still processing both the music and the fact that Theo sounded happy to be talking to him again, “It’s…pretty great.”

Glancing at the alarm clock visible next to the bed from where he’d been sitting in an armchair while checking emails on his phone, Lysander asked in subtle amusement, “Did you just finish that? Is that why you called me at…” Ten in the morning, minus three hours for the time change… “What is it there right now?…Seven AM?”

It was a strange hour for Theo to be awake and talking on the phone with him—the DJ ought to have either been working one of his ungodly 4 AM-to-noon warehouse shifts, or else sleeping in preparation for an evening shift instead. He had two jobs after all, and barely seemed to have a chance to take a break between them. Poor, overworked Theo. It was so fucking unfair that he had to work so hard for so little. Maybe someday, Lysander could convince the DJ to let him take care of him instead.

“S-Sorry.” Theo giggled, then rambled with absurd eagerness, “Ssss….Sorry…s-sorry’s such a weird w-word…”

Oh. Smiling to himself again, Lysander kept his tone light as he interjected, “Theo.”

“Mmmmm?”

“Are you… high right now?”

“Mmmmmm.” Theo punctuated his non-answer answer with another giggle, and Lysander’s lips twisted into an even deeper grin, relief slowly supplanting his worry that Theo had called to say something negative to him. Hopefully he wasn’t only feeling giddy because he was evidently stoned as fuck.

The breath rushed out of Lysander in a startled, touched, surge of emotion as the person he was completely infatuated with asked, “When are you c-coming over ag-gain? I wanna show this t-to you with th-the viss..vish…vishiliser app…”

Fuck. Suddenly, Lysander was very resentful of the fact that he was a thousand miles away right now. He wanted nothing more than to jump in his car, drive over like a bat out of hell over to that tiny apartment, and take Theo into his arms as he’d been longing to do since September. Maybe push him up against a wall and kiss him desperately. Maybe take this phone call as a sign that Theo, at last, would be receptive to that kiss.

Still afraid to confidently interpret Theo’s inquiry as such a sign, Lysander studiously kept his voice quiet, unassuming as he asked, “Do you want me to come over?”

“Yes!” Theo gusted out in immediate reply, and Lysander almost wept all over again, this time with relief. “So when? Whenwhenwhen? Today? T-tomorrow? Now?”

God, he was so fucking adorable that Lysander could hardly stand it.

As pleased as he was to hear his crush entreaty him for a rapid return, Lysander was tired, and a yawn leaked out of him as he debated his reply. “Not tomorrow…Hmm. Let me look at my schedule. Hold on.” Reluctantly pulling the phone away from his ear, feeling ridiculously like he might increase the chances that Theo would end the call if he did so, Lysander switched apps to check his calendar.

Goddamnit. Why was Theo finally talking to him like this now? “I can do…Wednesday evening? Assuming my flight doesn’t get delayed.”

“Nooooo…” The plaintive whine in the DJ’s voice should have been annoying, but all it did was make Lysander smile hugely again. “Nowwww.” Perhaps it was a good thing after all that Theo was so far away from him at the moment, or Lysander would have been sorely tempted to gobble him up for his unbearable cuteness.

“I can’t come over ‘nowwww’,” Lysander replied, hiding his disappointment at the fact with a wry chuckle. “I’m across the country right now. What am I supposed to do, teleport there?” If only such a thing were possible. Maybe, whenever he was back in LA again, Lysander should apply himself to inventing a teleportation device so that he needn’t be unnecessarily far away from Theo ever again.

“Yes. T-Teleport. I need you h-here.” If Theo sounded any more adorable, Lysander was going to faint. And…’need’. Theo had said he needed Lysander there with him. Even if he was being extra silly thanks to inebriation, surely he wouldn’t have said he needed him if he only viewed Lysander as a casual friend.

Either way, teleportation was not at that time possible, and as much as Lysander longed to be physically next to Theo, he still felt too much responsibility to his career and to all the people who depended on him to wildly chase after his crush by leaving New York early when he still had three more days of boring-ass meetings to get through. “Well…” It was a pathetic half-measure, but it was all Lysander could offer at the moment. “How about a video chat instead? It’s not the same, but…”

“Fine.”

Smirking ruefully at Theo’s pouty tone, Lysander drew his phone back again, stared anxiously at the screen for a long moment, then, trying not to panic that Theo might change his mind, forced himself to end the call and send a FaceTime request instead.

Saints be praised, Theo accepted it, and Lysander’s heart leapt yet again as soon as he could see that (unfortunately tiny) pretty, pouty face. Holy fuck did he want to kiss Theo so badly right then. Even if he had three days to get his longing back under control, could Lysander really trust himself not to put his hands all over the DJ as soon as physical distance was no longer a barrier?

“There you are,” Lysander heard himself murmur, sure he must have been wearing an embarrassingly dopey grin. Theo, instead, was scowling, though Lysander supposed (hoped) it was more that he was feeling sour about Lysander not dropping everything and returning to him as soon as Theo had asked him to. “Wow…you are high. I can see the red in your eyes from here.”

Actually, wasn’t this the first time Lysander had seen Theo stoned? He knew Theo smoked sometimes—the well-used bong in his apartment proved that obviously enough—but it was a bizarre and beautiful experience to see Theo so...unguarded for once. Wearing his silly, sulky, adorably needy true emotions on his sleeve. Lysander resolved that he would be encouraging Theo to smoke more whenever it was politely possible, if it meant he got the pleasure of seeing Theo relax his defenses this much.

Meanwhile, Theo had made a noise like a frightened rabbit and hidden his face after Lysander’s comment. So Lysander chuckled disarmingly and offered, “Hey, it’s fine, no judgement. We all have those days.”

Revealing only his red-rimmed eyes again, Theo mumbled from within the nest of his arms, “Where’re you?”

“I told you. New York.” Regrettably. “Did you think I was lying?”

“No…maybe.” Slowly, some of the silliness faded from Theo’s voice, and Lysander fought back a frown, sad to have caused Theo any discomfort; if it was indeed his fault that Theo’s giddy light had dimmed. The DJ’s face disappeared between his arms again, voice sadder still as he continued, “Lys…I’m…I’m s-sorry…”

It’s okay, baby, I forgive you. Fuck, please, I’m the one who’s sorry. I never meant to make you feel like I was intruding…I never meant to push you into rejecting me, because I was too presumptuous in thinking that you trusted me as much as I hoped you did.

Biting back the ridiculously honest admission of how desperately he wanted Theo to like him, Lysander was preparing a noncommittal word of dismissal when Theo started drawling his name. His name. Something that Lysander couldn’t remember him saying a single time before, as if acknowledging him by name might be confessing a closeness that Theo was still, for whatever reason, unwilling to admit.

“Lys. Lysss. Lyyyyyssssss.”

Swallowing back that lingering urge to beg Theo to forgive him entirely, Lysander kept his voice neutral as he said, “Theo. Look at me.”

Slowly, with obvious reluctance, Theo pulled his face back up until it was visible, his morose expression tearing into Lysander’s chest. Uncertainty flickered in the warm brown depths of his eyes, gaze darting to the sides of Lysander’s face on the screen; or so Lysander supposed, small as the view of Theo was on the phone. “You’re b-busy. ‘M sorry, ‘m gonna g-go—”

“Wait.” The plea burst out of him before Lysander even realized he was speaking, his tone frantic, or so it sounded to his own ears.

The hand that Theo had started reaching towards his phone hesitated, dropped to the couch. The DJ’s eyes were so wide as Lysander continued carefully, putting every drop of emphatic encouragement into his tone that he could, “Theo. Your song—our song—is beautiful. You did an amazing job.”

Theo’s resulting smile was so beautiful that Lysander couldn’t help automatically echoing it, relieved and happy and hopeful and full of longing to see Theo again. He said, voice trembling a little bit with how hard he was trying not to reveal how deeply affected he was, “And I mean it—Wednesday. I’ll see you Wednesday. Okay? As soon as my plane lands, I’ll call you and we’ll figure something out.”

“Okay,” Theo replied quietly, shyly, then, “Miss you.”

Fuck. He was done for. Lysander was in love.

Smiling gently in direct contrast to the surge of awestruck emotion that internally assaulted him at the realization, Lysander murmured back to him, “Miss you too. Now get some sleep. Goodnight, Theo.”

Theo’s own smile looked serene, but there was a little bit of sheen to his eyes as if he, too, were holding back tears. “I l-love when you s-say that. G’night, Lys.”

Quickly, before he could start crying for real, Lysander ended the call. Then he stared at his phone where he was still clutching it for one long moment then another, breath rattling shakily in his chest as he stared at the blank screen.

He loved Theo. He loved Theo. Fuck, it was utterly ridiculous; he’d only met Theo months ago, and really, he barely knew him. Theo revealed only tiny parts of himself bit by bit, and Lysander doubted he’d ever fully know or understand the DJ, understand what it was that had happened to him in the past to make him so fragile and withdrawn.

It didn’t matter though. The scarcity of those admissions was what made each one of them so precious.

Well…if he truly did love Theo, was in love with him, then that only crystallized his mission. Breathing out deeply, Lysander resolved to dedicate himself to his newfound intent.

He’d just have to find a way to make Theo love him back.

~~

“The limo should be here in the next twenty minutes. You ready to do this thing, babe?”

The chipper voice startled Theo almost as much as the hand that closed over his shoulder, though the touch had been very gentle. Theo whirled around anyway and blinked, momentarily taken aback by the up-close brilliance of his boyfriend in full pop star regalia.

Even though the grandeur of his outfit was at odds with the industrial simplicity of the warehouse walls that rose behind him, Lysander himself was resplendent, all the jewels and ornamental chains he’d already had on before appearing even more lustrous now that they were paired with dramatic makeup to match.

He might not have been wearing a full-on dress, but the celebrity’s chosen attire was still vastly removed from anything Theo had been raised to think of as “masculine.”

The tan planes of his face, clean-shaven and already stunningly handsome even unadorned, had been smoothed with foundation to flawless perfection, high cheekbones and strong jawline further delineated by subtle contouring blended into all the right places. Glittery brown and bronze eyeshadow had been applied not just to his lids but under his eyes as well, lashes long and luscious, the rims of his eyes lined with gold.

Even his lips were gold—Theo found his gaze zeroing in on them, half out of surprise at the color and half because he wondered what that lipstick must have tasted like. Not that he was about to kiss his boyfriend right there in front of strangers, no matter how ethereally attractive the singer looked.

Those lips curled into a roguish smile as Theo continued to stare at them, and he yanked his gaze upward again, back towards where his boyfriend’s emerald eyes were practically sparkling with smug amusement. Theo scowled to hide his discomfiture, taking a step backward until the roughness of the brick walls brushed against his back.

That arrogant smile slowly faded as Lysander gave him his own thorough once-over, apparently taking in the totality of Theo’s appearance for the first time since every aspect of his ensemble had been set in place.

The singer’s hand drifted forward as if it had a mind of its own, one finger lightly tracing down the outside lengths of black hair where a few artful, mindful cuts had given him long bangs that framed his face, parted just a little off-center and sweeping to the sides in a fashion that was likely to be quite troublesome to keep out of his eyes once he’d washed the styling product out, but which, Theo supposed, must look rather fetching at the moment. The rest of his hair had been left to hang freely just over his shoulders, midnight black melting into the iridescent blue of his suit.

Lysander’s own hair looked as if someone had taken it into Photoshop and applied a filter that gave it 20% more curl—every curve was arched to perfection, his style at once youthful yet dashing. It might just have been an effect of all the surrounding colors, but even his hair looked more golden than usual…Theo narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized it, and when he caught sight of an array of glints when the singer drew back slightly to arch a brow at his intense stare, Theo confirmed that there was a dusting of some additional reflective substance for effect.

“You have g-glitter in your hair?” he asked with a crooked smirk, sorely tempted to stick a hand in and muss up his lover’s purposefully shaped curls just to see how much glitter he could shake out of it. “What are you, T-Tinkerbell?”

“Sure, but only if you’ll be my Peter Pan,” Lysander countered smoothly, grinning broadly again, looking a lot more like ‘the boy who never grew up’ than Theo felt like he did. Then that grin fell into something a little awestruck and the singer’s voice took on a spellbound quality as he breathed, “God, Theo. You’re gorgeous.”

Theo’s slight smile faltered as embarrassment stole over him, and he dropped his gaze to the cement floor of the warehouse, suddenly feeling too bashful to maintain his lover’s stare. It was hardly the first time the singer had praised his appearance, and yet hearing the words come from a creature who was so spectacular in his own grandeur somehow made the effect more intense. A light touch on his chin had him reluctantly tilt his face up again, finding his boyfriend’s expression gentled into a warm, encouraging smile.

“I mean it, baby,” Lysander murmured, the devotion in his voice reflected in his eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

--

As the last note trailed off, carried by an elegant denouement from the piano, no one in the restaurant spoke; no one even breathed, or so it seemed, soundless as the interior had become. Then Theo heard a sniffle and thought it had come from himself for a moment before he realized it had been the hostess still standing in attendance by the front door podium, dabbing at her mascaraed eyes carefully with a finger as she sniffed again.

Her gaze caught hold with Theo’s then her eyes widened and she looked quickly away as if embarrassed. A slight smirk twitched at Theo’s lips in response, even though he was just as affected. Swallowing past the impossible tightness in his throat, he shifted his gaze back towards the singer, finding him still facing the piano, though his hands now rested motionless on the keys.

Then, slowly, Lysander retrieved his hands, rested them on the bench at his sides, turned towards Theo with a wide smile and asked brightly, “So…what do you think?”

An astonished laugh startled out of Theo and he might have playfully thrown something at his boyfriend had they been alone somewhere, overcome with the ridiculousness of the singer’s innocuous jubilance after singing and playing something like that. “P-Pretty good,” he managed to choke out at last, still laughing though his voice was wavering with barely-checked tears. “It doesn’t really rh-rhyme, though.”

Lysander’s radiant smile tempered a bit, turning warm again, evident awareness filtering into his illusion of oblivious innocence over how much his song had affected Theo—had affected everyone there. “That’s okay. Not every song has to rhyme.”

Finally, Theo’s tight grasp on his own emotional barrier splintered, and he laughed shakily in embarrassment as tears started to leak out. Reaching up to rub carefully at them with the heels of his hands, he belatedly remembered he wasn’t wearing eyeliner for once so he needn’t be quite as careful. “Fuck,” he muttered, chuckling ruefully, hearing his chuckle echoed by his boyfriend. “S-stop laughing at me, bastard. I’m human t-too, you know. Anyone would cry after h-hearing that song.”

“So…” Despite the stares fixated on them, despite the confines of the booth preventing Lysander from sitting as near to him as the both of them would have preferred, the singer took the seat opposite from him and reached across the table to take Theo’s hand into his own, squeezing it tightly. “Does that mean you like the song?”

Rubbing again until his eyes were mostly clear of tears, albeit likely red-rimmed, Theo snorted dryly and fixed his proudly smiling lover with a sardonic smirk. “N-no, I hated it. These are tears of disgust.”

The singer burst into a full-throated laugh at that, and Theo loosed a startled squeak as suddenly his lover rushed over to his side of the table, grasped him by the elbows, then hauled him to his feet so he could embrace Theo in a tight bearhug. “I love you, my darling. My feisty tomcat.”