#geraldtalks

It's been... well, a while.

Early morning sunshine beams through the room in the pinkish, orange hue stereotypical of the Pacific coast. It looks a bit like a movie scene; the luxurious down comforter covering her bare legs, the movie posters hung across the wall, interspersed with an array of post-it notes and Polaroid pictures that had been tacked up at random. Last night's clothes are strew over the window seat, her shoes having been kicked off towards the corner, and the book she has been reading is now discarded on the ground.

Tom had gotten home late from set, collapsing on the bed with a sigh as she listened to him talk about the day's scenes. Things were going better for him after the rocky patch of finding a new manager, and with Colt's new stunt company getting off the ground, their latest movie had been a rollercoaster of hard work that often bled into late nights. It was worth it, though, with how often Tom came home with a genuine smile—and so Parker was more than happy to rub his back as he talked—even if it kept her up into the early morning hours.

Parker has never been more comfortable as she dozes. The matress—eternally out of her price range—is the comfiest thing she's ever slept on, and the air is a perpetually chilled to the perfect temperature. The pillow smells a bit like lilac, but also a bit like sandalwood and oak, and as she takes a deep breath in, the bed comes alive behind her.

A warm hand snakes around her waist to tug her back against an even warmer chest. Boiling hot—from the very first moment she had ever touched him—it's no mystery why he sleeps in nothing but a small pair of boxer briefs.

Calvin Klein, of course.

"No," she says.

It never ceases to amaze her how little sleep he needs.

"It's morning," he says back, his breath tickling hair off of her neck. It's an obvious sort of statement though, and Parker sometimes feels like he's a dog waiting to be let out first thing in the morning. Though, the actual dog in the relationship respectfully stares from his bed in the corner of the room. "I gotta get up."

"No," she says again, eyes clenched tighter now. "It's Saturday."

The hand snakes under her shirt, skin against skin, and a small smile skirts across her face. "Come on, babe. You know I don't need beauty sleep. Plus, look how nice it is out."

She sighs. Tom has never been one to let things go, and she knows well enough that an early morning wake up does nothing to deter his persistence.

She turns in bed, his hand skating to the small of her back, and blinks up at him. He's gorgeous. Breathtakingly, stunningly, drop dead gorgeous without a lick of makeup or touch up to him, and she knows for a fact that she has drool on her face. She would detest him if she didn't love him as much as she did.

"Why do you always want to get out of bed?" she whines in a sleep rough voice. His mouth works into a small smile, and the hand brushes some hair out of her face. "You paid a lot for this bed, and it's nice and soft and comfy. Why would you ever want to get out of it?"

"Where was this attitude last night when I wanted to—?"

"Tom," she whines, even more pathetically now. It's too early for any of this. Yet, a fierce blush works its way across her face. Two years and she still wasn't used to being the person he would want to hold, let alone do that with. Wiggling closer, Parker bats her lashes at him as best she can. "Why don't we stay in bed longer and cuddle? We never cuddle."

"We cuddle every night."

"Yeah, but only because you think if you get a hand in my shirt I'll let you put it elsewhere," she says, and he doesn't even deny it. Just gives a husky, warm laugh before kissing her softly. "Come on, maybe you don't need beauty sleep, but I do."

His eyes roam his face. A hand skates her jawline. "No, you don't," he says. Then, with a sly smile. "Maybe just some concealer."

"Tom!" she laughs, swatting at him. It's no effort at all for him to duck his head down to her neck where he plants a handful of kisses. "Leave me and this beautiful bed alone."

"Maybe I want you to come with me."

"Maybe I want to cuddle with my handsome, superstar boyfriend since he'a always working anymore," she bats back, pouting as she does so. "Please?"

There's silence as he considers her proposal, gaze flickering to the large windows and the beautiful Californian morning outside it. She can hear the gears turning in his head.

"Give me an hour, and I'll workout with you after."

At that, his eyes narrow. "You'll watch me workout after, you mean."

Parker hedges, sleep still dragging her eyes. "I thought you liked to show off," she says instead of admitting that she would not, in fact, be doing any physical exercise. Not with him, anyway. She didn't fancy death by embarassment this early in life. "But if you really want I'll join you in yoga."

He lifted a brow. "Yeah?"

"After my coffee."

Tom watched her, eyes roving, hand rubbing circles into her spine. She used to shy away from moments like these—him this close, looking like that, while she had morning breath and bed head—but despite everything he had proven not to care about that sort of thing. Instead, when Tom looked at her, Parker could just tell that he was actually seeing her, rather than the imperfections.

His hand pulled her onto his chest in a single move. "Yeah, alright," he grumbled into her ear. "One hour."

And though he sounded so put off by it, when Parker looked at Tom, she saw him too. She saw the soft crinkles around his eyes and the warmth in their depth, just like she felt the smooth beat of his heart under her hand. A constant reminder that he was real, and he was very much hers.

Parker kissed him softly before intertwining her bare legs with his. The idea of their matching boxers made her smile, and when she settled into the crook of his neck, he was smiling too.

They lazed in bed, wrapped up in one another, watching the sunrise through sleep heavy eyes for one hour and thirty-seven minutes.

"One, two, babe, one, two."

"What?" he wheezed, and blearily blinked at her wide-eyed stare.

Tom didn't know what was going on. He just knew that he couldn't breathe, he wasn't prepared for the interview, and he was going to fire someone real goddamn soon if he didn't get his coffee and a cigarette.

"You got to calm down your breathing," she instructed, without an ounce of worry or fear in her tone. It cut through the buzzing in his ears and Tom felt her take one of his hands and press it against his chest, before moving the other to press against his lower stomach. She didn't mention how much they were shaking, but Tom knew she must have felt it. "It's okay, just breathe with me."

"Can't you just fuck off?" he scoffed, mean and hoarse.

Parker didn't so much as blink beneath his harsh tone. Instead, her mouth quirked into an encouraging smile.

"Take a deep breath in through the nose, here," she guided him, and he did as asked if only because listening to her was easier than anything else. Her tone never broke soothing, and Tom could feel the coolness of her skin wash over his flushed skin. "And then expel the breath through your stomach; it should push your hand—here."

Tom mimed the action, following what she was showing him, before repeating it on his own.

"There, see?" she asked. And, well, Tom didn't see much other than her blinking down at him, smiling, with a familiar messiness about her hair and clothes that was as endearing as it was her. "Easy, peasey, yeah? Just keep breathing."

Tom followed her instructions, and the more he breathed the more he became of the cramped bathroom they were inside, the crumpled rug beneath him, the way she was practically sitting in his lap, limbs entangled with one another, breathing each other's air, knees into bones and elbows into ribs.

"What book did you read that in?" he asked, a bit breathless, a bit more like himself.

She flushed. "You probably don't want to know."

Tom noticed her flush, and arched a brow at her. "I think I do."

"It's not important."

He narrowed his eyes, chest slowing in its rise and falls, muscles relaxing as if she were a drug that he couldn't get enough of. "Park," he needled through a hoarse voice. "Where did you read that?"

She hedged, avoiding his eyes. "Er... you know. Just, a, um, birthing manual."

Tom stared at her, watching as he continued to guide his breathing, a red blush stretching across her face as she avoided his eyes.

And then, as if there was too much air in the room, he laughed.

"Hey!" she narrowed her eyes at him, failing to swat him when her elbow wacked painfully into the sink behind her. She cursed, which only prompted him to laugh harder, before giving in. A small smile curled her lips. "Jesus! Sorry for trying to help."

"Seriously, a birthing manual?"

"It was a slow week."

"First the physics manual—"

"Physiology," she corrected in a huff, only to be ignored.

"—now a fucking birthing manual," he finished with the shake of his head. Hair that had previously been perfectly gel cast was now ruffled at the back, and Tom was certain that he would get some hell for messing up the look. "You really need to read something normal."

"Normal?"

"Like sci-fi."

Parker rolled her eyes at him. "He's in one movie and suddenly he's the expert," she joked with a blithe look. But they both knew she was only teasing, and Tom relaxed against the wall behind him with a bemused smirk. "Are you feeling better?"

He took a deep breath, eyes grazing over the delicate curve of her nose, the quirk of her mouth, a half-imprinted dimple that only came out in moments like this, the unkempt frizz of her hair—never smooth, always falling out of a braid or a ponytail or a bun—before catching the softness of her eyes.

AHAHAAHAHAH

The first time was actually less of him hitting her but her hitting him. Colt had just gotten his drivers license, and Parker had the brilliant idea of tying a rope to the car to see how fast he could pull her on her pink Barbie roller skates. The only problem was she didn't know how to stop, and when Colt slammed on the breaks to stare at some neighbor girls lying out in bikinis, she took out his taillight and lost a lot of dignity.

The second time was when she was 17, and just got stood up on a date. He picked her up, made a good effort to cheer her up with slushies and burgers, before dropping her off at home. Course, Parker walked around the back of the car, and Colt thought she was going in front of the car, and half a foot later he managed to knock her down. The car was fine, but safe to say it wasn't Parker's day.

I like to imagine that Tom Ryder grew up in the rural Midwest, to a big family of selfish individuals that never supported him or his dream of acting. Always "dream of something practical dear" or "if you spent as much time studying as you do auditioning for plays you might actually be worth something" and so, jaded and hurt, he becomes obsessed with what other people think of him from an early age.

Some people think he's vain and vapid because he scribbles down his favorite reviews on notebook paper and napkins, until eventually his bathroom is covered with little post-its of compliments people have given him over the years.

Hollywood has changed him, but at heart, he'll always be a little kid seeking validation. It's just harder to see as he gets more famous, hiding behind sneers and insults at anyone he thinks might be better than him.

Parker is the first person, maybe ever, that sticks around long enough to realize this. And thus she starts the tradition of always buying him flowers whenever she finds pretty ones as pretty as him, and he slowly trades his orange stickies for pictures of her.

My favorite!

Parker and Colt were not always best friends. As most siblings do, they did not get along when they were kids, especially with the age difference. But since they didn't get much structure from their over worked mom, Colt always watched out for Park when he could. It got problematic when he caught Park kissing a boy in the ninth grade, and she didn't talk to him for three weeks after he chased off her boyfriend. That was one of their biggest fights to date.

But, when she grew up, Parker recognized the sacrificed her brother made for her, and slowly they started doing things together. Going to the movies together was their go-to. Colt always bought the tickets, and she would sneak in a ridiculous amount of candy and chips inside her purse. When she turned 21, they had their first ever sibling trip together, where they went to see the Space Station (she was always a little nerd, and he always loved to see cool things).

When Colt got his first paycheck on Miami Vice, he bought them matching pairs of crisp white air forces, and when Parker got her first big girl job, she got them cheap tickets to Disney.

When he has his first major injury, Parker cried in the hospital parking lot, before wiping her face and bringing him Waffle House waffles at two am (the only good waffles there are), and Colt was so happy, that it became a tradition. Though, she'd rather he never get hurt, sometimes Colt will make a big deal out of small injuries just for the breakfast delivery. Once, he had Dan call and pretend that he had a bad concussion so she would bring food.

When she found out he only had a Paw Patrol bandaid on his temple, Parker chucked his hashbrown at his head.

Bonus points my best friend got engaged this morning at the top of our mountain hike and I am stock full of love and happiness 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Hahaha thank you so much!

As this upcoming weekend is the 4th, I'll be out of state camping with some friends, so unfortunately there'll be no chapter update this week! I would love to get chapter 9 out by early next week, but knowing myself and my schedule, I think the next chapter will probably be out by next Fri/Sat.

I hate to make you guys wait, but I've been posting at a grueling schedule lately and this girl needs her outdoor time hehe but I promise it'll be worth it because there's all good stuff coming (until, you know, all the bad stuff comes)