What Were You Thinking? (part 2)
part i
Angel is found by the fruit platters, which include strawberry halves and chocolate-dipped banana spears arranged in modern piles on three-tiered cupcake stands. When Bradley gets to her through the crowd he takes one of her hands in his own and leans down fractionally to kiss her cheek. He doesn't move after this, however, and stays with a hand softly at her neck to whisper: "Angel, we have a big problem, please laugh like I've said something hilarious."
She puts a hand around his bicep, and tilts her head back to laugh uproariously, inelegantly, and he loves her for it. He then kisses the back of her hand, and steps back marginally, not faking the fond smile.
"What is it, Bradley?" she manages to grind out through a bright smile of her own, without moving her mouth. Her eyes are searching and he does not let go of her hand. They are the picture of friendship, he imagines, two young people, happy to see each other and compliment each other on their finery.
"Colin's date," he mutters, and then laughs loudly. He finally lets go so that he might fleece a grape bunch of all its fruit from off of the silver platter closest to him, popping them in his mouth indelicately one by one. Angel searches the room without turning her head too obviously and then gasps, "Oh my god Bradley, he's...I mean..."
"No, it's not the faun, if that's what you're thinking," he tells her. He peers over to where Colin is smiling shyly and introducing the Date to Anthony Head. "Although it's a close thing. Look at those groomed sideburns."
"The faun?" Angel says, tilting her head a bit for another look.
"Yes, Mr. Tumnus," Bradley continues through a mouthful of fruit. "The half man half beast in Narnia. McAvoy is his name, although this one's not Scottish, he's Irish. Old school chums, they tell me."
"Bradley, you look ill, are you alright?" Angel says. He drags his eyes away from the scene, to look back into her worried face.
"Yes, just fine," he says, realizing he is acting rude all at once. "I've spoken with him, just now. We took the lift. Twenty floors, Angel. There was a lot of smiling, between the two of them, like they were very happy to see one another."
"Well, they probably are," she says. She picks up her drink from the table. "Are you surprised that he's with a man, Bradley, is that what this is? Because honestly you look like you're about to be sick."
"No," he laughs, mirthlessly. "Well yes, I was initially surprised, but now. No, it's not what you think. Really, honestly. Although maybe that does make it worse."
He trails off, and Angel looks at him shrewdly.
"He is rather attractive," she says. "Is that was this is all about. Are you feeling threatened? Because if you're upset that Colin's found a lovely date, then that leads me to believe-"
Bradley holds up a hand.
"Before we have this conversation I'm going to need some sort of beverage. Honestly, Coulby." Which is all but admitting everything, but suddenly Bradley can't be arsed to care. It is so hard to talk yourself down when something so dramatic as this has occurred. He is likely to say something rash. Recognizing this helps calm him a bit, and he takes steadying breaths as Angel leads him to the bar.
"You really are, the most incredible friend, Angel," he sighs. She hands him a glass of chardonnay. "And might I say, you look ravishing in yellow."
He toasts her and takes a sip from his glass. She does a small curtsy.
"Why thank you for noticing." She sounds pleased. "It was between this or lavender, a sort of homage to Gwen. She's the one who got me here, really."
"Following that logic, I should be wearing red," Bradley says. "Or blue...his date is wearing blue."
He looks over again at the guy Colin's brought. He is dressed in tight, navy trousers, a white button-down, and a trendy jacket that makes him look like some kind of very well-dressed indie kid who has connections, maybe a rich patron of the arts who will fund his side projects: photography or maybe video production. "Slumming it in the cafes of Dublin" or some similar documentary.
Oh, and now he's been introduced to John Hurt, Great Dragon esq. This will not do, really, because, while Bradley may be in awe of many of the older actors in their time, a real fanboy actually, John Hurt is one of Bradley's favourites. Having the opportunity to work alongside both Anthony Head and John Hurt sent him into cartwheels for weeks after he found out, and although he's rarely spoken to John Hurt as he's got no scenes in the cave, he often notices him from afar, eating lunch with Richard usually.
Bradley doesn't exactly begrudge Colin for spending so much time with the elderly man, but he cannot wait until Arthur finally has a full scene with the Great Dragon. But now here is Mr. Somethingorother, already on speaking terms. Bradley cannot take his eyes off of him, ready to complain to Angel. He'll take back all the mean things he may have called her, like hussy or loser, he really will.
"Look at him," he tells her, at a loss really.
"Oh, Bradley," Angel says, but her voice seems far off.
It's just that this guy seems so unassuming, speaking with Tony and John Hurt and refusing a canape offered by a passing waiter. He's probably a good person. He probably works with animals and eats garden burgers with no cheese, and is able to make Colin Morgan the type of salad that he deserves, not some drippy mess of iceberg lettuce and carrots like Bradley did the last time Colin stayed with him.
He is about to share this with Angel, to explain out of guilty resignation how he's changed his mind, how he sees now that Colin could do much better than him, who is he kidding? Just because someone wants someone, with some dull aching somewhere mid-chest region, doesn't necessarily mean that he deserves anything, when he is interrupted.
"He's like Lancelot," Arthur realizes out loud, nodding his head at the guy.
Angel frowns at him, uncomprehending, but then from behind he hears: "Hey, Bradley!"
It is Rupert - "Ah, Sir Leon cleans up nicely I see," he'd remarked the first time they'd had any occasion to spend time together outside of work - and Bradley is ecstatic to see him.
"Looking fit, Mate," Bradley says. Rupert nods, as if this is his due. He claps the man on the shoulder. "What trouble have you been getting yourself into since I last saw you?"
"You know, the usual," Rupert says. He adjusts his purple silk tie and tries to seem contrite, repentant for what he's about to admit, but it just comes off looking pleased. He mutters: "Might have, ahem, boughtmyselfalamborghini."
"What was that?" Bradley cups a hand to his ear, although he's caught it, he really has, and he can't believe it. "Bought yourself a wha'??"
"It's flashy," Rupert says, looking at his shoes, as if that's a bad thing. "It's overly indulgent, and black, shiny, with a dark leather interior and she's so smooth, Bradley. I spent all this morning stroking her. I almost didn't make it here in time, I just- I couldn't-"
At some point Angel's left to refill her glass, and Bradley moans in jealousy as Rupert slides out his iphone to show off his new car.
"You know, you only had the one line 1st season," he tells Rupert. "At what point did you get this cocky?"
"Bradley, I highly recommend this. I'll take you for a ride. You'll see. I'm in London for the next few days." He hands Bradley his phone and Bradley puts down his drink to thumb through the pictures. "We'll do lunch, except we'll probably never make it to the restaurant - we'll just drive around the city, experiencing."
They toast to the car. It had taken Bradley until twenty two to even get his license - it had been too expensive and not at all important because he'd had a couple of casual girlfriends, and then friends, who'd been willing to take him where he needed to go. This isn't the country, this isn't America, you can get around just fine on public transport, but now, after seeing these photos, he really wants a car. He has mainly been saving his earnings, not really thinking about the money. He was comfortable, he was grateful, until now.
"Thanks, Rupert," he says, scoffing. "Now I know what a large chunk of series three is going towards."
One of the camera crew is quick to join them, somehow scenting that they're talking cars. Bradley hasn't even had the food, really, hasn't even had half his drink. Angel comes back with her cousin, Bryan, who joins them as well. They are a party in and of themselves, the cool kids by the fruit table, all with phones in hand and gesturing widely, passing round the enthusiasm like normal people do Jagermeister.
The camera guy, Thierry (French!), describes the engine in some particularly yummy way and then opens his wallet to share the picture within, wedged where other people might carry a photo of their pet or significant other.
"You must be joking," Bradley breathes, feeling his heart yammer a bit. Rupert hides a sob behind his drink and they both just look and look. It's the sexiest car Bradley's ever seen. "God have mercy."
"Pardon?" comes a voice.
"Oh not you, McGrath." He looks away from the screen for a moment to where Katie has come up next to them. Beside her is Johnathon Rees-Meyers.
"I've got a motorcycle," Johnathon Rees-Meyers offers.
"I'm sure you do," Bradley tells him, and motions him further into their group.
"This is Johnathon," Katie says, because introductions must be made. She makes them, but no one's listening too hard.
"Boys and their cars," she sighs, as Angel comes to her side. "Can't even be bothered to say hello, can you?"
Bradley knows for a fact that Angel's about as interested in this as he is, but he supposes its a shameful thing for females. He could wonder if that comment was sexist, but instead he takes the time to shake Johnathon's hand, and then Bryan's.
"Welcome," he says to them. "Glad you could make it."
"You look lovely, Katie," Colin says, also having gravitated their way. Bradley looks her over for the first time, and notices that yes, she does look rather good. The problem with hanging around the television types is that people like them are paid to look good. It's not egotistical, more the fact of the matter. He hadn't realized before all this, but acting, if you make it big, is a good way to meet beautiful, well-off women.
Katie is resplendent in a pink thing that is square at the neck and falls heavy to the floor, with an abstract chain and bauble business about the neck. She and Angel might have even coordinated their dresses to match, in fact. They are both of them absolutely stunning, Bradley sees he must be taking things for granted, he really has been, spending his time with two modern-day princesses and not even noticing.
Is he sexist? He frowns to himself, wondering what his mother would say.
"Colin!" Katie says, and meets his date without no discernible surprise. "Pleased to meet you."
"So what have I missed?" Colin asks, bumping shoulders with him and shaking the hands of those he doesn't know.
"You know, talking shop," Bradley says to Colin, Colin who instantly takes him on this one saying, "You don't have a shop, Bradley."
Bradley turns to grace him with a look, like 'Why did I ever let you run off' and takes the napkin from him that he's been twisting in his hands.
"I was just speaking with John," Colin tells him, raising his eyebrows, like Bradley's love is a conspiracy theory not just common knowledge.
"I noticed."
"I introduced him to Jill Trevellick as well, she's there."
"The casting director?" his date asks.
"Yes," says Colin, then looks back to Bradley. "She said you were looking fit and I made sure to tell them that your mother chose your clothing."
"Charitable of you," he says. "My mother did choose it for me."
"I know, that's why I said it. She has good taste."
"My mum likes you as well, Colin," Bradley says. "She sometimes wonders why you don't phone her or send her signed pictures of herself so she can brag to her friends at work, or at least hang them over her desk."
"Are we still talking about me, here?"
And if their back-and-forth feels a bit forced, it is clearly due to the existence of this plus-one. He's just standing there, looking - and Bradley is being frank here, in his own mind - really gorgeous, especially standing next to Colin, they both seem to bring out the features in each other. They seem to fit. It's kind of making him freak out a little, like maybe he needs to go out onto one of the balconies for some air, just so it is not staring him in the face.
Bradley is aware that he might seem overly-defensive. But really, the way this guy had acted so comfortable in the lift and then up here, around so many people he doesn't know, has been setting off some sort of warning of the more subconscious kind and he is only now putting it together. The facts are as follows: people who don't worry are confident, and those who are confident usually have a reason to be confident. This guy's known Colin for years, and is obviously important enough to be date-material. He must be a past fling, of some sort. Bradley's mind shies away from the word 'boyfriend.'
"What do you do, then?" Jonathon R-M asks, addressing Colin's date, and now Bradley James has made his judgment of the actor, and it is a favourable one.
"I'm a doctoral student," he says, and people make humming noises, like 'ah, I've heard of that.'
"Of chemistry," the guy continues, and the awe-level is apparently proportional to the amount he speaks.
Colin nods, totally there, looking quietly pleased, stood just behind his friend's shoulder in the gold lights of the ballroom, people shoving past them, heading towards the food table and away from it.
There is something to that, something attractive about a man who...what do those who study chemistry do, exactly? Mix...things? There's something attractive in scholarly pursuits, in any case, and mentioning them in an offhanded manner. And perhaps Colin likes the studious type. If so, Bradley's appeal has probably been steadily decreasing due to the Chuck Palahniuk novels he has been reading lately, or the torn and obviously well-read copy of Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game sitting by the sofa at his flat. Who doesn't like that book, though, really?
There was a time during a screening like this one, during first series, when Colin and Bradley were newly minted, their friendship unsmudged by the likes of dates and breaks between series. Bradley doubts the idea of an open bar will ever lose its charm, but at that point especially they were completely blown away, and they spent most of the night lounging at a circular table pretending to be James Bond-esque secret agents, speaking calmly, making up coded terms on the spot and raising their voices so people would hear when they walked by. He doesn't feel that much older now, but there is a chance that the others do, that Colin has moved on, their 007 days firmly in the past.
This guy's nice - there is no denying that. They all talk for a long while and it is good, it really is, everyone laughing and discussing everything, from how this first episode is going to look in its final edited version to shenanigans in drama school to unfortunate allergies. These are the type of people who are possessed of a certain energy, some vivacity that Bradley feels honored to be included in. Bradley's told these people some of his stupidest moments and, well, they are still here. In fact, some of his more recent have been with these people themselves.
The only point of tension is when Bradley accidentally notices minutiae, mainly to do with Colin's personal space and how it is being violated. A hand at the elbow, just for a moment, so quick Bradley could be mistaken but he knows he's not, or a darting glance. Colin is usually such a private person, that's the thing, but here is this friend from his past, and Bradley can't kick the image of Colin Morgan, seventeen-years-old and uncertain, allowing this person to press him against all manner of things: bookshelves, lampposts, cars. They've probably gone swimming together, and taken long drives. It's like a horrible film being played, and Bradley's got a great imagination, and he eventually has to stop looking in that direction altogether. He spends a good five minutes chiding Angel, dragging her from an intelligent political discussion. It's just better not to watch.
He thinks maybe he should go speak with Tony, give his regards, but then there is a mention of some incident by a lake and Colin actually flushes at the mention of this. It is a riveting sight to behold, the way he clenches his jaw a bit and tries to look away like this hasn't affected him, but how it obviously has. Bradley begins snacking on nearby vegetables.
But the subject is quickly dropped, and Colin's fallen into conversation with Rupert who, like Bradley, seems to really enjoy needling him. In an unspoken way, he and Bradley have bonded over this, and during breaks on set they often verbally spar over Colin's head until he'd finally puts his music on pause and joins the conversation. Rupert's older, but that doesn't mean he can't devise ingenious pranks.
For how much he talks, and how exuberantly, Bradley has never been great at speaking candidly about anything to do with sentiments. In fact, there are some who might argue he does his best to avoid such conversations and so it is with great dissatisfaction that he notes this new guy's proficiency. He is speaking with Rupert, and just, well, just telling him things, calmly mentioning subjects Bradley wouldn't touch with people he had just met and not appearing overly self-indulgent or -centered.
Bradley has got to step up his game. If he hadn't impressed the guy in the lift with his semi-fame and strong jaw, it's possible that he will not be too overcome by meeting film star, post-heroin-chic Jonathon Rees-Meyers. But he doesn't know about JRM's motorcycle. It's like a secret weapon.
"Colin and his mate are flirting like hell," Katie observes before wandering off with Bradley's secret weapon.
And then Colin leaves them for a moment, too, muttering something about five minutes and just walking away. Bradley can sense the other guy's hesitance.
"He wanders off a lot," Bradley tells, nodding minutely at where Colin is walking away. "You just kind of have to wait for him to come back."
"Is that how it is, then?" they guy asks him. Bradley is pleased he does not know already.
"How are you liking the party?" Bradley asks.
They guy shrugs. "Not bad," he says, accepting a glass of 50pound champagne. "The food looks good, and the company's alright, so."
"Not bad!" Bradley cries. Rupert casts him a look. "Not bad! Look over here, we've got, well...finger sized vegetables!" He gestures moderately, toned down because of their surroundings, but not by much. "Cucumbers with some sort of herb sprinkled on them and, you know, stuffed mushrooms if you like that sort of thing. Miniature hot dogs!"
The guy shrugs, and then smiles sweetly at Bradley, kind of lopsided.
"Sure, sure, I'm impressed," he says, like he's humouring him. Bradley shakes his head in disbelief and continues: "Carrots...little desserts down that way, past the quiche."
There's quite a lot of dancing for a party advertised as a screening.
Bradley's taken it upon himself to dance with every female in the room, because it is flattering, one, and also it is something he can get away with, something expected. People like to see the youth acting foolish. It's a testament to being alive: a ruffly, swirly testament. Also, he doesn't think he can bear watching Colin anymore, how he has been alternatively flushing and cracking up all night, like this guy knows just which heartstrings to pull.
But on a break between songs he does go to stand with Rupert, Colin, and date. Said newcomer is standing quietly by as Rupert discusses method acting with Colin. It is not a new topic, but consistently engaging. Rupert once spent a weekend eating, sleeping, and carousing as a knight, marching down the cobbled streets of the town around Pierrefonds, and generally molesting the locals with his good-natured calls for ale. He had invited Bradley out with him, but Colin was the one who had gotten dragged into it, affecting an English accent for the entire week.
"When word got round, we got given a lecture on intercultural relations," Rupert says. "And for a while, Wardrobe kept close tabs on my chain mail.
"'Where are you going with that hauberk, Rupert!'"
"'No lance poles at the pub, take it back to Mary at Props!'"
"It's royalty next time, Morgan. You, too, Bradley." Rupert looks meaningful at the both of them. "Capes and doublets."
"I do have my own crown..." Bradley agrees. "But no, Rupert, I will not be led into yet another of your acts against the public. You may parade around town, dressed like a king. As for myself and Colin, we will be a bit more subtle, we -"
"Subtle," Colin's date says, like he can't believe it. Bradley looks over at him. "He didn't used to be, that's all I'm saying."
Colin flushes again, and puts his hands in his pockets. "If you're going to bring up that embarrassing-"
"Which time? That's all I'm saying."
"What do you say we just drop this line of questioning," Colin says.
It goes on.
"You're doing well on the Irish comments," Colin says sometime around 9 o'clock, holding a little cup full of celery sticks.
"The night is young!" Bradley responds. He has been chatting up Tony's girlfriend while simultaneously inner-monologuing. "Also I'm outnumbered. Four of you lot against one."
There are a lot of English people, it's true, but not one of them would side with him over Colin. They both know this, and Bradley would propose some sort of joining of forces against some weaker, more sheep-ridden country, but he knows that jokes against the Welsh are so 2002. Also, it would be racist.
They are all rather exhausted once is finally time for the screening. They all sit in rows while the lights dim. Bradley chooses a seat between Katie and Angel, because they are actually the most amusing to watch episodes with. Katie squeals a lot and Angel giggles. Sitting with Colin would be hell. He never can seem to keep his hands to himself, picking at Bradley's sleeve and whispering into his ear so Bradley can't catch the dialogue. It's distracting, although somehow Bradley always ends up going to films with him anyways.
A hush falls over the crowd. There is a fuzzing sound, and then it begins.
The episode opens at evening in Camelot. In the castle, Arthur is patting Merlin down, as if Merlin's got magic paraphernalia in his pockets, scarves and the like.
"Where are you hiding it, Merlin?" Arthur says, sounding dangerous, while Merlin tries to look innocent.
"I haven't got anything!" Merlin cries. He tries to move away from the roaming hands, and then Arthur says, 'aha!' and holds up a small sack he's found in his pockets. Merlin looks shifty.
"Oh, that." He smiles and shrugs, Arthur gives him a look like You are such an idiot. The episode has begun. It is some complex plot about love spells, again.
They'd engineered this interaction themselves, running lines in the shade of the castle while extras and camera people rushed around in the distance. The whole thing coming about when Arthur'd intoned "We'll see about that, Merlin" and robotically patted him on the side to indicate 'searching.'
Everybody is so happy to see their project completed. They all laugh through the entire first part.
Colin and his date are on the other side of Katie, but somehow this doesn't pose any sort of obstacle. Twenty minutes in, during a sword fighting scene, Colin's reaching across Katie's lap to tap Bradley's arm, to whisper, "Remember the weird bird we saw?" And Bradley snickers.
He realises something then, that even if Colin's seeing someone else, even if he has some unbreakable bond and inside jokes from when they were small, he and Colin will always have this: early mornings driving out to set, the both of them slumped in the van over their too-hot coffee, and televised films of Bradley whacking Colin on the backside with a prop sword.
He can give away this little bit of Colin. He can be an adult about this, someone who knows when to fight for something and when to give up for the sake of a friend's happiness. Bradley knows next to nothing about this other guy, but he does know that Colin has history with him. Colin and Bradley have only got two years together...who is he to feel so entitled?
Bradley slumps a little in his seat under the weight of this decision, leaning towards Angel because she is so often his rock. After this he'll invade her flat with an armful of action films and just lie there for a month at least, wrapped in a blanket and working out his feelings in a safe, non-emotionally compromising way. There will be waffles involved, and Angel might see through him but all she'll say is, 'Bradley, pass the syrup,' and Bradley will know that Colin Morgan is happy in his country, with his celebrity-lookalike.
But this resolution isn't worth anything. It's nil, it's crackers, it's other dry empty things in comparison to this:
The way Merlin's gaze holds Arthur's during the final scene of the episode- Bradley remembers the feel of Colin's shoulder where he was gripping it firmly - it's like Arthur is all he wants in the world, he'd rather die than leave his side, and that's a direct quote. Bradley maintains composure, as he always does when confronted by the sight of himself on screen, but Colin shifts a few seats over, and bites at his finger. Bradley sits up a little, a pain in his neck.
Katie is sighing next to him, but besides that the room is completely still, all attention captivated by this unlikely pouring out of emotion. Of course Colin is not the only one implicated here - the way Bradley is looking at him on that screen is telling enough, it's mutual adoration cracked open and exposed up there, clear as day, for all to see. It does not look like acting. This is...unexpected.
There is a giant round of applause when the credits jump to screen, and Bradley feels kind of shell-shocked, wondering what Colin's thinking. He looks over briefly, and Colin smiles at him, and claps along with the rest of them. Bradley kind of wants to punch him in the arm and say something like, 'How gay was that, am I right?' but that would be in poor taste, probably. He laughs aloud.
And to make things worse, what follows is not lights on, but a shorter video, and everyone takes their seats once again. It is a mash of behind-the-scenes moments that are quite candid, actually, beginning with a near-silent clip that lasts about a minute, in which Katie tries surreptitiously to take Angel's script. Angel, unknowing, turns again and again and each time, Katie withdraws unnoticed. Finally Katie manages, long enough to scribble something at the top, and Angel shrieks the next time she picks it up.
The film picks up speed. There are long-shots of sword fighting bloopers and a bit featuring Bradley trying to learn origami with the child who plays Mordred, and a whole series of Anthony Head making faces out Uther's chamber window.
It is ten minutes long, and by the end of it half the audience is in hysterics, half in tears, and the film terminates on a close-up of Colin's face, up his nose really, saying, "Yeah, here we are. Camelot."
Bradley's resolve has been completely shattered. Only ten minutes, and already he is feeling new ownership over Colin Morgan. He may have to fight for him. He is thankful for his lessons in the art of swordscraft.
When the lights come up, nothing really needs to be said: the episode was fantastic. The short film had torn everyone’s hearts to shreds.
People are clapping backs and pumping hands, and Bradley wants to hug everyone and maybe cry a little, were it not unmanly and thus off-limits. Instead he puts an arm around Colin's shoulders, and then kisses Katie on the cheek a few times until she shoves his face away and calls for Angel. He sends an apologetic look Colin's date's way, as if to say I like you, but unfortunately I may have to kill you.
The upwelling of emotion is felt by all, and conversations verge on maudlin because damn if it wasn't clear that they had made the right choice taking on this show, it is now. The music picks up again.
They have drinks to celebrate a job well done and people linger a bit after that, for a few hours, but soon it is midnight and the crew have packed up the projector and the chairs have folded themselves away into some cupboard.
There are handshakes and hugs. Bradley doesn't feel like he has done much work at all, nothing to warrant this sort of congratulation. He isn't a writer, nor was he manning the camera or creating the set, but it would ruin this show of camaraderie, he can sense that, if were to say this. It would make him an asshole.
They have more drinks to celebrate.
It is probably time to go. Bradley realises this a few times but somehow finds himself leaning against a balcony over the city, alongside Katie and John Hurt, with Colin near tucked against his side because hey space is short out here and Bradley is willing to rationalize anything. He is currently leaning out to see past Katie, one hand cupped around Colin's elbow, and he hears himself admitting embarrassing truths to John, which means it is probably time to go, yes.
"I sometimes have dreams of spending time with you," he tells the Great Dragon. The man expels a curling plume of cigar smoke, and illusion along with it. "You made a creepy Olivander, a brilliant Olivander, and I sometimes have dreams that you're helping me choose a wand."
He can sense Colin rolling his eyes, and Katie says to John Hurt, "This is not the first time he's spoken about this, it's not just the drink talking."
"Colin, hey, Colin."
"Yes, Bradley."
When they end up indoors again it is to find Angel discussing poetry with Colin's date, who is of course well versed even in this, but Bradley is feeling victorious, kind of on top of the world, actually, even if Colin is still planning on going home with this guy. Together they've made art. There is nothing that can replace that sort of creation.
Bryan is with Jon RM nearby, drinks in both their hands, and Jonathon, that motorcycle-riding god, is saying, "Drink deep, friends," raising his glass in toast to all remaining guests. Bradley raises a glass he finds on a table, but Colin takes it from his hand before he has the chance to sip at it.
"You're crazy, Jonathon Rees-Meyers," Bradley says. He makes his way over to him, and repeats it. "Absolutely batty."
"Follow me on Twitter," JRM tells him seriously.
"I will," Bradley says, although he hasn't got a whositcalled. "I will, I will attempt, at least, to follow you."
JRM procures an indelible marker from somewhere and takes Bradley's hand in his. He pens slowly on the back, meticulously, his full name, followed by something illegible. The felt tip tickles and Bradley can hear Colin discussing what cabs to take back to peoples' flats and Johnny Capps saying, "Don't worry guys, of course the network's covering it. Really, it's no problem."
"Ah, I've been misplacing the 'h' in your name," Bradley says aloud, and Jonathon says kindly: "I do the same myself, sometimes."
"Thank you, Jonathon," Bradley says. He feels honoured. When they shake gravely, some sort of pact has been sealed.
"Follow me," Jonathon Rhys-Meyers says again, as Bradley walks backwards and away.
"You know it, Jonny," Bradley says and sends him a half-wave, more like a salute.
"I'll be seeing you next week, the both of you," Katie tells them at the doors to the lift. "You there, and Colin, you get him home safely, alright?"
The last glimpse of the party as it limns out through the crack in the closing door, is twenty or so stragglers milling about a luxurious room, and then they're alone, the three of them, once again in the lift but it isn't nearly so unbearable this time. There is still the quiet thrum of energy, and expectation, and Colin's date still enjoys chemistry and poetry, but Bradley now knows that this guy does not stand a chance.
"Amusing that she thinks either of us is any more sober than he is," Colin says quietly to his friend, who huffs a laugh and mutters, "As if you're ever sober, Morgan."
"Oh the Irish," Bradley says.
They've left the hotel and they are returning to the real world. This is especially apparent because it has started to mist down rain, and television stars do not get stuck in the rain. Bradley is suddenly just a twenty-something hailing a ride home, and the cold is enough to sober a man. He shakes Colin's date's hand, conscious that he never learned his name and feeling the beginnings of relief, like maybe this means something good for him, karmically.
The two say their goodbyes at the curb and Bradley leaves them to it. He goes to the dark cab that is humming streetside.
"Just don't ask," Bradley tells the driver as he slips over the seat. He holds up a hand, and he can see the driver looking at him skeptically in the rearview mirror. "Just don't say anything. They may or may not be in love, but I've chosen not to think about that."
"I see," says the driver, although he obviously doesn't. It is a long hug and Bradley slumps down into the cushions, suddenly unsure again, tilting his head back against the headrest and wishing he had a blanket or hot chocolate or both right about now.
What is it about life, he wonders, that has the power to make him feel so old but then snap him back to fifteen and helpless, without warning.
He sneaks a look and sees that Colin's gone very still, like he is listening to an important message being said. When he speaks again, a frown is visible, starting from the furrow of his forehead and communicating itself all the way to his shoulders that raise a bit, half-defensively, and the way they're looking at each other is heart wrenching, like maybe at one point they really meant something to each other.
When Colin opens the door, he folds himself inside and the driver speeds off, trying to escape the tension of the moment.
"Well, that was fun," Bradley says as the cab skids around a corner. He can't seem to look anywhere but Colin, even shadowed as he is and bumping around in the back of the car. It feels like morbid observation, waiting to see what Colin's face might tell him although he knows it could be any number of unfortunate emotions, and he really would rather not know.
Colin continues to purse his lips in a half-frown. Being right doesn't feel as good as it should.
They sit in silence until the driver says, "So do you or do you not lo-" but Bradley cuts him off with a frantic, "So, Colin!"
Colin looks at him curiously, finally expressing something other than intense thought. When no follow up is forthcoming and the bumping of the road becomes soothing, he quietly slips his hand into Bradley's. Their palms lie together in the middle seat, kind of clammy, and he looks away, out of his window, until they are skating up to Bradley's building like a night bound train reaching its final stop.
The hike back up to the flat where Bradley lives is steep, and the yellow of the light when he turns it on is kind of dull and uncomfortable. Colin's features seem once again too thin in the low glow.
He takes his jacket off, and throws it over something. He's not soaking wet, just uncomfortably chilled. He goes to turn on the heater, and then grabs a few blankets.
"You can take the-"
"Sofa, I know, I was here last night remember?" Colin had released his hand at the front door, but Bradley imagines he can still feel the heartbeat in his palm.
Colin turns, and picks up a pillow. His jacket lies abandoned over an stale cup of orange juice. "And you can get that look off your face, I'm not going anywhere."
"What look?" Bradley asks. He dumps the blankets onto the sofa.
He knows what look - he can feel it tugging down at the corners of his mouth right now, uncontrollably. Colin touches him there with two fingers, turning so that they're nearly chest to chest, only a pillow clutched between them. "This look."
This is weird.
Bradley is very aware of the situation suddenly, how they had just seen the successful commencement of Series 3 of their very own television show, and how he had allowed that glow of achievement to mess with his head, make him think that this could be something.
But it's just them now, standing here alone, away from every other person who might define them. It's he and Colin, good friends, the best, but nothing more, not that it has to be. Bradley is suddenly exhausted, his head muddled. He wants to close his eyes but Colin is looking at him.
This is really weird.
"I've got a lot to learn," Bradley mutters instead, and rubs at his mouth with his own hand, wiping away the frown. But maybe this is the right thing to say, because Colin steps even further into his space, crowds into him and presses his face into Bradley's neck, the pillow dropping out and landing at their feet. He is warm and somehow dry-ish, and Bradley curls his arms around him uncertainly. His arms coil tighter as he waits for the moment to pass.
Colin leaves him only long enough to root through his suitcase and then go change clothing, a record time of five minutes, and that night they fall asleep together in Bradley's bed, curled near each other but not touching, like two peas in a pod.
~
Well, it's Sunday. From beneath his huge comforter, Bradley contemplates breakfast.
Colin is off getting them 'decent coffee,' he'd nudged Bradley awake to say so, and while he is away the sky opens up above London.
It is bucketing down, and Bradley calls Colin on his mobile to laugh at his misfortune and also to allow Colin to scorn his country the entire way home. He politely refrains from pointing out that Ireland is often far more wet than England and lets Colin have his rant. Through the earpiece, Bradley can make out the slush of cars passing quickly as they speed through puddles of oil-soaked rainwater, and when he opens the flat door it is to find Colin soaked to the skin and smelling odd, like liquid city. Bradley steps out of the way when Colin attempts to dry his hands on his shoulders, but of course he eventually lets him get close enough to rub a dry towel over, just for a moment, useless really, and then Bradley shoves him past the living room for a shower.
With the sound of the rain outside and running water the next room over, he attempts to fry some peppers - the yellow ones because they are the best peppers. He fries them and fries them, but the peppers are obstinate and just remain kind of slick and uncooked in pan, even after he turns the heat up to high. Then, in the two minutes he spends turning on his laptop and finding some socks, the peppers burn. They are reduced to a charred mass piled in one corner of the pan, but at least the eggs are alright, and he has bread in the cupboard if all goes wrong, and some canned beans.
He needs to open a window or something. It is too damn cold outside to properly air the flat, so much for that tentative stab at springtime. In fact it's like autumn out there, all over again. The smell of the burnt food is actually doing something to assuage feelings of morning-after nausea, like maybe if he sits still long enough and drinks a few more glasses of water he might make it through the day.
He grabs for his glass, but knocks a bowl of fruit instead. Consequently, every piece of fruit rolls off the counter, dropping like giant, wet hail onto the linoleum floor. He really needs to get more sleep next time, hopefully tonight.
Colin comes into the room a moment later. Finally having stripped himself of his sodden clothing, he looks much more himself, safely Colin, rather than a half-drowned creature that Bradley wants to hold on to. He pads through the living room in socks and over-sized garments, while Bradley looks back dumbly at the fruit.
"You're rather messy," Colin remarks, and sits at the table. Bradley raises an eyebrow as if to point out the hypocrisy, but Colin holds his gaze. It is as if he is trying to put it politely, as if he thinks-
"Now hang on!" Bradley says, taken aback. Bradley James? Messy?
He tucks in a rogue pocket, somehow inside-out, agitated. He sits down as well, and pours himself some juice. When he looks up, Colin is still giving him that face.
Colin looks pointedly to the oranges and pears on the ground near the sofa, as if this proves his point, and at the bananas which haven't rolled far from where they had fallen.
"Gravity, I mean," Bradley amends. "It happens, the dropping of..."
But instead of asking, he sighs and he gets them both food. They eat a breakfast of beans on toast and some runny egg on the side, and they drink Bradley's coffee which does taste sub par now that Colin's pointed it out, kind of sour, but hot, which may make up for the burnt taste.
"You really think I'm messy?" he finally asks.
"Yes, and you also blurt things out when you're nervous," Colin tells him. "But don't worry, most people take it as charming...I've chosen to do the same."
Charming! That's more like it. He will just have to ignore the rest, never take anything for granted. Call Angel to whine.
"I'll take what I can get," Bradley blurts out. And he would. Take what he could get.
~
Later, after Colin's left, Bradley will receive a photo in the post, an actual, glossy 4x6 from a fan, forwarded through his agent. It's the one he took on someone's camera at the signing, his and Colin's faces smooshed side-by-side and only partially in the frame.
Next time Colin comes for a visit, Bradley will try to hide it away but Colin will find it anyway.