get away from this here masquerade.
surface tension
Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto, Tom Hardy. AU. In which Chris is a bored playboy, Zach is an up-and-coming actor, and it's really all Tom's fault.
"Mate, you need to get laid."
"Well, that was totally in context," Chris says, lowering his coffee cup to look at Tom.
"No, I mean it. How long's it been? All you've been doing is watching bad telly and lying on the couch. You're bringing the entire mood in here down, man. I can't live with you like this anymore."
"I'm just not feeling it right now."
"See, I don't understand anything you just said. You need to get some. ASAP."
"Can I do that without leaving the flat or...?"
"Why do I even like you again? Ugh, I have to get going. But this is not over, okay? Not. Over." He's using his "I'm serious" tone, and he only rarely pulls that one out of his arsenal, so Chris knows he means business.
"Yeah, whatever." Chris turns up the volume.
*
Chris still isn't entirely sure what exactly Tom does. He just knows he's on first name terms with pretty much every famous Brit in existence and he can get into any club in London on any night. This kind of helps with picking up considerably attractive, high society guys. Of course, he could throw some money around and pick them up himself, but it feels less sleazy somehow to use his friend's influence. It's not like Tom doesn't encourage it wholeheartedly. So, he's fairly anonymous himself in London, apart from the occasional hook-up with a model or actor. And there hasn't been one of those for a significant amount of time. He's pretty sure Tom's worried about him - and not just his lack of sex, but his lack of interest in well, everything - and this is how he shows it.
He's really not interested though. He's resigned to wallowing in self-pity a little longer.
*
It's only when he's DVR-ing Desperate Scousewives at midnight that he comes to a sudden realisation. He hits Tom's speed-dial button.
"Dude, I seriously need to get laid."
"Don't worry, darling. Here to help."
*
Tom is whispering for some reason, like they're in a bad spy movie or something.
"So, you know my friend, the actor?"
"You have millions of friends that are actors."
"No, I mean the theatre actor," he snaps, rather impatient considering he was the one who was so eager to set this up.
"Oh, the one with the name?"
"Yes, Benedict. He's working with this guy right now that's perfect for you."
"Hold on a sec. I'm just looking for a shag. I'm not looking to get gay-married or anything."
"Chris, darling," he says, like he's speaking to a five-year-old (which okay, Chris can act like sometimes). "You know the whole no-strings-attached thing hasn't worked out for so well for you. You mope. For weeks, months afterward. Frankly, you're not fun to be around."
He says it like it's an unspeakable flaw. And for Tom, it probably is.
Chris sighs.
"You're right. Probably."
"I'm always fucking right."
Chris grudgingly does not argue.
"So tell me about this guy."
"His name's Zach, he's American (he also says this like it's an unspeakable flaw), actor like I said. Smart, good-looking without being intimidating, talented, hard-working, down-to-earth, easy-going, thoroughly not glamourous. Everything you've always wanted, obviously. Everything you're not."
It's really kind of disturbing how well Tom knows him.
"You totally mean for us to get gay-married, don't you?"
"Yeah, kinda. I better be your fucking best man."
*
The gay-married thing is looking like a long-shot after about five seconds.
"You're not British," is the first thing he says.
"How could you tell?"
"Oh, don't take it as a compliment. You look like as much of a douchebag as your friends, only less intelligent."
"Oh, ouch. Are you always this charming?"
"Usually. I just...know your type."
"And what is my type?"
"Privileged, educated, pampered, jetting around the world like it's your own private playground, not working because it wouldn't mean anything anyway so why bother? But, of course, doing good deeds whenever you start feeling too guilty. Close?"
"Eerily."
"Benedict told me all about you. Apparently your friend, Tom talks a lot when he's drunk."
"Oh, yeah, he really does. I've had to physically tape his mouth shut on more than one occasion."
"So here's where you tell me what makes you different."
"Would you believe me anyway?"
"No, probably not," he says, after pretending to consider it for a moment.
"I'm bored," Chris says simply.
Zach gives him a patronising smile before saying, "Aren't we all?"
*
Zach had run off after that (he had to get home to Noah, he said, clarifying that Noah's his dog), but they'd exchanged numbers. Chris thinks Zach had appreciated his honesty. It's kind of refreshing. He's never had a relationship before where he wasn't pretending to be someone else, in some way or another. And in hindsight, that's probably why they all failed miserably, why he turned to one-night stands and booty calls, and then nothing at all...
He lies in bed, staring at his phone for a long while. He's just about to press the call button
when it rings.
It's Zach.
He wonders if he had to work up the nerve to call too. He wonders if that was weird for him too.
He finally stops hesitating.
"Hey."
"Hey. So, do you want to do something tonight or what?"
*
They go to a movie. Something ridiculous with lots of explosions and car chases and Liam Neeson. He's sure Tom would like it. He's sure Tom has already seen it and texted Liam Neeson about it.
"This is definitely the manliest first date I've ever had," Zach whispers to him.
He struggles to contain his giggles.
*
They go to a pub near Zach's flat afterwards. It's pretty quiet, being a Tuesday night and all.
"I have a day off from rehearsal tomorrow, so I can get wasted," Zach says, grinning. It's kind of amazing how quickly they got comfortable with each other, Chris thinks. Maybe it's good to get all the messy stuff out of the way first and go into it with no pretensions, so they could just have fun getting to know each other afterwards. The simpler parts. The good parts.
He's still curious though.
"So, what's your deal then? I mean, you already know all about me."
"My deal?"
"Yeah, why are you all alone in London where weird, disillusioned men can try to use you to find happiness?"
"Oh, is that what you're doing?"
"Kind of. Tell me."
"Not much to tell. I've always wanted to be an actor. It's been tough. I knew it would be, but there's nothing else for me. And it's starting to pay off. I'm happy, you know."
No, Chris doesn't really know. Probably never will.
"I, uh, I thought about being an actor when I was younger," he admits. He's never actually told anyone that, not even Tom.
"Oh, really?" Zach says, raising an eyebrow mock-dramatically.
"I guess lots of kids do. And growing up in California, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous... I'm glad I didn't though."
"So you could have a normal, humble life?" Zach teases.
"Well, as normal as it could be," he replies seriously.
"What did you study then?"
"English."
"Oh, of course you did. What else? I bet you fancied yourself a poet, all that upper class angst about the meaningless of life bursting out of you..."
"Funny. That's what Tom always used to say at Berkeley."
"What's his deal then?"
"You know, I still haven't really figured that out. He hated California. Couldn't wait to come back. I think his homesickness became mine at some point. So, I guess I'm here because of him. And...here we are."
"Here we are," Zach repeats.
*
Zach tells him about the play he's currently doing while Chris walks him home. Chris can tell he's really excited about it, that he thinks it's going to get him some real attention. Chris hopes it does, hopes so desperately. He has a feeling Zach's pretty content just doing what he loves. He's not sure he could ever be like that. He's never known how to be satisfied. There's always something missing. He supposes this is what happens when you've always had everything. It's never enough.
"You're going to be a star, I can tell. And I'm jealous. Not because of that, but because you're making it on your own."
"Why didn't you?" Zach asks, glancing across at him. He looks kind of sad.
"I was always too afraid I'd fail at everything I did. So I just..."
"Stopped trying."
"Yeah."
*
A huge dog greets Zach at his door.
"Chris, Noah. Noah, Chris."
"Hey, bud." Chris reaches down to pet him, and then he slobbers all over his hand. Zach smiles.
It feels comforting somehow.
"So, I'll see you," Chris says, feeling slightly awkward for the first time.
"Yeah, call me." He sounds like he really wants him to. It's reassuring, that he didn't fuck it all up just by being him, that maybe Zach thinks there's something under the surface worth discovering.
"I will."
"There's still time, you know," Zach says, and they both know what he means.
*
They meet for coffee the next morning, after Chris thinks fuck it, and calls him only six hours after they'd parted.
"So, I'm honestly curious. What do you actually do all day?"
"I actually do work sometimes," Chris says, feigning offense. "I help out with the company's affairs in Europe occasionally."
"Okay, fine, but otherwise."
"Oh, you know, just partying hard all the time. Movie premieres, fashion shows, royal weddings... Tom can't go anywhere without his arm candy, obviously."
"So, you're the trophy husband."
"I'm totally the trophy husband. I signed a contract and everything."
"But you love him."
"Secretly, yes. Don't tell anyone."
"It must be nice, having such a good friend here."
"Sometimes, I don't know why or how we hit it off, but I'm glad we did. For some odd reason." He shrugs. He does that a lot, acts like it's no big deal, the relationship they have. But it's weird and complicated and he can't explain it, but at the same time, it's the only real, solid relationship he's ever had. Which is kind of fucked-up, he has to admit, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.
"He cares about you a lot. I can tell." He sounds like he genuinely understands, somehow.
"Yeah. God help me. So, what about you then?"
"What about me?"
"Who cares about you?"
"I have a brother back home. Kristen likes to send me care packages. I think she and my mum are in cahoots. And Jon..." He trails off, looking uncertain.
"Jon, the...ex?"
"Am I that obvious?"
"Yeah, kinda. So, you're friends with your ex. Shit, you really are perfect." He isn't sure if he's joking or not at this point.
"We tried to make it work the first few months I was here, but well, you know. It was amicable, and...right. I think."
"You loved him."
"Yeah, I did." He says it kind of wistfully, but Chris can tell that it's over for good. It's like he's missing the idea of being in love more than he's missing Jon.
Chris can't imagine ever letting anyone he loved go like that. He loves too hard. That's probably why he's always been too scared of loving anything. He's never trusted anyone to love him back in the same way.
"Hey, Saturday's opening night. You should come. Bring Tom. He can be on your arm for a change."
"Okay," he says, but he feels like he's choking suddenly.
*
"What's wrong? Are you freaking out? Come here, you idiot."
Tom pulls him closer forcefully and smooths down his lapels, adjusts the knot on his tie.
"Stop," he says. "Just calm down."
"He's way too good for me," Chris blurts out.
"Shut up. Just stop being a idiot."
"I mean, he's going to realise that there's actually fucking nothing under all of this -" he says, wildly gesturing at his own person.
"Stop it."
"And he'll wonder what the fuck he was thinking."
"Listen to me, you stubborn prat. I've known for a long time that you're nothing but a spoiled pretty boy, and I'm still here. So his fucking loss, to be honest. Okay?" Tom looks at him the way only he could. Like he's a child or a pet, someone unbearably frustrating that you can't help but love with everything you have even if they don't know how to return it properly.
"Okay."
"You really like him, don't you?"
"Yeah. Fuck me."
"See, you should be telling him that. Just saying."
"Fuck off."
*
The play's kind of amazing, actually. Ultimately, it's Benedict's show, but Zach holds his own opposite him, and Chris is more than a little impressed. Somehow (read: because of Tom), he finds himself backstage afterwards, idling, waiting for Zach to emerge from his dressing room.
Zach smiles really brightly when he sees him, and maybe it's a little because of the leftover adrenaline but Chris can tell it's not only that.
"You were great. I mean - really. Really great."
"God, stop stuttering like an idiot, and come here and kiss me."
"Okay."
Zach pulls him in by a fistful of his jacket, and mutters something about him cleaning up nice. They kind of laugh into each other's mouths at first, and it's a bit awkward, but really, really lovely too.
*
Chris wakes up to find Noah half on top of him, licking his face.
"Ugh. So I guess you have him, and I have a huge, tattooed, sweaty, obnoxious wanker with no boundaries."
"Did you just say 'wanker'?"
"See, I've been in this country too long. Save me, Zach. Talk American to me."
Zach kisses the side of his head instead. "I think it's kind of cute, actually."
"Am I in danger of being left for some posh British boy?"
"I don't know. I'll think about it."
*
It's a month later, and they're sitting outside the place they had coffee the first time.
"So, I have something to tell you," Chris blurts out, forgoing the build-up.
"What? You're not leaving me for Tom, are you?"
"No, he'd kill me if I let you go anywhere. Says you make me almost respectable."
"Well, 'almost' is not too bad... So, what's up?"
"I... I decided to look around for a teaching job. I mean, there's no guarantee I'll get anything soon, but I just - I just think it's what I want to do."
"Wow, Chris, that's great. That's really great." He squeezes his hand on the table, earnest and supportive... And Chris realise he hasn't really had anyone be this supportive of his endeavours before. Maybe that's always been the problem.
Zach leans back, looks at him through his ridiculous glasses. He still feels like he's under a microscope, like the first time they met, but he doesn't really mind it anymore.
"Are you still using me to find happiness?"
"No, I don't really care about that anymore. You can keep it."
"I can always share."
"Okay, me too."
Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto, Tom Hardy. AU. In which Chris is a bored playboy, Zach is an up-and-coming actor, and it's really all Tom's fault.
"Mate, you need to get laid."
"Well, that was totally in context," Chris says, lowering his coffee cup to look at Tom.
"No, I mean it. How long's it been? All you've been doing is watching bad telly and lying on the couch. You're bringing the entire mood in here down, man. I can't live with you like this anymore."
"I'm just not feeling it right now."
"See, I don't understand anything you just said. You need to get some. ASAP."
"Can I do that without leaving the flat or...?"
"Why do I even like you again? Ugh, I have to get going. But this is not over, okay? Not. Over." He's using his "I'm serious" tone, and he only rarely pulls that one out of his arsenal, so Chris knows he means business.
"Yeah, whatever." Chris turns up the volume.
*
Chris still isn't entirely sure what exactly Tom does. He just knows he's on first name terms with pretty much every famous Brit in existence and he can get into any club in London on any night. This kind of helps with picking up considerably attractive, high society guys. Of course, he could throw some money around and pick them up himself, but it feels less sleazy somehow to use his friend's influence. It's not like Tom doesn't encourage it wholeheartedly. So, he's fairly anonymous himself in London, apart from the occasional hook-up with a model or actor. And there hasn't been one of those for a significant amount of time. He's pretty sure Tom's worried about him - and not just his lack of sex, but his lack of interest in well, everything - and this is how he shows it.
He's really not interested though. He's resigned to wallowing in self-pity a little longer.
*
It's only when he's DVR-ing Desperate Scousewives at midnight that he comes to a sudden realisation. He hits Tom's speed-dial button.
"Dude, I seriously need to get laid."
"Don't worry, darling. Here to help."
*
Tom is whispering for some reason, like they're in a bad spy movie or something.
"So, you know my friend, the actor?"
"You have millions of friends that are actors."
"No, I mean the theatre actor," he snaps, rather impatient considering he was the one who was so eager to set this up.
"Oh, the one with the name?"
"Yes, Benedict. He's working with this guy right now that's perfect for you."
"Hold on a sec. I'm just looking for a shag. I'm not looking to get gay-married or anything."
"Chris, darling," he says, like he's speaking to a five-year-old (which okay, Chris can act like sometimes). "You know the whole no-strings-attached thing hasn't worked out for so well for you. You mope. For weeks, months afterward. Frankly, you're not fun to be around."
He says it like it's an unspeakable flaw. And for Tom, it probably is.
Chris sighs.
"You're right. Probably."
"I'm always fucking right."
Chris grudgingly does not argue.
"So tell me about this guy."
"His name's Zach, he's American (he also says this like it's an unspeakable flaw), actor like I said. Smart, good-looking without being intimidating, talented, hard-working, down-to-earth, easy-going, thoroughly not glamourous. Everything you've always wanted, obviously. Everything you're not."
It's really kind of disturbing how well Tom knows him.
"You totally mean for us to get gay-married, don't you?"
"Yeah, kinda. I better be your fucking best man."
*
The gay-married thing is looking like a long-shot after about five seconds.
"You're not British," is the first thing he says.
"How could you tell?"
"Oh, don't take it as a compliment. You look like as much of a douchebag as your friends, only less intelligent."
"Oh, ouch. Are you always this charming?"
"Usually. I just...know your type."
"And what is my type?"
"Privileged, educated, pampered, jetting around the world like it's your own private playground, not working because it wouldn't mean anything anyway so why bother? But, of course, doing good deeds whenever you start feeling too guilty. Close?"
"Eerily."
"Benedict told me all about you. Apparently your friend, Tom talks a lot when he's drunk."
"Oh, yeah, he really does. I've had to physically tape his mouth shut on more than one occasion."
"So here's where you tell me what makes you different."
"Would you believe me anyway?"
"No, probably not," he says, after pretending to consider it for a moment.
"I'm bored," Chris says simply.
Zach gives him a patronising smile before saying, "Aren't we all?"
*
Zach had run off after that (he had to get home to Noah, he said, clarifying that Noah's his dog), but they'd exchanged numbers. Chris thinks Zach had appreciated his honesty. It's kind of refreshing. He's never had a relationship before where he wasn't pretending to be someone else, in some way or another. And in hindsight, that's probably why they all failed miserably, why he turned to one-night stands and booty calls, and then nothing at all...
He lies in bed, staring at his phone for a long while. He's just about to press the call button
when it rings.
It's Zach.
He wonders if he had to work up the nerve to call too. He wonders if that was weird for him too.
He finally stops hesitating.
"Hey."
"Hey. So, do you want to do something tonight or what?"
*
They go to a movie. Something ridiculous with lots of explosions and car chases and Liam Neeson. He's sure Tom would like it. He's sure Tom has already seen it and texted Liam Neeson about it.
"This is definitely the manliest first date I've ever had," Zach whispers to him.
He struggles to contain his giggles.
*
They go to a pub near Zach's flat afterwards. It's pretty quiet, being a Tuesday night and all.
"I have a day off from rehearsal tomorrow, so I can get wasted," Zach says, grinning. It's kind of amazing how quickly they got comfortable with each other, Chris thinks. Maybe it's good to get all the messy stuff out of the way first and go into it with no pretensions, so they could just have fun getting to know each other afterwards. The simpler parts. The good parts.
He's still curious though.
"So, what's your deal then? I mean, you already know all about me."
"My deal?"
"Yeah, why are you all alone in London where weird, disillusioned men can try to use you to find happiness?"
"Oh, is that what you're doing?"
"Kind of. Tell me."
"Not much to tell. I've always wanted to be an actor. It's been tough. I knew it would be, but there's nothing else for me. And it's starting to pay off. I'm happy, you know."
No, Chris doesn't really know. Probably never will.
"I, uh, I thought about being an actor when I was younger," he admits. He's never actually told anyone that, not even Tom.
"Oh, really?" Zach says, raising an eyebrow mock-dramatically.
"I guess lots of kids do. And growing up in California, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous... I'm glad I didn't though."
"So you could have a normal, humble life?" Zach teases.
"Well, as normal as it could be," he replies seriously.
"What did you study then?"
"English."
"Oh, of course you did. What else? I bet you fancied yourself a poet, all that upper class angst about the meaningless of life bursting out of you..."
"Funny. That's what Tom always used to say at Berkeley."
"What's his deal then?"
"You know, I still haven't really figured that out. He hated California. Couldn't wait to come back. I think his homesickness became mine at some point. So, I guess I'm here because of him. And...here we are."
"Here we are," Zach repeats.
*
Zach tells him about the play he's currently doing while Chris walks him home. Chris can tell he's really excited about it, that he thinks it's going to get him some real attention. Chris hopes it does, hopes so desperately. He has a feeling Zach's pretty content just doing what he loves. He's not sure he could ever be like that. He's never known how to be satisfied. There's always something missing. He supposes this is what happens when you've always had everything. It's never enough.
"You're going to be a star, I can tell. And I'm jealous. Not because of that, but because you're making it on your own."
"Why didn't you?" Zach asks, glancing across at him. He looks kind of sad.
"I was always too afraid I'd fail at everything I did. So I just..."
"Stopped trying."
"Yeah."
*
A huge dog greets Zach at his door.
"Chris, Noah. Noah, Chris."
"Hey, bud." Chris reaches down to pet him, and then he slobbers all over his hand. Zach smiles.
It feels comforting somehow.
"So, I'll see you," Chris says, feeling slightly awkward for the first time.
"Yeah, call me." He sounds like he really wants him to. It's reassuring, that he didn't fuck it all up just by being him, that maybe Zach thinks there's something under the surface worth discovering.
"I will."
"There's still time, you know," Zach says, and they both know what he means.
*
They meet for coffee the next morning, after Chris thinks fuck it, and calls him only six hours after they'd parted.
"So, I'm honestly curious. What do you actually do all day?"
"I actually do work sometimes," Chris says, feigning offense. "I help out with the company's affairs in Europe occasionally."
"Okay, fine, but otherwise."
"Oh, you know, just partying hard all the time. Movie premieres, fashion shows, royal weddings... Tom can't go anywhere without his arm candy, obviously."
"So, you're the trophy husband."
"I'm totally the trophy husband. I signed a contract and everything."
"But you love him."
"Secretly, yes. Don't tell anyone."
"It must be nice, having such a good friend here."
"Sometimes, I don't know why or how we hit it off, but I'm glad we did. For some odd reason." He shrugs. He does that a lot, acts like it's no big deal, the relationship they have. But it's weird and complicated and he can't explain it, but at the same time, it's the only real, solid relationship he's ever had. Which is kind of fucked-up, he has to admit, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.
"He cares about you a lot. I can tell." He sounds like he genuinely understands, somehow.
"Yeah. God help me. So, what about you then?"
"What about me?"
"Who cares about you?"
"I have a brother back home. Kristen likes to send me care packages. I think she and my mum are in cahoots. And Jon..." He trails off, looking uncertain.
"Jon, the...ex?"
"Am I that obvious?"
"Yeah, kinda. So, you're friends with your ex. Shit, you really are perfect." He isn't sure if he's joking or not at this point.
"We tried to make it work the first few months I was here, but well, you know. It was amicable, and...right. I think."
"You loved him."
"Yeah, I did." He says it kind of wistfully, but Chris can tell that it's over for good. It's like he's missing the idea of being in love more than he's missing Jon.
Chris can't imagine ever letting anyone he loved go like that. He loves too hard. That's probably why he's always been too scared of loving anything. He's never trusted anyone to love him back in the same way.
"Hey, Saturday's opening night. You should come. Bring Tom. He can be on your arm for a change."
"Okay," he says, but he feels like he's choking suddenly.
*
"What's wrong? Are you freaking out? Come here, you idiot."
Tom pulls him closer forcefully and smooths down his lapels, adjusts the knot on his tie.
"Stop," he says. "Just calm down."
"He's way too good for me," Chris blurts out.
"Shut up. Just stop being a idiot."
"I mean, he's going to realise that there's actually fucking nothing under all of this -" he says, wildly gesturing at his own person.
"Stop it."
"And he'll wonder what the fuck he was thinking."
"Listen to me, you stubborn prat. I've known for a long time that you're nothing but a spoiled pretty boy, and I'm still here. So his fucking loss, to be honest. Okay?" Tom looks at him the way only he could. Like he's a child or a pet, someone unbearably frustrating that you can't help but love with everything you have even if they don't know how to return it properly.
"Okay."
"You really like him, don't you?"
"Yeah. Fuck me."
"See, you should be telling him that. Just saying."
"Fuck off."
*
The play's kind of amazing, actually. Ultimately, it's Benedict's show, but Zach holds his own opposite him, and Chris is more than a little impressed. Somehow (read: because of Tom), he finds himself backstage afterwards, idling, waiting for Zach to emerge from his dressing room.
Zach smiles really brightly when he sees him, and maybe it's a little because of the leftover adrenaline but Chris can tell it's not only that.
"You were great. I mean - really. Really great."
"God, stop stuttering like an idiot, and come here and kiss me."
"Okay."
Zach pulls him in by a fistful of his jacket, and mutters something about him cleaning up nice. They kind of laugh into each other's mouths at first, and it's a bit awkward, but really, really lovely too.
*
Chris wakes up to find Noah half on top of him, licking his face.
"Ugh. So I guess you have him, and I have a huge, tattooed, sweaty, obnoxious wanker with no boundaries."
"Did you just say 'wanker'?"
"See, I've been in this country too long. Save me, Zach. Talk American to me."
Zach kisses the side of his head instead. "I think it's kind of cute, actually."
"Am I in danger of being left for some posh British boy?"
"I don't know. I'll think about it."
*
It's a month later, and they're sitting outside the place they had coffee the first time.
"So, I have something to tell you," Chris blurts out, forgoing the build-up.
"What? You're not leaving me for Tom, are you?"
"No, he'd kill me if I let you go anywhere. Says you make me almost respectable."
"Well, 'almost' is not too bad... So, what's up?"
"I... I decided to look around for a teaching job. I mean, there's no guarantee I'll get anything soon, but I just - I just think it's what I want to do."
"Wow, Chris, that's great. That's really great." He squeezes his hand on the table, earnest and supportive... And Chris realise he hasn't really had anyone be this supportive of his endeavours before. Maybe that's always been the problem.
Zach leans back, looks at him through his ridiculous glasses. He still feels like he's under a microscope, like the first time they met, but he doesn't really mind it anymore.
"Are you still using me to find happiness?"
"No, I don't really care about that anymore. You can keep it."
"I can always share."
"Okay, me too."