Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fuck, this sweat is seriously bothering you. 

Why would anyone ever even want to build a city here, LA is hell in the summer. Your armpits feel like they’re drenched, and it would probably be showing on your shirt as well if you weren’t in all black, which was a terrible choice with this sun. Not to mention how uncomfortable your binder is in heat like this, fucking material doesn’t breathe for shit, and it makes no difference either cause your tits are too big for it to bind properly. You just pray no one notices.

You’re texting Jake. Your dad is taking ages with some phone call, a file got corrupted or something, the guy on the other line sounds furious, so now you have all the time in the world to talk to Jake. He’s in bed, watching a movie, and you envy that. You wish you could be there with him, even if Avatar is a shitty movie, you’d give up a few brain cells to spend time with Jake. Not that you’d tell him that, or anyone. 

Glancing up from your phone, there are people starting to gather to look at your dad, whispering among themselves if that really is Dave Strider. You could never get used to all the attention it brings to be around your dad like this, every glance and whisper and stare makes your skin crawl with anxiety, because if they’re looking at him then that means they’re also looking at you .

You put your earphones in and push play on your cd player, not being bothered to check what disc you put in before you left. As the beginning of Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge starts playing in your ears, you’re at least partly calm. You glance back down and notice that Jake went offline without saying goodbye. He is just enjoying the movie, you assume, but it still hurt you.

TT: Enjoy your movie, dude. 

Turning back around to find your dad, he’s in a crowd of people taking pictures with fans. You hate him, sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. Especially when he does things like this, turning what was supposed to be a quick run to Amoeba and a bit of father-son bonding into a meet and greet by his star on the walk of fame. You’re stuck just standing here, a few feet to the side so you don’t interrupt, but close enough that people understand your place as Dave Strider’s accessory.

You are thankful for him not making you into some sort of public figure just because you’re his kid. You would’ve hated having pictures of yourself as a kid, as a girl being publicly available. He kept you out of the limelight, not out of respect to you but because he wanted his fame for himself. Selfish ass. 

It takes a full twenty minutes of sweating and scrolling tumblr until your dad’s crowd has dissipated. He looks so happy with himself, it makes you ill. You’ve been stood here, sweating your ass off, and he looks so satisfied, like it doesn’t bother him that it’s 78°F out, as long as he gets to meet fans! You might be glaring at him, and he might have just noticed. Now your dad is looking at you all sceptical, all questioning, because he doesn’t get you. He never has, and you never understood him either. It just makes you even.

You never ended up going to Amoeba, so no new record today. You can make do. 

 You’ve been doing a lot of drawing lately. My Little Pony is playing on the tv you have in your room, Jake got you a DVD recently with Season 4, and it feels like you have it on loop. You can’t call yourself a brony, you’ve stumbled upon gross shit from so-called “fans”. You just appreciate the show, that’s all. It’s not gross.

Jake is calling, you drop your phone, pick it back up, and answer the phone call.

“Hello?” You try to sound calm. Like you weren’t waiting for him to call you. Totally not. You’re cool.

“Hiya, chap! Have you got a minute?” Jake’s voice is as cheerful as ever, you can almost hear his smile through the phone.

“Yeah, sure.” you turn the TV off to focus. “What’s up?”

Jake pauses, forcing you to sit in silence for a second. You listen to him breathe into the phone, basking in the comfort of knowing he’s alive and well.

“Well, I,” he says, and pauses again. “I bumped into your pop the other day, he mentioned how I’d have, ahm, so-called actor potench, well, I figured it was all fun and games, but now I’ve got a letter asking for me to do a ‘general audition’, and-”

 “Wait, Jake,” You cut him off. “What are you talking about?”

“He asked me to be an actor, I reckon…”

“Yeah, no shit.” You rub your temple, trying to process it all. This conversation is starting to stress you out. Dad knows about your crush on Jake, why would he involve himself in Jake’s life like this? More importantly, why wouldn’t he tell you about it?

“But it makes no sense, when did he talk to you about that?” You can feel more and more questions bubble up in your head.

“A few days back now… I never made an effort to remember the date, I figured it wasn’t so serious.” Jake sounds almost ashamed, shit, you don’t mean to sound so accusatory.

“Do you even want to act?” You ask, before quickly realizing how mean that probably sounds. You know Jake loves movies, especially dad’s. Obviously he’s gonna jump at the opportunity.

Jake is quiet, and oh fuck you screwed up. You really didn’t mean to make him question himself, of course he can act if he wants to, you won’t stop him, it would just change so much and it’s stressing you out and you can’t breathe and why isn’t he saying anything-?

“I think I’ll go to the audition, just to… Check things out.” So Jake’s made his mind up, then. You can’t help but wonder why he called, maybe he needed to rationalize this and you just made things a thousand times worse. You swallow and breathe in a square to calm down, which never works for you.

“Yeah, uh, okay. Cool. Good luck, man.” Smooth, Strider. Jake won’t suspect a thing, you really are amazing.

“Yeah! Cool! I will call you later.” Jake says, sounding a little happier at least. You played it off alright.

“Talk to you then.” You don’t want Jake to hang up, but you have nothing to say. You want to listen to him breathe for longer, hear him live.

You can hear Jake smile through the phone, and just the mental image of his buckteeth is making your stomach feel light.

“Bye, Strider.”

You pause, not wishing this to be over just yet. “Bye, English.”

You’ve just opened your mouth to speak again, change the subject, try to make this call last a second longer, when Jake hangs up. Fuck.

You put your phone down on the floor and force yourself not to smash it against the wall. You don’t put the TV back on, you just stare up at the ceiling, trying to process that conversation.

Jake could be an actor. Jake could be famous . The worst part is that he probably will be, he’s talented and beautiful and charming and perfect in every way, so yes, he will be well-known if he does end up doing well on that audition. General audition . It doesn’t sound good, not at all. Something about your dad doing an audition one-on-one with Jake makes your stomach feel queasy, and it won’t ease up no matter how much you try to tell yourself that it’ll be okay. You don’t know if it’s your gut or if it’s anxiety, but it feels so wrong, and you know there’s a reason as to why dad doesn’t want you to meet his actors, he doesn’t speak positively about them. You wish you could shout it, tell Jake that he shouldn’t go, but who are you to deny him something like this? He wants to be famous, he wants to be an actor. You can’t just force his dreams to stay dreams, not when his favorite director is reaching out personally.

So you’ll stand by, praying that your father doesn’t ruin Jake’s life. If he does, then you would be able to fix it, right?

Right?

Nothing quite matches the fury you experience waking up to a call from dad asking why the hell you’re not at school today, because the principal decided you had to receive a call home.

You barely even go to that school anymore, with how much absence you have marked. You only really attend for exams, and you ace them all, but no one really seems to care about results. A few days back, dad was trying to lightly tell you that you’re failing everything thanks to your absence, which is total bullshit. You did the same exams as everyone else, and you got great results, yet somehow you are the one failing? Not that school matters, but you don’t appreciate having your flaws pointed out.

But now dad is calling you, blabbering about college and exams and grades, but you’re not really listening. You spoke to Jake last night and his voice still has you wrapped up in a blanket of warmth. Or maybe that’s just because you’re still in bed.

Snapping back into reality, you realize that dad is still talking.

“...amount of stress you’re putting yourself in,” dad sighs into the phone loud enough for you to have to move it away from your ear. “I don’t want you to end up homeless.”

That’s your cue to talk and pretend you’re listening. “I wasn’t planning on it.” Nailed it.

“Dirk, I’m serious, my money can’t get you everywhere. That’s a lie, it could. But I don’t want you to be dependent on me.”

You could laugh, he almost sounds like he’s actually worried.

“Oh, I’m getting another call, bye.” you lie and hang up on your dad, pretending as if you couldn’t hear him sigh heavily again.

Now dad is some sort of irritated or mad at you for not attending school. You hope he’ll be home late so that you can rot in bed for longer. But your stomach is churning, and you need food.

You glance at the clock on your bedside table. 4:52 pm. You can’t be too surprised, you couldn’t fall asleep until 7 am last night. This morning? It doesn’t matter, days are melting together into one for all you care. You hardly do anything to change that, either. You haven’t really left the house much. You miss when you had freckles from being outside all the time, but that hardly makes up a proper reason to leave the house. Whatever, you got sidetracked. Food.

You go downstairs to warm leftovers from yesterday's takeout, but your mind is still on Jake.

A general audition.

Dirk knows his dad, and Dave Strider is not famous for doing general auditions with anyone, much less someone who hasn’t been in a film before. Especially not one-on-one. Magazines talk about Dave's ‘exotic methods’ when it comes to casting, and there sure as hell isn't a single mention of him doing anything like that.

It creeps you out, and you don’t know why.

Maybe it's because your father failed to mention it to you, when Jake is very much your friend, not his. Jake is yours, very distinctly. That's clear in your mind, he isn't one of your dad’s star actors, he's yours, dad doesn’t get to steal him from you.

Jake is yours, general audition or not.

Chapter Text

You have your entire closet laid out in front of you, and you’re starting to realize that, maybe, you have far too many shorts to be considered normal.

You have one pair of regular cargos, but they’re messed up from mud and sand and what-not, as you’ve only really worn them on escapades. Of course, you’ve tried to wash them, but the dirt sure is rubbed into the fabric. Oh, this is hopeless! You furrow your eyebrows and frown at your suddenly oh-so impractical choice of threads.

Maybe Dirk was right, maybe this general audition really is a dumb idea. But oh, you really do love Mr. Strider’s work! He’s your hero, really, and you’ll never have an opportunity like this again. Getting to do an audition for one of the biggest names in the industry is nothing compared to getting the lead in your school play…

You can’t pass this opportunity up. Heck, Mr. Strider would surely want you to be yourself, so golly-gosh, you will attend this wearing shorts and a tshirt! Satisfied by your decision, you smile and pick out one of your many cargo shorts and a regular white t-shirt, you would hardly want to wear anything with a graphic, that might come off as you insinuating that a different franchise is better than Mr. Strider’s! You wouldn’t recover from a misunderstanding like that, why, you could die from the pure humiliation.

You put your clothes on, slip on your boots and run a hand through your hair. You look at yourself in the reflection and feel proud of yourself. You can’t help it, you’ve managed to get an audition! Perhaps you should call Dirk, just to thank him, you assume he put in a good word for you, being your bestest chum and all.

No!! You stop yourself from tapping his contact, because he sounded quite upset with you last night, and you were very darn close to crying right then and there, because of course you should have told him you were meeting with his dad, it should not be behind his back!! Gee willikers, you really are terrible at this whole ‘best bro’ thing… Having grown up all on your own sure hasn’t given many perks.

You bite your nails before catching yourself and gasping. Mr. Strider wouldn’t want a nail-biter for an actor, oh gosh darn it, you better file it down, he’ll never know.

You take the bus and walk the rest of the way towards the block of studios, it feels like you're famous. Everyone here looks so busy, and you feel very much out of place. You spend a few too many minutes looking for what studio you're supposed to go to.

Once you find it, you open the door slightly to take a peek inside.

Mr. Strider is the only one there, he's setting up a camera and a few lights. Your stomach is tingling with butterflies. You take a deep breath before clearing your throat, walking inside and lightly shutting the door.

Mr. Strider turns to face you, eyes hidden by the shades he wears. You're not too put off, Dirk has the same habit, and you're used to it. You give him the most dashing smile you can.

“Mr. Strider, I would just like to say, I'm so thankful for all of this, why, you don't have to take a chance on a chap like me, I'm sure you must be busy.” you try to just be you when you speak, but it feels forced, slightly.

“Nah, call me Dave. This is just a formality, if everythin’ goes accordin’ to plan, you're already in.” Mr- Dave tells you. He waves you over and you speedwalk across the huge studio onto what you assume is the set. The stage? What do they call it in movie lingo again? You can’t recall for the life of you…

Dave grabs your chin, and it makes you blink,unprepared. He looks at you closely.

“Yeah, let's get those buck teeth fixed after this is over with, you gotta look well for the camera.” he drops that comment as if it doesn’t matter. He lets go of your chin and turns back to the camera, setting it up.

You didn't know you should've been thinking about your teeth and how they looked, you figured the important part was that they were functional and didn't hurt. But suppose you've never quite seen an actor with buckteeth play serious roles.

He waves his finger at your mouth. You tilt your head.

“Dimples are good. Your smile is really uneven, that on purpose?” He asks you, and you attempt to even your smile out.

“No, Dave, it's not, I promise to practice and make it better.” you look up at him, trying not to freak out, because you're speaking to your idol, and you could be in one of his films… Golly, you oughta get your nerves under check.

Dave gives you a pat on the shoulder, then holds onto you, steering you in front of the camera.

“Alright, listen up. The way this is gonna go, is I'm gonna tell you a few lines, you'll deliver ‘em, do a few poses, show off talents, then you just gotta wait n’ see what happens. Kapeech?”

You nod, letting him lead you in front of the far too bright lights. Dave lets go of you and stands behind the camera, setting it up.

You get fed lines and poses for the next forty minutes. Not to brag, but you’re confident in yourself. Your years of dreaming and practicing for this has paid off, and you sure are nailing this!

Dave gives you a thumbs up from behind the camera, turning it off. You let out a soft exhale, holding your hands together.

“Did I do well?” you ask him, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Yeah,” Dave says. “You're a star, kid. Welcome to the spotlight.”

Oh, you're beaming! You could hug someone, and Dave is coming towards you, so you jump up at him without thinking, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving a light squeeze. He pulls you off with his hands firmly on your hips. He pinches you and it makes you squeak, so you get off.

“You’ve got some fat on you, let me see.” he sort of demands it, it makes you feel uncomfortable, but still you lift your t-shirt a little.

Dave pinches your stomach. You didn't think you had much fat, you do work out often, and you eat lots of protein and healthy meals to support the active life you lead! Well, Dave is making you question that.

He gives a short hum, brushing your shirt back down. “No worries, it won't take long to lose it.”

You force a smile, despite your discomfort. You didn't think there would be so many trivial things to this. Oh, what does it matter, this is your dream!! For Pete's sake, you're stood face to face with your idol and it's a business setting!! As long as you do what Dave says, you'll be in tip-top condition! 

“You don't have to lose any weight, that's stupid.” Dirk tells you, tilting his head slightly and shuffling a deck of cards.

“Mm. Well, just a few pounds, he said.” You bite the inside of your cheek, deciding not to tell him about the idea of fixing your teeth.

Dirk puts the cards face down in front of himself. You invited him over out of pure glee from spending time with Dave. But now you're quickly disillusioned by the real life Dirk Strider, the one oh-so different from your imagination. You thought he'd be happy for you, maybe even share a hug? But no, Dirk is like a darn robot, ever so emotionless.

He’s wearing long sleeves even in summer, it's rubbing you the wrong way, but you don’t have the energy to care right now. He's made you tired all over.

“Any form of modification you do to please is just going to lead to issues.” Dirk tells you, placing the cards in neat piles.

“It's hardly modification, really. You call losing weight modification?” You raise your eyebrow at Dirk, watching him start to stack his cards.

Dirk narrows his eyes at you under his shades, you can tell from the way his head tilts up slightly and how he gets a crinkle in his nose bridge. You furrow your eyebrows at him.

“I just don't think it's healthy, letting other people dictate what you should do with your own body. It's gonna give you a complex.” He says it like he already knows.

You scowl at him. Dirk makes you mad sometimes, how come he always has to dictate what you do based on what he thinks is best?

“Well, this matters to me. I have my life under control, you know.” You don’t think he knows.

Dirk lets out a quiet scoff and keeps stacking cards. You sigh and decide to watch him.

You do like him, even if he's got a hard time with feelings and actually speaking his mind unless it's trying to control situations.

He gets so easily sucked into trivial things, but you love him. Your bestest chum, sitting on your carpet, playing spider solitaire, hands methodically moving cards around.

He looks unusually soft, in the warm light from your window and light breeze from your fan. It's making his hair ruffle, just slightly, and the light reflects on his shades, high lighting the freckles on his cheeks and nose.

You just hope that none of this changes once you hear back from Dave. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself knowing you ruined the friendship between you and your bestest pal. Dirk has always been there for you, you want to be there for him as well. Forever.

By the time you've snapped back to reality, Dirk is done with his game. He's shuffling the deck again, not looking at you. You resist the urge to reach out and stroke his blonde hair. It looks so soft, and the sun is going down making your room almost glow in gold, and Dirk looks just, oh-so dashing like this. You want to take a picture and frame it and keep it on your nightstand like a wife whose husband has gone off to war.

You almost want to coo at him, stroke through his hair, ruffle it and move it out of the way to see his beautifully freckled cheeks, the slight red on his nose from not having sunscreen, take his shades off and look into those deep, amber, incredible eyes of his…

Oh, bollocks, Dirk's noticed you staring at him! Darn your teenage hormones, you're turning into a well pervert, looking at Dirk as if he were a pretty lady and not your best pal. You look down at the cards in his hands.

“I gotta get home, it's getting dark out.” Dirk puts the cards down and drags a hand through his hair.

You give a nod, straightening up. “Oh! Alright, um, I'll follow you to the door?”

“Nah, I know the way out.” Dirk stands up and gets his bag from the floor. You stand up and blink at him.

Dirk grabs your hand and bumps shoulders lightly before leaving. You're left standing with your jaw open, like you're about to say something but no words come out.

“I… Talk to you tomorrow?” you rush out of your mouth. Dirk stops, nods his head at you, and leaves.

“Bye, Dirk.” You murmur, looking after him.

Chapter Text

Maybe you've been a bit too harsh on Jake.

You haven’t spoken to him since you stormed out of his house to go angrily shower for two hours, it's been a week. His audition went well, you know because dad keeps talking about it. It's very difficult not to overhear him mention this new piece of talent that's gonna take the world by storm. Fuck this shit, really. You didn't plan on relapsing but something about the added stress and change in schedule is making your fingers itch for a box cutter. Not that anyone would notice, you make sure of that.

Roxy managed to get you out of bed. You two are out throwing a basketball back and forth as she chats about a party she went to. You're not listening, which you feel incredibly bad about.

“I could fix you an invite, he's doing one on halloween as well.” she tells you, and you assume she's talking about the same guy as last week.

You catch the ball, bounce it once, and throw it back to her. “Nah, you know I don't do parties.”

Roxy rolls her eyes, catching the ball. “Of course, I forgot you much prefer spending your evenings with a cigarette between your lips and your sad little CDs. I bet it's soo much fun.”

She doesn't toss the ball back to you, so you fix your shades to occupy your hands. “Oh, you know I love my sad little CDs, what would I do without them?”

She doesn't laugh, or smile, she just sighs and looks at you for longer than you’d like her to, which you've found she does a lot.

“Did you talk to Jake yet?” She's passing the ball between her hands. You shake your head.

“Nah. I think he's pissed at me.”

Roxy rolls her eyes. “No, he's not. He keeps nagging me, oh Roxy, did you talk to Dirk? Did he mention me? blah blah blah, it's getting a bit much! You two oughta figure your stuff out before it starts becoming my problem!”

You look at her, unsure of what to say to that. “Tell him to text me himself if he wants to so badly.”

Roxy snorts, crinkling her nose bridge. It almost makes you laugh as well, you love her, she’s too nice to you. “He won’t, you know he won’t.”

You do know that, he won’t. You’ve been at this stalemate before with Jake, but it’d usually be resolved by now. You don’t want to think about that for too long, it makes your skin crawl and you’re starting to wonder how sharp the blade is on your pocket knife. Your thoughts are interrupted by a basketball being shot at you, it would’ve hit you square in the stomach if you hadn’t caught it in time. Roxy is giving you a weird look.

“I should really get you out ‘n about. No good letting you socialize with your brain buddies.” She tells you, as if you don’t have a say in your own life. She means well, you know that, and so does she, which is why it’s okay for her to do so. In most cases it would be, at least. But you’re hardly fond of people, much less a halloween party, which is what you assume she is bringing the conversation back to.

“I love my brain buddies,” No, you do not. If you could kill yourself now, you would. “and I do appreciate the offer,” No, you really don’t. “but I know that going ‘out and about’ is just your way of suggesting I third wheel you to make sure your date isn’t a creep.” You pass Roxy the basketball back.

It’s raining as you two run back to yours. As much as you would love getting drenched, you won’t force Roxy to participate. Now you’re wrapped up in two towels each, sat across each other by the huge fireplace that your father never uses, because why would he ever use anything for it’s original purpose? It’s warming you up wonderfully. Your fingers have almost stopped trembling by now.

One thing you appreciate with Roxy is how you two can sit in silence, just like now. Fire has always captivated you, there’s just something about it. You think about poking your head in, imagine how it would feel. Your eyeballs would melt, and so would your skin. Would your hair burn first? What would it look like? Would Roxy be scared? What would her reaction be? Would she pull you out, or would she grab a fire extinguisher, or would she freak out and start screaming? Would she be crying? Would she call 911? Would she hold your hand? You wonder if you’d bleed a lot. How long would it take before you lost all feeling, before the cells in your skin, muscles, die. Would you be relieved to lose that feeling? Would you die before it stops hurting? Does your life really flash before your eyes before you die? What would dad think? What would Jake think?

What does Jake think of you now?

What?

Your mind wandered. The fire is dying down. Roxy is picking at her lip, idly. She’s lost in thought as well, you assume. Hopefully not the sort of thought you’ve just had. Does Roxy think that way? No, you’re positive she doesn’t, or at the very least does not deserve to. No one does, except, of course, you. You look back at the fire. You don’t feel cold anymore, but your fingers are still shaking. Did you lock the door? Yes, probably. Dad had a gate installed, so you’d be fine either way. Unless someone decided to climb it. But then the security cameras would catch that, not that anyone is actively watching those, you’d just have evidence in court once your body is found. What? No, no one is gonna break in, the front door is locked, as is the gate, and you, as well as Roxy, are perfectly fine.

Everything is perfectly fine.

You wonder how Jake is, if he’s perfectly fine as well. You hope so. You know Hollywood is cruel, and hearing him talk about weight loss made your gut tighten and now you’re left with a hole in your heart and a furrow in your brow. Your father is an absolute fucking moron, Jake of all people does not need to lose weight, he looks fantastic just the way he is thank you very much. Your father does not, and you think he’s mad about it, taking it out on people such as Jake. You would laugh if it wasn’t so fucked up. But, you think, it could be worse. At least Jake isn’t being forced into getting a nose job or veneers or some stupid shit like that. You’d probably die if you’d never again get to see Jake’s buck teeth poke through from under his lip. Weight loss isn’t permanent, only the eating disorder that your father would probably force onto him, oh my god, you realize, this situation is actually out of your control, things have gone to hell, all because you didn’t care enough to stop your father from getting his dirty hands all over your Jake.

Fuck. Maybe you do need to be the bigger person and tell Jake to get away from that industry ASAP, who cares about his dreams, his well being won’t be able to recover.

TT: Jake.

He’ll answer you, won’t he? He can’t actually be mad enough to ignore you still. And he wouldn’t be busy enough not to answer you. What time is it anyway? Can’t be too late, you were just out with Roxy in perfect sunlight. Why isn’t Jake answering you?

TT: Jake, answer me.

Yep, nailed that, totally doesn’t sound desperate. Fuck?

TT: Jake.

Where is he? Why isn’t he answering

GT: Dirk?
GT: What do you want?

That’s passive aggressive, and you deserve it. At least he’s talking to you.

TT: I have to talk to you.
TT: About your acting gig.
GT: If dave wants something cant he just talk to me directly? i dont have time right now
TT: This isn’t about Dave. You need to stay, it’s important.
TT: You have to quit, now.
GT: No why would i?
TT: Jake, you don’t get it. Dave is a horrible person, I don’t want him to ruin your life.
GT: Dont tell me what to do!
GT: Im very busy at the moment
GT: You could do well with being kinder to me
GT: Any way i happen to be in a meeting at the moment and ive got to git

Fuck.

TT: What meeting?
TT: Jake?
GT: Geez im here!
GT: Stop your whining ive no reason to quit!
TT: Dave is horrible, Jake, I’m telling you. Listen to me, get out while you still can.
TT: For your own sake.

Jake goes offline at that. You’ve messed up.

TT: Please.

As if that’s any better.

You only had one shot at that conversation and you handled it in a horrible way. Jake did not seem too enthused to talk to you, or to explain anything about where he was headed or what he was doing. Are you controlling for wanting to know that? No, no. You just worry. You set your phone down, resisting the urge to throw it in the fire, which you now noticed is fully out. You look at Roxy, who is now laying asleep on the floor, towels acting as blankets and her arms acting as a pillow. How long were you sat here thinking?

You get an actual pillow and a blanket from the couch and tuck her in, careful not to wake her up. If you had the amount of muscle you wish you had, you would’ve carried her to her usual guestroom upstairs, but you’re too scrawny, so you’ll let her sleep here. You’ll try and keep watch overnight.

Chapter Text

No one really informed you of how difficult this would all be, why, you had assumed it’d be like a walk in the park, but now you feel as though you’re being torn at each limb and stretched until you’ve no power left!

You figured there’d be a lot of meetings and that, sure, but perhaps you thought being an actor was just going to set and, well, acting. But there seems to be much more to it. Dave has you on a tight schedule, he says he’s preparing you until you find your footing in the industry (you hardly think this is much of an industry so far, all that’s happened is you’ve been poked and prodded at by an array of folks who say they know best).

You’ve found yourself with not a crumb of free time and a sudden change of diet, Dave explained to you that it is of most utter importance that you do not stray from the set amount of calorie intake he prescribed you, because if that were to happen, you’d gain loads and loads of weight and be far too fat to get any role in any movie ever in your entire life, and while that seems farfetched, you certainly don’t want to risk it!! So while your stomach feels a lot more empty than it’s been for long, you simply grit your teeth and man up!

Of course, the loss of spare time has left you more lonely than you’d necessarily like, and instead of spending time with Dirk— you’ve found yourself making friends with his father, which you very much did not intend to do. As wise as Dave is, he has a way of sneaking a pinch at your stomach or back, which you find deeply unsettling. You figure he does it so you’ll relax, with how fantastic of a man he is, he surely has solid reasoning! Even if he fails to share it with you.

Fingers snap on your forehead and you lift your head to find that Dave is pulling you out of your seat in the waiting room where you’re sat and into the office of a bloke with dark hair wearing a slightly wrinkled sweater. You’ve seen him around before, you suppose he’s part of Dave’s entourage of producers and writers. You’ve not dared speak to him, he has this deep furrow in his eyebrows that make you feel as though you’re doing something wrong just by casting a glance in his direction, but Dave has told you this is “your ticket”. You seem to be getting a lot of those tickets, oh but, you suppose that’s the way this works, you hardly want to question Dave’s logic. Heck, he’s your mentor in all of this, so you’d be better off listening to everything he has to say and take it to heart!

Even if that means letting your stomach ache.

The man lifts his eyes between you and Dave, eyebrows steadily furrowed as always. You feel as though you’re being severely judged. Mr Vantas, as you soon learn his name is, seems to have that effect on people. Dave has an easy smile listening to him talk about his project that you quite frankly do not grasp the concept of, but the air has a thickness and it feels as though you are being left out of an inside joke, so you make no attempt to include yourself in the discussion. You didn’t quite understand why you were here in the first place, it seems as though Mr Vantas and Dave are discussing a pitch, or, perhaps making one? Dave keeps tilting his head up, or spreading out in his chair, you’re not quite sure what that has to do with anything, but Mr Vantas gives him little quirks in his eyebrows every time he does it. Hmmm.

Would they notice if you went on your phone? You do want to see if Dirk texted yet, you’d like for him too. Maybe you’d have to ask Roxy if he mentioned you. You like to think he would have. You still don’t quite know what you did wrong for him to be upset with you, your leading theory is that you sassing was unappreciated, which you do not blame him for, or that despite him saying he didn’t want you to walk him to the door, he actually did want you to? OR he somehow saw through your staring and unveiled the unnecessarily appreciative thoughts you were having? You sure hope not, that would be horrid, you do imagine he would find it utterly humiliating to have his cheeks squished and freckles softly stroked. You find yourself wearing a subtle smile picturing that situation in your mind, which you tally up to how dearly you hold your pals to your heart.

Deciding that Dave and Mr Vantas are plenty busy speaking to each other, you sneak a glance at your phone, and boy oh boy, you’ve got a missed call from Dirk, and a voicemail. You don’t know if you oughta be horrified or exhilarated. You find yourself feeling a mix of both. You look back up at Dave to assess if you would be alright stepping out, he seems fully caught up so you feel little too no surprise at all when your mumbled apology is met with a wave of his hand. You step out and play the voicemail into your ear, turning the volume down so as to not disturb anyone who could happen to walk by.

“-spineless fucking, fucking..” Dirk’s voice is but a murmur, yet it somehow manages to spike your heart rate even then. Is he talking about you? Are you spineless? You think you can hear Roxy talking in the back, but you can’t make out the words.. “no, he… what the hell? Am I fucking-”

Is that it? Who was spineless?? You!? For not responding in time!? In an impulsive urge from your growing panic you decide to call back, because of course if Dirk called and left a message then he would surely want to talk to you, something that each beep of your phone is making you doubt, and oh you’re such a scatterbrain, why in the world would he want to talk to you! He clearly sounded displeased in the message he left, you oughta just—

“Hulloo?” Roxy’s voice greets you slightly wobbly, which is enough to pull you out of your brain and back into reality.

“Oh, is— are you alright?” you ask, because it feels more important to know than asking why she was the one who answered you. Obviously, that would be because Dirk hates you, no doy!

“ooohhh Jaaake! I am so, bored, and I miss you, quit your dumb acting gig already, nyyou’re not even, llike, in mmovies at all..” She’s mumbling, starting to slur her words. As much as you do appreciate Roxy, her words sting. She shouldn’t be one to talk anyway! You called to speak to Dirk, not an.. inebriated lass.

“uh-huh,” You start, then pause to consider how you oughta go about wording this. “Pardon me, did I not ring Dirk’s phone?” you decide on, to let her down easy, or, at least make a graceful attempt to, as you are a gentleman first and foremost.

Roxy goes quiet on the other line, which makes you significantly more nervous and does squat to calm your already accelerating pulse. After a long enough pause you start to worry. “Err, Roxy?” instead of being met by her, which is what you’d expected, you were met with a heavy sigh. Oh, dear lord, of course she’d gone quiet, she gave the phone back.

“I thought you were busy in meetings, or that you didn’t have time for my whining.” Ouch, alrighty, maybe you deserved that blow, you were plenty exhausted last he texted you, but that hardly means you like that tone of voice he uses when he says things like that, it unsettles you. (Or maybe that’s just your belly ache).

“Oh! Um,” what do you even say to him? No excuse you could come up with would make it up to him, Dirk doesn’t whine, you know that, he always says things for a reason, you should hardly be so quick to dismiss him, even if he has no real reason to make you quit, oh, it makes you mad and regretful all the same! What does he want from you!? “Sorry,” of course that’s all you manage to clear your head and say, you don’t quite understand what you’re sorry about, but it’s always something. Does he not deserve a better best pal than you? Does he even want to be your best pal?

Dirk scoffs at you, “Does that mean you’ll quit?” you can tell he’s trying to be all cocky with you, but you can hear the way he lets out a soft sigh in his words, and you know him well enough to figure it’s just worry. Hearing that makes you feel all the guiltier.

You pause, “um, I don’t know that I can, not right now, at the very least.” and not at all because you really want this opportunity for yourself and you’ve sacrificed comfort to be here. Dirk exhales into the phone and it just about makes you shiver.

“I’m not trying to be a dick. I just…” he trails off, and you hold your breath. “I don’t want you to get mixed up in my dad’s bullshit, because that’s what it is. He’s already trying to get you to lose weight, what’s next, a nose job? I mean, he’ll force plastic surgery onto you before you know it. It’s all superficial.” Hardly true, you note to yourself. You’re starting to get the feeling that maybe Dirk never made any effort to get to know his own old man.

“Dave would never suggest that!” You ignore Dirk’s mention of weight loss, he has no reason to know about your diet, or about how your stomach is churning at this very moment. None at all.

“Yes, Jake, he fucking would. Why do you think I’m bringing this shit up? Look at his usual lineup now compared to when they first started working with him, and tell me about the pattern. Notice anything? Oh right, they all suddenly got a new nose, got skinny, and shiny, perfect teeth. Do you think that’s thanks to magic? Shapeshifting, maybe?” Dirk is tense, you can tell from how he talks faster than usual, and doesn’t leave you much room to respond. He’s being so negative.

“Oh, hush! Don’t you start, it hardly seems like you know your dad at all!” You should very well not be raising your voice in here, but darn it, you are and whoever is bothered by it is going to have to just! Deal!

“I’m trying to warn you, Jake, I mean it, don’t get mixed up in this shit, it’ll suck the life out of you.” Such cockadoodle! It is infuriating how calm he is!! You just want him to yell back, why isn’t he getting as upset as you!? Are you just that dense!?

“Don’t try and turn this around and make it look like you’re doing me a favour, you KNOW I’ve wanted this for years!” You make a solid attempt at quieting down, which just turns into hushed yelling and gritted teeth. You do sincerely hope your point is getting across, but you know it isn’t.

You at least manage to shut Dirk up for a bit. You like to think that means you’re winning.

“Look, I don’t…” He trails off again, you listen to him breathe on the other line. “I don’t want you to get hurt, or sad, or…” pause.

“I don’t know. I just care. I know you’re getting busy, don’t forget to give yourself time to process things as well.” Well, now you feel just terrible for getting so worked up, it’s as if you’ve just kicked a puppy dog and watched it whine at you afterwards. Bollocks.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll er,” You throw an unsure glance around you, to see if anyone’s overheard your call. “I’ll call you back, alright?” Please say yes.

“Yeah, alright. Later.” Thank God. You better make good on that promise.

“Yes, later.” He hangs up before you can lift the phone away from your ear fully. Okay. Okay! This is good, good development. Dirk won’t get in your way as long as he knows you’re alright, because he was only worried for your health. That is fantastic to know, and will serve no problem, for you know you’re alright. Great, even! Now, to head back to your meeting. That does make you worry, how long were you gone for?

You quietly open the door to Mr Vantas’ office, step inside, shut the door and sit back in your chair. Mr Vantas throws you a glance as you enter, his eyebrows furrowed just as tight as when you left, while Dave ignores your entrance, his face resting on his hand, elbow on the edge of Mr Vantas’ desk. Dave is telling some story, you’re unsure, having just heard a minor part of it. Seemingly, it’s about some on-set drama he experienced while just starting out. Should you be paying attention? Is this important to be aware of?

You decide against listening, and Mr Vantas eventually forces Dave, and by extension you, out of his office so that he may go back to actually working. As the door shuts behind you, Dave pinches your stomach and corrects your posture.

“Back straight, kiddo. Can’t be sagging like that in meetings, ain’t all that attractive.” He gives you a smirk so you straighten up and smile back at him, straight just like he taught you, which earns you a hum. Dave gives you a lot of ‘hum’s, you reckon that one was probably good.

Today went well, you think. You’re only mildly exhausted, and really your hunger has been fading into background noise after going on for so long. You think that’s a sure accomplishment, one you’d want to boast to your friends about. You would if it wasn’t for what you can already assume their reactions would be. Oh, well. Perhaps next time they’d be able to share your appreciation.

Chapter Text

You think maybe now would be a good time to get your suicide plans into motion. Nothing you do is having any positive impact at all. Judging by how Jake’s been treating you, you’d think you’re making things worse. Your father is never home, too busy with your Jake to be present in your life, and that alone dials your worry up further. Cutting barely helps anymore, having become a daily occurrence for you it’s hardly even a satisfying type of pain, just a necessary one, a sort of punishment for how terrible you know you are.

Roxy left this morning after having spent the past two days here. Good, you know, because she’ll finally get to be without you, which she deserves. Especially with how she’s been taking care of you. It feels pathetic how she had to clean up and make you dinner just because you’re aware of how you don’t deserve any sustenance or quality of living.

But talking to Jake again was nice. Not the subject of the conversation, more so hearing his voice and therefore receiving a reminder that he hasn’t changed entirely at the hands of your father. Which sounds stupid thinking back, but you were horrified for a while that the Jake you know would no longer exist. Of course, there’s still that nagging feeling that you have to fix things, whenever it gets a little too quiet in your mind and the clock strikes a little too late into the night. But not right now. Right now you’re not feeling that, because everything is fine, it’s four in the afternoon and you did not forget how lonely it is to not be near another person, because that’s a feeling you know well enough to not let yourself forget about its inevitability. Even if that were to be the case, which you remind yourself that it is not, you would not feel bad for yourself. You deserve to hurt, especially from a stupid— and hypothetical— situation like that. Pain is good, it represents growth.

You think it over in your head, if pain really does represent growth or if that was just taught to you so you wouldn’t cry over scraped knees longer than necessary. You should put music on, this silence is making your ears ring.

As you do, sliding the vinyl carefully out of the sleeve and onto the slipmat of your player, you consider talking to Jake. He likes music as well. Maybe not this specific album, but you were with him in the store when you bought it, so merely the sight of the cover art makes your heart ache. You hate that feeling, that tight knot twisting in your gut of guilt, because you can’t steal Jake away from a life you know he wants, even if you know it’s going to end up bad for him. You’re not overthinking things, Jake spoke about having to lose weight, and you know your dad told him that on purpose, you just know.

Maybe Jake is lonely just like you are. You doubt there are any people your age around to talk to all day, and even if he’s polite to everyone he meets you sincerely doubt he’d find any fun in speaking to adults in meetings. You’ve heard that actors aren’t actually all that present when it comes to how they’re portrayed or what roles they play, and that it’s instead directors, or agents, or managers, or whatever, that make those things up. Point being, Jake could have enough free time to maybe talk to you. Or you could come over again. It’s been too long, for Jake. You would be alright for years being alone, because you deserve that.

TT: Are you in meetings as well today?

That came out more desperate than you thought it would. Shit?

GT: Not today! Im reading a script for tomorrow morning its well boring.
GT: You should come over!

Please.

TT: If you insist.

You drop your phone on the floor, not daring to look at what Jake responded to you with. You smell horrible from all your sweat, you don’t know last you showered. You can’t see the floor due to all the clothes on there.

Once you’ve had your shower and gotten into alright smelling clothes that don’t have any stains you start your venture out the door (not before having washed your hands thrice to make sure they’re really clean and checking your pockets four times to make sure you really did bring your phone, wallet, and that you have extra money in case you get mugged on the way). You’re thankful for your father having installed a huge gate, despite it being so very pretentious in your opinion, it does calm your thoughts from wandering into ‘what-if-someone-breaks-in-and-steals-all-our-belongings' territory. You’re taking your skateboard to feel the wind in your hair. Not that you have a drivers license, you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care.

Jake lives a short twenty minutes away, and you have the downhill out of Beverly to your advantage. You forgot how warm the LA sun gets when you wear sweatshirts to hide your arms. Maybe whoever named them had the right idea, you’re very afraid you’ll sweat through and need to take this thing off and risk showing your scars to Jake. Not really scars, they haven’t healed fully yet, still wrapped in bandages and gauze so as to not bleed onto your clothes or down your arms, because that would be horrible.

Once you arrive at Jake’s door, hoping that you’re not visibly sweaty from your skate down here. Your knuckles feel a little weak when you knock, you’re only a little dizzy from the heat. It’ll be nice to come inside and get to cool down in the AC. You want to be upset about Jake’s insistence on continuing down this acting path, but you can’t find it in your soul to be mad at him. He doesn’t deserve that. You’ll run his lines with him if he wants to, you’ll read the script with him if he wants to, you’ll do–

Your thoughts are interrupted as the door gets unlocked and pushed open, with Jake sat on the other side of the door, leaning back against the wall, which is very out of the ordinary as he usually makes a big deal out of being ‘gentlemanly’ and welcomes you in with a hug and everything. But he’s rested against the wall, head back, and he looks horrible. You don’t use that word lightly. Have his cheeks always been that sunken? He’s paler than usual. Before you have time to properly process things you’re already on your knees in front of him, using your wrist on his forehead to check his temperature. He’s smiling at you as if this is normal. What the fuck?

Jake tugs your hand down from his forehead, but you can tell he’s weaker than usual. You have a biting feeling in your gut telling you your father has to do with this. You don’t know whether to believe in that feeling, you know you’re prone to paranoia.

“Oh, Dirk, don’t you worry, I’m…” he’s trailing off and sighing at you. You close the door from behind you.

“What’s wrong with you?” you cut him off, cup his face to check his pulse, and lift his eyelids to see if his pupils are dilated at all. You don’t know what Jake would be like high, but you’ve helped your father out enough times during his benders that you know how cocaine would affect someone. But no, his eyes aren’t any different. A little glossy, sure, but nothing too extreme.

Jake frowns at you, you don’t like how it twists his face. He opens his mouth to speak but only has the air for a weak whine, and, you think, your heart may break. Your mind is overwhelmed by a need to take care, and you will, because what else can you do? You work through a list in your mind. He might not be high, but you’ve found that there’s hardly any real difference between dealing with an illness and dealing with a drug-fueled bender (at least if your father is any example to go by).

1. Check vitals and temperature.
This one is your personal favorite. Dad has told you never to bring him to the hospital unless he’s seizing or foaming at the mouth, but nowadays that notion makes you laugh. You can check this point off for Jake, you know he’s breathing and that his heart is beating alright.

2. Water, food, and sleep.
This is where you’re at now. There are more steps, but they can wait until further notice.

“Cmon, you need energy. Do you have anything I can heat up for you?” You push Jake’s hair out of his eyes and he leans into your hands, his glasses slip down slightly from his nose. He shakes his head.

“I already ate, and, I’m really not…” Jake tilts his head into your other hand and narrows his eyes slightly, you know he’s searching for eye contact behind your shades. “I’m splendid, really.” he continues and smiles at you, or at least makes an alright attempt at it. You don’t believe him one bit. But you’ll give him this one.

“Right, then you’ll be fine getting up and continuing to read your script.” you say. You don’t want to be difficult to him, but you can tell things aren’t right. Jake makes an attempt at pulling himself up, using your hands to steady himself, but it’s as if all the power has been sucked out of his body, and he hardly manages to straighten his knees out to support himself, sitting back down with a sigh. His breathing got heavier from just that, which rings alarm bells in your mind. You decide he’s lying to you.

“How about I carry you to bed? I’ll bring you food once you wake up.” you push his hair out of the way again, you like looking at his eyes and feeling his hair, knowing he’s there with you. You like to think he likes it as well, you always used to feel better when dad stroked your hair as a kid. It grounded you. Jake pouts at you, you don’t think he means to.

“Oh, really, I shouldn’t…” he tries, and you promptly cut him off. “Don’t give me that, I was asking as a formality. What I meant was that I am going to carry you to bed.” You don’t wait for an answer before scooping Jake up into your arms, shifting him to make it easier on your arms. You haven’t been working out for months, and a person is a lot heavier than you would’ve imagined. You vaguely feel Jake give a weak struggle to being carried.

You tuck him into bed with his clothes still on, deciding that it’d make you feel horrible to undress him, because what if you do something— anything— that could give him any hint of feelings you hold that are anything other than platonic. Not that you would ever lay your hands on him without being a hundred percent sure that he wants you to, you’re just scared you’d get an impulse. You turn the lights off in his room and sit next to his bed. You can tell Jake is mad, that he has words on the tip of his tongue, looking at you with a crease between his eyebrows, yet he’s still quiet. You assume this is due to fatigue. You wish you could kiss his forehead and stroke his cheek, tell him that you love him and that everything will be alright, that you care so much about him. Yet you don’t, because that would ruin things. Instead you, as gently as you can, remove his glasses and fold them neatly on his bedside table, promising to return with tea and something easy on his stomach. You can tell he wants to protest.

Cooking is easy. You’ve been here so many times that you know where everything is. You notice a distinct lack of bread and pasta in Jake’s pantry, so you decide on making him a soup. You’re good at soup, you like to think. It’s the first meal you learned how to make from scratch, and dad always seemed to appreciate it while nursing hangovers, so you kept making it. You know this recipe like the back of your hand.

You make a cup of peppermint tea to go along with his soup, grab a cold bottle of water and put it all on a tray, covering the bowl and tea with foil to preserve the heat. You carry the tray with steady hands to Jake’s room, making sure not to drop anything. Jake is already asleep by the time you’re in his room, so you place the tray on his desk, sitting yourself down on the floor next to his bed. You lay cards in front of you, preparing for solitaire. You want to occupy your hands with something, but still be able to hear if Jake’s breathing shifts or becomes laboured.

You’ll sleep here and keep an eye on him. The ideal situation would be not to sleep at all, just to be sure things are okay with Jake all night, but you know that’s not a good idea, so you start laying your playing cards out in front of you, readying yourself to stay attentive.