Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chris had been in a mood all day. While the working hours were coming to their end, and the cast and crew were now freed from it, Cillian knew that he had no reprieve from the snappiness and short temper they'd all been subjected to - the same ugliness that had only amped up over the past hour. Cillian suspected he was the cause of his temperament on set and, as such, he had been subtly apologising to everyone who received Christopher's bitter tongue for the majority of the day. But he, too, had reached his limit with Chris' attitude, and he wished he had the same freedom that his coworkers had in their ability, now, to run away. In his small trailer, fishing around in his shoulder bag for his phone, Cillian took the peace and quiet as a chance to collect himself before he re-entered Chris' orbit. He knew Chris' bad mood had started that morning, before they'd even left the hotel, and he knew that it would continue when they returned. Evidently, Chris' had taken Cillian's chattiness with Robert, during a rare few moments of downtime the day before, as a personal insult - as a wanton display of flirtation right in his face - and no amount of refuting that assumption has calmed Chris' annoyance from the moment he had brought it up at breakfast. Throwing his bag over his shoulder, Cillian thumbed through his phone as he pulled open the door of his trailer. Already exhausted with the toll the role had taken on him, Cillian was struggling with finding the mental strength as much as the physical strength needed for facing Chris when he returned to the hotel. No amount of talking to himself in his head made him feel any better, nor gave him any more energy. He glanced up, for depth perception, and pulled the door shut firmly behind him as he climbed the three steps down and then planted his boot-clad foot onto the gravel as he reached the bottom. He looked up again, squinting against the low evening sun, and looked around him. The place was nearly deserted, but for a lingering set runner named Ryan. Cillian offered him a small but earnest smile as he walked towards him. As Ryan approached, Cillian dug his sunglasses off of his bag and pushed them on to shield his eyes.

“Alright, Cill?” Ryan greeted him.

Cillian smiled again and pushed his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Ryan.”

Ryan pushed his hands into the pockets of his denim shorts. “Emily was looking for you, but she had to zip off. She said to let you know, if I saw you, she and John are grabbing drinks in the Lakeside bar if you want to join them.” He jerked his head over his shoulder in the direction of the set exit. “I'm heading over in a bit, with Charlotte.”

“How is Charlotte?” Cillian asked, politely. He'd met Ryan a couple of years previously, on a different set, and had become quite friendly with him and his then-fiancee. They'd married last year, though, and he was yet to see Charlotte on this project. While Ryan was a runner - young and keen to progress - Charlotte had, on Cillian's first meeting, been a PA. He wasn't sure what she did now.

“Yeah, she's good.” Ryan smiled broadly, and it radiated the pride and love he clearly had for the girl. “Five months along now.” Cillian smiled softly. Ryan's expression changed a little, and Cillian got the sense there was a question or comment regarding how everyone had been feeling on set today - he didn't know how he knew that was what was coming, but he just felt it. “So, eh…” Ryan shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Chris ain't been in the greatest of moods today.”

Cillian sniffed, “No.” He sighed.

“Everything, eh, okay there?” Ryan raised his eyebrows. “He laid into you fairly harshly before lunch.”

Cillian was famously not forthcoming with his private life, and he offered even less when it concerned Christopher, too, for fear of stepping on his toes on where they individually placed the line on what classed as shareable anyway. That aside, he could see Ryan was actually checking in as a friend, and he appreciated that. He also appreciated that Ryan - and probably others - had taken notice of the ferocity with which Chris had corrected him over a minor fluff of lines during a scene run. “Ah, you know what it's like,” Cillian passed it off. “Passion and time constraints don't mix.” He smirked, but he found no mirth in the truth of the matter - a truth he wasn't so sure he fully grasped himself, for that particular blow up, if he was to really analyse it.

“Come for a drink, mate.” Ryan said, “Emily seemed to really want you to come.”

“Nah, thanks though.” Cillian declined with a polite smile. “I'm half starved,” he joked, gesturing at his emaciated frame. “Gonna head back.”

Ryan exhaled noisily through his nose, “You sure I can't convince you to come, not even for one?”

Cillian chuckled, “Sorry, Ry.” He shook his head. “Tell Em I'll see her tomorrow.” He said, and reached out his right hand, affectionately swiping his hand against Ryan's bicep by way of a goodbye as he started to walk on, heading towards the large perimeter gates further up along the gravel underfoot that set out the bounds of the set.

Cillian let himself into the hotel room with the card key, and shut the heavy room door behind him as quietly as he could. He set the card into the holder slot fixed to the wall, and took his bag from his shoulder as he walked further into the large space. The wall mounted television was playing to itself; the coffee table held an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses, and the large sofa that sat at the foot of the enormous, four-poster bed was empty. The bed was still neatly made, and the room was fully illuminated by the feature ceiling light. Cillian dropped his bag down onto the nearest seat cushion on the sofa and toed off his Converse without unfastening the grubby laces, leaving them by the leg of the coffee table.

“Chris?” He called out, frowning. The two options were he wasn't in at all - but that wouldn't have explained the TV being on - or that he was in the bathroom. He sighed when he wasn't immediately answered, and he drew his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He had convinced Chris to get a super simple phone to allow them private communication in public settings, and Chris had agreed. But he rarely answered when called, and the latest messages he had sent to Cillian consisted only of anything to do with the filming. Still, in vain hope, Cillian drew up his messages and tapped out a quick text.

I'm back. Where are you? I'll wait a while but then I'm getting into the bath. I'm tired Chris. - Cill.

He threw his phone down beside his bag and walked around the sofa, dropping down into the middle seat. His mind was chaotic - filled with the scenes of the day and what lay ahead, and infiltrated by Chris and his mood, his words, and his reactions over the last twenty four hours. He stared blankly at the television, not even sure what was on, and too lazy to reach for the controls on the table in front of him. He whipped his head to the side when his phone buzzed with the arrival of a message, and his eyes widened when it was Chris' name in the notification bar. He shifted his arm down awkwardly and picked up the handset, then swiped open the message.

I'm downstairs, met with Jack for tomorrow. Coming up now. Don't get in the tub yet.

He smiled to himself as he swiped away the message. There wasn't a harsh word, nor the sense of tetchiness, and while that didn't mean he wouldn't be met with it when Chris entered the room, he did feel somewhat soothed by the comparatively calm message as opposed to the nature he'd been shown all day. He tossed his phone back beside his bag and snuggled his head back into the sofa a little bit, yawning tightly. For ten minutes, Cillian almost nodded off to sleep and dragged his eyes back open in a consistent loop as he waited for Chris' return. He jumped a little when the door finally clicked open and, in lieu of standing up, he tipped his head over his shoulder to look towards the door as Chris came through it.

“Hiya,” Cillian said quietly and tentatively, submissive even, for the fear he might say the wrong thing and potentially lead into another fight.

“Sorry - talks with Jack ran longer than I had anticipated.” Chris said in an even tone, considerably contrasting the barking and short-tempered attitude of earlier. “You look exhausted, Cill.”

Cillian turned down the corners of his mouth and nodded slowly, following Chris with his eyes as he walked towards him and came to a halt beside the arm of the sofa. “I am,” Cillian voiced, his softened Cork accent lilting in his fatigue.

“Don't suppose I've helped with that.” Chris said, matter of fact but not egotistical.

Cillian sniffed and shifted a little in his seat as he looked away. “No.” He said bluntly, and shook his head. After a moment, he looked back up at Chris, still towering over him at the side of the sofa. Chris nodded his head. He slowly inhaled a breath that he then sighed out just as slowly. “The whole set heard how you spoke to me today. Like a child, like I'd been bold and you were giving out to me and being demeaning as possible - not to mention how you consistently spoke to all of them.” Cillian wasn't sure where the bravery and energy to be so vocal was coming from, but he let it continue. “On set, Chris, we're not a couple. You said that yourself, that's your rule. I get no special treatment, no displays of affection, no references to who and what we are, and have been, for all this time. Yeah? That's your rule, not mine. Respect and colleagueship. But today…that fucking vanished. If you want respect there, Chris, then you give it.”

Chris raised his eyebrows, “Alright,” he said at length and nodded his head. “You're right, Cillian. I'm sorry I spoke to you that way, especially so publicly.” Cillian frowned deeply; it had been a long time since he'd heard any form of admission of guilt from Christopher. “But we're not on the set right now, and here…” he shrugged his shoulders, “I'm not sure I owe you anything.” Cillian's entire expression shifted, and his stomach dropped to go with it. “If you can stand before me and flirt with one of your co-stars, all it does is tell me how little you respect me as your partner.”

“Chris,” Cillian sighed his name. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up off the sofa. Standing before Chris, he still fell short in height, but he felt it, too. Small and insignificant, right that moment. “I was not, have not, did not, and will not flirt with anyone.” Cillian raised his voice. “Your inability to accept what I'm saying shows how little fucking respect you have for me as your fucking partner.” He countered Chris' argument with his own.

Chris was quiet for a long moment, then he nodded his head slowly. “I'm not blind, Cillian.” Cillian raised his eyebrows at the full-length usage of his name for a second time.

Shaking his head, Cillian shrugged his shoulders. “Well, evidently you are - Christopher.” Chris faltered at Cillian's retort, frowning as he tried to grasp the significance of his words and the catty attitude. Cillian pushed his way around Chris' body. “I'm going for a bath, and then I need to sleep.” He said, blunt and clipped. “Why don't you go back to Jack?”

“Alright, stop it.” Chris reached out his hand and gripped Cillian's arm at the elbow. There was no aggression in the action, and no force in his hold, but it made a statement. “Enough, for God's sake.” He let go of Cillian's arm only when the shorter man stared at the fingers curled around him, with his eyebrows raised in clear distaste. He sighed and stood looking at Cillian until he met his gaze. “I didn't see what I thought I did, that's what you keep telling me. So you were not putting on some display with Robert?”

“No!” Cillian snapped, his Cork accent accentuated by the animation behind his reply, dragging the vowel out longer. “Eight years of us, Chris, and you think I want to eye up someone else? I love you, but you've not accepted a single word I've said for the last twenty four fucking hours. I wasn't flirting with the man, I was talking to him. I was talking…to a friend. Not to even dwell on the fact that Robert is in his own happy relationship - and he isn't gay.” Cillian finished his rant with a hard huff through his nose and stared at Chris with his jaw set firm.

“Then I'm sorry.” Chris said, blankly.

“You're sorry?” Cillian raised his eyebrows and looked back at Chris, then scoffed. “That's the end of it then, is it? You say ‘then I'm sorry’, and that's it fixed. It doesn't matter anymore that you've talked to me like dogshit for a day, or that you emasculated me in front of my peers for not giving you enough fucking, what was one of your insults? Eh…wide-eyed delivery? That's it, is it? Ah right, so. It's all grand now, is it, yeah?”

“Cillian, shut up.” Chris shook his head as he cut across Cillian's rant. “I didn't say that, I just said I'm sorry.” He clarified. “I'll fix it with you. I can see your hurt, and I acknowledge that I've caused it. If you'll calm down, and let me, I want to fix it.”

“If you say anything about following me into the bathroom, I will order a hitman.” Cillian crooked his right eyebrow high on his forehead. “Don't you understand that the mood you give off affects everything? You made that set hell today for everyone, it was awkward and embarrassing, and everyone was looking to me to explain it. You didn't even speak to Robert. And the way you fucking talked to me, Chris, it isn't fair. And you think just saying sorry makes all that better on the spot?”

Chris smirked, despite himself. “Cillian, you're right. As you so often are. I will fix it with them, I will talk to Robert,” he insisted, “And I will fix it with you, I'd you drop the scorned puppy routine and let me do that.”

Cillian shook his head, “I'm tired of these things, Chris.”

Chris accepted the blow, “I know - but my apology is sincere - I am sorry.” Cillian's entire chest rose significantly as he took a deep breath. He let it go slowly and his tongue poked into his left cheek on the inside of his mouth. “I thought I saw and heard something in your manner with Robert. I didn't respect you enough to know I was wrong, or to accept your denial when I raised it this morning. Okay? I was wrong. I am wrong.”

“You're insecure.” Cillian tutted, and his face was still set in a firm in frustration. Even as Chris reached out his left hand and cupped it around his sharp cheekbone, he didn't soften. Chris moved the pad of his thumb back and forth across the angle of his cheek slowly.

“Of course I am.” Chris said with a softness that sounded so odd against the whole day's experience. “How could I not be? You've gone from strength to strength, grown in talent, grown in popularity, grown in your singular ability. How could I not be insecure that, one of these days, you're going to look back on the past…nearly a decade…and feel like you've outgrown it all, or outgrown me, and us?”

Cillian drew his lips in, almost to a pout, and his right eyebrow lifted again. He raised his right hand up and wrapped his fingers around Chris' wrist. He pulled Chris' hand down from his face and instead laced their fingers together. “Eight years and, what? Six months? And you think now is the time I'll turn away?” He spoke quietly, gently, and shook his head. “Outside of your work, Chris, you're jealous, and you're insecure, and you have the lowest opinion of what you deserve. I have not outgrown us, nor has my head or heart changed from the first fucking year we were together. I'm not looking for anything else - but I am looking for you to stop treating me like I am.” He was tempted to bring in evidence to support his words - evidence that would lay out that this accusation was not the first, nor was this reaction the first of its kind - but following the issue prior to this, they had vowed to forgive and forget. Cillian didn't want to throw an old argument into his face, but he couldn't help drawing startling parallels. He tightened his fingers around Chris' and slowly pushed a soft smile to his lips. It took a moment, but it did sparkle up into his eyes genuinely. “I love you, you knob.”

Chris' very well-to-do English manners were momentarily breeched as he scoffed at Cillian's affectionate insult. He'd gotten used to Cillian's more casual usage of affectionate name-calling and easy-flowing curse words; Chris wasn't one to avoid a fuck or shit where it was needed, but swearing wasn't as necessary in his every sentence, unlike it had always seemed to be for Cillian. From Irish ancestry himself, Chris wasn't completely unfamiliar with this way of being but, in the earlier days of their relationship, it had taken him some time to adjust to when Cillian was actually emoting, and when he was just talking casually.

“I love you,” Cillian continued, “But I'm not a doormat. You can't treat me like that - not at work, not personally. You can't, Chris.”

Chris exhaled sharply, “You're right.” He freed his left hand from Cillian's and replaced his hand on Cillian's face, along with his right. Cupping both of the shorter man's cheeks with his palms, he edged his face closer and kissed Cillian's pillowy lips in a prolonged but gentle kiss. Still holding his hands to Cillian's face, he drew his head back and flicked his eyes side to side as he focused on his alarming, blue eyes - the eyes that still mesmerised him even under heavily sleepy lids. “You're right. About all of it. And I am sorry.”

Cillian smiled softly. “Thank you.” He said in a low tone, his throat croaking the words out over a slow burn of arousal at the sensuality of the touch, at the sincerity in Chris' words and expression. He wrapped the fingers of both of his hands around Chris' wrists but did not pull his hands away from his face this time.

“I will make sure to right it all tomorrow, too.” Chris said, remaining sincere.

Cillian smiled with a sprinkle of amusement. “It's a long list.”

“I'll go down the call sheet.” Chris smirked. He smoothed the pads of his thumbs against Cillian's sharp cheekbones again, looking briefly at the smattering of pale freckles beneath his eyes. “Have you eaten?”

Cillian crinkled his nose a little, “I'd rather bathe and sleep.”

“You know I appreciate all the work you've put into this, Cill, but I don't want you entering dangerous territory.” Chris' tone changed slightly - concern mixing with a hint of authority. “What about a light salad, and some grilled fish?”

Cillian winkled his nose deeper and shook his head, and finally pulled Chris' hands away from his face. “I'll get something after I've had a bath.” He dismissed him, he released his hold on Chris' arms. “But I appreciate this,” he gestured between them. “Just don't scrimp on the apologies to them lot tomorrow.” He crooked his left eyebrow. “Your image in others eyes is important - you're loved, Chris, but it's partly because this, today, isn't who you are. Don't let it become who you are.”

Chris sighed with an air of petulance. “Okay, Cillian. You've made your point, said your piece, and I've accepted my part and apologised. Don't milk this for more than it's worth. It's childish.” There was a sharpness to his tongue by the time he reached the end of his words, and Cillian didn't like it.

Drawing his lips into his mouth for a second, Cillian shook his head along with a slow blink. He thumbed over his shoulder towards the bathroom door. “I'm going to get a bath.” He said, flat. “I'll see you in a bit.”

Chris watched him walk away, aware that the rise in better feeling seemed to have plateaued once again. He took solace from the fact that it hadn't plummeted to its earlier level, but he felt they were back to the slightly more ‘unresolved’ edge of the knife. When the bathroom door shut it was with a little force, and Chris wondered which of them would be making the sofa their bed tonight.

Chapter Text

“Okay, cut. Thank you.” Chris called out, and suddenly the stern faces of those in the scene were softened, and tightly held positions were suspended.

Cillian cleared his throat and turned to Emily with a tired but warm smile. Emily nudged him playfully against his side, “God, I actually thought you were going to laugh just then.” She chuckled, “I was poised for you to be getting into trouble with Dad!”

Cillian rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her teasing. “Don't want that row, now.” He intoned.

Emily's expression changed, “Was it no better off set?” She asked, though she knew well enough Cillian was not likely to give her details for the sake of conversation. She raised her eyebrows when Cillian just looked back at her wordlessly. “Sorry,” she apologised after a moment. “Not my business.”

Cillian shook his head, “It's not that.” He insisted, glancing around him at the bodies that moved back and forth, busy with their own roles now that the cast were paused.

“I am only…checking in? The way it went yesterday, the way he spoke to you - it hit everyone, so I imagine it hit you?” Emily asked, not realising she was still pushing him to speak about his personal life by continuing to ask him.

Cillian pushed a smile to his angular cheeks, “It's fine.” He said calmly. “He's entirely different today, isn't he? You know what it's like, and what he's like by now, Emily. Focus, don't fuck around.” He smirked. Cillian pulled up the waistband of his high-waisted grey trousers, hitching them higher over his barely there waist and hips.

Chris' words last night were still somewhat awkwardly ambling around his mind - was he looking badly, despite this being a temporary thing? Was his image right now a problem for Chris? Was that some of the issue - that he was looking at him now and not liking the person in front of him, despite the reasons? Not to mention the entire argument regarding Robert and the workday had only really simmered down, without a genuine end or full resolution. He'd apologised, sure, but it hadn't lasted more than a few minutes before he raised his disrespectful retorts to Cillian once again. He had spent the night sleeping on the sofa - mostly because he had fallen asleep there when he'd sat down after his bath. He'd woken up to a blanket thrown over him and his phone, that had been left on the floor beside his shoes, having been plugged in. But he also woke up to the perpetuation of the atmosphere of the day before, except in the place of bad temper and aggression was the silent treatment. He was nervous and tetchy, fearful of upsetting Chris further, and desperate to fix their spat to better facilitate a happy environment all around. His texts had gone ignored - read but unanswered, he knew, as he'd seen him checking the device - and leaving the hotel room that morning had not included so much as a hand on the shoulder.

Emily turned to Cillian with a more serious expression. “Cill, my darling, you two are on the long stretch before you are colleagues, remember that. If there's a problem that's lingering both at home and at work, then it's a problem that needs addressing. And forgive me, Cillian, but it isn't just his annoyance over a perceived lack of focus yesterday.” She raised her eyebrows, calling bullshit. “I saw your face, everyone saw it, and not one person on the cast or crew within a bloody mile could miss hearing the anger he spat. That's not a ‘Christopher Nolan being dedicated to his craft’ thing.”

“Emily,” Cillian shook his head and his face seemed to firm up without him realising it. “I appreciate what you're trying to do, but please don't. Work is work, home is nobody's business. He knows he was wrong for yesterday, he apologised to me and to you all. So why are we dwelling on it?”

Emily felt suitably scolded and she held out both of her hands before her, placating him. “I don't mean to intrude, Cillian. I was just trying to offer… I don't know what I was offering, I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't be mentioning it.” She dropped her arms and gave him a gentle and friendly smile. “But can I say one thing?” Cillian raised his eyebrows and his brother at the conversation was clear, as was him attempting to remain as charming and patient as he always endeavoured to be. “If that is the way you're spoken to in public, you'll forgive people having concerns about how you're addressed in private.”

Cillian scoffed a sarcastic sort of laugh. “What's that supposed to mean? Our relationship is no different to yours and John's. Ups and downs, and the longer you're together the more familiar you become. He isn't verbally abusing me twenty four hours a day, and it isn't the case that I'm such a pushover, or so helpless that I wouldn't respond in kind if he did. Whatever your intentions, Emily, it doesn't matter. You're interfering and prying, and your insinuations on our relationship aren't wanted or needed.” His response was harsh, catty even, and he could see by the look on Emily's face that it had been unexpected, too. He stood for a moment and then he walked away. He knew full well it would infuriate Chris, but he walked away from the immediate set in search of the first available toilet, purely as a direction to head in, and didn't say a word to anyone as he vanished from view.

Dumbfounded, Emily glanced around her. This sort of reaction or behaviour was definitely atypical of Cillian, and it did nothing to assuage the concerns she had been attempting to raise with him as delicately as she could. She folded her arms under her bust as Chris approached her, preparing to offer direction for what was next, and fixed her expression to as neutral as she could. “Great, so… where's…” Chris looked around, hoping to answer his own question before he'd even finished asking it.

“Loo, I think.” Emily smiled. “He knocks back the coffee to compensate for the lack of snacks.” She joked lightly. Still looking around, Chris merely hummed in response. “What were you going to say?” She encouraged, smiling again when Chris finally stopped scanning the room and looked at her directly.

“Better wait for him to get back,” Chris said, sounding disinterested. “Nothing worse than repeating yourself.”

“He's quiet today,” Emily said, making idle conversation and perhaps, subconsciously, ebbing away at her own concerns that weren't answered by Cillian.

Chris frowned at her, taking her almost-question as an observation - and a blatant one at that. “When is he loud?” He countered with a little humour.

Emily smiled, “Quieter than usual.” She elaborated. “I really think it's draining him at this point, Chris, the diet he has himself on.” She didn't want to raise what she had been braver breeching with Cillian - Chris' reactions yesterday had told her that she wouldn't like the reaction she would be met with if Chris took the same offence that Cillian had.

“Well, don't suggest he eats anything more substantial,” Chris said, eyes cast down to the battered script in his hands. “It'll only start a fire.”

“Speaking from experience?” Emily kept a little lightness in her voice as she took the opportunity to push further, despite her reservations, seeing as Chris had volunteered some detail himself. But he didn't reply - whether that was in ignorance or not actually hearing her in his focus on the papers before him, she wasn't sure - and the moment was then lost as Cillian walked back into the set, followed by someone yelling out to Chris the inform him of Cillian's return.

Chris looked up and turned his head to his left as Cillian approached. “Three bathroom trips in two hours is remarkable.” He said with his eyebrows raised just slightly. But he had a small smile on his lips, and part of Cillian wondered if this was him applying his own rule for the workplace. If it was, it was a good sign, but it didn't erase the silence of the night and morning. Cillian knew it needed a real resolution, and soon, because he was exhausted by it all.

“As is one in nine hours,” Cillian mumbled his calm reply, and Chris smiled.

And then, to Cillian's shock, Chris silently broke his own rule as he reached out his left hand and softly laid it against the small of Cillian's back. Though he melted into the touch, Cillian was overwhelmed by it - and he suspected it was his publicly displayed apology for the day before. He'd embarrassed him before all of these people, and he assumed that now this was Chris applying a salve to that in the same public way. Or was it his sorry for the unresolved end to their discussion last night? Cillian made a note in his exhausted mind that he would ask him at the end of the day - assuming that if he was spoken to to reply, it meant things were on the mend, and if he was ignored, it too would provide an answer. Or, Cillian wondered in a strange twist, was Chris now staking his claim over him in the wake of him having been talking to Emily? Was he jealous of anyone who blinked in his direction, for fear it'd turn his head? He was going to be working with Matt for the next two days, would he be next on the chopper? The thought made his stomach drop agonisingly with anxiety. Cillian looked at the side of Chris face - despite his hand against him still, he was looking at Emily and not at Cillian - and tried to work out why he couldn't work him out recently.

“Right, anyway, happy with that…” Chris launched into mild praise before he informed them of what was happening next. He kept his hand on Cillian's back for the duration of his speech. “...okay?” He looked first at Cillian, then at Emily. “Happy with that?”

“Grand.” Cillian replied quietly. As Cillian answered, Chris drew back his hand. It still felt significant, the gesture, and the why of it was eating hard into Cillian's mind. He didn't like the ambiguity of it - he reserved that for the work he did.

“Okay, well, we'll call you when we go ahead.” Chris said, folding the stack of papers in his hands. “Maybe no more coffee?” He tapped the rolled papers against Cillian's shoulder as he turned and walked away.

In Chris' absence, Cillian stood awkwardly for a few, tense moments. Then he reached out his right hand and touched into Emily's bicep. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have given out to you like that.”

Emily gave a small smile, “I appreciate the apology, Cill, and I was really only trying to check in with you.”

Cillian nodded earnestly as he pulled back his hand, “I know, and thank you. But everything is fine.” He wondered if he said it out loud, convincing himself of the same would be easier.

Cillian returned to the hotel room that evening before Chris did, despite Chris having disappeared into thin air before Cillian had even left the set to get changed. He found the place in the same state it was left that morning - that is to say there was no sign that Chris had been back ahead of him. He set his shoulder bag down onto the sofa and toed off his Converse. It felt warm, even with the low blowing air conditioning, and with it being mid-evening. Cillian took his phone from his back pocket and glanced at it quickly, wondering if there was any indication about his whereabouts in a message from Chris. Alas, there was nothing from the man at all. His notification bar was littered with messages, emails, and a couple of calls he needed to return, but it was all ignorable for the time being. He drew his messages and tapped out a text.

I'm back at the hotel. Didn't see where you went. Are you meeting with Matt ahead of tomorrow? - Cill.

The reply came more swiftly than Cillian would have expected. No sooner had he pushed the phone back into his back pocket did he need to draw it out again as it vibrated fiercely. Swiping the lock screen, he opened the text.

Hotel bar with Matt now. Join us?

The message was short but, as with yesterday and with the exchanges on set today, Cillian didn't find any clipped tone within it. He considered the offer for a moment and knew that his immediate response would be no, but he wondered, too, if this was yet another olive branch. The row had been silly, it had dragged on unnecessarily, and the sofa last night was not a sleeping spot he wanted to repeat.

See you shortly. - Cill.

Cillian didn't bother to change his clothes - he'd barely even had them on all day - and he left his bag behind. He shoved his feet awkwardly back into his Converse and headed out of the door, unsure which version of Chris he would be met with. He expected the social version of him - best foot forward without falseness - who engaged with the people he worked with, similar to what he'd shown with Emily earlier that day. He only hoped that it meant it would continue once there were no others around, and they were alone inside their room again later on.

The hotel bar was respectfully quiet; more empty tables than occupied, low jazz music, lights that belonged in an art gallery with their industrial appearance, and bar staff dressed in black shirts with golden ties. Chris' shape was instantly recognisable as Cillian walked into the space, and he occupied a table with Matt in quiet conversation. Part of Cillian felt as though he were about to be stepping into an atmosphere that wasn't his, that he was intruding on their conversation, but he reminded himself that the invitation had been extended and Chris, for the best part of a decade, had been his partner in all things. He walked to the table with his fingers flicking nervously together at his sides, and paused in the space between Chris and Matt's respective chairs.

“Cillian, hi,” Matt greeted him immediately, a bright cheeky smile dragging his cheeks right beneath his eyes. “Good to see you again.” He got to his feet quickly, and extended his hand.

Cillian shook the offer hand cheerfully, “Yeah, you too.” He smiled. It hadn't been a long stretch since their last meeting, but long enough for Cillian to need to take a little time to adjust to the social changes. As Matt pulled his hand back and returned to his seat, Cillian set his hand instead down against Chris' back, between his shoulders, and was silently nervous to see whether the gesture would be dismissed. Chris' rule about their relationship had always applied only to work, but he wondered - frequently - if that meant work related meet-ups, especially now, especially with the odd dynamic of the past couple of days. But he wasn't dismissed - Chris instantly turned his head and greeted Cillian with a warm smile.

“You want a drink?” Chris offered, gesturing towards the bar.

Cillian nodded, “I'll sort it. You two okay, or can I get you anything?” Matt held out his hand, shaking his head politely, but Chris nodded, gesturing towards his near empty glass of red wine. Cillian drew his hand away from Chris' back, and moved away towards the bar.

“That weight loss is staggering.” Matt commented quietly, shaking his head. “And the hair!”

“He's immersive, you know this.” Chris replied, turning his head to look at Cillian's back as he stood at the bar. His clothes hung on his slim frame awkwardly, but Chris found himself wandering his eyes over Cillian's neck and the bend of his jaw as he turned his head slightly to talk to the bar staff, areas his lips frequently travelled.

“I know, but when you said he had taken it on well, I wasn't expecting him to look emaciated.” Matt laughed, and Chris brought his head back around to look at him. “Florence is around soon, yes?” He asked.

“In a couple of days.” Chris nodded his head and raised his glass to swallow what remained.

“I understand there's a lot of trepidation about a few things.” Matt seemed amused once again, and this time Chris smiled along with him. “On Florence's side?”

“The intimacy coordinator is experienced, as are Florence and Cill,” Chris shrugged his shoulders. “I don't anticipate any issues arising.” He frowned as he said the words, and smirked as Matt did. Grown men through they may have been, innuendo can still be fiercely entertaining. Chris would never voice that it was scenes like that, though written at his own hand, that were the worst for him despite it making a good point of his film. He had no desire to see his partner simulating sex with anyone, and it was irrelevant to him what sex they were. He did not wish to see it at all, but he knew that he would be expected - including those expectations of himself - to not allow himself to react at all. Given the turmoil of the last few days, he knew that he owed Cillian that respect, that quash of his jealousy and insecurity, even knowing that those feelings were unfounded.

Cillian rejoined the table, a glass of wine and a half pint of Guinness in hand, and seated himself in the available chair between Chris and Matt. Conversation flirted around what to expect the next day for over an hour before it turned to general chat - Matt shared stories of his family, amusing Chris and Cillian no end, and as Chris shared stories from previous sets, Matt found himself daunted by some of the tales of behaviour by notes celebrities he wouldn't have expected.

“Yeah, well,” Chris held out his empty palms as Matt shooknhis head in disbelief. “You never know a person until you're a, living with them, or b, working with them for long and arduous periods.”

“How do you two not kill each other?” Matt teased.

Cillian smirked, and raised his eyebrows in surprise when Chris actually went on to offer an answer. “Oh, we get close occasionally. But isn't that a good thing?” He asks. “If you're not arguing, that's when the problems truly exist. If you're apathetic about something, and you don't fight to make a point or fix it, then you mustn't care?” Cillian tilted his head slightly, touched by the meaning of the words and still a little taken aback that Chris had actually given, in a roundabout way, an inch into their relationship.

“Very good point,” Matt agreed quickly, “It's the lack of wanting to put that effort in, even to argue about your feelings, that points to serious problems.” he slipped at his drink, then set down the glass. “Do you though?” He asked, “Especially right now, on this project. Do you get to a point when you've had enough of one another and need some space.”

“Of course,” Chris replied, and Cillian nodded his head at the same time. “Cillian, if he's got the energy, will put in his earphones and go for a run. For me, it's getting out for a change of scenery or company. Short break, and it just resets the…I don't know, sense of autonomy, sense of self, enabling you to come back together and not want to claw the other’s eyes out.” He smirked.

Cillian nodded his agreement again, “Without working together too, though, there's less need. Rarely, when our projects are separate like they more frequently are, is there so much need to be away from one another. And I suppose, being busy with this, when we get back we do still have conversations because we're not constantly in immediate, close proximity. But there are days when I suppose we still need a break.” He shrugged and smirked as Chris raised his eyebrows in food humour. “Do you feel the same at home?” He asked Matt.

Matt nodded instantly, “Oh yeah. I mean, if we've spent days and days in one another company without breaks, then you're right you just need a bit of time, a bit of space, to then come back together and enjoy one another again.”

“It's the same with any type of relationship, I would assume?” Chris broadened the conversational line. “Colleagues, siblings, parents, close friends…” he elaborated. “Too much of a good thing is still too much.” Cillian suspected that Matt and Chris may have had a drink or two before the one he had walked in on, as Chris became more open over his short time sitting along with them. He was opposed to an inebriated Chris, not at all, but he knew from past experiences that Chris' own rules of privacy were often abandoned during prolonged sessions of alcohol consumption, even when Cillian could drink double his level and be merely skirting around drunkenness.

“I'm not sure,” Matt raised a single eyebrow, “I've never found too much work to be too much, too much roast potatoes…” he joked, earning a laugh from Cillian.

“Too much trust is dangerous, though, isn't it?” Chris asked. “Or too much forgiveness? Or what about too much perpetuation of a behaviour you know to garner unwanted results.”

Matt frowned, “Such as?” He asked.

Chris shifted his chair. He leaned his forearms against the table and still managed to gesticulate with his hands as he spoke. “If something you did frequently bothered your wife, and it was discussed and you were aware of it bothered her, but you perpetually repeated those behaviours, that would be too much of a thing. Yes?” Cillian frowned as Chris spoke, not sure if he was actually making a point or if his assumptions from a moment ago were right and Chris was, indeed, sailing close to three sheets to the wind. “If you repeatedly addressed your wife over an issue, say, that she and you had already dealt with, but you kept reminding her of this issue and of how she should right it, should she simply allow you to perpetuate that issue despite the presumed resolution, or should she be allowed to feel like you were….too much?”

Cillian knew instantly what he was getting at - suddenly all the softness of Chris on set and upon his arrival here at the bar seemed performative and Cillian felt like he had been cast back into the mood of the night before, and of the morning, wherein Chris and he hadn't spoken because Chris couldn't stand that Cillian had mentioned something linked to their argument when Chris had deemed it over. Cillian wanted the ground to open up and swallow him as Matt frowned back at Chris, a little lost, and then looked to Cillian for a guide as to what was happening. “Chris.” Cillian said in a low tone.

Chris looked at him, brows crooked. “What?” Cillian said nothing.

Matt laughed nervously, “Well, I don't know…” he said, eyeing Cillian. “It would depend on the issue and the resolution. If the resolution wasn't enough, maybe it needs readdressing. If there was time passed between, a conversation change or something, and the issue was brought back up…” he turned down the corners of his mouth. “I suppose she would be inclined to be pissed off at me for uprooting something that was put to bed.”

Chris pointed his right index finger towards Matt, and nodded his head sharply. “Exactly, my friend. Uprooting something that was put to bed. Ergo, too much.” He smirked, and once again Matt laughed with a shred of awkwardness.

Cillian's face was firm, though, and his eyes were fixed in a fierce stare on Chris' face. He lifted his glass, drained what remained, and placed the glass back onto the table as he rose to his feet. “I'm going to…” he jerked his head to the right, towards the bar entrance. “I'll see you tomorrow, Matt. Goodnight.” He said politely.

“Cillian?” Chris reached out his hand and captured Cillian's wrist as he took a step away from the table.

“Stay,” Cillian said in a falsely calm voice. “I wouldn't want to be too much.” He raised his brows quickly, sharply, and dropped them again as he jerked his arm from Chris' hand. He walked on without another word, and he left an atmosphere behind him that he didn't have to remain in.

Chapter Text

Cillian didn't even look around when the door to the room opened less than thirty minutes after he had returned. Perched on the sofa, he stared blankly at the television and tried his hardest to hide the jump he gave when the door slammed shut.

“What was that?” Chris didn't shout, but there was agitation in his tone that was clear and unmistakable.

Cillian turned his head, finally, and looked at the man standing at the side of the sofa with pure incredulity. “You're asking me? You're using a poor outsider to try and prove that you're right, when you're not, and then sit there acting smug about it?” He shook his head and turned back to the television. “You give me the silent treatment until we're in front of others, and then I think that things are okay, but no you go and do that.” He pushed himself up from the couch and turned to face Chris. “What happened to not including others in our relationship? Why suck someone else into it, unwittingly, to make me feel small? I wouldn't mind if I was actually wrong, here, Chris, but I'm not. You've insinuated, and made up things in your head, and then caused tension for us and for everyone we're working with. And now you're dragging poor Matt into it?”

Chris held his hands out before him, “Alright, alright, enough.” He shook his head as he slowly lowered his hand again. “I'm sorry - I was doing it on purpose, it was childish, and I'm sorry. But I can't shut it all down. Every project we're on together, Cillian, there's something.”

“There isn't,” Cillian snapped, “You imagine it. I was not all over Robert. And all that time ago, I wasn't all over Tom!”

“He was all over you!” Chris snorted, shaking his head. “Hands on you when he got the chance, and it only seemed to make him smug to work with you later on and be able to…”

“Shut up.” Cillian raised his voice. “You did this earlier, too. With Emily. In case the fact that you and I have been together for this long isn't proof enough, I have no desire to be going off with her either. I should have known the touching wasn't because you were apologising, and that it was just showing Emily that she didn't stand a chance.”

“You're being petty.” Chris sighed.

Cillian's eyebrows rose so quickly and so high, they threatened to join his hairline. “You're not serious? I'm petty?!” he shook his head in disbelief. “You rounded an innocent conversation into a point score for your own agenda, despite you being wrong! And I'm petty?” He walked around the arm of the sofa and pushed past Chris. He knew to expect it, and wasn't surprised when Chris reached out his hand and cupped it around his wrist.

“Do not storm off, do not start banging doors,” Chris said, sounding both bored and angry at the same time. “I know what I did, and it was childish. But me wanting to touch you had nothing to do with Emily, or…proving you belong to me, Cillian. I wanted to touch you, you looked like you needed the sentiment.”

“I have needed and wanted the sentiment for two days, Chris. I want the sentiment every time we're in public, I want the sentiment every time we work together. Today I thought you'd done it to apologise, but you didn't. You did it because you didn't like that Emily and I are spending so much time together.” Cillian insisted. Chris still held onto his wrist, and Cillian didn't move to pull it free. “Am I wrong?”

“Yes.” Chris said quickly. “You are wrong. I touched you because I wanted to, it had nothing to do with Emily. And you can cite my own rules at me all you want to, but I know we've struggled…and I wanted to touch you.”

“Fine,” Cillian sighed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. Thank you.” He smiled briefly, then shrugged his shoulders. “Why did you do that, then? Down there with Matt, why did you drag that conversation into a chance to go on at me, and to use Matt that way?”

Chris sighed heavily, “I'd a few glasses of wine and I… was being childish.”

“Yeah, you were.” Cillian almost laughed. “You have to let all of this go eventually. It's fine when we're not working together, when I have projects all over and you're not involved, you don't bat an eyelid, but it's like you think I'm waving any intimacy with other people into your face on a set with you. Do I need to remind you that you write this stuff?” Cillian scoffed. “Don't have me along for the ride if you don't want to see me working in this way.” He moved to pull his arm free from Chris' hold, gently pulling back his arm.

Chris held on, though. “I want you to work with me, and you know why. I know what I fall short on, Cillian, and I don't do it on purpose. That business with Tom, it was misconstrued but it still affected me, particularly his reaction.”

“You nearly had Tom up a wall filming Dunkirk.” Cillian raised his eyebrows, “And our interactions on that set were….fucking minimal.” He shook his head, “All because Tom and I got a coffee on the chance bump into one another, and had a fucking chat? I'd not seen the man in ages, I wanted to catch up. You ruined our friendship for months.”

“His attitude when I raised it was ridiculous!” Chris argued his point, “A simple denial would suffice, but he alluded to there having been something that occured simply to make me angry, and you know he did.”

Cillian nodded his head, “...yeah, after you threatened to end him, Chris.” He widened his eyes. “You ruined a lot of relationships, and Tom and I really struggled for ages. He's a friend, and you fucked that. I know he goaded you, he was prick for that, but you started it. And I won't let you do that with Robert, or any of the other people on this set, Chris. It's not falling short when you react without reason, it's losing your head. You can't be doing that. It isn't fair on them, or on me. All it does is tell me you don't trust me.”

“I do.” Chris insisted, “I do trust you, Cillian. I don't trust other people, but I trust you.”

Cillian shook his head, “It doesn't feel like it. And still, you show me up in front of people, just like downstairs. Just like yesterday when you screamed at me in front of everyone.”

“I can't keep apologising for the same thing.” Chris shook his head. He let go of Cillian's wrist and instead he placed his left palm on Cillian's cheek. “I'm sorry - you're right. I need to let it go and not keep holding you to it, or others. But it's difficult, Cillian. The world flocks to you - poor Emily is so smitten by you, she smiles whenever you walk by!”

“She's also married. I'm not looking at her, Chris, ever, nor any man I come into contact with. What the world, as you put it, does is down to them. I am not interested. I am happy with you, so stop pushing a wedge into the middle of us because, sooner or later, that happiness is going to vanish.” Cillian warned him with a gentle voice. He didn't make a movement to shift Chris' hand against his face, though, and instead softened into the touch. “I don't encourage whatever it is you think you see, okay? So even if people are…flirting. I'm not looking to do it back. Alright? It's gotta stop.”

Chris nodded his head, curled the right side of his mouth into a small smile, and moved his face closer to Cillian's. He pushed his lips softly against the full pout before him. He kept his hand on the side of Cillian's face whilst he let his other hand pull Cillian's body closer by the hip. Cillian planted his hands down onto the base of Chris' back, melting entirely into the sensual kiss. When Chris drew back his head, he smiled at the soft fluttering of Cillian's lashes. All closeness had been missing for so long; he hadn't realised he'd missed it and he was glad to see Cillian seemed to have, too. “You're right, as you so often are.” Chris' voice grumbled slightly in his throat. He dropped his hand from Cillian's face, but he kept his hand on his slim hip.

Cillian smiled, “It's why you need to listen to me more.” His Cork accent lilted as he smirked over his words. He slowly dropped his arms from the base of Chris' back, but when Chris didn't move his hand from his own body, Cillian set both of his hands on Chris' hips. “What's this?” He asked.

“Making sure time passes,” Chris said, and Cillian could see the half humour behind it. “Because I don't want either of us to bring it up again, in any capacity.” He edged his face forwards and kissed Cillian's lips softly. “It's put to bed.” He said with conviction.

Watching Chris' eyes seem to follow a game of invisible tennis, Cillian smiled softly and nodded his head. “Yeah.”

Chris let his hand fall from Cillian's slight body, but this time Cillian held onto the closeness. “Do you need more time to pass?” Chris asked him.

Cillian shook his head and gave a soft, sultry smile. “No - just enjoying the moment.”

“Is that sentimentality I hear in your voice, Cillian Murphy? Will wonders ever cease?!” Chris smiled, and it quickly became a soft chuckle in amusement. But he indulged Cillian in his want, and added to it, he hoped, by cupping his hand to his cheek once again and kissing him softly, lovingly, but without haste or fever. When he broke, he delighted in Cillian's eyes fluttering open slowly. “If you're not too tired, perhaps we can order dinner before you fall into a death-like sleep tonight?” He said, and finally completely let Cillian go.

Cillian brought his hands back, too, and pushed them into the pockets of his jeans. “I'd rather the death-like sleep without food, but I imagine you're about to insist?”

“I'd prefer it,” Chris nodded his head. “Soup, or a jacket potato? Even just a salad, Cillian.”

Cillian nodded his head, “Okay - a salad, with chicken.” It was almost childish how excited Chris appeared to be at the response. “You look like you just won the lottery.” Cillian shook his head.

Chris smirked, “Oh, I won that years ago.” He looked so very delighted with his cheesy line, and even more delighted with the small, bashful smile it brought to Cillian's angular cheeks.

.

Two arduous days on set, physically and emotionally, drained Cillian of almost all of his social reserves once the days ended. Despite invites to dinner from Emily, Robert, and Matt, he declined every one in favour of returning to the hotel to bathe and sleep. His mind was consumed by the role, by what was next, and by how exhaustion and near starvation - and the mental battle to not sink further into it - had taken over his every thought. Chris, to his credit, didn't bat an eye at Cillian's practical silence, nor his apathy and lethargy, in the sense that he didn't take it to heart. But he did grow concerned as Cillian slept nearly every hour he wasn't focused on work. It took its toll on their emotional relationship, despite his complete understanding, and it took its toll on their intimate relationship, too. Cillian had no energy reserve for anything beyond hugs and affectionate touches, and while it was fully appreciated by Chris, the reasons why, it was also hard to live alongside the man he loved and feel no reciprocal desire. Making that feeling worse was the knowledge that, coming up, Cillian and Florence had scenes that involved the simulation of the very act the man was too tired to engage in. Chris knew that having any kind of feelings here was stupid, and yet have them he did and, once again, he knew that it would somewhere along the line be more than evident to Cillian that his ‘issues’ were causing problems.

“Great, thanks,” Chris mumbled at the door and then pushed it shut. As he turned back into the room, he could feel Cillian's eyes on him from the sofa. As he glanced over, he was indeed being stared at by the intense blue gaze of a very sleepy Irishman with his head tipped back. He waved the envelope in his hands. “Just some notes from Jack.” He said, then tossed the envelope down onto the large bed. “I don't suppose it's worth me suggesting dinner?”

Cillian wrinkled his nose, “No - tea would be good though.”

“Not even yogurt, or soup?” Chris attempted to persuade him. “Some pasta, a salad, risotto? You like risotto.”

“I like a roast dinner, I don't want that either.” Cillian sighed and turned his head back, the crane of his neck to look at Chris beginning to give him a muscular ache. He pushed his hands into the seat cushions and groaned as he got to his feet.

“I also don't suppose there's any point in me asking if I'll get more than a hand on the hip tonight, either?” Chris asked, his eyes following Cillian as the slight man hitched up his incredibly poorly fitting jogger bottoms around his nonexistent hips.

Cillian frowned as he dropped his arms. “I don't suppose.” He matched Chris' tone - it wasn't sharp, or rude, but there was a disappointment and resignation that sounded petulant.

“We've had dry spells before, Cill, but this -.” Chris opened his arms out at his sides.

“This is work. We're working. We just happen to be on the same job. And believe me, I'd love to have the energy to fart, nevermind have sex. But I don't.” Cillian's tone was sharp this time, feeling accused of…something?

“We could, if you would come out of your head for half an hour.” Chris sighed and turned his back on Cillian.

“Come out of my head?” Cillian scoffed, “For you to then call me out on set when I'm not focused enough? To halt the flow of production whilst I get back to where you want me to be? If you want a hand job, Chris, I'll give it. But that's about all I have the capacity for, and energy for, and actually, right this moment, I don't even fucking want to.” He stormed forwards but, of course, he didn't get far. Chris immediately reached out and caught him by the wrist. “Let me go.” He looked down at his captured limb.

“Do not storm away.” Chris said firmly, not releasing him. “You're tired, but we've been tired in the past and still laid in bed and snogged like teenagers. I'm not asking for hours to practice pages of a sex manual, Cill. I'm asking for some intimacy with the man I love.”

Something flashed in Cillian's blue eyes and he turned his body towards Chris. He nodded slowly and thrust his uncuffed hand forwards, cupping his hand over Chris' genitals over his trousers. “How's that?” He almost scowled. “Hmm? Yeah?” He squeezed his hand slightly. The shock of Cillian's reaction kept Chris rooted to the spot for a moment, then he released his fingers from around Cillian's slim wrist and brought both of his hands up to Cillian's shoulders then gave him a slight but intentional shove away from him. “Oh, what?” Cillian stumbled back a step, holding his hands out at his sides. “You just told me that's what you wanted!”

“No, it isn't,” Chris pointed his left index finger at Cillian, “And you know it! That is obscene, and crass, and it is not what we are.” He dropped his arm, turned to the bed to pick up the envelope, then turned and left the room without another word, intentionally slamming the door behind him.

Staring back at the now empty space, and then the door, Cillian sighed heavily. Why did he do that? Chris was right - that absolutely was not who he was, or something they did. They had passion, but they were never, ever, aggressive or overly assertive in that disrespectful manner with one another. He brought his hands up and used both to brush through his short hair. Was he paying Chris back for his recent behaviours? And if he was, didn't that just make him as bad as Chris had been? They had put that row to bed and if that was his root for the reaction he'd just had, then he was a total scumbag. And if it wasn't, then what was? He sighed heavily again and shook his head as he dropped his arms down at his sides.

“Fuck sake,” Cillian muttered into the empty, air-conditioned air. He kicked out his right foot, colliding with the end of the bed. “Fuck!” He sighed a third time and tongued against the inside of his right cheek. He dragged his phone out of the pocket of his joggers and flipped through his contacts. Finding Emily's name, he sent a quick text message.

Em, if you're not already busy do you want a drink at the bar? - Cill.

He had barely swiped away the app when his phone rang, vibrating deeply in his palm, with Emily's name flashing up onto the black screen. He hesitated for a second, biting his bottom lip, then accepted the call.

“Cill! What's going on?” Emily asked, and there was an edge of concern to her voice that Cillian knew would eventually lead to further pressuring - but he couldn't blame her, he'd texted her!

Cillian sighed and then tutted sharply, “I'm an eejit.”

Emily scoffed a small laugh, “Why specifically?” She asked.

“Em, I'm in a tracksuit right now but if I get changed, will you meet me for a drink?” Cillian asked her, wanting out of the room, and out of the space in which he knew he'd been a bit of a cock.

The pause before her reply made Cillian think Emily wasn't so into the idea. “I can…” she said.

“It…it doesn't matter. Don't worry about it.” Cillian said quickly, letting her off the hook.

“No, no, I can.” Emily insisted. “God, we've been inviting you for weeks and you've said no every time. I'd be a bit of an idiot to turn you down when you actually want to!”

Cillian shook his head, “Nah, Emily, it's fine. You're busy, or whatever. It's grand, don't worry. I'll…eh, I'll see you tomorrow morning.”

“No…Cillian….” Emily called out.

Cillian drew the phone down and then tossed it across onto the bed. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. He wanted to go for a run, but he didn't have the reserves. A walk, then, he decided. He moved closer to the bed and picked up his phone again, then searched through his shoulder bag for his earphones. Not bothering to change, he thrust his feet into his grubby trainers and left the room with his sunglasses already pushed onto his nose.

Chapter Text

With music blaring into his ears, Cillian walked the length and breadth of the immediate block around the hotel twice. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, or if he would know where to go if he did venture off, and so stuck to his circuit. He felt ashamed of himself; he'd spend days trying to ensure Chris could see his flaws and then had felt relief when they had found a good flow again, and here he was putting a spanner in the works by acting like an absolute twat. He had done it to be base - he'd done it to be crass, provocative in his annoyance, and to be a prick - but he didn't know why. They really weren't the type of couple to be like that with one another - their flirtations were loving, their intimacy was sensual and probably boring by many people's standards, because it was not about some teenage, feverish desire. Their whole relationship was based on love and respect of the whole of their person as neither of them were in their younger years these days; while they did desperately love and desire one another in many, many ways, they were not what Chris would call ‘kinky and sexually demonstrative’. He knew as soon as he'd touched Chris in the way that he had, that it would cause a negative reaction. He regretted it instantly, too, but he'd also taken offense to Chris’ apparent lack of awareness over how he was feeling. Chris knew he was tired - he was weak, lethargic, and so absorbed in the work that he didn't have much room for anything else. He knew Chris understood this, and it had angered him that he had felt demanded of by Chris for something they both knew he couldn't always offer right now. Even if he had the energy and bodily health at this season of his work to get and maintain an erection beyond morning glory, he knew for certain he didn't have the stamina to engage with Chris as he wanted to.

As Cillian rounded the building for a fourth time, he came to a slow stop at the entrance steps. It was hot, despite the evening sun being low, and the air was heavy and humid, causing him to feel sweaty and uncomfortable. He stood with his hands on his hips, music still blaring in his ears, and glanced up at the expense of the hotel before he climbed the wide steps back up into the lobby. The walk had not hit the spot like a run often did - the pounding of the ground beneath his feet and the delight of gave his body to be putting his muscles and joints under a little pressure, whilst music filled his mind and his brain rewarded him with the happy hormones - and he felt cheated out of relief. But the air-conditioning in the lobby was welcomed after the sticky humidity of the evening heat, and he stood to enjoy it for a moment before he dragged his earphones from his ears. He stuffed them into his pocket and turned off the music app on his phone. Keeping the phone in his hand, he realised there were two missed calls from Chris, and a few text messages that he'd missed whilst walking. He opened the message app and stared at the three names highlighted. Emily, Robert, and Chris. He selected Emily's name first.

He considered replying to Emily, apologising for contacting her at all and worrying her somewhat, explaining himself without details, and leaving it at that - but he didn't. He swiped back, and selected Robert's name. He smirked at the message and his use of the pet name ‘darling’. He was so flamboyant it was funny, and he loved it about the man. Again, he could respond but he didn't. Backing up once again, he pressed on Chris' name and scanned his numerous messages. After eyeing every letter, trying to gauge Chris' tone from the text - an impossible feat at any point - he gave up and swiped the entire thing away, and pushed his phone back into his pocket. He hitched his joggers up once again and dragged on the drawstring a little in an attempt to tighten them even by a half an inch. Now that he was inside, with the closeness of the evening air outside masked, he felt cold under the air-conditioning - his lithe body goosebumped across his arms as he walked across the lobby and into the hotel bar. He scanned around quickly, wondering if Chris had found himself here when he had stormed away, and when he didn't set eyes on his partner, he walked slowly towards the bar. He felt suddenly somewhat underdressed - particularly with his added perspiration that was, thankfully, mostly a secret between him and his dark t-shirt - but the level to which it bothered him was negligible enough for him to ignore it just enough. He nodded politely as the well dressed barman approached him. “Hiya, uh… Guinness, thanks.”

“Pint?” The barman asked in a deeply accented voice.

Cillian nodded his head sharply once, “Thanks.” He stood for a moment, and then waved out his hand when he realised patience was involved in this particular drink. “Hey, sorry…can I get a double gin and tonic as well?” He asked. The barman nodded his head, and this drink was placed before him swiftly. As the dark haired barman released the tall glass, Cillian picked it up and swallowed the ice cold drink down in two, heavy gulps. He set the empty glass back down, feeling a quick shudder along his spined that gave away the fact that it was, in fact, double the gin, and stared at the condensation beads that dropped down around the outside of it. When his Guinness was placed before him a few moments later, he looked first at the velvety black pint, then up at the barman, who's alarmingly green eyes were set on him cheerfully, “Thanks a mil. Room 233.” He smiled a little, nearly forgetting to give the room number for the billing, as he'd almost begun to wonder why the barman was lingering and staring at him somewhat expectantly. He smiled once again and wrapped his hand around the bottom half of the glass.

Alone in his fun, Cillian challenged himself to ‘split the G’; two gulps and a sip, he told himself, as he brought the glass to his lips. When he drew the glass down again, and quickly licked his upper lip to clear the creamy froth away, he examined the Guinness lettering to see if he'd achieved his goal. Whilst he hadn't quite landed on the G line, it was almost perfect and he smirked at himself as he brought the glass back to his lips. He took a smaller sip, then set the glass back down without taking his hand away. With an awkward sort of jump, arms resting on the bar, he perched himself onto the stool to his left. He glanced around him, briefly taking in the people around him. There seemed to be only one other person alone - a young woman at a table with a magazine and a glass of red wine - while every other occupied table had couples or groups who chatted and laughed, creating a dull hum of noise beneath the tinkling and melodic piano music that played throughout the bar. He liked the sound, he considered, but it was somewhat soporific. He took another sip from his drink as he flicked his eyes over every bottle and glass behind the bar; there were spirits and wines he was familiar with amongst some he had never seen before and, without any other form of entertainment, he read each name on every single label. He made short work of his Guinness, and only noticed when he raised the pint glass to his lips again and was left to sup only on the dregs of the remaining froth. He pushed the glass aside and sighed.

He was just about to flag down the barman again when his phone vibrated against his thigh. Retrieving it with his right hand, he rested his arms on the bar against as he unlocked the screen and dragged down the notification bar. A text from Emily, and another from Chris. He pushed his thumb down over Emily's name and opened the message.

Call someone, he's doing the rounds. Call me if there's been an implosion! Em xx

He smiled at the words, almost able to hear what he imagined to be her exact tone of voice as he read it, and even went so far as to envision her facial expressions. Feeling lightened, he quickly tapped out a reply.

No implosion. All is well. - Cill.

He backed up and selected Chris' message, frowning before he'd even read it properly. He scanned his eyes across the words, twisting his lips as he read. As ever, with Chris, predicting his tone of voice was not nearly as easy. He typed in monotone, Cillian had once said, unable to explain how he felt this but just that he did.

Where did you go? Call me or text me back. I want to talk about this but I would like to know where you are first, and that you haven't gone for a run in this heat.

Quickly, with very little thought behind it but solely to assuage any fear, he tapped out a reply and sent it on its way.

Stop contacting people, what happened to privacy? I'm fine, and I'm sorry. I'll be back in a while, I just need some fresh air. - Cill.

He sighed, swiped the entire app away, and set the phone down onto the bar before him. He raised his eyebrows and jutted his chin as the barman passed, catching his attention. He smiled as the young man smiled back. “Can I get another?” He gestured towards his empty pint glass. He faltered a moment, considering asking for a second gin and tonic, too. He swiped his tongue across his bottom lip swiftly, “...and another gin and tonic.” He said, nodding his head when it was asked if it was another double he was after, he didn't pause before agreeing. “Thanks.” As before, he received his gin ahead of his Guinness, which sat still behind the bar, settling before being topped up. And, as before, he downed the drink swiftly. As he set the glass back down, he pulled a face; evidently the flavour from the Guinness lingering in his mouth was not a good match for the G&T. Still, he was looking forward to making his way through his second home-grown offering. Of course, it wasn't as good as back home. Rarely did he find anywhere outside of Ireland, save for a few spots in London, that offered a Guinness that tasted as it should. It wasn't cause enough for him not to drink it, mind you! He nodded a silent thank you as his pint glass was placed before him, and groaned internally when his phone vibrated yet again on the bar. The momentary consideration of complete ignorance seemed appealing, but he reached out and lifted the handset. Accessing the notification bar, he pressed down on the new text message.

A simple sorry to fix your vulgarity, is that how this works? When you've cleared your head, come back to the room. I want to talk about this.

Cillian sighed and set the phone back down, and instead occupied his hand with the glass before him. He rather regretted, now, not having opted for whiskey - the burn, the smokiness, the speed with which it could achieve what he was almost certain he was aiming for to quell his quilt, at least in comparison to the Guinness. If he drunk himself under the table, there would be consequences - further discord with Chris being the most powerful one to work as a convincer to not go through with it. Unfortunately, the guilt seemed stronger. He challenged himself again, and this time gave a small, quiet cheer as he successfully landed the drink line along the line of the G. Smirking, he picked up his phone and angled his wrist to get an accurate picture of his achievement, then fumbled around to attach the image to a message that he then sent into the WhatsApp chat he shared with his siblings, tagged ‘a dirty pint never met such a clean line’. He found himself hilarious - he didn't know if his younger brother would agree, but he suspected that Páidi, who was at home in Ireland and, time depending, sleeping or working, would find it at least half as amusing. He laughed quietly to himself when he received a speedy response from both of his sisters who, funnily enough, each replied with photographs of their respective mugs of tea. With a swiftly tapped out reply of ‘sláinte’, he set his phone back down onto the bar and retrieved his drink.

When it came to considering a third pint, Cillian contemplated the addition of a third accompaniment. He felt a little lightheaded, and somewhat like his vision took a while to catch up to itself when he moved his eyes. Uncomfortable, though, from dumping four drinks into himself in less than an hour, he slipped down from the stool as he looked around for the closest bathroom. As he stood, his head rushed with a momentary dizziness, and he puffed out his cheeks and sighed as he braced his left hand on the bar to steady himself.

“Okay, sir?” the barman asked, pausing in his tasks as he caught Cillian waver. His green eyes fixed Cillian with a professional concern.

Cillian turned his head slowly and offered the man a nod in response. “Yes,” he said slowly, “Call of…um, nature.” He smirked and ran his tongue along his bottom lip. The momentary dizziness returned with the movement of his head, and he chuckled to himself quietly. “Left or right?” He asked the barman.

“Sorry, sir?” The young man responded, frowning.

“For the, um, the jacks.” Cillian blinked hard.

The barman’s frown deepened, evidently not familiar with the Irish slang. “I should call to your room?” He suggested. “For help?”

Cillian scoffed, “He doesn't want to help me.” He intoned. “Toilet.” He said bluntly. “For a piss...small bladder, lots of fluids.” He smirked as he heard his words hit back at his own ears. God, he was being ridiculously forthcoming. He took a step away from the bar, and then slowly turned back as he realised he had left his phone. “Whoops.”

“233, sir, your room?” the barman said slowly. “Take the elevator, not the stairs. You are a little unsteady.”

Cillian smirked again, “That's a song, isn't it?” He pointed at the barman. “X Ambassadors.”

“Sorry, sir?” The barman frowned once again.

“Elevator?” Cillian said and cleared his throat. “So, you have no idea on the jacks then?”

“Jacks? Your friend, sir?” The barman asked, a little confused and clearly more concerned by Cillian's sudden shift from sober and quiet to quite affected by his consumption.

Cillian sniffed and turned his phone over in both hands. “What? …No? …doesn't matter.” He looked towards the wide entrance of the bar, out into the lobby where the desk and lifts were visible. He turned his head back to the barman, “Thanks.” He nodded at him and finally made a move, walking slowly with a slightly unsteady gait.

Reaching the lifts was easy, as was summoning it and getting inside, but finding the right button for his floor seemed more difficult. Bending at the waist, he widened his eyes as he stared at the numbers. Finally seeing the number he needed, he slammed his left thumb against it and then slumped his back against the wall of the elevator as the doors slid slowly shut. He breathed deeply as the metal box began to rise, acutely aware he needed to use the bathroom, and a little nervous of the uncomfortable nauseous feeling beginning to rise in his stomach. Despite that, his mind only increased his discomfort as it replayed the incident in the room like a film reel. He was ashamed of himself for the blunt and, technically, assaulting way he had touched Chris. Mostly because he knew he had done it in a reaction of annoyance over Chris' words, but also because he knew Chris had had absolutely every right to ask for more intimacy. For a brief flicker of thought, he wondered if Chris would think his lack of more rigorous intimate acts was because he was getting that intimacy elsewhere. Cillian knew that, regardless of their peace talks, Chris consistently worried that Cillian was being seduced on the outside since Tom's reaction to his jealousy had only served to worsen it. And the God's honest truth was, he was so exhausted - mentally and physically - that hugs and kisses were about all he had the appetite for. He knew an apology was immediately owed, he just didn't know if he could swallow his own stubbornness down low enough to ensure he gave it as profusely as he knew Chris deserved.

The doors sprung open on his floor, and Cillian pushed himself off the wall of the lift and ambled out into the low-lit corridor. His head rushed, and he braced his right palm against the closest wall to mitigate the vertigo, nearly smashing his phone screen into the plaster at the same time. That nauseating feeling rose a little, and he scolded his stupidity - mixing drinks, in quick succession, on an empty stomach. What an arsehole! To say nothing of the fact that he hadn't touched much more than a half pint in the past few weeks. The alcohol had clearly very quickly made its way into his small intestine, and from there - as it continued to absorb - he knew he would only feel its effects more feverishly.

Walking on, close to the wall, he had no trouble finding the door to their room. He placed his hand on the handle, pushing it down, and then cursed himself as he realised it would first require the card key. He pushed his right hand into the pocket of his jogger bottoms first, finding his balled up earphones, then transferred his phone back into his right hand to repeat the search in his left pocket. The dragged the card from inside the pocket and thrust his hand towards the door, muttering his frustration aloud as he fumbled the thin plastic against the slot awkwardly. Coordination of his hand all but lost, he stabbed down in annoyance and completely missed the card slot. Still, the door dragged open with a slight squeak at the top hinge, and Cillian looked up with a frown, card and phone still in his hands. He at least had the foresight to look sheepish.

“Great,” Chris sighed. “So your fresh air included one of everything behind the bar?”

Cillian tutted, “I'm not steaming, Chris.” He refuted the claim. “Let me get in,” he jutted his chin. “I need to…,”

Chris stepped back, keeping hold of the heavy door, giving Cillian ample room to make his way inside. He watched intently as Cillian walked with slow, slightly dragged steps. As he let the door shut, he kept his eyes on the slim man. Cillian tossed his phone and the card key onto the bed as he walked past on his way towards the bathroom. He rubbed the palm of his right hand across his belly as the nausea twisted through him again momentarily. He pushed his way through the bathroom door and shut it behind him. As it closed, Chris stood shaking his head and let out a frustrated sigh.

“God's sake, Cillian.” He muttered to himself, running his right hand across the back of his neck. He dropped his arm down as the bathroom door opened again, and he watched Cillian step out awkwardly, rubbing his hand over his stomach again. “Do you need to go back in there to get sick?” He asked, actually sounding a little concerned despite his anger being the stronger of the two emotions.

Cillian scoffed, “No.” He replied petulantly, but the reality was he probably would. He gave a deep sigh and dropped his hand down from his belly. “You don't need to tell me, Chris, I know I was a prick before. I'm sorry - it was a complete…” he pursed his lips.

“A completely disrespectful, vulgar thing to do.” Chris finished his sentence for him. Cillian offered a heavy sigh in response. “What's gotten into you? You've gone from offended by my feelings causing you embarrassment to behaving like a ….horny, tasteless schoolboy when I suggest we do something more than lie side by side.”

“Yeah, alright,” Cillian shook his head and practically grimaced at the description of himself he was presented with. “I was a prick. I am a prick. I don't know…” he shrugged his shoulders. He brought his hand back to his stomach and rubbed in a small circle.

“If you're going to vomit, Cillian, do not just stand there.” Chris rolled his eyes. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Just a couple,” Cillian said.

“A couple?” Chris raised his brows, but then considered Cillian's ultra slim physique and poor diet would probably be a significant factor here.

“I'm really sorry.” Cillian whined. “About the drinks, about doing…that. I'm sorry.,” he looked at Chris with slow, dragging blinks. “...and I think I am gonna…” he swallowed hard, and turned his back to Chris, and slowly shuffled his way into the bathroom, pushing the door shut with a slightly-too-hard slam. Staring at the door, Chris could do nothing but sigh as slightly muffled sounds of retching leaked from under it. He winded at the sound, and then felt a stab of blame in his gut for Cillian's state. Had he asked too much of a man he knew was already under pressures, albeit largely self imposed? Had he driven Cillian too close to his breaking point recently and that had been the reason both for his reaction and subsequent behaviour? He knew what Cillian was like when he was working - immersed entirely, and no mistake - and he knew the immersion had reached a new level this time around. Had he been too selfish to ask for something to fulfil his own wants? Simultaneously, though, he felt blameless. Why should he stay silent over a small blip that can be easily addressed in their relationship? And why should he feel badly for wanting to regain carnal knowledge of the man he loved? Or, was this more calculated than that? Despite their promises to one another days before, was this Cillian's payback?

Chapter Text

Cillian remarkably managed to bring his best to set the next morning. Paler though he was in the wake of a night spent vomiting and an enormous headache to start the day, his already exhausted and emaciated frame hid most of the new damage from those around him. Surviving on paracetamol and water, Cillian focused as hard as his brain would allow, ensuring he couldn't give Chris reasons to pull him up, which would then become reasons to argue later. They had enough to contend with. But of course, Emily was curious, given the calls and messages of the evening before, and she was keen to attempt to draw something from Cillian whether he liked it or not, though she was finding it difficult to get him alone as Florence was on set, too, and many of the slots between scenes were filled with brief update chats, and Florence being keen to have a friendly chat. Not that Emily begrudged her that at all - it had been lovely having another female co-star, but it just meant Cillian's hard-earned ease with her was less readily accessed in the wake of newer faces.

“Still fragile?” Emily asked, nudging her hand against Cillian's hip as she walked past.

Cillian eyed her suspiciously, glanced quickly at Florence who was some distance away, then sighed as he looked back to Emily again. “I'm sorry I called you.” He said, his voice quiet and low. “That wasn't fair.”

“You can call me to get a drink anytime, Cill, you know that. And for anything else.” Emily brushed off his apologies immediately. “Chris rang me twice,” she pulled a face. “He was concerned. What happened?”

Cillian rolled his eyes and it aggravated his headache more than he'd anticipated it might. “It was my fault.” He said firmly. “I was acting the bollocks.”

Emily smirked at the Irishism, then pulled a sympathetic face. “I don't believe that for a second.” she folded her arms under her bust. “I thought you two were doing okay?”

Cillian frowned at her; he'd refuted every claim or enquiry over their being any problems in his relationship, but he knew that Emily had clung onto her suspicions. “We were. We are! It was my fault.” He repeated. “I was an arsehole, and then I was a bigger arsehole by taking the Irish cure.” He tried to dress it up in humour, but he could tell by Emily's expression that she wasn't buying it. “Really,” he insisted. “Don't keep that image of Chris from the other day, alright? Please, Em? This is all my doing.”

Emily nodded slowly with a concerned frown, “Okay - well, Chris isn't too grumpy today, so whatever you did can't be so bad!” She, too, employed a mild humour. She glanced around her, feeling awkward, and raised her eyebrows comically. “Oh, here comes trouble.” Cillian shot his head in the direction Emily was looking, half expecting Chris to be approaching, and physically felt the tension drop from his shoulders as it was Robert he saw sauntering over. They hadn't many moments in one another’s immediate company on set, Cillian and Robert, but it had not stopped the blossoming of a great sense of friendship. Emily opened out her arms as Robert did, getting closer to her and Cillian, and she giggled as he cuddled her close. “Oh, you! I didn't think I'd see you today. Nice surprise.” She said against his shoulder, rubbing her hand up and down his back before they released one another.

“I'm sneaking around,” Robert laughed, then turned to Cillian with a grin. “Come on, my darling!” He teased, pulling Cillian into a warm and tight hug. “How are you?” He asked, every word deliberate, as he loosened the hug but kept his hands on Cillian's shoulders. “You look tired.”

“Hungover.” Emily teased.

“Oh, so you two got your drink last night?” Robert asked, surprised, as he drew his arms back. “Good for you!” He grinned at Cillian.

“No,” Emily shook her head, “But I think Cillian emptied the bar going by the amount of paracetamol he's taken today.” Her joke was delivered lovingly, but she could see as soon as she'd said it that Cillian was wearing thin with acceptance.

Robert cast his eyes over Cillian and raised a single eyebrow, “It wouldn't have anything to do with Chris' attitude recently?” He asked, although he spoke tactfully.

“No,” Cillian shook his head immediately, but it tossed around the ache in his skull. He sighed. “No, I just…” he shrugged, trailing off his words.

“Well, it isn't just you he's taken an umbridge with.” Robert says, pushing his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers. “I've had the silent treatment for anything outside of direction.”

Cillian sighed, “Really?”

Robert nodded his head, “And after how he spoke to you that day, I assume he's not been the most friendly outside of work, either?”

Cillian brushed off his final comment with complete ignorance. “Robert, I'm sorry he… I'm sorry for his manner.” he sighed. “He's really not speaking to you at all?”

“Not a word that's not scene related.” Robert nodded his head. “It's not your fault, Cillian.” He said quickly. “And if what he showed us all that day isn't just a one off, you know, maybe things need…”

Cillian held up his hand, “Robert-,”

“I'm not prying,” Robert said quickly. “I'm just telling you, if that wasn't the exception, you could speak up. Join Em and me for a drink, have a…what do you say, Emily, a …chin-wag?!” Emily smiled at his attempt at gentle humour, but Cillian was quick to alter the atmosphere.

Cillian pursed his lips, only making his gaunt and pale face look more severe. “Okay, stop.” He raised his voice very slightly. “Both of you.” He looked to Emily quickly. “I don't need checking on, or insinuations into my relationship. I am in the wrong, okay? I am in the wrong. Me! I was an arsehole. Not him. I'm sorry for whatever he's doing, Robert, but this…us…Chris and me…it is nobody's business.” Cillian didn't seem to realise he had got progressively louder as he'd continued to speak, and both Emily and Robert, and Florence, as well as sporadically dotted members of crew, had all been drawn into the outburst. All eyes stayed on Cillian, and his words continued to flow. “What Chris and I do, to or with each other, is between us. Regardless of what you think, it is prying! He yelled at me on set - so fucking what? You don't know a thing about it. I disrespected him yesterday, and then I got pissed in the hotel bar because I felt awful about it. So get it into your heads,” he fixed his eyes on Robert, then Emily, “Christopher and I are fine, and even if we weren't…it is none of your fucking business!”

Robert held both hands out before him and gently nodded his head - to his credit he could see that Cillian was clearly in a bad place, and not necessarily meaning to come across as he was. “I’m sorry, after the stories I'd heard regarding him and Tom Hardy, perhaps I got a little soap-opera in my head.” He said, and immediately knew he was fueling the fire. “Okay,” he nodded his head. “My apologies, Cillian.”

Emily remained silent, looking around her as she took in the sheer number of eyes upon them. Florence looked as uncomfortable as she, herself, felt and those members of the crew who hadn't been respectful enough to deliberately look away seemed to echo that same sentiment. It was then she noticed that Chris was standing beside a cameraman, and she felt her stomach sink for Cillian. She tried to make sense of the expression on the man's face, but found herself at a loss. Cillian breathed heavily as he regained composure, and he stormed away wordlessly, evidently blind to all around him as he disappeared.

Robert turned his head as he saw Emily staring off, and not in the direction that Cillian had disappeared. When his eyes landed on Chris, who turned and headed wherever Cillian had, he hummed slightly and turned to look back at Emily. “I get the sense I may have just worsened that particular domestic brawl.”

Emily softened her entire expression and shrugged her slim shoulders. “I don't know, maybe Cillian is right. We shouldn't surmise. But…he called me last night.” She said, keeping her voice low. Robert raised his eyebrows, “He wanted to go for a drink and, a little while later, I got calls from Christopher asking if I knew where Cill was, if he'd been in touch, and to let him know if he was.”

Robert shrugged his shoulders, almost as though he wasn't interested, but his expression was one of confusion. “So there is trouble in paradise. It can't all be plain sailing, even for those two. They're stressed out, so they take it out on one another. But I don't like what he did to him, giving him a bawling out in front of everyone. Cillian looked as shocked as we did.” He turned down the corners of his mouth and shrugged again. “Perhaps the rumours from Dunkirk are true?”

Emily sighed, “I never heard the full…story.” She said, lowering her voice further. “But really, we shouldn't…”

Robert glanced around quickly, then leaned a little closer to Emily. “And yet you want to know.” He smiled a little, “Well, this is just conjecture, rumour… but, apparently, Chris got the impression something was afoot between Tom and Cillian. He apparently approached Tom about it, and he allegedly let Chris believe that there was something, despite Cillian's denial. Story goes,” he paused a moment as someone walked past. “Story goes, Chris and Tom came to blows - physical and verbal war apparently ensued. I heard he had Tom around the throat.”

Emily shook her head, “No! Absolutely not. Chris wouldn't do that, and Cillian absolutely would not be involved with anyone else. I've never seen anyone so intrinsically linked as Cillian is with Chris. I don't know Tom well, but I…no…no,” she shook her head. “I don't buy it, not at all. It's crewmate gossip. Chris is loud in frustration, sure, but he wouldn't physically assault someone. And he and Cillian have been together so long now, if he couldn't take Cillian's word it would be over before now.” She refused to accept it.

Robert held his hands out in front of him, “It's what I've heard. And I saw Cillian's face when I mentioned it, just there.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Based on what I'm seeing, Em, Cillian's clearly not being respected or treated the way he should be. Is love enough?”

Emily shook her head, “Robert, my love, this is all bollocks.” She insisted. “Please, don't repeat it to Cillian. If he hears people think things like that, it'll crucify him, and if Chris gets word….”

“Fine, but that's only if it isn't true.” Robert said bluntly, “Perhaps I should dig deeper?”

“Perhaps we should just be supporting Cillian?” Emily reprimanded. “He's working incredibly hard, he looks terrible right now, he hasn't got the capacity in his head for us making life harder for him. If there are any problems at home, so to speak, we should be a place of ease he can come to to talk if he wants to. Not the kind of people who bring up schoolyard gossip!”

“It isn't gossip.” Both Emily and Robert turn their heads at the sound of a timid and small voice from behind Robert. With a gentle smile, a young female crew member - Hayley - widened her eyes as they stared at her. “Christopher and Tom did have a very open disagreement, and while he didn't touch him, he was in his face and yelling - they both were.” When they both frowned at her, she elaborated. “I worked the set.” She explained. “Tom insinuated he had performed acts on Cillian which Christopher reacted to. It was a…tense time whenever we filmed Tom's scenes from there. But Chris and Cillian were fine.” She smiled. “They're very intense, the two C’s, and it's a blessing and a curse. When they don't work together, they're less…well, intense.”

“There is no truth to it, though, is there Hayley?” Emily asked, and hated herself for engaging immediately.

She shook her head immediately. “None at all. Even Tom said - he only said it because he could see the jealousy on Chris' face. Cillian was really moody for a day or two after those two fought, but after that he and Chris were just their usual…intense selves. Cillian wasn't really working with Tom, either, so I'm not sure how Chris came to the idea." She looked around her and laughed a little. “We think Chris knows what he has, you know? Cillian's that little bit younger, and he's beautiful, and he's in demand…we always thought that maybe he worries Cillian will move on. I mean, Cillian loves him, he speaks so highly of him all the time, and outside of working, when they think nobody can see, Cillian is very affectionate, but…” she shrugged her shoulders. “Who knows? But all that, with Tom and Chris, it's true, just not the physical violence part.”

“Hey, hey,” Chris called out as he walked, walking along a darkened area of the set that, thankfully, seemed abandoned but for the lithe man speeding ahead of him. “Cill? Cillian? Cillian, stop, please. What was all of that?” He raised his voice just a little, and the firmer edge to his tone seemed to work as Cillian halted and slowly turned around to face him.

“I'm sorry, I know it was unprofessional and I broke your rules for our life being brought to set, but…” Cillian brought both hands up to his face and scrubbed his palms into his eyes. As he dropped his arms back down, he looked at Chris and sighed. “I'm a mess. I'm a useless partner right now, I-I can barely focus on anything but this.” He shrugged, wondering if he sounded stupid. “All that's in my head is Robert J Oppenheimer! And-and I was an absolute arsehole yesterday evening. We had just put that little issue aside, then I made things ten times worse. I was in a mood, and I was acting the bollocks, and I am sorry. And evidently you're still giving Robert the silent treatment, which he delighted in telling me along with pointing out how terrible our relationship apparently is. I just lost my temper, I think. I'm sorry.”

Chris gave a single nod of his head, registering Cillian's words and acknowledging he had heard him. “I accept your apology for yesterday - for the fifth time.” He said, remarkably gently. “And I suspect that your hangover is punishment enough on that end. And I know full well you wouldn't do what you just did, back there, if it wasn't for a passionate reason, nor would you talk about our private life without cause.” He reached out his left hand and cupped it around Cillian's terribly slim bicep. “As for Robert - I am polite but no, I'm not friendly. I am working on it, though, because I know I am in the wrong. However his prying into our relationship is out of the bounds of acceptable…” he shook his head. “And Cillian, my greatest love, there is nothing we cannot talk through. Do you need half a day? I can do other things, move around, but just for you. If you need it.” Chris was somewhat surprised when Cillian actually agreed, and rather quickly.

“Yes!” He said, brows rising up and body seeming to relax almost instantly. “Please… Fuck, I know it's unprofessional, I know it changes your plans, and-and your everything but…” he sighs heavily. “I need to sleep, and I need to not be thinking, and I need to get the words to apologise properly.”

“You apologised, it's over.” Chris said quickly, and he gripped his hand around Cillian a little bit tighter, with no aggression but with a sense of possessiveness. “Don't mention it again, and neither will I. Go back to the hotel - I'll call you in an hour or two, alright?” He said and Cillian nodded his head, looking very much like a sleepy toddler who needed a nap. Chris moved closer and tentatively pressed his lips against Cillian, gently and lovingly laying a tender kiss, then just as gently moved his head back again.

Cillian almost seemed to pout, looking back at Chris somewhat sadly. “I wish I'd just…last night…” he shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I am exhausted, and instead of explaining that, I was…disgusting. I could have just laid down with you, I could…but I was in a mood. Stupid. Fucking stupid. And then…”

“We’ll always have nights, Cillian.” Chris said calmly, lovingly even. “Go, go on, disappear before someone comes looking for you.” He tapped his hand where it lay against Cillian's arm. “But you can't do this again, it's important.”

Cillian looked back at him, eyes scanning Chris' admittedly worry-wrinkled face. “I know.” He nodded slowly, feeling scolded but like he deserved it. He breathed in steadily. “Tonight.” He said plainly. “Whatever you want, and need, because I want to - and you deserve it, our relationship deserves it. I'm committed to this movie, Chris, but I am more committed to you, because it is you and me that walk away after this. Right now, I'm letting you down because I didn't just speak, and instead I acted….”

“Like I often do.” Chris said, widening his eyes.

Cillian nodded his head, “Maybe. But I'm not going to do that again. I'm sorry - for last night, for the drinking, for now. But tonight, whenever you get back, I am going to fix it. And I won't let you down again. You're keeping your promise to me, and I need to do the same.”

“You always do, Cillian. That's one of the many, many things I love about you.” Chris spoke with a quiet voice, but he didn't hide either. “Go back to the hotel, compose yourself and get some sleep. Take some vitamins, please.” He rubbed his hand against Cillian's arm where it still hadn't moved away. “I'll call you.”

“Kiss me again,” Cillian said in an equally quiet tone. “One for the road.” He smiled, but it did nothing to combat the pale and sickly look on his gaunt face. When Chris obliged, without looking around for watching eyes, Cillian all but melted into the affection. He planted his hands on Chris' hips as Chris brought both of his hands up to cup Cillian's angular face. It was no paracetamol to his hangover, but it was definitely the preferred medication for the heart.

Chapter Text

It took a further week of filming for Cillian and Emily to be back on completely friendly terms. Both were glad it had happened, at last. While Cillian hadn't been rude at all, there was an awkwardness until, one day, it just seemed to lift. In the interim, Cillian had managed to lay most issues aside with Robert, too, despite lack of actual on-set interaction with the man and an internal annoyance over his mentioning of Tom. Of course, as time went on, Cillian did only get more exhausted, and Emily assumed that most of the rekindling was simply because he hadn't the capacity for anything other than general apathy. Matt and Cillian, working closely, struck up quite the friendship, and Cillian even brought a proposal to him for a film idea he had for the future. Chris, for his part, found himself completely unphased by the budding friendly relationship between Cillian and Matt - something Cillian had noticed and been thankful for, and had told Chris so. Florence, though, seemed to have held onto the confrontation that she'd witnessed between Cillian, Emily and Robert, and the words she overheard the crew member, Hayley, share with them, too. It had affected her responses to Cillian and Chris a little bit - whilst she worked incredibly professionally, and was not at all rude, both Cillian and Chris had discussed in private how they felt Florence had often seemed to be scrutinising them. At first Cillian had thought Chris was being overly sensitive when he mentioned it, but then he noticed it himself. When scenes ended and people mingled, or when Cillian and Chris did steal a moment closer together, her eyes were on them and neither of the men could understand why. After a particularly jarring day, and admittedly in a charged mood, Cillian stole a moment with Florence as she went to walk by him.

“Florence?” He called out, and she immediately turned with a smile.

“Hmm?” She hummed cheerfully. She was tired, he could see - he was too - but she was still bright eyed and friendly.

Cillian cleared his throat. He could see off behind her, talking with Emma, that Chris wasn't too far away. He didn't want a scene, or a confrontation, but he wanted to clear the air and ask the questions that were annoyingly occupying his mind. “Is everything alright?” He asked.

Florence smiled a little, “Sorry,” she apologised quickly. “It always gets me just how starkly different your actual accent is.”

Cillian smiled softly, “You'd be surprised how many people actually think I'm English, too.”

“Oh, yeah, with Peaky Blinders. That must be annoying.” She cringed comically.

“Ah, well, I correct it fairly swiftly.” He smirked. “But, eh,” he swung the conversation back around. “I just wanted to make sure that everything is alright? I know that the tech difficulties made our…scene a pain, but, it hasn't caused a problem?” Cillian was fairly certain that that wasn't the issue - things had been absolutely fine following that despite the awkwardness - and it wasn't just him she was a little off with, it was Chris too. His mind, momentarily, had danced around homophobia, but he was quick to dispel that as soon as he'd thought about it. But it still left him with questions; what was it she was thinking and feeling when she looked at them both?

Florence shook her head. “God, no.” She said with wide eyes. “You were a gentleman, and everyone was great.” She insisted.

“So,” Cillian crooked a single eyebrow, “What is it?”

Florence frowned, “What's what?” She smirked, evidently confused.

Cillian sighed, “Look, I'm not wanting to start something, but I have to ask because it's… you seem to look at Chris and myself like we've caused you a personal grievance. If we have said or done something, together or individually, then I'm sorry, and you tell me, but -,” he shrugged his shoulders. “I'll be honest, Florence, I don't think I've done anything and yet…” He stopped as Florence waved her hands as if to silence him.

“I heard rumors before, that you and Tom Hardy had been intimate on a set and Chris wasn't pleased. I didn't take it much to heart, as I didn't know either of you, but you know what it's like - crew members gossip, so I heard it a few times. That, and that Chris had had Tom against a wall by his throat.” Florence smirked awkwardly. “I didn't believe it, but it went around a lot. Before, that day Robert mentioned it, I…I saw how you looked, and I started wondering what parts of that story were true, then Hayley, the PA, she approached him and Emily and she gave him the four-one-one, you know? She'd been around apparently when it had happened. She maintained you and Tom hadn't been intimate, but she did say Chris was fairly angry with Tom. Hearing about what Chris has done, before I got here, to you and a lot of the cast and crew, over thinking you were now doing it with Robert…” she shrugged. “I suppose I've gotten a bit sidetracked, maybe I'm wondering if you're the problem - or if it's Chris.”

Cillian's initial reaction was to scoff. “If I'm the problem or Chris?” He repeated.

Florence shifted awkwardly, “Well, I mean, are you a man-eater, or is he just jealous?” She said. “It's invasive, I know, and I am sorry because working with you both is…it's amazing. You're wonderful, Cillian, as is Christopher. But I can't help where my brain goes to.”

Cillian nodded slowly and ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “I regret asking.” He admitted, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets. “Thanks for the honesty, I suppose.” He shook his head, smirking mirthlessly. “Chris and my relationship…for whatever reason, on this set, has become canon fodder. It's twenty twenty three and for some reason, it feels…”

“I'm not homophobic!” Florence said quickly. “Two men, two women, used to be man, used to be a woman, non-binary… I don't care. It means nothing to me what you are, what goes where, that isn't what this is…”

“So what is it?” Cillian asked, his expression one of firm confusion and annoyance.

“Nosiness?” She admitted, at least with the decency to look embarrassed. “Gossip and curiosity about things I've no business even knowing. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Cillian. If I've disrespected you and Chris at all, I'm sorry.”

Cillian smiled sincerely and nodded his head, “I appreciate that, and the honesty, thank you.” He said gently.

Florence smiled back softly. “I really do respect you and Chris an awful lot. But you are right - your relationship is canon fodder, cooler gossip, and it's…I mean, it's daily discussion. Perhaps it would be worth clearing up speculation?”

Cillian shook his head almost immediately, glancing behind Florence briefly and casting a smile at Chris as he looked over. He focused his eyes back onto Florence's face. “What goes on in our relationship is between us; if everyone wants to speculate, let them. But as someone who's become a friend, Florence, I'd like it if you weren't one of those people.”

Florence gave a brief nod of her head, “Absolutely.” She brightened her smile and stood a moment before she opted to ‘resume normal service’. “Are you two joining us for dinner? I'm sure you'll say no but I don't like not to ask.”

Cillian chuckled lightly, “Well, you might want to ask Chris, but it's a no from me.” He answered. “And thanks, Florence - for answering me honestly.”

She smiled once again, “Well, at least you know now what everyone thinks.”

Cillian frowned, “When you say everyone…?”

Florence's expression changed quickly, “Crew.” She said, without further elaboration. She could tell by Cillian's face he didn't believe her, and she could tell that she had just pulled the pin on a hand grenade. “Cillian?”

“Didn't I just say? Let them speculate.” He said, but he was more blunt than both of them seemed to expect. He glanced behind her once again, where Chris was still lingering and talking with anyone who approached him. “I'll see you tomorrow.” He smiled falsely at her, then walked around her to head towards where Chris was waiting.

Florence followed him with her eyes, softening her anxiety slightly as she watched Chris place his hand in the small of Cillian's back as he stopped beside him. She should have just kept her mouth shut - at the start of the conversation, and at the end - and now she was fearful of what kind of atmosphere and relationship changes her words would have sparked between Cillian and Chris, and the rest of the cast and crew. Love this shoot though she had, after her verbal diarrhoea just now she was relieved there was only two days before it all ended for her - at least for a little while. She would be back once called upon to complete her scenes. She knew there was still much more for Cillian and Robert that lay ahead, and she dreaded to think what atmosphere she might walk into when she did return to the set again.

Cillian retold his conversation to Chris during their short chauffeur-driven journey back to the hotel. As they stepped out of the lift and onto the hotel floor they were staying on, Chris shook his head. He was a little amused by Cillian's story. “So who did she mean by ‘everyone’?” He asked, holding open the door into their room as Cillian followed him inside. As he shut the door, Cillian sighed a little with relief and dropped himself down to sit on the edge of the bed. Cillian's eyes were sleepy but focused as Chris approached, standing before Cillian about a foot from his legs.

“She said the crew, but it obviously means literally everyone. I imagine Emily and Robert are included.” Cillian sighed. He reached out both arms and held his hands towards Chris, smiling gently when Chris smirked before taking his hands. “Let them talk. They don't know a thing.” He said with surety.

“Perhaps I need to abandon my ‘rules’ and take to kissing and touching you every time I walk past you?” Chris said, obviously being facetious.

“I wouldn't complain.” Cillian gave a tired smile.

Chris bent at the waist and, still holding Cillian's hands, gently kissed his full lips. As he drew back his head, he smiled at the gentle flutter of Cillian's lashes. After all this time, he still enjoyed the gentle love. “You're exhausted,” he said quietly. “Let's order a light dinner, and then you can fall into bed.” He smiled as he straightened up.

Cillian nodded his head, “Bed sounds great.”

Chris hummed. “What will you eat? And don't say nothing at all. Veggie soup?”

“It's too warm for soup.” Cillian wrinkled his nose.

“Jacket potato and…a cold filling?” Chris suggested, drawing his hands from Cillian's. “Or you could be entirely frivolous and have dessert for dinner. Cheesecake, fruit bowl…” he listed, hoping to lure Cillian into something more substantial than then fat-free yogurt pot he'd eaten both for breakfast and at lunchtime.

“Eating cheesecake is something you consider a frivolity?” Cillian chuckled lightly and then flopped himself back against the bed, legs still hanging over the edge. As he lay back, his black t-shirt hitched up slightly, revealing his lower stomach and the belt holding up his still-loose jeans. Chris eyes wandered over the small trail of dark hair that ran from under the hem of his shirt and into the waistband of his jeans and just-peeking elasticated waist of his boxershorts. He watched Cillian's belly move a little as he chuckled again, emphasising just how small he had become. “Do they have vegan chocolate cake?”

It took Chris a beat to realise Cillian's words were a question directed at him. “Um…” he stalled as he focused. “I'd have to look at the menu, it's over by the sofa. Is that what you want? Chocolate cake?” He smirked.

“No,” Cillian.sighed, and pushed himself up onto his elbows. All angles and odd positions, his near emaciation was once again exaggerated. “Soup is fine. Vegetable. No salt. And no bread rolls.” he said with a small grimace. He frowned, playfully confused, and his smile grew a little. “What’re you staring at?”

“What else?” Chris asked. “You.”

Cillian shook his head. “Much to see?”

Chris softened his smile from a slightly cheeky one into one of loving concern. “Not nearly enough.”

Cillian sighed, “Fine. Get the bread rolls. I'll eat half.”

Chris' smile remained gentle, “If you're going to eat a bowl full of blended vegetables, who am I to force bread down your gullet?”

Cillian practically snorted as he lay back down, “You say such romantic things.”

Chris had not been able to sleep immediately, despite Cillian having all but fainted into the bed following dinner. Chris had been happy to see Cillian actually eat the entirety of the bowl of soup he ordered, but he wasn't surprised that he didn't touch the accompanying bread rolls and butter. Chris had finally crawled into the bed alongside Cillian shortly after midnight, and Cillian hadn't moved a muscle at the movement in the bed. But it was Chris who was disturbed from sleep, shortly before three am, when there was a sickening thud followed by a huskily grumbled string of fucks and hisses. He sat bolt upright in the bed and turned on the bedside lamp in a rush of panic, and turned to his right to see what had happened. He was greeted with Cillian's back, as he sat up at the edge of the bed. It took a further moment for him to notice that the pillowcase and sheet was spotted red.

“Cillian? What's…? Are you alright?” Chris' sleep-filled voice rumbled in his throat.

Cillian hissed again, “I’m after banging my head off the yoke…” he said, and got slowly to his feet. As he stood, he turned to face the bed and drew his hand down from the top of his forehead, near his hairline. “Fuck…” he widened his eyes, examining the blood against his fingers.

“Bloody hell, Cillian!” Chris darted out of the bed. “Sit down, sit down…” he insisted as he walked around the end of the bed to get to Cillian's side. Doing as he was told, Cillian sat back down. After a quick look at Cillian - he had done more than bang his head, there was a small, thin, but deep looking oval shaped gouge right up at the start of his hairline, and it was trickling blood down across his forehead - he disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared with a roll of toilet paper and a toiletry bag. He quickly made a compress out of a generous handful of toilet paper and pressed it down against Cillian's head. “Hold that there - press down.” He said, his voice still sleepy.

Cillian did as he was told once again. “Is it bad?” He asked nervously. The trail of blood from his forehead was slowly oozing towards his right eyebrow.

“I'll look again, keep the pressure on.” Chris instructed, fishing though the toiletry bag. “I have antiseptic, and steristrips. It's open, it'll need holding.”

Cillian scoffed, “Um…w-why do you have those things?”

Chris at least smirked at the question, despite his concern for Cillian. “Because I have you, Cillian, and you are the clumsiest man I have ever met. If I wasn't prepared for every eventuality with your bodily injuries, we would spend our lives in hospitals.” He looked up, placing the alcohol wipes, steristrips and antiseptic he'd found onto the nightstand, and reached out to Cillian's hand still up at his head. “Let go, let me see…” he said, peering down with a wipe at the ready.

Cillian dropped his bloody hand down, and let Chris turn nursemaid entirely. He sat patiently as Chris drew the tissue compress down and began rubbing away the blood across Cillian's forehead before he then went directly to the injury. It definitely wasn't deep enough for conventional stitching, Chris decided, but it would need sealing somehow. He did wonder why he's never invested in surgical glue, but he knew the strips would bring the small wound together. He wiped it clean to a string of hisses and muttered curse words from Cillian. When he was satisfied that it was clean, and the remaining blood was cleared from Cillian's face, he reached for the antiseptic spray and generously doused the cut.

Cillian hissed and drew back his entire upper body, “Ow! Fuck!” He winced, “Jesus! I'd rather get chilli juice in my eyes….fucking hell!”

Chris shook his head, “I'm sorry, I should have given you warning. But please, sit still, let me close it.” He waited patiently for Cillian to sit forwards again.

“Don't press on it,” he said, cooking an eyebrow. “It's sore, like.”

Chris smirked again, “Your head is open, of course it's sore.” He set down the spray and picked up the box of strips. He focused hard as he applied the small strip, carefully to draw the open skin in enough to facilitate its sealing but not so much as to pull the skin too tightly. He fixed the sticky stitches into place intricately, and finally gave his forehead another clean around with a clean alcohol wipe. Finished, he kept looking down at Cillian with a soft, if a little concerned, smile. “Are you alright?”

“It hurts.” Cillian whined.

Chris hummed gently, “I'm not surprised. How did you manage it? What were you doing?”

Cillian tutted, “I was asleep, how do I know?”

“But how did you get from the pillow, into the nightstand?” Chris tried to fathom the mechanics.

“I don't know!” Cillian snapped a little. “I was asleep. Fuck sake…” he groaned. He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “Thank you,” he altered his tone. “For fixing my head.”

Chris bent at the waist and gently kissed the frowning creases between Cillian's eyes, “Not the first, won't be the last.” He teased a bit as he stood up straight again. “You're not dizzy or anything? It seems like a fairly hard impact.” He did feel a pang of concern that the forceful bang he'd heard might mean he has a concussion.

“No, no, I'm fine. It's just a wee bit sore.” Cillian sighed heavily. He reached out a hand and rested it against Chris' hip. “Sorry for waking you with another Murphy Mishap.”

Chris smiled, amused, and shook his head. “I've lived through eight years of Murphy Mishaps, my darling, and I am sure we shall live through many more.”

Chapter Text

Chris caught Cillian touch his hand to his well-hidden head injury - after extra time with the makeup team - a handful of times during the day. He didn't know if it was painful, or just irritating him, but he kept a quiet watch to ensure he wasn't feeling or looking especially unwell, which would indicate he had been concussed from the bang, too. He kept a quiet watch, too, of Florence - of everyone, truthfully - for anything that stood out and communicated any negative reactions, or any overly interrogational glances in his own or Cillian's directions. He was head honcho, he reminded himself; this was his set, his film, and he was in charge. But that didn't mean he didn't value and respect the people here - he really did - but following Cillian's relaying of Florence's words the evening before, he did wonder what, precisely, everyone's thoughts and feelings on himself and Cillian were.

He was not often overly demonstrative with Cillian in public on the whole, but he had imposed the ‘rules’ of keeping their relationship distant at work. No accusations of favouritism could arise that way, he told himself and Cillian, and it would also avoid gossip or prying. Well, it should. But it evidently didn't. He wasn't sure he was entirely ready to bring their private behaviours to work, but he had decided to allow himself to let his guard down with Cillian on set, feeling, now, that if people would talk they could at least have the facts, rather than conjecture. He did feel that they had never met with negativity - he had never felt that there were opinions about them that the crux of which was based solely on them being homosexual. But that didn't stop that thought being there; would Florence have had the same views, or indeed would there be so much alleged gossiping from all those supposedly involved, if it were Emily and John who had been ‘the couple‘ on this set?

Chris remained as job focused as ever, though, despite his mind opening tabs on their private life occasionally. He watched as everyone gathered together, preparing for a shoot to begin.

Despite Luisa’s brilliant talents in the make-up department, wherein she had hidden Cillian's mishap nicely, Cillian's newly acquired head injury wasn't missed by his co-stars - mostly down to his touching making it more evident. Emily immediately noticed, and was quick to offer a gentle hug and sympathy. But Cillian caught her barely obvious twitching eyebrow as he played it off, laughing a little while explaining in vague detail what had happened. He didn't know what that tiny eyebrow movement meant, but he didn't like it all the same. Florence had been a little more jovial about the whole thing, teasing him for headbutting people in his dreams. If he was honest, that had been the sort of response he'd expected from Emily - not the young woman he had all but had a charged disagreement with the day before. Matt had found the whole thing highly amusing, to Cillian's relief.

“You know what you need? Those silicone corner guards you have for babies!” Matt joked, grinning as Cillian rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Cillian being the butt of the joke only amped up when Chris chimed in to Matt's suggestion. “Oh, he's been threatened with that before.” Chris smirked, raising his eyebrows at Cillian.

Emily frowned, “Threatened with what? Baby proofing?”

Chris nodded his head as Cillian covered his face with one hand. “Yep - if it's not his head he bangs, it's his hips. Or walking into door frames. And I've lost count of the number of stubbed toes.” It was sweet, to Cillian, to hear Chris engage in open conversation about something that was perhaps a little more intimate than he normally would share, and he was happy to be the victim of the teasing for that to continue to happen.

“You klutz!” Matt chuckled, shaking his head, and Florence smiled. “Do you need glasses, or do you just not look around you?”

“Both.” Cillian shrugged and smirked, resting his hands on his narrow hips. “I have reading glasses, perhaps I need to be wearing them more!”

“I firmly believe he's just not aware of his body. Small though he is, he doesn't seem to realise he still takes up some space!” Chris smiled, and briefly nudged Cillian with his elbow. Again, Cillian delighted in his lightness. “What, not going to tell them all I'm full of shit?” He raised his eyebrows again teasingly.

Cillian scoffed, “Tá sé lán de cac!” He thumbed towards Chris, earning a momentary grin from Chris and confused faces from the other three. Cillian drew back his head a little as he laughed, “I said exactly that - he's full of shit.” Emily laughed lightly, shaking her head. But Cillian still found she seemed awkward, and he wondered if, given her comments previously, she actually thought his wound was not as innocently acquired as they'd explained.

“I forget you guys have a language…” Matt said, shaking his head with a small smile.

Cillian raised an eyebrow, considering a playfully rebellious response, then shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, and my Dad was an Irish teacher for a while so it surrounded us, thankfully.”

“He utilises it frequently,” Chris said, beginning to walk away. “Likes to think he's sneaky, like I'm not going to find out what he's on about.” Cillian shook his head with a smile; he didn't know if Chris was just in a good mood, or if he'd taken his own words seriously yesterday about being more demonstrative in front of Florence. Whatever the incentive, he rather liked it. “Okay, guys…” Chris spoke up as he glanced around him. “Can we get where we need to be?” Cillian kept his smile as ‘Professional Chris’ returned, and those around them began to scramble.

Cillian set down his fork and puffed out his cheeks, smiling a little when Emily caught his eye. He had managed to finish a side plate of a Caesar salad, lacking anything additional, and a glass of water. While Chris was happy he had actually sat with them, at the restaurant table, and eaten more than a few bites of something, his concern was still there as regards to Cillian's continually dropping weight. There was no need, now, to shrink further, and yet he still remained restrictive, and Chris knew Cillian's self discipline would need to be readjusted once this was all over.

“Gotta admit, Cill, I'm still surprised you're not tucked up in bed.” Robert smiled from the far end of the large table. There was considerable distance between himself and Christopher, and Cillian hadn't failed to notice that barely two words had been passed between the two men. There was no deliberate rudeness, but there was a chasm. “Fully expected another ‘no’.” He said, lifting his glass of water.

Cillian smirked and tilted his head at the light teasing. “Ah, sure,” he rolled his eyes.

“That's Cillian speak for ‘whatever!’.” Emily submitted, “I'm his chief subtitler.” She winked at Robert.

“Surely that's Chris’ title?” Matt laughed lightly, setting down his cutlery.

Emma, to Chris' left, shook her head as she swallowed a mouthful of her wine. “I think Christopher is more ‘chief tantrum navigator’.” She laughed. “Actually, no. That's Cillian - Cillian is so laid back he's horizontal, I'd be Chris needing the tantrum control!”

Chris nudged Cillian with his elbow, “That they think you're laid back is the funniest observation I've heard today.” he shook his head. “I've never known anyone more intense.” He adjusted in his chair and placed his left arm along the back of Cillian's chair, running his fingers lightly across Cillian's bicep.

Cillian feigned indignation. “Ah, I am fairly laid back-,” he smirked, “...until I'm not.”

Florence smiled, “Aren't we all?” She nodded her head. “I know I can be,” she gestured towards herself. “Some situations call for that intensity, and then you go home, or whatever, and you do what we call ‘monging’ - you wear your comfiest clothes, leave your hair a mess, and melt into the sofa with a bag of Doritos!”

Emily chuckled, “Now that I can get behind!”

“Or soggy, salty, spicy popcorn.” Chris teased, drumming his fingers on Cillian's arm.

Cillian raised one eyebrow, “Don't knock it until you try it. It's not my fault you've the boring palate of a toddler.” He spoke so calmly, despite being amused, that he gave off an air of mystery about himself. Chris often wondered if that's why others were so drawn to Cillian, and he wondered if he should perhaps remind himself of that considered thought when he got the urge to strangle any man, or woman, who gave Cillian the flirting eyes and kept him talking. Perhaps. Probably not, though.

Robert grimaced and laughed. “Do I want to know what that is?”

Chris, to Cillian's surprise, laughed a little at Robert’s response and replied. “You do not!” Cillian turned his head, smiling softly at Chris. Chris knew what he was smiling for, what he was saying without words, and he simply raised his eyebrows in response. “Another drink?” He asked him quietly.Cillian shook his head and gestured to his still half full glass of water. “Wine, beer, pop?” Cillian smiled at his insistence and shook his head again. “Was it good?” He asked, nodding towards Cillian's plate.

Cillian turned down the corners of his mouth, “Was alright.” He nodded slowly. Around them, everyone was engaged in small group conversations and he glanced around at them all before focusing back on Chris.

“Had enough - of the social side, I mean? You look done in.” Chris asked, perceptively, taking Cillian's gazing around to be a sign of a completely drained battery. Considering he had said no to every invite so far, he was positively surprised Cillian had agreed and also mindful of the fact that the man was so in his head at the moment, he was probably both regretting coming at all and desperate to leave. He was a little surprised to see Cillian shake his head.

“Whenever you're ready.” Cillian said quietly. He looked down to the end of the table briefly, where Robert was sitting and chatting with Emily, then looked back at Chris. “Proud of you.” He said in a virtual whisper.

Chris' brows twitched momentarily into a frown, then he leaned a bit closer to Cillian to keep their conversation private. “For?”

“Speaking to him,” Cillian said diplomatically. “And politely at that. Thank you.”

“No point in perpetuating discomfort, especially not if it impacts upon you, my love.” Chris replied, still hushed to keep the conversation just between them. “And you've been okay today? Your head is alright?”

Cillian smiled gently at his concern. “I'm grand.” Cillian nodded. “Although, if you meant what you said before…” he said, glancing around him again. Chris raised his eyebrows in questioning. “...can we go?” He said in a stage whisper.

Chris smirked, “Of course.” He said, almost immediately getting to his feet. “Thank you all,” he said, raising the volume of his voice. “It's been lovely, but we're going to crawl into bed.” He joked.

“Thanks for actually coming.” Emma teased back. “Didn't think we'd see ‘Cillian’ at all, only ‘Oppie’.” Cillian rolled his eyes, a good natured, light laugh escaping him, his tongue testing gently against his bottom teeth. Chris loved that - so much. Tired and done though he was, he engaged marvellously. Lesser men would be grumpy and unbearable to be around.

“Well, goodnight all.” Chris offered a half hearted wave as he stepped around his chair, and he waited as Cillian got up and pushed his seat back under the table.

“Night, guys,” Cillian said cheerfully, gesturing a thumbs up to anyone who echoed the sentiment.

Chris and Cillian left the restaurant together, stepping out of the coolz air-conditioned restaurant into the clammy, heavy-aired evening outside. “Bloody hell, it's like a sauna.” Chris commented as they climbed down the steps onto the street.

“Tell me about it,” Cillian grimaced, immediately feeling sweaty. “Let's get back - I need cool air, a shower, and sleep.”

Chris laughed lightly, taking Cillian's hand as they began to walk. “When do you not need sleep?!”

“I meant it, you know. About you talking cordially with Robert. If there's no animosity there, especially when there needn't have been in the first place, it makes all this a lot easier.” Cillian said as they walked.

“Well, it doesn't end with filming, does it? We have to be together for press afterwards and the likelihood is, it'll be in small rooms, close proximity, and that's just far too awkward if there's an atmosphere.” Chris reasoned.

“Whatever your reasons,” Cillian leaned into Chris' side as they walked, “I appreciate it.”

“Besides, I think Emily has moved on from assuming affairs and his now wondering if I'm beating you.” Chris intoned.

“You got that sense, too?” Cillian asked, actually relieved. “I thought I was being overly sensitive, or something. She definitely kept looking at me like she didn't believe I'd just hit my head.”

“I imagine that it's being discussed now,” Chris supposed, “Seeing as they discuss everything else about us, if Florence is to be believed.”

Cillian sighed, shaking his head. “I dread to think what they say in detail.” He tutted.

“Imagining how two men do it, I shouldn't wonder.” Chris said sarcastically.

Cillian swatted at Chris' arm with his free hand. “Stop it. If they're looking at us and imagining sex, I won't be able to go near them again.” He shook his head. “Besides, Chris, Emily is not like that - she's not…closed minded. She's just got it into her head that there's clearly problems in our relationship.”

“And there are,” Chris said, “But no more or worse than exists in anyone else's.” Cillian liked that - the admission that they were far from perfect but in that imperfection they were, in fact, normal. “God, the air out here is heavy…” Chris changed the conversation, but Cillian agreed.

“Yeah,” he frowned. “Your hand is sweating against mine and it's a big disgusting.”

Chris smirked, “There's many a man who'd pay to be sweating against your hand.” he intoned, but Cillian didn't rise to it. “Few more minutes and we'll be bathed in the Aircon once again.” Chris reminded him.

Chris was still riding high in the fact that Cillian had joined everyone for dinner, and he couldn't help but assume it was because his behaviour towards Cillian had made him happy. Sure, he'd been consciously trying to show the cast and crew what really existed between himself and Cillian, wondering if that would stop the gossip or at least lead them to gossip more positively, but it had also been for Cillian, knowing full well that he had never truly liked Chris' rule of no display on set. He'd keep it up, he decided, to a certain level, and ensure that Cillian stayed happy. It didn't mean that his feelings had changed - he still saw it, saw Cillian and others lost in conversation and it still dug up that dread that Cillian was moving on somehow. But he also knew so much of his thoughts and feelings, if not indeed all of them, were his own problem. He trusted Cillian, and he wasn't going to keep letting those thoughts and feelings ebb away at what they had.

“In a few weeks, this will all be over.” Cillian said, wistfully. “And there'll be a little pause before it all creeps back up again for the press and the release.” He shook his head. “It's like we measured life in those blocks of busy time, and I'm not sure I like it.”

Chris frowned, “Then take a break. After it's over, don't pick up another project until you're ready. It isn't like you can't do that, it isn't like it won't be viable.”

Cillian nodded, “No, I know, I just mean this year, probably two by the time it's all over, will have passed in a series of dates. What exists in the middle?”

“Us,” Chris replied quickly. “And that's enough, isn't it?”

Slowly, Cillian's lips pulled into a smile. “More than.” He nodded his head. “More than enough.”

Chapter Text

Cillian smiled, shaking Matt’s hand as they walked away from one another at the calling of ‘cut’. Almost immediately, Cillian's expression changed - gone was the intensity behind his blue stare and, instead, in rolled a sleepy-eyed softness, accompanied by a heavy yawn as he came to a halt just outside of the filming perimeter.

“Okay?” Chris asked quietly, walking behind the cameraman to where Cillian was standing with his hands on his hips. Cillian turned his head, forcing a smile and raising his eyebrow, and he hummed as he nodded. “You look knackered.” Chris said, rhetorical and affectionate.

Cillian raised one eyebrow then smiled a little. He glanced around him, then back at Chris. “I thought Josh was called today?” He frowned.

Chris nodded, “On his way through - just finishing up with Louisa. David's just getting finished up, too.” Cillian gave a slow nod in acceptance of the answer. “You okay? You're doing fine in the shot, but you really do seem ridiculously tired.”

Cillian frowned momentarily, then smirked slightly, pulling in a tiny dimple to his right cheek. It only served to narrow his already hollow cheek. “I am ridiculously tired.” He said, eyebrows rising as he spoke. “I don't think I've an ounce of energy left for anything outside of this today.”

Chris placed his hand in the small of Cillian's back, “Do you want a coffee? Or some Pro Plus?” Cillian laughed lightly and shook his head to the offers. Chris grinned, “Some speed?” And Cillian laughed again, his tongue settling against his lower teeth as he pulled back his head, tickled by the joke. Even in his fatigue, his eyes sparkled playfully. “That’s a no to the speed, then?” Chris feigned seriousness very well.

Cillian shook his head, rolling his eyes comically. “No, you're grand.” He chuckled. Chris ran his hand up and down Cillian's back a couple of times, and Cillian cocked a single eyebrow. “What?” He asked, an air of suspicion across his face.

Chris shook his head with a small furrow between his brows. “What? Nothing.”

Cillian scoffed, “Go away with your nothing?! What's the weirdness about?” He smirked, suspicion creeping further into his expression - and his gut. “You want to say something.”

Chris shook his head again, “No.” He insisted.

Cillian reached around as he turned, pulling Chris arm to remove his hand from his back, and faced the taller man. “That’s bollocks.” He said quietly. Chris pushed his hands into his trouser pockets, evidently needing something to do with his discarded hand, and sighed. Cillian rolled his eyes, “Ah, for fuck sake,” he tutted. “You're not pairing me up in your head with Matt now, too, are you?”

Chris' mouth bobbed open for a moment, before he sighed again. “Well - n…no. Look, I'm not doing it on purpose, Cill…” he said in a sort of whine. “I mean, I am standing here, watching, I know what's going on, but…” he gestured at his temple, “I can't stop the thoughts. But I know it's unfounded, that's why I didn't say a word. I said nothing was wrong. You insisted. You brought it up.”

“Because I can practically smell the assumption of my infidelity on you!” Cillian hissed, teeth gritted in an attempt to keep his voice down. He glanced to his left as a crew member walked past, smiling politely for a moment, then looked back at Chris with a deep frown. “I thought that we'd put this to bed? After Robert….and after fucking everything before, with Tom? I can't have you assuming I'm desperate to fuck any man or woman I speak to Chris, it's killing me. Not to mention how insulting to Matt that would be if he knew. We only just went through all of this, do not put me through it again, for fuck sake!”

“I know,” Chris said, quickly holding out his hands placatingly. “Cillian, I know.” He raised his eyebrows. “And I told you, I know it's stupid, it's unfounded… that's why I didn't say a word. I didn't want to put it on you, to cause…this.” He gestured between them. “Please, I don't think anything is going on, but I cannot stop where my brain goes despite being able to rationalise it. I'm sorry. I don't like the ideas that fly into my head, either. I am sorry.”

Cillian stiffened his jaw. “You'd wanna be!” He snapped. “What next? Am I fucking Josh and David, too? Or Casey, or Rami? Or am I on to Emily? Or Florence, she'll be back for her final scenes soon…?”

“Cillian.” Chris sighed his name, rolling his eyes.

“Don't do that,” Cillian pointed at him, “You don't get to be exasperated with me for your idiocy, Chris!”

Chris shook his head, “Idiocy is a bit strong, don't you think?”

“Why?” Cillian scoffed, trying so hard to keep this between the two of them, but at the same time he was so overcome with frustration he could barely contain it. “You mentally pairing me with any person I come into contact with is idiotic. So no, I don't think it's too strong.” He kept his teeth gritted, fearful he'd truly snap. He really was getting exhausted by Chris’ jealousy, especially when he had done nothing to warrant his assumptions or feelings towards anything ever happening in that way, with anyone.

“It isn't you that bothers me, Cill, you know that,” Chris said, justifying himself. “It's everyone else. I know you know this.”

“And I know that you know this is all crazy.” Cillian returned. “Even if - and that's a magical fucking if - they were interested, Chris, I am not.”

Chris nodded his head and moved his arms, placing each hand down around Cillian's biceps. “I know. God, my darling, I know.”

Cillian took a deep breath and sighed, “So why keep it up? Fleeting thoughts happen, I know, but fuck it off and remember the facts. I am not interested. And I cannot cope with the constant bubble of distrust in the middle of us.”

“I trust you.” Chris insisted firmly. “Cillian, I do, implicitly.” he widened his eyes, cementing his words.

“Then drop all of this. I won't be able to work with you again if this is what's going to keep happening. I mean it, Chris; this is torture and I don't have the space in my head for it. I don't!” Cillian sounded angry, but he whispered the words as quietly as he could.

“I'm sorry,” Chris said, quiet and soft. He moved his right hand from Cillian's arm and cupped around his angular cheek. “I am sorry. I'll try even harder.”

Cillian closed his eyes at the touch to his face. When he opened them, he felt conscious of the eyes around them. He reached up and pulled down Chris' hand, but held it at his hip. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer and his words were softer. “It is you I go home with, it is you I want to go home with. Every day. I love you, you knob. So put it all aside, and let it fucking go.”

Chris smirked, “I know, I know. And I love you, too. And I'm sorry. I am - I'm sorry.”

Cillian's mood shifted from tired to very clearly preoccupied as the rest of the day's shoot continued, and Chris knew he couldn't pull him up on it despite the desperate want to ask for more focus once or twice. He felt badly for admitting what he was thinking to Cillian, but he settled himself with Cillian being the one to say it, to bring it up. It wasn't enough - it didn't change the fact that his mind was the one going there - frequently. He hated it, though. He really did trust Cillian fully, he just felt like he ‘knew what he had’, and he didn't trust those around him not to be pulled into the mysterious and dreamlike aura that Cillian didn't even seem to know he had. He was relieved, for the first time since the day he'd yelled at Cillian, and indeed before that, when the shoot was over and the cast and crew were given their cue to shut down for the day. He could see that Cillian was relieved, and he could also see that he had been - what seemed to be - deliberately standoffish with David and Josh, and it looked as though everyone was glad of the end of play.

The evening was creeping in and, while it lowered the sun, it did nothing to bring down the level of heat they felt. Sweating through his shirt, Cillian walked towards Chris before he headed to remove the Oppenheimer attire and pull on his own clothes. “Have I fucked it?” He asked nervously. Having been feeling the cold more than others during the shoots so far, Chris could see he also seemed to now be feeling the heat somewhat harder.

Chris frowned, “Have you fucked what?”

“That last scene…I feel like I fucked it.” Cillian cringed. “I know I definitely couldn't have been any less enjoyable to work with for David just now.” He sighed and brought the fingers of his right hand up towards his mouth as he stood. He toyed at his bottom lip for a moment and then dropped his arm back down at his side.

Chris shook his head with a small, loving smile. “No, love. It's fine. But I can see you're still in traction over earlier. I can't say sorry any other way.”

Cillian shook his head in response, waving his hand before him. “Just leave it.” He said, perhaps a little too harshly. “I need to get out of these.” He gazed down at himself. “Have you stuff to do, or will I wait on you when I'm changed?”

“I'll be ready.” Chris nodded his head, “Go and get changed, we can walk back when you're done.”

“Walk?” Cillian widened his tired eyes, “I'm sweating my balls off standing still.”

Chris laughed a little, “I'll fan you with a leaflet for the whole walk.”

Cillian laughed a little despite his lower mood, “You will in your hole.” He shook his head. He reached up his hand, placing his palm against Chris' chest. “I'll be back in a minute.”

When Cillian returned, wearing his own t-shirt and jeans, and a pair of wonderfully concealing sunglasses, Chris couldn't help but think he only looked worse than when he'd walked away. With his bag up over his shoulder, Cillian halted beside Chris and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Are you sure you're just tired?” Chris pestered. “You actually look unwell.”

Cillian shrugged up his shoulders. “It's hot and humid, and I'm exhausted. I need water and sleep.” He dismissed the concerns.

“A couple more weeks and you can sleep for a week if you need.” Chris spoke with love, still frowning with concern. Cillian really did look pale, and exhausted, but Chris settled himself with the fact that it was roasting hot, and Cillian's intake of anything had been close to zero. Still, it wasn't far from his mind that Cillian's true issue was just how much their conversation earlier had pissed him off. He felt he shouldn't have been honest about the ridiculous thoughts in his head when Cillian had mentioned it, but he also knew he wasn't in the business of lying to the man, either. He really did trust him, and he knew his feelings of jealousy were not fair to him at all, but try as he might, Chris couldn't shake them. Tom's reactions on the set of Dunkirk, though he knew were to goad him, had stayed with him and he laid that anxiety, now, before every person he felt was ‘overly demonstrative’ with Cillian. Sadly, at times, that blame flowed over and landed before Cillian, too.

Cillian rehydrated with water on the way home, and admittedly looked a lot more alive by the time he and Chris reached the lobby of their hotel. Gone was the entirely sickly pallor, but it did nothing for the hollowness of his features. Chris led into the lift as it arrived, and he reached for Cillian's left hand as the door slid shut. Turning his head, Cillian smiled at him sleepily. “Alright?” Chris asked. Cillian nodded his head. “Want to talk about today, or leave it?”

Cillian pulled this hand free of Chris' and pushed both hands into his pockets. “I told you already to leave it.”

“But it's annoying you - you've not left it.” Chris defended himself.

“How can I? You think I want to elope with everyone we're working with, and it's affecting everything. Nearly a decade together and this bollocks is just getting worse.” Cillian scathed. “It's making me…” he shook his head.

Chris frowned, “Making you what?” His stomach sank.

“Think, Chris. It's making me think about all of this. You and me.” Cillian admitted with a firm expression, but his eyes were sad.

“Cill…” Chris sighed. “Don't talk like that.” He mumbled as the doors opened on their floor.

“Talk like what? You're accusing me left and right of wanting to start something with every person I come into contact with. I can't take it, Chris! I'm here, with you…” Cillian kept his voice low as he stepped out onto the floor, but he powered towards the door for their room with Chris close behind him. “I think I'm fucking entitled to get pissed off about it.”

“I'm not.” Chris offered weakly.

“You are!” Cillian countered, rolling his eyes fiercely.

“Not you!” Chris insisted.

“Yes, fucking me.” Cillian raised his voice, pausing a few feet from the door, and turned to face Chris. “Yes fucking me, Chris. Every person you're throwing fucking daggers at is the same as blaming me. But it's all bollocks, all complete spunk you've made up in your head, and I don't have the mental fucking space for it. I didn't back then, and I really fucking don't now. We can't have this argument again. You fucking end it, end the suspicion and-and the blame, or I am so done it's unreal.” He threw out his arms at his sides, breathing hard.

Chris stared back at him, stunned by his anger. It wasn't that he didn't understand that his anxieties hurt Cillian - he completely understood that - but it was the ferocity of his anger that had blown him away. He grappled for a reply, and found nothing. “Ci-...Cillian…” he babbled.

Cillian sighed heavily, dropping his arms back at his sides. “Open the door,” he said, his face a picture of anguish. “I'm tired.”

Chris eyed him silently for a moment before he nodded his head and pushed his hand into his pocket for the key card. He walked slowly last Cillian and to the door, just ahead. After a second of fumbling, he pushed open the door and held it as Cillian trailed in, immediately dropping his shoulder bag to the floor as he crossed the threshold. Chris shut the door and ensured it was locked, then turned back to face Cillian. He watched as Cillian walked across the expanse of the room, towards the sofa, where he dropped down with a groan.

“I do trust you.” Chris said, clear but nervous.

“Shut up.” Cillian sighed. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“You get to yell at me and I can't answer?” Chris raised his eyebrows, staring at the back of Cillian's head.

Cillian scoffed loudly, “Right now, Chris, that's exactly what the fuck is happening.”

“Stop swearing at me, Cillian.” Chris sighed.

Cillian turned on the sofa, looking over the back at Chris where he remained at the door. “Don't you dare, don't you get the attitude with me. You've ruined this entire fucking experience, just like Dunkirk. Don't make it fucking worse. You do not get to be angry at me, Chris! I haven't done anything wrong. It's your problem, you just seem to think it's alright to make it mine.” He turned again and got back to his feet. “If it was anyone else's Chris, any other fucking job I would leave. I love you - but right this fucking minute, I don't fucking like you.”

Chris watched as Cillian walked back around the sofa and towards the bathroom, his short legs taking him at remarkable speed. He slammed the door behind him, locking it once inside, and Chris stared at it in silence. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Chapter Text

For three days, Cillian barely spoke to Chris outside of professionalism. They came and went to set together, were polite on set, but Cillian slept on the sofa in their hotel room and Chris found every attempt to speak to Cillian met with a brick wall of silence. By the end of day three, though, Cillian seemed to have reached a plateau in his ability to be stoney faced and angry. Chris knew he had upset Cillian, but he just wished that he could get Cillian to see he didn't want that - he didn't want to hurt him, or cause him that upset. He just couldn't help his mind. He knew Cillian loved him - he was sure he'd have left already if he didn't - he just wished he liked him again. As the crew wrapped up the set, Cillian walked slowly towards Chris and stood behind him with a tired pout whilst he talked with Josh for a moment.

“I can't believe it's less than a week now til it's all wrapped.” Josh shook his head, smiling cheerfully.

“Well, that's the thing. It sounds like a long time and it just…it flies by, doesn't it?” Chris remarked. “I'll see you tomorrow.” He smiled politely as Josh excused himself, before turning to the presence he knew was behind him. Chris raised his eyebrows, a little surprised to see Cillian actually looking at him. “Are you alright?” He asked, taking in Cillian’s fiercely sleepy eyes.

Cillian nodded his head. “I don't like this.” He said quietly, almost rolling his eyes right back. “I miss you.”

Chris sighed with a sad smile, “I haven't gone anywhere, my darling. I've been here the entire time.”

Cillian rolled his eyes again, but this time he coupled it with a sigh “You made me really annoyed, Chris, and I'd had enough.” He said, frowning. “...but I love you more than I'm mad, and I am sick of the sofa, and I hate the silence, and my….fucking stubbornness only goes so far.” He sighed again, smirking a little. He was accepting blame for his mood, for his silent treatment response, and Chris didn't know if that was appeasement or he genuinely felt badly for being so affected, or if he still felt he had the right to feel that way. Chris wasn't sure which was the right choice, either.

Chris smirked at him, “I've never known anyone as stubborn. I am sorry, I don't mean to make you feel…like I did make you feel. And I love you, too. And I miss you. Is this…is it over? Can I hug you again, now?” He was almost joking, lightening the mood, but he smiled widely when Cillian nodded his head quickly. “So you like me again now?” He checked.

Cillian raised his right eyebrow. “Yes.” He answered after a pause, nodding his head slowly this time. “Yes, I like you.” He smiled. He stepped closer to Chris and held open his arms. “Fucking hug me, will you?!”

Chris wrapped his arms around Cillian on command, and gently placed a kiss against his cheek. “I'm really sorry. Okay? I am so sorry.” he whispered against Cillian's neck as he hugged tighter.

Cillian closed his eyes at the softness of Chris' voice. “I know.” He whispered. He did - he did know Chris was sorry, that he didn't mean to put his anxiety onto him, but he also wished that Chris would shut down his thoughts or speak to someone to address them. He really wasn't sure they could survive if he continually felt like Chris was imagining him running away.

Chris patted his hand against Cillian's back. “Come on - we'll get sorted and get back. It's been a long and lonely few days.” He said, releasing Cillian from the hug.

Cillian raised both eyebrows as he smirked. “Tell me about it!” Cillian turned to walk away and Chris took hold of his hand. Looking back, Cillian raised his eyebrows again. “What?”

“I'll try harder. Squash it down, try to turn it off. I don't know, I don't know what I can do, Cill, but I'll try. I love you, and I trust you, and I know you love me. I don't like what how I feel sometimes does to us, what it's done on this set, what it did before, to you...” Chris sighed heavily. His heart beat wildly in his chest. “I am so sorry it hurts you, that I hurt you. I just… I don't want anything, or anyone, to come between us but I know if I don't deal with my jealousy, that that is what will come between us.”

Cillian's face softened, a cocktail of love and sadness at Chris' heartfelt words. “I don't want things between us either. You've been a lot more publicly affectionate with me, and I appreciate that. I know you don't feel how you feel on purpose, and I know you know what it does to us. What can we do?” Cillian asked earnestly. “How can I make you feel better? Feel more secure? …not doubt me?”

Chris shook his head, “No, my darling man, I do not doubt you. I do not doubt you for a single moment. I see every good thing in you, Cillian. And I further adore the things that drive me crazy about you, too.” He smiled softly. “I never doubt you. I fear…” he shrugged. “You'll change your mind, you'll feel constricted, you'll…want and need more. I fear someone else can do that.”

Cillian frowned, a tiny wrinkling at the bridge of his nose, and he shook his head. “Nobody else can.” He insisted. “I haven't looked back, Chris. Not for a single moment since day one have I ever looked back.” Chris dropped his head for a moment, composing himself. When he looked back up, Cillian was smiling softly. “I know you love me, I just need you to not think that this - all of this between us - isn't enough for me. It is everything.” Chris matched Cillian's soft smile and nodded his head. Keeping Chris hand in his, Cillian edged forwards and kissed his lips gently, then slowly applied more pressure. He sought out what they had both been missing for days. With a gentle sigh, he broke the kiss. “I love you. Now take me back to the hotel and make it so we're not lonely anymore.”

As Cillian stepped back again, their hands still locked together, Chris chuckled lightly. “How lonely?”

Cillian rolled his eyes dramatically, “So lonely my wrist might be sprained.” As the words left his mouth he seemed to be immediately embarrassed, but Chris could only laugh.

This was how it was supposed to be.

It was remarkable how quickly filming came to an end.

The cast and crew slowly began returning home, and Cillian was finally able to relax - physically, at least. It was difficult, transfering all of that displaced energy, but initially it all fell from him in a need to sleep. Chris was not in the least bit surprised when Cillian slept until well past noon on the first and second day, after filming had ended.They were not rushing to leave the hotel, though they would soon, and he had spent the entire third morning occupied on the phone and via email, not exactly being quiet, whilst Cillian had slept like a log across the bed yet again. He was amused at the look on the younger man's face when he appeared at the side of the hotel sofa, wearing ill-fitting pyjamas and a very sleep-crumpled face, and Chris was impressed that it was before twelve pm. Looking up at him, Chris couldn't help but smile. “I nearly wondered if you'd died.” He joked, and Cillian rolled his tired eyes with a good-natured smile across his full, bitten-at lips. He suspected, now that Cillian was indeed awake, there'd be an hour of moping followed by a need to do something, anything, to occupy his not yet fully turned off mind. “I made coffee,” Chris gestured across the room to the small kitchen-like stretch of cabinets that had a kettle, small fridge, and coffee machine. “It should still be hot, unless your Celtic blood is screaming for tea?”

“Hmm, probably tea. I'm thirsty, actually. Need water!” Cillian replied huskily, nodding his head slowly, though he didn't walk away from his spot beside the sofa to begin that task. “I really did sleep like the dead, I would have thought after sleeping the clock round the last two days, I'd feel less sleepy.” He chuckled a little.

“You’re thirsty because you have slept for about fourteen hours! And you slept because you're finally relaxed. You can eat properly, switch off eventually, rest a little bit more, and not worry about this now until press and premiers.” Chris said, not looking up from the laptop.

“Unlike you, who'll be working just as much until it's ready for release!” Cillian said, gently placing his right hand down onto Chris' shoulder. “You want some more coffee?” He asked, peering into the mug on the low table, beside the laptop, in front of the sofa. It was half full, but the shiny film over the top of the coffee gave away the fact that it was cooled.

“No,” Chris said, a little distracted. He checked himself immediately, though, and looked over his shoulder at Cillian whilst placing his hand back awkwardly and resting it on top of Cillian's. “No, thank you.” he smiled gently. “Eat, please. There's yogurts and fruit in the fridge. Or order room service. But don't overdo it - small meals, high fat…”

Cillian squeezed his hand against Chris' shoulder, appreciating the concern and love. “I'll eat, don't worry.” He promised. “Are you and Emma meeting today?” He asked. He drew his hand down from Chris' shoulder, as Chris went back to his task, and approached the small kitchen area across the room.

“Hmm, yeah - at two.” Chris responded, once again focused on the laptop. “She's…she's found a little place in the town. Making the most of it before we head home, I think.” He explained, and then glanced up. He watched Cillian for a moment, taking in the man's tiny body and his oversized pyjamas as he stood at the kettle with his back to Chris, and swallowed down a glass of water whilst he waited. Silhouetted for Oppenheimer though he may be, and drastically so, Chris could still see the man he loved. “Did you want to come along?” He offered, smiling to himself as Cillian stretched his body, his hands cupping around the back of his head as he groaned at the action.

Cillian turned around, waiting still for the kettle to boil, and wrinkled his nose as he shook his head. “Not really.” He smirked. “I didn't plan on putting on more than a clean pair of pyjamas today, or maybe going for a run if I can be arsed...”

Chris smiled, shaking his head a little in amusement. “Well, I dare say that would be quite the sight outside of the room.” He laughed as Cillian rolled his eyes, turning back as the kettle boiled. “Perhaps I can bring you back something to eat?” He offered, “Emma's selling point for this place was that it has some kind of amazing pasta dish.”

Chris didn't receive an answer for a moment or two as Cillian focused on his tea, but he watched and waited for him to complete his task, and smiled as Cillian walked towards him with a mug in hand. He was slowly looking more awake, and that throaty, sleepy sound in his voice was easing away the more he spoke. “You be the judge,” he said, stopping by the sofa. He sipped at his tea noisily, raising his eyebrows when Chris glared at him comically. “Get it, eat it, if it's good, you can bring me some.” he smirked.

“So I'm the crash test dummy for your sensitive, Irish digestive system?” Chris laughed.

Cillian nodded his head, mockingly earnest, but raised his eyebrows. “Okay, that's racist. But on this occasion, Christopher, you very much are.”

“Still tired?” Chris asked with a slight frown - he had been eyeing Cillian's face since he'd come back with his cup of tea. “You're a little pale. I mean, you've been pale all this time, but I don't know... Are you still tired, because you look tired?”

“I'm tired,” Cillian shrugged, perpetually sipping at his tea, passing it off. “No worse than I have been, but like I said it isn't exactly easing up either.” He smiled gently. “I'm fine - my belly hurts a bit, but I think that's because I should eat something.”

“Well that settles it, I'm definitely bringing you back some pasta.” Chris nodded with wide eyes. “In the meantime, please eat something from the bloody fridge.”

Cillian's smile widened and his tongue protruded between his teeth sweetly, “You're so good to me.” He chuckled. He brought his empty cup to the counter and then slowly walked back over. “I’ll get something. G’on, get on with your work. I'm going to throw myself in the shower.” he said, calling behind him as he walked behind the sofa, and headed to the bathroom. Chris didn't respond, but he shook his head in amusement at the way Cillian slammed the bathroom door behind him with far more force than was necessary.

When Cillian emerged from the bathroom a half hour later, Chris was more or less in the same position that he had been before. He looked over his shoulder, eyeing up Cillian as he stepped through the door with a towel too-tightly-wrapped around his too-small waist. Chris turned his head back, giving Cillian a modicum of privacy to get dried and dressed, but did speak up into the quiet of the room. “Feel better for that?” He asked.

“A little,” Cillian answered, his voice a little strained as he leaned down to the floor to retrieve underwear from the case pushed under the bed. “Belly still hurts.” He said, offhandedly. “And my back a bit.”

“Muscular, perhaps, you back I mean?” Chris answered, still not looking around, with an edge of compassion to his tone. “Maybe from sleeping so long? There's muscle rub in the toiletry bag in the bathroom.”

Cillian made a small noise of dismissal, “Ah, it'll go.” He said with a sigh. He dressed in loose fitting jogger bottoms and a baggy black t-shirt, one that had always been loose but that now hung from him like it was meant for someone else. Barefooted, he crossed the room and hung the towel over the heater near the main door, then walked slowly towards the sofa to Chris. “I'm knackered.” He moaned.

“Perhaps you're coming down with something? It hasn't been easy, I know. Maybe now you've stopped, your body is protesting everything.” Chris looked up from the laptop. Cillian's gaunt face was still a little pale, but he did have a flush of colour on his cheeks thanks to his shower.

Cillian turned down the corners of his mouth and nodded his head, agreeing with Chris' suggestion. “Probably.” He sighed. “If I start burning up and sneezing before the end of the night, we'll have our answer.”

“Vitamins, my darling.” Chris said, his eyes still on the man standing beside him. “Dose yourself with them!” He reached out and closed down the laptop lid. “Right,” he said as he stood. He stepped around the arm of the sofa and halted directly in front of Cillian, “I am going to find Emma - text if there's anything you need, okay? If you do start to feel ill. But drink plenty of water, eat something, and rest. Let your body take the break it needs. You can burn off all the unused energy later.” He edged forwards and placed a kiss on Cillian's forehead. He followed the action up by softly laying his right hand against Cillian's angular cheek for a moment. “Okay?” Cillian offered a gentle smile and a slow blink by way of reply in the affirmative. Happy with that, Chris laid a soft kiss against Cillian's full lips then stepped away. “I'll send you a text, let you know when I'm on my way back.”

“Okay,” Cillian smiled once again, turning around to follow Chris with his eyes as the older man headed towards the door.

“Is the pain that bad?” Chris asked suddenly, frowning. He gestured his left hand out at Cillian.

Cillian was absently rubbing his right hand across his abdomen. “Just niggling - kinda burning.” he smirked nervously, and dropped his hand.

“Go and take some painkillers, and bloody eat something - your stomach is clearly crying out for something to be put in it.” Chris listed with mock annoyance. “Call me, or text me, alright, if it does amount to something. Okay?”

Cillian nodded his head, “I'm grand, go. G’on, I'm fine.” he smiled. “See you later.”

Chris returned to the hotel at close to five pm, and he searched around him when he found the room empty as he let himself inside. Closing and securing the door, he tossed his phone and sunglasses onto the bed and called out as he placed the styrofoam container with Cillian's promised pasta onto the nightstand, “Cill? You in the bathroom? Emma said David hasn't gone home yet - he's down with a flu, or virus or something..” He chatted, listening as the toilet flushed. A moment later, the bathroom door dragged open and Cillian stepped out. While his face was deathly pale, his cheeks were a little flushed and he looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Are you alright?” Chris asked, a bit panicked.

“Fine.” Cillian said sharply, a wince across his eyebrows proving the lie in that statement immediately as his hand rubbed across his belly.

Chris quirked his head slightly, furrowing his brow. “Cillian, don't lie to me. Is your stomach pain worse?”

Cillian grimaced, “Well, I threw up.” He said, gritting his teeth. He sighed, looking back at Chris, clearly still in discomfort and, despite nearing a decade together, he seemed pretty embarrassed, too. “...my stomach is killing me.”

Chris frowned at him deeply, “Oh, Cill, you poor sod. Perhaps that's what Emma meant about David when she said a virus. Shall I see if they've a doctor available?” He gestured at his phone.

“For getting sick?” Cillian huffed. Chris looked back at him sympathetically. “My stomach hurts, and I feel sick… it doesn't warrant a doctor.”

“Okay…” Chris nodded, unconvinced, “Well, if you get sick again then we'll call a doctor?” He suggested. “You’re hardly in a position to be losing what little you put into your body. Perhaps I can take you and find the nearest hospital?”

“Hospital, just for getting sick and stomach pains? That's ridiculous.” Cillian shook his head and moved away from the door. Not only did he look uncomfortable, Chris thought, he also looked utterly exhausted. He could tell from his demeanour he most likely had a temperature, and he worried further that whatever was causing him to feel so unwell would quickly wipe him out.

“We're not in England or Ireland here, Cill, the care is different. A hospital as a tourist is wiser than trying to find a local GP!” Chris reasoned. “A stomach flu could explain why you've stayed so sleepy? If it's a nasty gastric bug, Cill, then you can't leave it - especially not already being so rundown...” Cillian sighed heavily at Chris' words and stopped at the side bed. Standing opposite each other, on each side of the bed, they regarded one another. “Maybe we should go to the nearest hospital now?” Chris suggested. “Have you been drinking?”

Cillian shrugged, “Until it got too uncomfortable to put it in and throw it back up.” He groaned. “I don't want to go to a hospital for a stomach bug, Chris, that's ridiculous. They can't get rid of it.”

“So you've been sick more than once?” Chris quizzed, focusing only on that part of Cillian's rant, and Cillian shifted his gaze, then nodded slowly. Something in Cillian's expression made him fearful he might vomit again immediately. “Get into bed,” Chris insisted.

“I'll lay out on the sofa,” Cillian groaned a little, his hand rubbing back and forth across his stomach.

Chris didn't argue, “Fine, I'll get you some water. Are you alright going back and forth, or do you want a few carrier bags or something?”

“I'm not throwing up with you watching me.” Cillian grimaced, slowly walking around the end of the bed and towards the sofa. He sighed, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled loudly.

“Dignity and stomach flu do not go hand in hand, Cill.” Chris said, watching him as he dropped awkwardly down onto the sofa and immediately dropped his head back against the back. Chris set about fussing, getting Cillian a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, and also repurposed a fruit bowl by emptying it out and lining it with the first, and possibly most useless, carrier bag he came across. He brought them to the sofa, setting the bowl beside Cillian and leaving the glass on the table before him. “What can I do to help?” He asked.

“Leave me alone?” Cillian opened one eye, and looked up at Chris as he loomed over him. “Don't go away…but don't fuss at me. Just…”

“Just leave you be.” Chris nodded his understanding. He bent at the waist and placed a kiss against Cillian's clammy forehead. “Shout if you want me - and if you get any worse, I'm taking you to the hospital.” He said as he stood straight. “No arguments!”