The studio is deserted.
Chad stands in the cover of shadows cast by the moon flitting through a high window. He watches silently as Sonny reads over a script by the light of a dimmed lamp. He feels the overwhelming urge to leave his secluded hiding place and sit next to her, to talk to her, but he pushes it to the back of his mind.
He's fascinated by her; perhaps the mystical fog drawn by darkness is sending his mind to places it doesn't normally go, but he finds himself wrapped up in every detail of her lounging form: the slight tilt of her head, the way her hair falls loosely over her shoulders, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. He feels drawn to her in a way that he never has before.
She reclines on a couch that he assumes is used as a prop on her ridiculous show. Her knees are bent and the script rests on the flat of her stomach, against her knees, and is held open by her free hand. Her other arm rests at her side; her mouth gently forms the words as she reads them, committing them to memory.
He watches her lips move, and wonders how they would feel pressed against his. He imagines their softness and warmth, the gentle pressure of a kiss he knows will likely never happen. But he craves it, deep in the core of his being, pumping through his veins; the longer he stares at her, the more he feels the need to be near her.
He knows he shouldn't be there, invading her space. She stays late at the studio for the solitude and the silence, and he is fully aware that he is imposing on that. But when he heard her settling down earlier, he couldn't resist the opportunity to see her outside of her usual comedic brigade. To see her on her own, as herself.
As he struggles to get a grip on his racing thoughts, she closes the script and sets it on the floor beside her, then rests her head back against the arm of the couch. The curve of her neck, suddenly exposed, sends an unexpected shudder down Chad's back. What he wouldn't give to cross the room and bury his face against her skin.
Her eyes flutter closed and her hands fold together over her stomach. For the first time it occurs to Chad that it's well past midnight and she's probably tired. As he should be, too.
Without thinking, Chad steps out of the shadows and tentatively calls her name: "Sonny?" His voice is soft, but it startles her nonetheless and she jumps into a sitting position with her hands balled into defensive fists at her sides.
Her face shifts from shock and slight fear to confusion, and finally, to irritation. And then Chad remembers that they're supposed to hate each other.
He finds he doesn't care what they're supposed to feel. He knows he'll probably regret it come morning, but for now all he wants is her.
"What are you doing here?" She demands, climbing to her feet. "How long were you standing there? Were you spying on me?" With each question, her voice climbs higher and higher. She ends on a squeak.
"No," Chad says firmly, ignoring her accusatory tone. "I was not spying on you. I have better things to do with my time than spy on a Random." Good going, Chad, he mentally kicks himself. He had not intended to sound so defensive.
"Then what are you doing here?" She repeats her initial question, her voice returning almost to its normal level. For a moment, he's distracted by the curious curve of her brow and the way her lips part gently as she waits for an answer.
"I—" he struggles to find an answer, because how lame would it sound if he told her the truth? "I had some stuff to do on my set. Wondered if you needed a ride home. But you seem just fine on your own." Another mental kick. Why is he so incapable of being nice to her?
She doesn't answer for a moment; she presses her lips together, narrows her eyes at him and Chad has to physically restrain himself from reaching out to touch her. The feeling of frustration at her impatience is fading into an even stronger pull of want. He wants to feel her skin beneath his fingertips; to breathe in the smell of her—a delicious combination of something sweet and sort of minty, and to hear her say his name in a way that isn't full of contempt or weariness. He wants their relationship to change in a very major way, but somewhere deep down he knows it's impossible. Still, he can't stop the insistent tugging in the pit of his stomach.
Finally, she exhales heavily and leans over to collect her script. "I don't know if I believe you or not, but I do need a ride home." Her tone isn't questioning; it's casual, almost friendly. "Thanks, Chad."
And he knows that this is probably the most genuine, non-argumentative way he will ever hear her say his name. Because the possibility of ever being more than friends-that-sort-of-hate-each-other is very nearly non-existent for them.
This is a kind of different Chad than we were used to seeing on Sonny With a Chance. I like to think that, on his own, Chad can be pretty observant and almost poetic, sort of. I hope you guys enjoy this! Don't forget to review, I love hearing from you :)