"That's it. I need a break!"
Charles was sick of the lights and their constant attack on his pupils. Maybe he was taking advantage of his lead role to ask for a break, but lord knows everyone needed it.
He didn't need to rip the mic off. He didn't need to throw his costume on the ground and he certainly didn't need to slam the changing room door behind him as if it was his personal trailer. This was a high school production. And here he was, fulfilling his title of drama queen. He didn't fucking care. He didn't care what they thought. Didn't care how he looked to them. Let them think what they want.
As soon as the door slammed, his breath hitched and speed up as tears poured down his face. Now if only it were so easy while he was on the stage. It just got to be too much sometimes. The pressure, the people, the lights, the chairs. All the chairs. The chairs that would be full in…two days. Only two days. How the hell was he supposed to be ready in two days. Well he did have all his lines memorized and…everything was choreographed…and…well okay so he was ready. But what did ready really even mean?
He started at a knock on his door and immediately scrubbed at the tears. The smudged make-up helped conceal them.
"When you're done, I'll help you put your mic back on."
The mysterious voice left and Charles just turned and stared at the closed door. "How did you know I took it off?"
He heard a scoff and a small laughter. "You don't know what a beautiful sound that thump made in my ear piece. I can't thank you enough. Don't throw the equipment around next time, it costs money. And so does make up. You're an actor. You shouldn't have to cry."
At that Charles yanked the door open to confront this son of a bitch who thought he knew him, but the door frame was empty.
Charles quietly shut the door and began reapplying his makeup. It was only when he put on the finishing touch, after having found that this was the best he'd ever done, that he realized his costume wasn't on. He cursed as he stared at the pile. There was a knock on the door, and Charles stomped with rage as he opened it was more energy than necessary.
A young man wearing a ridiculously out of period turtleneck found himself knocking on Charles's forehead. Charles stood and waited for the kid to speak, but…damn, Charles didn't even know his name…Turtleneck, that would have to do. Turtleneck just stood there speechless, looking down. Finally, he cleared his throat, "Um…did you, uh, want me to come back then?" His eyes glanced down quickly again and then hurriedly looked away down the hallway. Tech guys. The other actors would call this overdressed. He still had his briefs on for god's sake. Charles let out a sigh and pulled the fucking dumb ass tech into the small room. As he was bent over to pick the mic up off the floor, he decided to remember he was nearly naked and stood upright with a shy smile. Actor. He wasn't really into guys, but hell, he'd have fun with this while he could.
His eyes flickered down as his eyelids fluttered. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear as he looked up. Upper teeth dragging across his bottom lip with his eyebrows smashed together in apology. "I…I'm sorry I nearly killed your mic. Can you ever forgive me?"
Turtleneck started laughing. Small at first, but it gradually grew until he was nearly doubled over laughing and struggling to stand. He coughed a bit and tried to subdue it, but a tear escaped his eye and he rubbed at it as he grabbed the equipment from Charles. With a sudden disinterest in Charles's exposed skin, he strapped the mic onto his back. This time Charles jumped while Turtleneck's fingers brushed his back and stomach. He turned to leave as Charles was…no it wasn't reluctant, just slow…Charles slowly pulled his pants back on. The boy seemed to vibrate with contained laughter. "Didn't think that'd actually work." Turtleneck closed the door behind him and Charles's eyebrows furrowed. An act, hm? Two can play that game.
-x-
Charles really didn't care much for the current play that was opening and no one else really did either. Charles was the lead and someone had to keep the others motivated, so Charles took it on himself to feign passion. He claimed to be going to a dressing room to re-evaluate and study the script for an potential misunderstandings (though it was quite simple so everyone knew that was bullshit), but truthfully, he wanted to write. It was foolish to believe he could both finish the script and have it bound on time to try to convince Ms. Carter he bought it.
His pen scrawled words effortlessly onto the page, of course the words were also incoherent, but maybe his subconscious would surprise him. The last thing he expected was his door swinging open. He made it quite clear that he did not like to be disturbed and everyone knew that for the sake of their own lives, but not the new guy. Turtleneck. Charles clutched the notebook to his chest as Turtleneck's eyes flicked from it to the script lying long abandoned under a chair. Neither said a word and the uncomfortable silence grew. Charles cleared his voice and looked pointedly at the door, which Turtleneck then closed. Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "No, that meant 'leave' not 'oh please I want more privacy with you.' I thought we passed that phase already." You manipulative bitch. Yes, bitch. I don't care if you're male. You are a bitch. A bitch whose mouth just parted and whose tongue is visible as you speak… Charles blinked. "I'm sorry you said something?"
Turtleneck smirked. "I said I came by to discuss the rigging with you. You have a small flying entrance and I wanted to be sure everything was cleared up before we fling you into the air." Charles was slightly mortified when he received the part of Peter Pan regardless of the norm being to cast a female actress. Apparently he had not only the right height and physique but, god save him, the voice.
Of course this idiot was understating the extent of flying the play required of him. "Yes wonderful, I wasn't aware. What do I need to know." The casual sarcasm seemed to be Turtleneck's way of…polite conversation. Turtleneck was ignoring their past encounters and was speaking to him professionally.
"…the rigging is going to be green, just in case." Charles blinked again and mentally kicked himself. What…what was distracting him? "I'm…sorry." He suddenly felt ashamed. Charles prided himself on his careful focus and professionalism, yet he couldn't stop thinking about Erik's hands strapping the mic onto his back and that just…didn't make much sense.
Turtleneck shrugged nonchalantly. "You were writing. I imagine you must be quite good if it's taking this long for the author to come back to reality."
Charles's eyes instantly became moist. No one had every complimented his writing. No one knew about his writing. Now it was Turtleneck's turn to blink. Oh did Charles know how his eyes looked when near to tears. It was a trick he used often. But he didn't expect to blink and find Turtleneck gone, door slamming on his way out.
-x-
Charles checked the watch on the chair and, yes, dinner break was over. He reemerged for rehearsals. They hadn't started rehearsing the flying and they'd surely be here until 11 earliest. Charles leapt across the stage with an energy he didn't have as it was mostly to distract from Wendy and Peter's height difference. Why Ms. Carter insisted on Charles and Emma always being leads together, he'll never understand. She's convinced they have a telepathic connection, but Charles thought that was bullshit. He was still waiting for Moira, the stage manager, to gather up enough courage to audition. He longed to trade lines with her. She was a raw and natural talent when she helped him rehearse.
Charles never ceased to be amazed by the video they projected as his shadow. It required a careful coordination on his part, but even from where he stood, it looked quite good, until something blinded him. He quickly shielded his eyes and lost step with the projected image. "Who the hell is in charge of Tinkerbell today? Do they not realize they shine the laser pointer everywhere except the actors' eyes?" Again the green light flashed into his eyes and he'd be damned if he wasn't looking at the silhouette of a finely sculpted figure wearing a turtleneck in the sound booth. Charles's open mouth quickly shut and he murmured something that included turtleneck, and a repetition of the word 'fuck' and alternating phrases of 'fuck you' and thought he wasn't sure which meaning he intended, and laughed at his joke. After all, that was just a joke. Then remembered he was mic'd. "Fuck you. Piss off and let me rehearse will you? What the hell do you have against me?" Charles would never hear it, but alone in the sound booth, Erik was surprised to hear himself mutter "Nothing yet."
-x-
Erik bolted after rehearsals. He needed his computer. He needed to relax into the complex process of programming. It was almost time to add in graphics expect for the small problem…his video game didn't yet have a story line. He had character ideas and visuals to with them that his artist had drawn for him, but no adventure for them to go on. And that was why he couldn't progress. He stared at the blinking cursor and longed to finally fucking fill it with text. Maybe he should just ask his artist, after all, she was his ex and they were still getting along. Okay they were friends. He kept trying to convince her to start drawing realism, but she was just in love with drawing cartoons and it worked for Erik's game so he couldn't complain. He just knew she could do better. She could certainly do better than him. As a boyfriend. Well do better with selecting a boyfriend than she had when choosing him.
Video games were a combination of everything he loved. Computers, stories, architecture, anger management, and violence. Erik stared at the screen. He wasn't sure why Magneto was designed to look pretty much exactly like himself, but when artists insist, they insist. Something felt wrong about him being the protagonist. He needed a new character. No one he had was quite right.
Of course Erik's thoughts kept returning to one person, but he would put himself through hell before he went through with that. He'd been mentally picking on Charles since he laid eyes on him. Everything about him screamed 'I'm a spoiled rich attention whore' but when the sobbing was picked up by his headset, he recognized a façade when he saw one. And being able to relate was more alluring than he'd dare to admit to even himself. So he'd keep up the teasing and try not to think about it. That'd be the best route…but he was a writer…and Erik needed a storyline. Why he allowed himself to connect with people, he'll never understand and will probably always regret.