The Sweet Imperfection of Us
The first time it happened, she wrote it off as exhaustion.
A clumsy step, an outstretched hand grasping for the surrounding walls as the colours of the world suddenly bled together across her vision. A sharp shake of her head and a few deep breaths brought her back to her senses, and when she opened her eyes, the world held focus again.
The second time, the clenching of her stomach catches her off guard and she visibly shivers with the sickly chill which sweeps through her body. She blames it on a bad meal, a touch of cold, waving away concerns and dismissing suggestions for her to take a break from rehearsal.
The third time, she almost collapses into one of her co-stars as the ground tilts askew under her feet. She barely hears the worried voice in her ear as firm hands manoeuvre her into a seat and bodies crowd around her. The dizziness pounds through her skull like freight train and she rubs her fingers against her temples in a bid to somehow ease the pressure; a deep frown creasing her face with the effort. The activity around her sounds so very far away. Her limbs feel tight with aches, shivering and trembling like she has just run a marathon. Yet she's warm; too warm. She drops her head over her knees, palms pressed into her forehead and long, dark hair falling like a curtain over her face, as she stubbornly fights to bring her body back under control. A series of platitudes cross her lips, words like 'just a bad spell' mumbled into the air only to fall on deaf ears.
When a reluctant visit to the doctor's abruptly turns into a trip to the hospital, no-one wants to be the one to make the inevitable call.
The conversation goes about as well as could be expected, and he's booking a flight almost before they're even off the phone.
It was the longest ten hours of his life.
He waits and listens as vague phrases such as 'flu strain', 'tests' and 'everything we can' are spoken at him by a weary looking doctor with a chart who looks like he's just coming off a fourteen hour shift. He stands surrounded by white: white coats amongst white walls and the prevalent smell of white chemicals. He nods a couple of times, wishing his mind was in a better state to absorb information, but currently he was running only on adrenaline and emotion and a single-minded desire. He finally interrupts, the question leaving his lips with a desperate edge of demand that the older man doesn't even blink at. He can feel the ragged spikes of jetlag digging into his usual patience but he manages to hold it together until he is at last pointed in the right direction and allowed through.
He barely leaves her room over the next few days, and no-one is surprised.
Family and friends drift in and out and he is forced to leave her side to let them talk with her; standing out the way, answering automatically to polite inquires, his eyes always finding their way back to her face. Mutual friends pull him aside, trying to distract him, concern shadowing their expressions as they drag him outside for obligatory re-hydration, coffee and fresh air. He chastises himself for being selfish, for monopolising her so completely, but the worry and ache in his chest won't give him peace – a painful tension in his heart that only eases when he was close enough to touch her again.
He knows he's not sleeping, he spends too much time watching her slip in and out of slumber, and this draws more than a few pointed comments his way. When repeated suggestions that he come away and get some proper rest were met with a dark scowl and sharp outburst, they realised just how much the current situation scared him.
Jonathan never snapped.
It quickly became clear that common sense and reason were useless against the indefinable pull of their unique relationship; something that had always been evident but never quite as potent before. He needed to be with her and she needed him to be there, and that was simply the way their world worked. Everything that went understood without a single word; a connection even those closest to them sometimes struggled to comprehend.
His eyes crease slightly, his features tightening imperceptibly as he moved to reclaim his seat beside her bed, unable to help the feeling of relief and contentment that they were alone once more. He takes her hand in a familiar grip, fingers lightly caressing hers, and strokes some damp hair away from her face. Her skin feels warm under his touch from the fever she's been running. Her eyes flicker open and focus on his face, a small unbidden smile crossing her expression.
"Bet I look a mess."
"You do."
She laughed at that and he felt his own lips tugging up as he basked in the gorgeous sound. The one thing that had always managed to bring the light back into even his worst days.
"Still beautiful though."
"Liar," she scolded affectionately.
He shook his head. "Not this time." His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, his gaze caught deep in hers. "How do you feel?"
"Awful," she replied immediately, an unhappy frown scrunching her brow. "Sick with chills and nauseous, and my head feels heavy all the time. It's like I've been stamped into the ground and got all smushed."
He nodded in sympathy, a strained note in his voice. "You're going to get better."
"Of course I will," she said, firm and final, as if the outcome was perfectly obvious. "Don't worry about me. They've got the best doctors here and they can cure pretty much most things these days."
He almost rolled his eyes that she was the one comforting him in this situation, telling him how things were going to work out, taking control like she did.
"As long as we're clear on that. You're not getting away from me that easily." His gaze travelled over her face, memorizing every feature, before finding her eyes again. A private smile pulled his lips, shining with that same intimate warmth she knew so well. "I love you. So much. You're my girl."
He couldn't lose her. His best friend in the whole world, but she was so much more. She was a special magic in his life, one that he wasn't sure he knew how to live without anymore.
"Quite an honour coming from you," she teased, before her voice turned sincere. "I know. And I love you." She glanced down, an ironic smile quirking her lips for a moment. "I think you might be the love of my life. Even though."
She felt his fingers move to gently tilt her chin, bringing her gaze up to meet his again.
"Good. Because I know you're mine. Always will be. Even though," he echoed calmly.
A knowing smile passed between them with the mutual, if misplaced, confession. It was just who they were to each other. Maybe that had always been the truth of their relationship.
She rolled her eyes with a quiet laugh. "Hopeless, aren't we? From the second you walked into that audition, I knew you were going to be the bane and best part of my life. Even though you were this dorky, countrified thing and I doubted you'd ever get the part – you were too sweet. Funny thing is, I think that made me fall for you even more. I loved that about you, loved spending time with you, talking and laughing through everything together. You're too good an actor for your own good sometimes, but I wouldn't trade one second of it. Ever."
"Me neither. Being with you like that, getting to be that close to you, it was hardly an arduous trial, Lea." He grinned as he thought back on the crazy memories they had shared. "I couldn't believe how lucky I was. I got to go to work everyday and spend it being close to my best friend, laughing and loving you, on and off stage in our own way. Working with you, just isn't work, it's so much better. I think you spoiled me for anyone else."
"I guess it was just too much fun corrupting you," she replied, flashing him a wicked smile that made him burst out laughing.
"Well, apparently we've coveted quite a lovely and devoted, if a little delusional, fan base," she continued, a mischievous twinkle in her gaze. "We've had quite a few steamy love affairs if you look online."
"Well, we're two beautiful, wildly talented, hot young things who are clearly crazy about each other – what did you expect?"
"Okay, I admit it, most of them were written by me." She gave a theatrical sigh. "Had to have some outlet for all my pining, unrequited love, didn't I?"
"Unrequited?" Jonathan raised a playful eyebrow and she giggled.
"Some of your fans are scary, you know."
"We don't have the scary fans, Lea. We have the adorable ones."
She gave him a sceptical look, despite the grin on her lips. "If you say so. But even mass adoration can have its pitfalls. You do realise you're breaking new hearts every day, right?"
"Hey, the people have good taste, what can I say? Besides, you can talk. You know there's actually an 'I'd Go Gay for Lea' club?"
She laughed, shaking her head faintly to herself. "You gotta love the irony. I wonder if there's an 'I'd Go Straight' club?"
"Want me to set one up?"
She caught his gaze with a wry smirk. "Haven't we already tested that theory?" she teased. "A lot."
"Always worth a shot."
"I'm flattered."
He laughed and gave a small shrug, before coming back to the main thread of their conversation. "The joys of celebrity, I suppose. It's our cross to bear. But you should really stop trawling the websites, honey. It's not good for the ego. It's too big already."
She scoffed and opened her mouth, but her comeback was cut short as she suddenly coughed violently, wincing at the familiar ache in her chest. He quickly leaned forward and held her face soothingly until she evened her breathing out again, relaxing under his embrace.
"You can't leave," he uttered, almost too soft to hear, subdued fear stirring in his eyes which sobered them both.
"I'm not going anywhere," she promised, threading her fingers through his with the same firm assurance that filled her voice. "Forever and always, right?"
"Right," he agreed quietly, a nostalgic smile crossing his lips at the foolish memory.
She touched a hand to his hair, her fingers resting at his temple tenderly. "But you should. Go home – get some rest and sleep. Look after yourself."
He shook his head. "I'm fine. I'm not leaving you." He clasped her hand, squeezing her fingers a little tighter than he intended.
She sighed. "I don't want you to get sick because of me. You need to take better care. You'll end up in bed next to me if you carry on like this."
"There are worse places to be," he said with a smirk.
She rolled her eyes lovingly. "Stubborn fool."
"Drama queen," he retorted, tapping the tip of her nose. "Honestly, I know you were missing me desperately, but don't you think you went a bit over the top to get me back over from London?"
"Yeah well, what can I say – I'm selfish that way," she muttered before the words were overtaken by a sudden yawn. "It's these stupid drugs they have me on; they make me so sleepy all the time. I hate it," she complained, pouting like a disgruntled child that somehow made him love her even more.
His lips twitched up fondly. "Sleep, it's okay. I'll still be here when you wake up."
"I know," she said slowly, and he couldn't tell if it was disapproval or gratitude that laced her voice. Maybe both.
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, an easy intimacy that was as natural as drawing breath to them both. His lips brushed against her skin for a long moment, before he slowly ducked his head and caught her mouth in a tender caress. She lifted her chin and moved into his touch, her hand coming up to gently cup his face as the kiss lingered and deepened into the same loving exchange that had always ruled their relationship. A love that would forever be straddling the borderline of definition.
It was a comforting and familiar gesture that they had done so many times before, but this time there was no silent audience in a theatre; no cameras whirring next to them; no characters or borrowed love stories to hide behind – only their own. This time they were only themselves, and it was only their bittersweet passion and deep friendship that sang through the touch of their bodies. It was gentle, real and achingly sincere. Finally he drew back and they smiled at each other, honest and heartbreaking love filling every part of their faces, only a hint of familiar sadness in their eyes.
"Anything?" she asked softly, lips curving in a loving grin. Teasing as only a best friend, as people who knew each other inside out, ever could.
He smiled knowingly as he held her gaze. Her small hand was warm and clammy against his cheek but he still placed his own tenderly over hers to keep her close, to soak in the comfort of her touch – this girl who meant the world to him.
"Everything," he answered honestly.
~o~