A/N: I should be writing Dissident, but instead I woke up one day with a plot bunny that demanded to be written. I'd like to thank Felyneve, who volunteered to be my beta for this one and got rid of about half of my commas.
Eric's texts look like this and Tris' look like this.
Starstruck
Are you free this weekend?
Tris couldn't help smiling at the message – truth be told, she'd been smiling like an infatuated teenager since she saw Eric's name in the notification box.
They'd known each other since high school. He was a junior and the captain-slash-founder of the Fight Club, while she was a freshman who spent most of her extracurricular hours working for the school's volunteering programme.
If it wasn't for Drama Club on Wednesday afternoons, they'd probably have gone through the remainder of his 'hell years' not even knowing each other's names. In fact, for the entirety of her freshman year, that – along with the fact that he had a very deep, very sexy voice, while she had a nice ass and the best sense of humour he'd ever seen – was all they knew.
Then, after a whole year of barely speaking to each other, a marginally successful performance as Tree Number Three and That Guy in the Background, and an unexpected staff change during summer break, they were forced to get to know each other. Mr. Smith – who used to brag about having directed real plays in real stages with real actors, but was never able to come up with an explanation as to why he was working as a high school Drama teacher – announced that year's final performance would be Romeo and Juliet.
Apparently, they had so much chemistry, Mr. Smith was dead-set on casting them as the main characters, and no amount of whining from the senior girls – nor the fact that Eric hated Shakespeare with a burning passion - was enough to change his mind.
Just as they'd started thinking life couldn't get more cliché, the year of all-but-forced interaction led them to finding out that - from musical preferences to living in the same building - they did, in fact, have a lot in common.
Most importantly, neither of them had ever met anyone else who wanted to be an actor.
After that slightly-more-successful performance, Eric packed his bags and moved to Los Angeles, determined to follow the being-a-waiter-slash-barista-until-finally-making-it script, and, his family aside, she was the only person he bothered keeping in touch with. Two years later, she left her family and boyfriend behind to study Drama at Juilliard, hoping to someday set foot on a Broadway stage.
They'd never be able to explain how it happened or who initiated it – they weren't even sure of how much of it came before Four dumped her - but their almost daily texts started to become increasingly less innocent, until it'd escalated into full-on sexting, and they both knew they'd have a lot of chemistry to work through when they went back home for Thanksgiving.
Their long-awaited reunion on Black Friday started with a six-pack of beer and ended with them fucking in his old room while his parents were out shopping.
That day, while still lying naked in his bed, relishing in post-orgasmic haze, they agreed on meeting up whenever they were both single and in the same city, and, over the past eight years, that agreement had been working wonderfully, despite the fact that the 'being in the same city' part proved to be a very big if as he started getting cast for several small roles in a row and she became a prominent director's newest protégée.
The last time they'd met, nine long months before, he'd gotten cast for his biggest role thus far, as a secondary character in some superhero movie – not that she knew anything about superheroes, or even in which side of the Marvel-DC feud it was supposed to be - and she was waiting on the results of an audition for the starring role in a musical – not that he could name any musicals besides Chicago, and he couldn't even tell if it was a play, a movie, or both. Between his hectic filming schedule - which included spending the entirety of November in Australia, of all places – and the inhuman amount of hours she'd been spending in rehearsal, it'd been weeks since they'd even spoken to each other, and his message could only mean one thing: he'd finally found the time – or, most likely, the excuse – to travel to New York.
I'm kinda busy all weekend, babe. You know how opening weekends are.
She bit her lower lip as she watched the three little dots on the top of her screen, bouncing under his name and disappearing, only to show up again a few seconds later. It seemed to take ages for him to finally settle on a message that he deemed worth sending.
Yeah, I know. I'll be in NY for the Fatal Impact premiere and some press bullshit, so I should be busy for most of the weekend too, tbh. But maybe we could try to spend a night together or something.
She rolled her eyes at his reply – leave it to him to make her feel like a booty call while simultaneously making her feel somewhat special – but, before she got the chance to even think of an answer, a new message came up on her screen.
I miss you.
Her annoyance instantly disappeared, and she found herself smiling as she typed out her reply.
Well, I wouldn't kick you out if you were to, idk, show up at my door after your super fancy premiere.
Oh, honey, I never thought you would. I know how you feel about suits.
She laughed, glancing at the clock on the top of her screen, only to realize she had less than five minutes to get back to the stage, if she wanted to avoid being yelled at by the director. That wasn't nearly enough time for the answer she wanted to give – and the huge amount of back-and-forth bantering-slash-sexting that would inevitably follow - so she settled on a much less personal reply.
Guess we have a date, then.
His reply was a straightforward 'k then', and she shook her head, while putting her phone back in her pocket and walking back into the dressing room. Just as she was shoving her phone into her bag, she felt it vibrate again, and she pulled it back out for just enough time to read his message on her notification screen.
I'm sorry, I know how much you hate it when I do that. What I meant to say is, I can't wait for the weekend.
She followed the other actors backstage, bracing herself for the seemingly endless hours of meet-and-greet she still had ahead of her. The opening night had been a huge success, considering it was a Thursday and an off-Broadway theatre, and she normally wouldn't have minded meeting the audience, but all she could think about at that moment was how much she wanted to take a hot bath and get some sleep.
The crowd gathered around her and her cast-mates had finally started to thin out when she saw him, dressed in a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans, leaning against a lamppost and smoking a cigarette. He looked exactly like he did the last time they'd met, although she knew, from a few stills that had made it onto her Facebook timeline, that he was almost unrecognisable when compared to the version of him that would be displayed on thousands of screens all over the world in a little over a week.
They exchanged a brief smile before she turned her attention to the girl who had just approached her. Tris could almost feel him watching her like a hawk as she talked to people and posed for selfies, and when she finally signed the last seemingly random item that would be pushed in her direction that night, she raised her eyes to find him standing behind the owner of the t-shirt that was still in her hands.
"Uh, hi." He looked at her with the same starstruck expression a fangirl would use when meeting their celebrity crush for the first time – not that either of them had ever been on the receiving end of that particular kind of interaction. "Could you please sign my... uh...-" He patted his pockets, seemingly looking for something, before sticking his arm out towards her. "Forearm." He cleared his throat. "Would you sign my forearm? Please?"
She smiled at him, doing her best to hide her confusion as she wrapped her hand around his wrist, knowing full well he'd be as interested in finding out how far they could go as she was.
"Sure, love." She expertly uncapped her Sharpie with her free hand. "What's your name, hun?"
"Eric." He wrapped his free arm around her waist so he could pull her closer. She'd probably have killed any other guy for doing that, but she had to admit, writing on his arm in this position was a lot easier, and she definitely didn't mind having his arm around her. "I'm a big fan."
"A big fan, huh?" She asked, hunching over his arm so he couldn't read what she wrote until she was done. "You gonna get that tattooed over, Eric?"
"I might," he replied, in a tone that suggested he was seriously thinking about it. It sounded so convincing, she found herself wondering if he was that good of an actor.
She stepped back after signing her name, allowing him to look at her masterpiece.
Eric, darling,
Margaritas any time.
Love you, Tris
He laughed, pulling her closer again so he could kiss her temple. "Hannah's gonna kill me," he whispered in her ear. Tris had no idea who Hannah was – she did have the feeling he was referring to someone involved in the 'press bullshit' thing, though - but she knew any journalists who got to interview him on the next morning would be having a ball.
"Come on, let's meet my friends." She laced her fingers through his and dragged him towards the rest of the cast, introducing him to the people she'd been practically living with for the past few months. He shook their hands almost absent-mindedly, barely registering their names, as all he could focus on was the fact that he was close to her, holding her hand and basking in her presence for the first time in nearly a year.
He wouldn't ever admit to loving her - at least, not in the Hollywood rom-com kind of way -, but he'd missed being around her and getting to watch her face light up as she talked about how a-maz-ing her performance had been.
"You weren't there, were you?" She narrowed her eyes at him.
Years earlier, they'd made a pact. He hated musicals and she couldn't stand action movies, so they'd agreed on never watching anything the other did. It'd been her idea, and as illogical as it sounded at first, he had to agree it was a sensible plan. Not having to pretend he liked something quickly became one of his favourite parts of his relationship with her, even more so after he dated a painter and a ballerina – he honestly hoped he'd never have to set foot in an art gallery or watch The Swan Lake again.
Tris used to joke that his performance as supportive boyfriend had been Oscar-worthy, and he was glad he didn't need to play a part with her.
"Of course not." He laughed.
"Good." She gave him a bright smile – the kind, he noticed, she reserved only for him. "What are you doing here, then?"
"Oh, you know. I was done with press junket for the day and I thought maybe I could kidnap you for the night. So I called Christina and got her to tell me where you were."
He shrugged, like it was no big deal, but Tris knew better. Christina was her best-friend-slash-roommate, and she deeply disliked Eric for not 'making it official' with her. There was no way she'd relinquished that information as easily as he was trying to play it off as.
"At what price?"
"I may have promised to introduce her to Will," he confessed, making Tris laugh. Will Carter was Christina's latest celebrity crush, and he happened to also be in the cast for Fatal Impact. Tris knew it'd been only a matter of time before she found a way to force Eric to get them in the same room.
"Hey, Tris!" One of her cast-mates – Eric had the vague memory of his name being Cal or something like that – called. "Are you and your friend joining us for drinks?"
She looked up at Eric, wordlessly asking for his opinion.
"The guys are at a bar on...- Fuck, I don't even know." He chuckled. "I was thinking about swinging by, because there's no way I'm leaving Christina alone with Will, but, if you want to go out with them, don't let me stop you. You can meet me up at the hotel later, if you want."
She smiled at him and shook her head before turning her attention back to Al.
"Nah, I'm bailing. Maybe next week?"
Al shrugged, making a non-committal sound before he walked back into the theatre, leaving her and Eric alone on the sidewalk.
"I need to change," she said, looking at him in a way that made it clear she was none too happy with the idea of being away from him, even if it was for just a few minutes. "You can wait inside, if you want."
"I think I'll just wait for you here." He winked at her and pulled the pack of Marlboros out of his pocket. She kissed him on the cheek before walking back into the building.
He all but dragged her into the bar. Not that she was in any way reluctant about it – in fact, the idea of having drinks with him before going back to his hotel room sounded so appealing, she'd pretty much forgotten all about going home and getting some sleep - but he was just too eager to finally get to introduce her to the people he'd come to consider his friends.
She had no memory of having ever seen him look that excited about anything, so she decided to just follow his lead and let him take her to the pool table occupied by a group of people whose faces were currently printed in billboards all over the city.
She couldn't help noticing that he used their first names – and sometimes even nicknames that had never seen the light of day, at least press-wise – when he introduced them to her. Logically speaking, she knew it shouldn't come as a surprise, but there was something borderline surreal in being told Marlene Keane – pretty, funny, relatable, newest-it-girl Marlene Keane – was called Lene.
In a way, it gave her a sense of normalcy, like the people around her were regular coworkers meeting at the bar near the office for happy hour, instead of a bunch of Hollywood up-and-coming starlets unwinding after a long day of movie promoting.
"I'll go get us something to drink," Eric said, looking at her almost like he expected her approval. "Will you be okay?"
"Geez, Eric," Uriah – one of the youngest cast members, whom Eric didn't quite get along with – said, laughing way too loudly. "We don't bite."
Eric rolled his eyes at him and looked at Tris, making it clear that her opinion was the only one that mattered. She gave him a small smile, glancing at the inside-joke-slash-autograph on his forearm.
"If you bring me a margarita, I will be."
After what felt like a lifetime trying to get the bartender's attention for long enough to open a tab and order a margarita and a Jack and Coke, he came back to the pool area, being met with the sight of Tris bent over the table, trying to reach the cue ball. He had no idea what she was trying to accomplish – he'd never seen a game that looked less promising than the one laid out in front of her -, but he certainly appreciated the view. She wore the shortest jeans shorts he'd ever seen on her, showing off her long, perfectly toned legs, and her ass – which had only gotten better since they were in high school – looked absolutely incredible in that position. Her grey, loose-fitting top had slid off her shoulder, allowing him to see the top part of her shoulder blade tattoo – the one he'd only ever seen in pictures and that one video chat, right after she'd got it done. Her blonde hair was up in a messy bun, leaving the back of her neck exposed, almost inviting him to brush his lips against her soft skin, nibbling on that spot that always made her let out a satisfied sigh.
One powerful stroke sent the cue ball rolling straight to a cluster of balls across the table – and, miraculously, she succeeded in pocketing one of them. A round of cheers erupted, and she turned to Uriah, smiling widely at him before taking a bow – a gesture that looked so theatrical, even coming from her, that Eric couldn't help laughing.
She turned around to face him, her face lighting up before she greeted him with a dramatic, "My hero!" She took her glass from his hand before turning back to Uriah and offering him the stick. "Don't screw up again," she said, in her best impression of a threatening tone – which made her sound as menacing as a kitten.
Eric wrapped his arm around her waist, too lost in her pale blue eyes to do anything but stare longingly into them. When she pulled him in for a kiss, all he could think of was how lucky he was that he'd found her and that she seemed to like him just as much as he liked her.
Then she pulled away, and something about the sudden loss of contact – especially when he wanted to do so much more with her than chaste kisses and hand holding – reminded him that, as lucky as he was for having her, it still wasn't enough to trump the fact that they could never be together for more than a few weeks at a time.
"So, you and Eric, huh?" Lene sat on the chair next to Tris, making the blonde finally look away from the pool table, where Eric was playing with some of the others. "He spent the whole flight telling all about you to anyone who would listen, but he never told us how you met."
Tris smiled at her, thinking – for the umpteenth time that night – that Christina would've loved Lene. But Chris had barely spent thirty minutes hanging out with them before she and Will disappeared, so she'd never know if she was right.
"We went to the same school," she replied. She had the feeling that, if Eric had left that part of the story out of his endless blabbering, it wasn't her place to share the details.
"Oh, so you were high school sweethearts?" Lene gushed at the idea, and Tris felt like reminding her that, despite what it might seem, they weren't the main couple from a paperback novel.
"Fuck, no," Eric replied, laughing, as he turned to face them. "She had a boyfriend back then. The guy was a total jerk."
Tris rolled her eyes, but a stern look from Eric made her bite back her protest. They'd talked about that subject several times over the years, and Eric had always made it clear that, even though he'd hated the guy since when they had both been freshmen, it had nothing to do with the fact that he thought Four was an asshole for breaking up with her because he wasn't interested in a long-distance relationship. A very, very drunk twenty-year-old Eric had even said he thought Four wouldn't have given up on their relationship if he'd loved her enough to actually give it a try.
But she liked to pretend that comment had never been made, because, what did she and Eric have, if not a long-distance relationship? Following his logic, what did that say about what they felt for each other? Moreover, what could be said about the fact that they kept coming back for more, no matter how long it'd been or how many attempts at dating happened in between?
"-and that's how she was my first on-stage kiss." He placed his hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts just in time for her to hear the tail end of their conversation.
"That's so cute!" Lene looked at them like she was convinced she'd died and gone to Hollywood-romance Heaven. "What play did you do?"
"Romeo and Juliet," Tris said, before Eric could stop her. Lene's jaw literally dropped.
"Shakespeare?" She practically yelled, making everyone around the pool table look at her. "I can't imagine Eric doing Shakespeare."
Everyone – literally everyone, including Tris – nodded or expressed their agreement in one way or another, and Eric laughed at them.
"Wow, guys," he said, dramatically putting his right hand over his heart. "You wound me."
"You know I love you, E," Lene said, "but until tonight I didn't even think you had feelings."
Tris wasn't sure why she'd let Lene drag her into the bathroom, but there she was, standing in line behind the personification of the word 'overenthusiastic' while they waited for one of the stalls to open up.
"Eric's truly something, isn't he?" Lene asked, all too casually, while looking at Tris' reflection on the mirror over the sinks and wondering if she was even aware of the way her face lit up every single time his name was mentioned.
"Yeah," Tris agreed, smiling at her.
"And he's handsome, too," she added, sounding almost dreamy. "He's the kind of guy who could score some pretty nice jobs based on his looks alone."
Tris eyed her suspiciously. "You do know there's no need to try and set me up with Eric, right?"
"Oh, I know." She looked innocently at the blonde. "I'm just saying, it's only a matter of time before he's forced to take a role in some young-adult-chick-flick kind of thing, and when that happens, I bet there will be girls lining up at his feet, begging for a one-night-stand, and, knowing Eric, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to oblige." She shrugged, picking at the cuticles of her perfectly-manicured fingers. "Sooner or later, one of these girls will get asked for a second date, and before you know it, he'll be taking some bleach-blonde bimbo to red carpets and after-parties, leaving you as nothing more than his best friend from New York."
"We've both had relationships with other people, Lene," Tris pointed out, making the other girl laugh.
"I'm sure you have, dear, but you and I both know that, if he ever decides to settle down, it will be with one of them. Is that what you really want?"
Tris hesitated for a heartbeat, taking a deep breath before repeating the line she'd said thousands of times over the past eight years.
"If that's what makes him happy, then yes."
Her performance as best-friend-with-absolutely-no-romantic-interest had been nothing short of Tony-worthy.
"You really are a good actress, I'll give you that." Lene smirked. A stall opened up, and she gestured for the girl behind Tris to take it. "Look, all I'm saying is, I know you both have careers to consider, but Eric wouldn't be the first Hollywood actor to live in New York when he's not filming. And we might not have Broadway, but we do have theatres in LA, you know?"
Tris came out of the bathroom just in time to see Eric trying to make his way to the bar. She looked at Lene, who smiled conspiratorially at her – which Tris decided to interpret as a gesture of encouragement.
She reached him just as he'd finally managed to find an open spot by the counter, giving her an up close view of the way the female bartender all but dropped everything she was doing to take his order – and Tris was convinced she was more interested in getting his number than in his potential tips.
He ordered a Jack and Coke, which didn't come as a surprise to her – if they were the type of people who had signature drinks, that would be his. Still, she was momentarily taken aback by the authority in his tone, until she remembered Eric had the tendency to come off as a total asshole when he was dealing with strangers – or, more accurately, she was one of the few people he was legitimately nice to.
It made her wonder how exactly he was able to deal with the press and the fans and all the people-related part of his job, and she was a bit surprised she'd never heard him complain about that.
"And what about my margarita?" She asked, wrapping her arms around his waist just as the bartender walked away. She could feel him chuckle before he turned around to face her, still looking rather amused.
He brushed his lips against hers, pulling her closer as her arms trailed up his back to rest around his neck. "Sorry," he whispered in her ear, almost sarcastically, taking the opportunity to nibble on her earlobe.
She was still trying to decide on the best way to tease him back when the bartender tapped him on the shoulder, placing his drink on the bar and walking away, looking a lot less interested in him than she'd been before.
Tris grabbed his glass before he got the chance to, and she looked innocently at him as she sipped at his Jack and Coke.
"You little bitch," he muttered, playfully, making her laugh.
"You know you love me." She winked at him, running her fingers down his chest and abdomen and tugging on the waist of his jeans before she stepped back and walked away – taking his drink as her hostage.
"Yeah, I do," he said to himself, watching her disappear in the crowd before, with a heavy sigh, he turned back to the bar, bracing himself for another round of the Hunger Games of drinking.
"Have I told you how hot you look tonight?" He asked as he approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. His voice was a bit too loud, considering how close to her ear he was, and Tris noticed he'd slurred the words a little. He was clearly starting to get drunk, but that knowledge didn't stop her from blushing furiously at his attempted compliment.
"Wow, how smooth," she said, sarcastically.
"But it's true!" He kissed her on her favourite spot behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine, and she had to fight the urge to let out a contented sigh in response. "You are the most... stunning girl in this whole bar." His right hand found its way under her shirt, and his touch on her bare stomach felt painfully good. "Fuck, you're the most stunning girl in the city!" He opened his other arm in a grand gesture, nearly slapping Uriah in the face in the process.
"Oh, am I?" She asked, giving him a sideways glance. "Do I shine as bright as Times Square, too?"
"Fuck, no." He hesitated, almost like he'd forgotten what he was about to say. "You're brighter. You'd look hot even if you were painted green and singing Defying Gravity."
She snapped her head to the side, looking at him in utter confusion. Had he seriously made a Broadway reference while hitting on her? It was so unexpected that she was barely capable of acknowledging that, for some reason, it'd made it into the top ten of her hottest-things-Eric's-ever-said-to-me list.
"I bet you say that to all those bartenders-slash-actresses you've been banging in LA," she replied, doing her best to sound bored and dismissive, although she knew she was failing miserably at it.
"Only when I'm trying to get in their pants." He nuzzled into her neck. "But why would I lie to you to get in your pants, babe?" His left hand travelled down her side, stopping about halfway up her thigh. "God, I fucking love your legs," he said, clearly losing track of the conversation. "Especially when they're wrapped around my-"
She covered his mouth with her hand, muffling his words – still, the possible endings for that sentence were quite limited, and she could feel her whole face burning.
"You should take him home," Lene suggested, unable to keep from laughing. She'd seen Eric drunkenly flirting with random girls before, but he rarely got that handsy – or that inappropriate, for that matter. It was almost endearing to see him so comfortable around someone, considering he was usually so closed off, even with his cast-mates.
"I'd love that!" He said, greedily. Tris rolled her eyes at him.
"I'm sure you would, sweetie." Lene looked at him like she was talking to a child – and a rather annoying one at that. "I lived with him for a month in Australia," she added, turning her attention back to Tris, "and I know he's like, two shots away from being completely wasted. And we don't want him completely wasted, do we?" She waggled her eyebrows at the blonde, who sighed, moving his hands away from her body, and Eric pouted – literally pouted – as she got up.
"Come on, babe. Let's get you home before you end up puking on my shoes, again."
She quite literally dragged him out of the bar, ignoring his protests about wanting to stay longer. The hot, stuffy, New-York-in-the-summer air that greeted them the second they walked out the door almost made her change her mind and lead him back inside, but she knew it'd be a bad decision. Eric was too damn close to crossing the line between being adorably drunk and being straight-up obnoxious, and, as uncomfortable as she'd felt with Lene's comment, she had to agree that having Eric pass out the second his head hit the pillow was the opposite of what she had in mind for the night.
"Of course, there are no cabs to be seen," she muttered, leaning against the outer wall of the bar. Eric stood by her side, suddenly looking a lot more peaceful than he'd been acting thus far.
"So... since we're stuck here until we get a cab, do you mind if I...-" He pulled the pack of Marlboros out of his pocket. She sighed and nodded, and he picked a cigarette for himself before offering her the pack.
"You keep forgetting I don't smoke."
"Or maybe I just want to find out if I can corrupt you any further."
She chuckled, watching him as he lit his cigarette and inhaled the smoke. His eyes fluttered close, his lips curling up in a satisfied smile as he blew out a cloud of smoke.
"You aren't drunk at all, are you?"
He opened his eyes, staring at her with so much intensity, she almost felt uncomfortable. "I'm not sober at all," he replied, smiling. "But I can still recite the alphabet backwards, for all it's worth."
"You jerk." She playfully slapped him on the shoulder. "I thought you said you'd never lie to me to get in my pants."
"I didn't! I lied to them!"
"Technicalities," she said, in a dismissive tone. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him.
"If I remember correctly, technicalities have saved your pretty little ass quite a few times, Miss I-haven't-told-him-about-us-yet." He kissed her neck and stepped back. "Next time, I'll let everyone know I'm calling it a night because I can't wait another second to fuck you senseless. How does that sound?"
She blushed furiously at the idea, and he laughed at her attempt at giving him a stern look.
"You wouldn't do it."
"You know full well that's exactly the kind of thing I'd do, if you weren't such a prude."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not a prude!"
"Right." He leaned back against the wall, taking a pull on his cigarette. "And I'm not-" He stopped himself before the words 'in love with you' slipped out of his mouth.
"Drunk?" She suggested, laughing.
"Exactly." He gave her a conspiratorial smile and winked at her.
The door to the bar opened, and a group of girls in different stages of inebriation – but similar-looking tight little skirts and sky-high heels – walked out. One of them complained – rather loudly – about the lack of cabs in sight, and another – a tall, red-haired girl with bright green eyes – glanced at them.
Tris watched a million expressions cross her face at once, starting with a frown, right after she looked away from them. Then, her eyes snapped back to Eric's face, trailing down his body as curiosity and confusion gave way to surprise and something Tris could only describe as hunger.
"Excuse me," the girl said, walking up to them. "Are you Eric Coulter?"
Eric beamed at her – it was the first time he'd been recognised in a completely random setting, and it felt even better than anything he could've possibly anticipated.
"Ohmygod I'm a huge fan! I loved you in Masters of Honour and I've watched everything you've done ever since."
Tris was sure Eric was about to explode from happiness. Masters of Honour had been his film debut, in a role with three lines – one of which was 'no' – and a grand total of ten minutes of screen time.
"I can't wait to see you in Booster Gold," the girl added, almost bouncing in excitement, and Tris couldn't help laughing at that statement – even she knew superhero movies likely meant a copious amount of spandex in his costume.
"I'm sure you won't be disappointed," he replied, making Tris laugh even harder.
They kept talking for a few minutes, the girl gushing over his entire filmography and some photoshoot he'd done for the Fatal Impact press junket, while Eric patiently answered all of her questions. His behaviour almost had Tris convinced that he was a naturally charming person.
She could tell he was as ecstatic as the girl, and she caught herself wondering if he missed having the whole discussing-his-career-in-excruciating-detail thing with her. They'd always talked about the good side of their pact, but, as she watched him talk about specific parts of specific movies, she couldn't help but ask herself just how much he needed that.
Which, obviously, led her back to the conversation she'd had with Lene in the bathroom. If he ever decided to settle, would it be with a girl who wasn't willing to pretend to like his movies, or with a girl who'd be looking forward to his premieres? Wouldn't he want to have actual conversations about his work, covering more than the technical aspect of it?
He'd never be able to see that in her.
The girl asked for a selfie before she rejoined her friends, leaving them alone again. His smile all but disappeared when he saw the expression on Tris' face.
"Are you okay?" He wrapped his arms around her, resting her head on his chest. She nodded, basking in the feeling of his arms around her, the sound of his heartbeats making her feel safe and loved. He cupped her chin, coaxing her into looking at him. "Babe. We'll never be good at acting enough to lie to each other, remember?"
He could tell by the look in her eyes that she took it as a personal challenge. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled slowly.
"I'm fine, love," she said, opening her eyes and giving him her signature bright smile. "Let's go home," she added, thanking the heavens for the cab that had just turned around the corner.
Her head was buried in the crook of his arm, her limbs wrapped around his body, her fingers trailing the tattoo on his ribs – the tribal flames that matched the watercolour ones on her shoulder. His eyes were closed, and she took it as an opportunity to watch him closely, memorizing the shape of his eyebrows and the slope of his nose and the exact shade of pink his lips were and the way the slightest hint of stubble was enough to make his jaw look even more defined.
He'd been lazily moving his fingers back and forth over the bare skin of her back, but they stilled all of a sudden. She was almost convinced he'd fallen asleep when he said, "I hope you brought your Sharpie." He looked at her, his piercing blue eyes drawing her in with irresistible force. "You'll be touching up my arm all weekend."
"We have tattoo artists in New York too, you know," she joked.
"I can't get something that big on my arm," he said, almost grievous, pulling her over his body. "But my ribs seem to be okay, so..."
"Maybe you should sleep on that." She smiled, resting her forehead on his.
"I must warn you, though. Next time we play Dare, you're getting a tattoo to match."
"You can't punish me for your stupid decisions!"
"I'm thinking, 'if lost return to Eric'." He ran his hand down her back, making her shiver at his touch. "Right... here." His fingers drew a circle on her lower back, and she gasped, unable to hide her reaction. He gave her an arrogant smile. "Glad to see you like the idea."
She rolled her eyes and leaned down to kiss him, passionately, desperately, like it was the last time.
With him, it always was.
She could tell, by the way his breathing had evened out, that he was closer to being asleep than to being awake, but she found herself unable to drift off, thinking, once again, about her conversation with Lene. It had reminded her that her relationship with Eric was far from stable of secure, and all she could think about was that he might not come back for her.
He was bound to find the one, eventually, and, when he did, where would that leave her? The tattoo he was so determined to get – the words 'love you', in her handwriting, immortalised on his skin – would be dismissed as an inside joke between friends, or maybe even as a drunken mistake, until he was pressured into lasering it out of his body, and she knew very few women would be comfortable with the kind of relationship they had. He'd lied to his girlfriends before, but would he lie to a girl if he could see himself marrying her? Would she even sink so low as to ask that from him?
More importantly, was she really willing to risk losing him because she was afraid of asking him to stay?
He stirred, muttering something about his arm being numb as he rolled to the side. She curled up against him, breathing in the scent of soap and sweat and Eric, and, somehow, it led her to a decision.
"Eric?" She called, her voice so low she could barely hear it. He groaned, opening his eyes and looking at her. "Would you... um... Would you consider moving in with me?"
He frowned, clearly trying to process her question – judging by his expression, he barely knew what the individual words meant, let alone the full sentence.
"You mean when I'm not filming?"
She nodded, afraid of what her voice would sound like if she dared speaking – she was squealing on the inside, simply because he hadn't said 'no' right off the bat.
He hesitated, his expression suddenly too serious and his eyes avoiding hers, and she found herself holding her breath as she waited for his reply. The seconds seemed to last forever, and she had almost decided to get up and go back home when he finally spoke again.
"I'll think about it," he promised. "That's the best I can give you right now."
The way she smiled at him made it clear that it was enough for her, and he kissed her forehead and closed his eyes again. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep, and the last thought that crossed her mind was that she hoped she'd be lucky enough to have it forever.
A/N:
AAAAAND that's all folks! This fic was basically a huge experiment for me (my style is more first person+present tense+books canon), but I sure as hell enjoyed the ride, and I hope you did too!
Pop culture references and other random stuff:
. I'd like to thank the action movie title generator from phrasegenerator-dot-com, because if it wasn't for it, I'd still be stuck trying to come up with a name for Eric's movies. The only movie title that wasn't randomly generated was Booster Gold (who, according to Google, is an actual superhero from the DC universe, with a real movie in the works). The credit for that one goes to Felyneve, who knows more about superheroes than everyone else I know.
. Tris' autograph is borrowed from 13 going on 30. It's the text from Madonna's autograph, plus the tiniest vocab change ('Eric, girl' just doesn't sound that good).
. I'm not sure if it's even necessary to say that, but Tris' line about shining as bright as Times square is a reference to Hey there Delilah.
Please let me know what you think! :)