He's all fucked up and he knows it. He doesn't try to hide it, although his gentle smiles, goofy attitude and passion for work and art make for a good cover. He's admitted to it in public on several occasions, but most people tend to glaze over it, choose not to linger on that detail, less it shatters their image of him.
He's fine with it, doesn't think too much about it. Except at times like this, when his mind is haunted by blue eyes with merry crinkles in the corners, the sound of a boisterous laugh and the ever-changing accents.
Perhaps there are only two people other than his son who know just how fucked up Norman really is.
He chews on his fingernail, staring at the lit screen of his phone and seemingly unable to push the call button. He really doesn't want to be alone right now. You would have thought that a quiet night among the crazy filming schedule and the never-ending cons would be a blessing, a much needed reprieve. Instead he just feels tired and lonely.
Maybe it's the age, he tries to convince himself. But he knows that's a blatant lie. And he hates lying.
He exits the phonebook and opens the messages instead, then types "how's it going?" and hits send before he can chicken out. The reply is almost instantaneous and Norman cracks a smile at the buzzing of his phone "Thought you'd never ask, Reedenstein! Grand, you?".
Norman chances a glance at the large window overlooking the New York City. The deep blue colours of the night seem to only intensify his somber mood.
He's clumsy with his stupid fat fingers, so he has to hit erase twice before he gets the message error-free "good. Kinda bored".
Sean doesn't reply for the next fifteen minutes, so Reedus takes his time in a game of guessing. Maybe he's on set. Or walking Donut, or has someone over. The last thought stings especially hard and Norman reaches for his lighter.
As the dove-coloured smoke exits his lungs into the still air of the living room, his iPhone finally vibrates again, but this time the little shakes are accompanied by a burst of sound.
This ain't impossible
This ain't improbable
You are my baby tonight
And I'm your daddy
He almost sputters on the inhale, eyes going wide as he sees the caller ID. Then, finally, he lets out a small chuckle akin to a snort. Of course. So that's what Sean was doing tinkering with his phone on their last meet-up.
This ain't believable
This ain't predictable
You are my baby tonight
And I'm your daddy
Still smiling, he finally picks up the phone. "Hey Daddy" he says in a derisive voice, batting his lashes without realising that Flanery can't really see him.
Howls of laughter come pouring through his cell phone "Aha! Ma sweet lil' girl finally admits she's missed me!".
Norman scoffs and rolls his eyes "Not a chance, asshole". He still manages to keep on smiling though, because hearing Sean's voice after two long months of silence is similar to getting a fix. It's almost scary, that thought, so Norman shoves it into the furthest corner of his mind.
"You're the one who called, what's up with that?"
"Ow, ye hurt me feelings, brother dear" Reedus is used to the man switching into his accents and roles like breathing. Then suddenly Sean's voice grows serious, none of his good-natured mockery present this time around "Dunno, you sounded upset. And before you ask, yes, the messages do have a tone too!" Sean coughs, then carries on. "Come on, you're never bored. What's crawled inside you, eh?"
"Except you?" smirks Norman, balancing the phone with his shoulder, pressing it against his ear as he reaches forward and snatches a beer off the table.
"Ha-ha, very funny, Reedus. Now come on, what's up?" Norman licks his lips in sudden nervousness, then closes his eyes and decides to be out with it. What's the worst that can happen, right?
" 'M dating" it comes out flatly, like a slap to the face, and Norman winces. He didn't mean to sound like a jerk. But then again, he muses, how can you not sound like a jerk when telling something like this to your boyfriend?
There is a tension-filled pause on the other end of the line, and then Norman hears Sean's raspy voice "I...see."
Maybe it's the three beers he's had tonight, but suddenly Norman feels a white-hot jolt of anger bubbling inside him. He snaps "The fuck? That all you gotta say?". He is seething, fingers clenching the glass neck of the bottle so tight his knuckles turn pale.
"Well, what did you expect me to say?" Sean sounds pissed off now. "Was I to say "How nice, congrats!" and send you a fucking postcard?!"
"No! But you could've said at least something!" a brief thought of there goes my nice, quiet little evening flitters through his mind. Sure, they've been dating for three years now, but it was Sean's fucking idea to keep it in the dark. Norman can't even remember the arguments that held up such a stupid fucking decision, but it was what it was. And it was Sean who deemed it necessary to have a cover-up girlfriend. Hell, he even urged Norman to do the same. And after many stubborn glares and elusive answers to the paparazzi, Norman finally decided to give in. Just for the cover, just so that everybody around him would stop sicking the metaphorical dogs on his relationship-less life. He was sick and tired of the whole sham.
So he went ahead and got himself a girlfriend. A girl-friend.
He still feels like a cheater, though.
"It was your stupid fucking idea! You told me to get a girlfriend, remember?" Norman snaps into the phone.
"Sure" Sean sounds impassive, and that makes Norman clench his teeth on the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He wants to smack the bastard upside the head. Good thing he is far away.
"That all you wanted to tell me?" the cool voice drifts into his ear.
"Yes" he snaps.
"Look, Reedus, it's cool. We're cool. I understand".
The fuck you do, Norman thinks. Instead, he says "Yeah, well, you better. I ain't the one who started it anyway". He knows he sounds bitter, and honestly, what did he expect? That by some miracle Sean would become so appalled by the new bit of information that he would altogether drop the act? Man up and publicly come out? No, of course not. No way he would do that. This is Sean — the walking epitome of human masculinity, the breathing, talking definition of macho in the dictionary.
Reedus scoffs, desperately clutching to his last remains of a calm demeanour, which went to Hell about a minute ago. He needs to finish this conversation as fast and painless as possible, get back to his drinking and forget that Sean ever called. Then he can pretend that nothing really happened and everything is back to normal, back to their fucked up, hidden relationship. That he doesn't have a new unofficial girlfriend, that he would rather talk to his cat than see her pretty face and sit through some agonising meet-ups at a cafè, wishing it was Sean sitting across from him instead.
"Listen, I gotta go. Talk to you later, alright?" Norman inquires in a tired voice.
Sean's gentle reply is so out of place it sends shivers down Norman's arms "Sure, Pup. Have a good night".
Reedus pulls the phone away from his ear and hits the red button, efficiently ending the call. He thinks that maybe he needs something a tad stronger than beer.
Then, maybe, he won't end up wallowing in self-pity 'til the early hours of the morning.
Of course, this is complete bullshit; he ends up wallowing anyway.