written for Thallen week, prompt: social media. title from Location by Freelance Whales.
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With My Fingers Shaking Frantic
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"Hey, you," Eddie's voice travels over the line a little crackly, like he's fresh out of bed and hasn't spoken to anyone yet. He's been up for hours, biting at his nails, because where the idea of being Eddie's first thought every morning used to make his skin tingle with warmth, it's now laced beneath every layer of his skin with a sort of nervous anxiety.
"Hey."
"How are you?"
He's sitting up in bed on top of the bright red sheets, having worn lines in the carpet from pacing back and forth; he can't ignore it any longer, the growing sense that there's something Eddie's keeping secrets him, even though he's never seen the man in person, not even on video. And he's been too afraid to research on Google.
"Good, I guess."
"You guess?" Eddie lets out a breathy laugh, surging right down his spine the way it always does, the way it has since they first spoke on the phone six months ago, after three months of online chats. He never thought it possible to fall in love with a voice, but somewhere along the line he has, linked it up to that one picture of Eddie the other man managed to email him. His voice sort of matched his face, he always told himself. Now he's not sure what to believe anymore.
"Yeah, I'm just– I'm tired." He picks at a loose strand on his pyjamas. "How was your day?"
"Don't change the subject," Eddie says. "What's wrong? You know you can talk to me."
His courage bleeds out of his skin as he closes his eyes and draws a hand down his face, muttering, "That might be the problem," under his breath, loud enough so Eddie might hear. He hates how easily Eddie can read his voice; he shouldn't be able to do that, not by sound, not without having seen him or touched him, or at the very least had a face-to-face conversation with him.
But he forgets when exactly these conversations stopped being enough for him.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
He thinks it might just mean he's in love with a man he's never met before, and it scares the living daylights out of him.
"Sometimes–" he starts, any bravery clogged in the pathways running from his brain to his vocal cords. This shouldn't be hard, he hasn't had any problem expressing his feelings so far, so why would this be any different? Only it is different, because he's calling out the quicksand foundation they've built their entire relationship on, and he's afraid he might sink until there's nothing left of them to save.
It was never meant to go this far; Iris set up an online dating profile as a challenge, a reason for him to put himself out there and meet someone to have some fun with. And Eddie's been fun; coming home to emails or getting text messages at work, the early Sunday morning phone calls that last for hours, the late-night chats. They talked about everything and nothing, and about all the things in between. It hadn't been until Iris asked him what Eddie did for a living that he realized he'd done most of the talking, most of the sharing, and while trace evidence of Eddie's affection hid on his phone and computer, he couldn't help but wonder. What if Eddie wasn't exactly who he said he was?
"–it feels like I'm the only one doing the talking," he says, unable to stop once he started. "I tell you everything, Eddie. I've told you about my job, my mom, Iris and Joe. I've shared pictures and memories, and– You sent me one picture. Just one. How do I even know it's really you?"
"Why would I lie?"
"I don't know." He shakes his head, releasing a shaky breath. Why would Eddie lie? Why would he devote so much of his time talking to him if it wasn't on some level real for him too? But he's heard these kinds of stories, people getting catfished, people catfishing for strange and various reasons. What if he only had one picture because it wasn't really Eddie? What if Eddie had so much time because he didn't have a job and spent his time talking to other people too?
"I'm real, Barry," Eddie says softly, his voice calm and soothing, but not enough to assuage his doubts. It's an easy thing for Eddie to say over the phone. Eddie could've sold him lie after lie; there's no way for him to know. "I don't talk about my job because–"
Eddie's voice cracks and the line goes quiet.
Tears fill his eyes as the silence sinks and stretches along the distance between them, slowly saturating in the rocky sand beneath their feet. Does Eddie even live in Keystone? He could walk by him on the street and not know. He could be anyone.
"What about your friends and family?" his voice shakes more than he cares for, but he's sure in exactly that moment that he is in love, he's fallen for this voice and the affectionate man behind it, and it kills him to think it's exactly this conversation that might tear them apart.
"Barry."
He sniffles. "Can we– I don't know, video chat, sometime?"
There's another trip-step of silence, and he realizes what's happening. "I don't have a webcam."
He nods, just to himself, a tear streaking down his face as he musters the courage to be selfish. "Forget it."
"Barry–"
"Don't." He surrenders to the quiet static of his own voice, forcing words he wishes he didn't have to say; but it's for the best. "Just leave it."
"Can we at least talk about this?"
"No, just leave it," he says, reluctant to start a conversation about all the things Eddie never says, to talk about talking; even Eddie must realize how insane that sounds. "Goodbye, Eddie."
"Barry, wait, don't–"
He hangs up the phone and covers a hand over his mouth, unable to stifle the whine behind it; squeezing his eyes shut he tries not to think about all the times Eddie's made him laugh, made him feel like there was exactly one person out there who he could be himself with.
Because what does any of it mean if Eddie's not real?
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fin
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