Every footstep echoes through the once-familiar halls. In the setting sun, shadows dance across the wall and provide the only sign of life besides the one who crosses their path. Me. I cut through the shadows, and dust swirls up around my feet as I walk.
I drag my fingers along the wall as I slowly explore the place that was once my second home. It seems so lonely now that it wasn't crawling with people rushing one way and the other, without the familiar voices of my cast mates to brighten the air. It feels wrong, like I'm intruding on someone else's property. But this place is abandoned; no one uses it anymore. I'm not even sure if anyone owns it now, though I figure someone probably does. Just in case it is needed in the future.
The old cafeteria materializes in front of me, now dark and empty. Only six chairs remain, scattered around the room; the tables are gone, as is the food service counter. It's really no more than a skeleton of what it used to be, and its emptiness sends a shiver down my spine. It doesn't look right. Slowly I turn and walk back into the heart of the studio, past dressing rooms and to the place where I felt the most at home, the most comfortable in the entire building.
As I round the last corner, an unexpected wave of nostalgia hits me—being in this place has brought forgotten memories to the front of my mind: chewing gum before each show; the fro-yo tradition. Small things I didn't even realize I missed. I take a second and let the familiarity sink in, remembering the details of what used to be my day-to-day life. Then I take the few steps into the center of the room, and everything hits me at once. I am back on stage. This is where the magic happened: the characters and scripts, costumes and props that we spent weeks developing all came together right where I stand. The bleachers rise up in front of me, where audiences sat and laughed and applauded. The cameras and teleprompters are gone, but it's still so familiar. I spent so much time here that standing now, in the center of the empty stage, with no audience and no crew rushing around, it still feels like home.
But it's not anymore. It's dark and deserted. I wonder when it was last used as a set. Was So Random the final show that was taped here? Was Tawni or Zora or Nico or Grady the last person to stand where I am standing?
I hear footsteps approaching from behind moments before I feel the warm body next to me, and I know he's taking it in just as much as I am. Maybe he wasn't on this stage as much as I was—he only ever did live shows a couple of times, as a special guest or as a favour to me—but he still spent a lot of time here, too. Fighting with my cast mates and with me. Causing drama. Being... well, being Chad. At least the Chad he was back then. Things are different now, of course. Five years have changed and shaped him into a new person.
He's still himself, though. Just more mature. Which is nice.
"I went to the Mack Falls set," he says softly. "It's so empty. It's weird." His voice echoes lightly across the stage and through the auditorium.
"Weird is a good word," I nod. "It almost feels wrong, you know? This place shouldn't be empty. It used to be so full of life."
His arm snakes around my waist and I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. I wonder what Tawni or Zora would think if they could see us now.
"There were good days here," he murmurs into my hair, planting a kiss against my temple. "I was a jerk, though. I'm not sorry, because that's how we met. It's just funny to think about how much we hated each other."
"I never hated you," I say quietly, and it's true. Even when I thought I hated him, I didn't. The confusing days of being surrounded by people who hated him, while trying to figure out why I wanted to be near him all the time, just made it seem like I hated him, too.
I smile at the memory of all the drama. Of how it felt to realize I didn't hate him, and the first time it occurred to me that maybe I actually liked him.
He's quiet for a moment. It's a reflective silence. "No, I don't think I hated you, either," he says finally. More silence, but this time it's comfortable, as we both slide through the memories we have in this building. Our lives started here. Really started, I mean—our careers. We wouldn't be where we are now without this studio. Without all of the things that happened here.
Without each other.
He gently tightens his arm briefly, a sort of side-hug, and then he releases me. He stands for a moment, hands shoved in his pockets, before leaning down and pressing his lips against mine. It's a soft kiss but it sends waves of shivers down my spine regardless, and he's grinning when he pulls away. He knows exactly he's doing, and it's at once frustrating and exhilarating.
In the next moment, he's backing away from me towards the exit. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Feel up for some fro-yo? There's a new Captain Yogurt down the street from here." His cheeky grin relaxes into one that just tugs at the corner of his mouth, the one that still to this day wakes the butterflies in my stomach.
I smile and nod, because what better way to close this chapter of our lives than with frozen yogurt? I glance around the stage one last time, knowing I'll never be back here. And that's okay. Because this is my past, now, and as I reach out for Chad's extended hand and follow him out of the building, I know my future will prove to be just as exciting. Probably even better than I can even imagine.