"Alright, this has gone on long enough," Ian says, stealing the wine. Tyler frowns at him, kind of reaches out to fight him when a phone is thrust in his face.
Tyler's reflection blinks at him glumly.
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Ian says. "That is not the face of a man who is not drowning in sex. Not in any civilized nation."
"I don't..." Tyler starts, but it's not worth the effort. Once Ian's got a point to make, it's near impossible to change the subject.
"You're in the prime of your life," Ian tells him, not for the first time. "Physically, emotionally. Sexually," he adds, and Tyler's not looking, but he can imagine what Ian's face is doing.
"Emotionally," Tyler says, instead of encouraging him. "I don't feel anything. At all." Drunk, maybe. If he can wrest the bottle back, definitely.
"Exactly," Ian says. "You're a man now. Mazel tov."
Tyler rolls his eyes.
"You're young," Ian says in Tyler's trailer, apropos of nothing. They were just running lines, but sure, lets have this conversation. "Breakups still feel like the end of the world. But it's not the end."
Tyler can practically hear the inspirational music being added in post.
"It's the beginning," Ian says, completely devoid of irony. "This is a good thing."
"First day of the rest of my life," Tyler says, dry.
"That's it," Ian says. "Think about it: You weren't happy. No, really," he says, before Tyler can get a word out. "I know, I know it's Dylan, I know he's sugar and spice and everything nice, but he didn't know what he had."
"And what's that," Tyler says, if only to get to the end of this pep talk without a homicide.
"You could have anyone," Ian says. "Male, female... in between. At once, or one after the other. You just say how high," he says dramatically. "The floor'll tremble with all the people jumping."
"It doesn't matter," Tyler says. There's really nothing else he can say to that. "I don't... That's not how I am."
"How are you?" Ian asks. "Sad? Lonely? Abstinent."
"I didn't say that," Tyler says, flushing.
"Abstinence is the number one cause of teen pregnancy," Ian says, and if there's one conversation Tyler wants to have even less than one about his break-up, it's politics.
"Funny," he says flatly, and stands. "Let me get you a drink."
"I'm driving," Ian says. "I'm surprised at you," he adds. "Alcohol? On a work night?" He tsks. "Such a bad influence."
"You're a dick," Tyler says.
"Why don't you just try," Ian starts, and Tyler says, "Why don't you?"
He sounds like a child.
He face-palms, doesn't look up. Ian pats his shoulder commiseratingly.
Dylan used to do that.
"I'm not gonna go on a date with someone I don't even know," Tyler says, eventually.
"It's not a date," Ian says. "It's coffee. You're an actor, he's an actor. You can always just network."
"My favorite," Tyler says.
"Or you can fuck," Ian says. He taps at his screen, puts his phone in Tyler's face. Tyler bats it away ineffectively. "Spartacus," he says proudly.
"Am I supposed to know..." Tyler says, but he's seen that face before. "He's gay?" he says.
"Straight men don't take gay roles," Ian says.
Like he's done studies, confirmed the stats.
"You don't know that," Tyler says.
"Oh, I do," Ian says, and all at once Tyler's sure he has done the research.
In his own way.
"Jake Gyllenhaal," Tyler tries.
"Really?" Ian says. "That's your response. That's the exception."
"Heath Ledger," Tyler says, but he's suddenly doubting everything he ever thought he knew. About the sexuality of strangers.
Honestly, Tyler doesn't really understand himself, sometimes.
"Forget it," he says. Gay or not, it doesn't matter. Nothing's gonna happen with this—with anyone. There's a scene, Tyler has a scene with Dylan in it, in two episodes. He's not gonna start looking around with things still so up in the air.
Maybe we shouldn't, Tyler said, just trying to have a conversation. Just a little sick of Dylan acting like Tyler's this incredible, unattainable thing, until Posey shows up, and it's a giant joke again.
He didn't mean it as an attack, or a fight, however Dylan took it. Whatever made him look like he'd been slapped, in the second before he said, "No, yeah, absolutely," and just—cut Tyler out of his life. And refused to even admit it, that that's what it was, that they were done. Just extended that public persona he put on for Posey and everyone else to private, acted like that was all there ever was.
And then there wasn't anything private, ever. Which—He's a busy guy; it's probably not even an excuse, most of the time. But he always made time, before.
Made an effort.
Whatever, whatever. Tyler's getting a headache. And Ian's still waiting, tapping through Google Images to show him the full reel of Spartacus' attributes. Tyler nods and hums enough to get the phone out of his face, doesn't think about it much. It's probably not representative, anyway. Tyler couldn't look like his best shots without four hours hair and makeup, some kind of fitting, the perfect blend of lights and filters, and about a thousand readjustments between takes. And he lost most of the bulk he put on for the alpha storyline, now that Derek's a beta again.
Not that he actually thinks that's what did it, but maybe... He can hit the gym, see what he can do. Can't hurt, right? And it's good to have goals, as long as they're healthy.
So, okay. He'll figure it out, what he had before, what he's missing. And just go in like nothing's different, just get right back to where they were. Come up with some scene, maybe, some Sterek thing; Dylan always likes that.
And just ignore this, Ian's hedonistic philosophies, everything he thinks he knows, he doesn't.
No one ever accomplished anything being negative.
He puts on some weight between then and now, a little muscle. Doesn't come close to season two, obviously, but it's not like he really expected to. He did his best, that's what's important.
It's fine.
It's hard to tell if Dylan notices; at first, he seems to be trying not to look at Tyler at all. Even when he touches him, Tyler untensing at just the hint, it's barely momentary, and he's still talking to Sprayberry, not really addressing Tyler at all.
"So the scene," Dylan says finally, when it's unavoidable. Hands to himself, stiff at his sides.
"The scene," Tyler echoes, and then that's all he can think to say, except, "Seems pretty straightforward."
Riveting.
"Yep," Dylan says, and that's it; that's all. A couple hours being Derek, and then they've got nothing connecting them, ever again.
"How've you been?" Tyler can't tell if he sounds as desperate as he feels. He's trying to be cool, blasé. He's trying.
"Great," Dylan says, and it's that talking-to-strangers voice. "So great," he adds, nodding. "I can actually sleep most days now, so, you know, that's a plus."
"You weren't sleeping?" Tyler says. He didn't know that. Dylan gets insomnia sometimes, with any big bout of nerves, but he's been doing really well for a while now. Or Tyler thought so, anyway.
"That's the job," Dylan says, but it's not. When Dylan's overworked, he's out like a light in a second. Instant REM. Just add pillow.
Tyler misses whatever Dylan's still saying, caught on the lie. Not that it's even any of his business, anymore, but that doesn't mean he can just stop caring on a whim.
"Yeah, I don't even know," Dylan says. "I think I like, permanently scrambled my brain with all the physical stuff for the movie." He's getting more and more nervous the longer this goes, fidgeting anxiously. Tyler doesn't know what he's doing, how to stop, but clearly small talk isn't helping.
"I bet it'll look awesome, though," he says, just to end the conversation, get back to the scene. He can—think of something funny, try to, or—or just stop trying so hard. That's it, that's why everything feels so forced and awful, they're both doing it. Dylan's just mirroring him.
But the moment never comes, any kind of real opportunity, and then it's too late. Dylan heads back to his trailer, and Tyler follows him for a few steps, falters when Dylan looks back. He throws up a weird wave, like a peace sign with extra fingers, and turns back around, and that's it. It's over, Tyler's been dismissed.
He finds his breath, his car, his phone. Not necessarily in that order. Calls Ian, just to stop feeling so unsteady.
"How'd it," Ian starts, and Tyler says, "Fine. Yeah, I'm in."
His hands settle at ten and two, and he drives until Sail comes on the radio, and then he just turns it up and keeps driving.
"Let me guess," Dan says. "You wanted out. He didn't."
He ordered before Tyler got to the table, greeted him with a wide grin. Ian's right, he's attractive, and Tyler thinks maybe—Maybe that's all he needs right now. Maybe everything else is just some kind of masochistic joke, where you can never feel confident in anything. Try to have one conversation, and the whole thing just slips through your fingers. Then you get to feel like shit forever, get high and resentful and drunk and sorry, and none of it changes anything. So you can have empty sex and control, or you can be idealistic and fuck up and come up empty. Pick a card, any card, but the whole deck's stacked against you regardless.
So why even bother?
"Alright, it's not a guess," Dan says. His accent's nice. Distracting, and Tyler needs distracting. "I'll admit, I Googled you. There's this thing, this blog, Gossip King. It lit up like a firecracker."
Nothing makes Tyler's hackles rise more than tabloids, or anything withgossip in the title. Anything that makes a life out of peddling people's privacy, turning the people they trust into sources, distorting the truth and extorting anyone who can be threatened by bad press.
"If you ask me, honestly, you dodged a bullet," Dan says.
Tyler's pretty sure he didn't ask, actually. Not that Dan seems to notice.
"He was bringing you down, mate," Dan goes on. "Only looking out for number one. And that sure wasn't you."
"Stop," Tyler says, too softly.
"People like that are all too common in this business," Dan says. "It's so hard to really make a lasting connection. All this complication... coming out, staying in... the egos involved are just astronomical."
"You don't know," Tyler says, shaking his head, "you don't know him." It's Ian, but worse. This guy isn't his friend. He doesn't know the first thing about Tyler's life he didn't get off the internet.
Dan laughs. "You've still got his blinders on."
"You don't know him," Tyler says, more firmly. "Some blog sure as hell doesn't."
"I'm on your side," Dan says, hands up. "Do you choose your partner, or social pressure? I've never let a PR threat stop me from investing in something i cared about. I don't care if I'm—pigeon holed," he says, and there's that laugh again. It's really not a laugh at all. "My life, my loves, my business, is my business. No one works my mouth but me."
It is a butt, Tyler realizes. The sound when he laughs, it's not a laugh at all. It's a throat fart.
Once he's worked it out, it's almost funny. More than anything, Tyler wants to text Dylan, or see him, tell him about it. Hear Dylan's laugh, an actual laugh, the best one.
But he can't. And all at once, he can't stomach any of this. He can't shake the sick, drowning feeling he's made the biggest mistake he could. upended the best thing, for what? For this? Empty dates and empty conversations, everything he hates combined into one presumptive package, and the knowledge that he might've let it go, his preferences and hang ups, assumed this is all there is. He might've never known what an actual connection feels like. If not for Dylan, this would just be another day. Just another bleak realization: come on, T. You can't be so idealistic. Or do you like being alone?
"What did I tell you?" Ian says, later. "He's not just attractive. He's Spartacus attractive."
"Yeah," Tyler says blandly.
"You're in the prime of your life," Ian says again. "You could have anyone."
That feeling Dylan once tried to explain, the walls closing in. Tyler's never understood it like this before. Like the rest of his life is a sped-up scene with no cuts, just one winding take. One long line of anyones, none of them the right one. Because he had the right one.
"So?" Ian prods. He's smirking, proud. "Are you gonna see him again?"
"No," Tyler says, sure. Ian laughs, slaps him on the back.
"That's my boy," he says.
Tyler's up too abruptly, tense and illogically caught up in something he knows is—over, done and dealt with. The dream already fading into nothing, just the residual emotions lingering even with the evidence to the contrary already calming the reasonable part of hm down.
"Whssamatter," Dylan says, patting at him drowsily.
"Nothing," Tyler says. Just reaching out, touching hm, being touched, like its nothing. Just talking, not having to worry about what to say. Or having to say anything at all. "I love you."
"Aww, me too," Dylan says, grinning goofily. "You, I mean."
"I know," Tyler says.
"Star W'rs?" Dylan says.
"That too," Tyler says, and earns Dylan's hand over his face, shushing him. Stilling, waking up in increments.
"Nooo," Dylan says, scrubbing at his eyes. "No, hold up, Ty, hey. What's going on?"
"What," Tyler says, blinking at him.
"Nightmare?" Dylan asks. Somehow all the blankets always end up on his side; he fixes them around Tyler, only to change his mind and push them away to nuzzle at Tyler's shoulder.
"Something like that," Tyler says.
"Wanna talk?" Dylan says.
"Not... really," Tyler hedges.
"It's just," Dylan says. "You were crying."
"Oh," Tyler says.
Dylan's faltering, going quiet, taking his hands back, and Tyler doesn't like that at all.
"No, no," he says. "Just... missed you. Last year."
"Boo, last year," Dylan agrees.
"I think I knew, by then," Tyler says. Kind of—nervous to go back to sleep, stupidly. To lose this, or feel like it. "That it was you. That no one else was gonna come close."
Dylan nods, nods, his hair tickling Tyler's throat. It feels good to be so close, to have this nice steady weight, this security. To not even notice it, most of the time, now, just settle into it without a thought.
"So when..." Tyler says, but he doesn't wanna say it. "It was just hard."
"Yeah," Dylan says.
"But that's the past," Tyler says. "That's—We're good."
"Real good," Dylan says; he's starting to relax again. Good, good. "'Ngaged."
"Getting married," Tyler says, smiling just saying it. Turning to Dylan, grinning at him.
He's already out like a light.
It's just a little more complicated than Tyler expected, juggling arrangements and all that, and the movie—and Dylan's directing, too. His debut. That's enough to scramble anyone's schedule.
And he doesn't mind it, not really. Tyler doesn't believe in the, whatever the cliché is, that it all has some big, deeper meaning. That every off thing is some omen, is somehow representative.
A couple missed tastings, that doesn't matter. A couple lost deposits, it's nothing. Everything's gonna be fine.
Better, better than fine.
Everything's gonna be amazing.