Chapter Text
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Date: July 10 2003, 01:03 am
Subject: Confessions
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Do you remember how a while back I told you that beer’s been giving me headaches?
Anyway, I did, and have been drinking alcohol-free for a while now. ……. Just as I have three months and twenty-four days ago.
I know, I’m a coward.
If it helps, I haven’t exactly been liking myself very much lately.
Happy Birthday to me,
G.
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Date: July 10 2003, 01:06 am
Subject: Re: Confessions
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This is an automated response. I am not reachable via email until ~July 27, as I’m currently on vacation in India.
For anything work-related, please email my agent at [email protected]. For anything urgent please contact Emma as well, she knows how to get hold of me.
Regards,
Randy
::
Fuck.
India. India with Simon. How could Gale have forgotten about that?
Randy was on seclusion-adventure-love vacation with his boyfriend. Gale had heard about it for days on end when Randy planned and booked the trip earlier this year.
Randy was on fucking vacation and not reachable while Gale was stuck ten feet deep in an emotional and identity crisis. Perfect.
Gale figured his birthday would be as good a day as any to start drinking real beer again. Side-effects and all.
:: THEN ::
They were sitting outside and taking a break while the set was prepared for a Diner scene. It had been strangely warm for March.
They had roughly one more week of filming ahead of them, and Gale felt himself becoming maudlin. He always did at the end of a season.
Sure, they would be back, but six months could feel pretty damn long.
Michelle was laughing at Peter’s story, her teeth sparkling in the sunlight. Randy was sitting two steps away, talking somewhat intimately to Scott, who looked rumpled and exhausted after his last scene—partly due to make-up, partly due to the long hours lately. Everyone was kind of suffering along with Scotty, who was going to town portraying the newly drug-addicted Ted. They all admired him, especially Randy.
Gale smiled at the way Randy’s fingers were slowly but steadily deforming the water bottle top while he was listening to Scott. He did stuff like that, fiddled with things unconsciously, always ending up pissed off after realizing what he’d done. Same with toothpicks, chopsticks or chopstick wrappers, napkins, and generally any other thing laying around in close proximity of wherever Randy happened to be residing in that particular moment.
He once told Gale that the reason he grew pissed was because to people who didn’t know him, his fiddling came off like a nervous habit. Which it wasn’t at all.
And Randy hated the idea of people thinking he had to distract his nerves.
Scotty got up, told them goodbye for the day, and strode away into the direction of the parking lot. Gale snagged a piece of apple from Michelle’s lunch box and watched bemusedly as Randy looked down at his hands. His brows furrowed as he stared down, surveying the damage, and undoubtedly trying to figure out what to do with the half-full bottle of spring water now that he couldn’t possibly screw the lid back on.
“Fuck,” Randy muttered under his breath and stole a quick glance at Michelle and Peter, who were engrossed in a discussion about set design.
Gale went to plop down next to Randy and plucked the gnarled bottle from his hands. He leaned his back against the low banister and stretched his right leg across Randy’s lap.
“Can I have that? I’m dying of thirst.”
Randy bit his lip for a second, then nodded. “Sure.”
::
Gale didn’t feel like going to the wrap party.
He usually liked getting together with everyone, especially at the finish of a season as it was pretty much the last chance to see everybody till late September or so.
He’d just gotten off the phone with the moving company who confirmed the time Gale had set with them for Saturday. Gale figured he should start packing, but he really didn’t feel like that either.
He had actually considered keeping the house over hiatus. A string of unwelcome logic had forced itself through his brain, though, and made him realize how stupid it would be to pay rent for a house that stood empty for anything from five to seven months each year. He couldn’t stay either, even if he wanted to. He had three roles lined up. He would be busy.
For some unknown reason, the wrap party was taking place at RonDan’s residence outside of the city. It was completely out of the way and they obviously just wanted to show off their fucking mansion. Gale mentally added two points to the list of reasons for not going.
Unfortunately, he was already here. He was leaning against the hood of his truck, blowing smoke rings into the slowly darkening air. On the few occasions he’d dared to google himself, he found out that the whole world knew American Spirit was his favorite cigarette brand.
Gale had never touched an American Spirit in his life.
He wondered if Randy was already there. His car was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t really mean anything. Peter’s apartment was close to Randy’s, he could have taken him. Knowing Randy and his semi-ambitious world-saving plans, he’d probably suggested they ride together.
Lucas, one of the cameramen, walked past him to the door and Gale thought it was as good a time as any to join the party. He saw the entry door open and was about to make himself known— …when fingers curled around his wrist and he was dragged behind the other side of the car.
He and Randy waited there until Lucas closed the door behind him.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Randy rolled his eyes. “Shut up, I hate this place.”
“Yeah,” Gale sighed. “I bet they have awesome food, though.”
“Whatever, come on.”
They walked around the back of the house. A deck chair stood in the grass next to the drained in-ground pool. The yard was huge.
Randy threw himself down on the beach furniture and the back part of the chair promptly rattled down until it was parallel to the ground.
“Ow.”
“You okay?” Gale chuckled and sat down on the foot end carefully. He drew the zipper of his jacket up completely and waited for Randy to say something.
“Do you have anything on you?”
Gale supposed that had been rhetorical. An evening at RonDan’s? Of course he came prepared.
He lit the joint and handed it to Randy. “Move your ass,” he said and laid down, squeezing his body between Randy and the cold metal of the arm rest.
The damp crackle of the fire eating weeds and rolled paper immediately calmed him as he looked up into the sky. There were clouds, but they weren’t thick and made way to a bright bunch of stars every couple of seconds. He’d meant to look up on the most popular constellations so often, but he never had.
Randy tapped his forearm and Gale took a long drag.
“It feels different this time,” Randy said.
In his periphery, Gale could see the smoke escaping from Randy’s mouth.“It does.” Another reason why Gale didn’t want to leave. This hiatus did feel different.
“Do you know why?”
“Not really.”
“Me neither.”
Gale turned his head to see Randy move his fingers through his hair. He wondered if Randy would get it cut soon. He kind of wished he wouldn’t.
Suddenly Randy turned to lie on his side. “Do you know which song they will have in that final street scene we shot yesterday?”
“No? And how do you know?” Why did Randy always know everything?
“I talked to Christy,” he explained.
Oh. “Oh. So, which is it?”
“New Order’s True Faith.”
“No shit? I love that song.”
“I know.” Randy smiled and Gale turned on his side as well.
“Christy said that they would probably try to find a remix version, though.”
They traded the joint until it was down to a tiny butt and Gale threw it into the empty pool. He dared Randy to say anything. Randy didn’t.
Gale started humming, and after a while he remembered some of the words. “I don’t care ‘cause I’m not there,” he sang, low.
“And I don’t care if I’m there tomorrow,” Randy proceeded and lay back on his back, staring up into the sky.
“Rands?”
“Yah?”
“I think it’s I don’t care if I’m here tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does, really.”
Randy mumbled something and smushed his face into the small expanse of neck left between Gale’s collar and ear.
Gale put his arm behind Randy’s head and didn’t do anything to stop the blond hair from tickling his cheek and ear.
He really wished Randy wouldn’t cut it.
Then, Gale remembered the commercial of that weird vacuum-haircutting machine that sucks the hair in and then cuts it. It was totally crazy. Totally 90s. He told Randy, and they both started laughing and giggling.
“Just look how fun and easy it is to get a precisioned, layered haircut in the convenience of your own home!” Gale imitated, remembering the ridiculous commercial.
“Don’t be fooled by imitators that require special hair-cutting skill!” Randy added, and Gale got a few strands of blond hair in his mouth from laughing so hard. “Listen to… listen…” Randy had to break off to catch a breath. “Wait, what was that thing’s name again?”
“Uh… Flowbee?”
Randy cracked up, gasping into Gale’s shoulder. “Shit, you’re right. God, how bad were those commercials? Listen to what Louise Schmidt, 53, has to say about the Flowbee!”
“I love my Flowbee!” Gale chirped.
“You sure do, Mrs. Schmidt, you sure do.”
“Take my husband, take my kids, but don’t take my Flowbee!” Gale exclaimed, all in low-laid-drama commercial mode.
“Randy? Gale? That you guys?” Peter had followed the sound of laughter and giggles. He knew he shouldn’t have left Randy when he said he’d be in in five minutes.
“No.”
Peter came to stand next to them a few seconds later. “My, aren’t you two precious. All stoned and freezing your asses off.”
Gale and Randy both glared at Peter and told him to fuck off.
Peter just laughed in his I-don’t-need-drugs-to-be-in-a-good-mood way and tapped both their heads. “Come on, you potheads. You can’t hide forever.”
:: NOW ::
Gale was walking down Lafayette and New Order’s True Faith kept following him in his head. It had been doing so for weeks now.
He’d planned for his short stay in New York to be filled with Randy. Seeing him. Talking to him. Yes, talking to him, above everything. Sure, technically he’d come to get everything ready with Jennifer for Particles, but it hadn’t been his main motivation. Jennifer had even told him he didn’t absolutely need to show up before early August, but hey, Gale was nothing if not committed to his work.
He wanted to smack himself for not thinking about his choice of date more carefully beforehand. How could he have forgotten about fucking Bollywood?
Gale was rounding a corner when— of all the people in this world, or in New York, he ran into Simon. Those were some seriously fucked-up odds. Even more fucked-up since Simon was supposed to be in India.
“Gale, hey! What brings you here?”
Gale mustered up a little smile. “Work.” Partly.
“Oh, of course.”
This was the part of a running-into-someone-you-kind-of-know conversation that would have you either saying goodbye and hurrying on as if you were busy and important, or that has you make some generic and shallow request about the other’s life.
Gale was set on seeming busy and important, he’d be damned if Simon should have the upper hand in this. But shit, Gale had to ask.
“So, I’d actually have you located in India just about now?”
Simon laughed and Gale was forced to reluctantly remember that the guy was actually pretty decent. “Oh, no, I decided not to go. You know, after all that happened. It seemed right to stay.”
“What do you mean, after all that happened?” Did Simon know? Had Randy told? Was—
“Well, after the break-up and all that, I realized that I mostly only agreed to come on this trip for him. It has always been his trip, you know?”
Oh. “Oh.” Wait, what?
“Well, I gotta go, I have a lunch meeting. Good seeing you, Gale.”
“Yeah, bye.” Damn it, of course Simon was more busy and important than him.
Gale stood on his spot at the street corner for a couple of minutes, vaguely aware that the bag lady kept looking at him funny. Even when he finally remembered how his legs worked, his mind was still running relay.
Suddenly, there was a whole new realm of possibility.
::
Okay, first things first: Randy had broken up with Simon. Or Simon had broken up with Randy. More importantly, Simon had obviously thought Gale knew. All right, so maybe it wasn’t that important. Gale was still processing.
First, he was pissed. Randy should have fucking told him.
Then, Gale was concerned. And now Randy was tramping through Hindu swamp land by himself? A whiter than white, not exactly buff man, with an expensive multi-functional camera dangling from his neck that just screamed wealthy tourist?
Finally, Gale was hopeful. That crazy control freak-like automated response had read till July 27, which means Randy would be coming home in only five days or so.
And he wasn’t with Simon anymore.
:: THEN ::
Nobody at the wrap party found their Flowbee jokes funny. Gale didn’t understand how they couldn’t.
Ron and Dan kept giving him and Randy angry looks for interrupting their speeches with pointing out completely random things throughout the house that would be included in the delivery if you order within the next 24 hours!
“This pretentious male bust with a market value of $3,000!”
Randy opened the hall closet door. “Complete with this feather duster to clean it in a jiff whenever you’re entertaining!”
As they weren’t being chastised by Dan or Ron this time, they realized that the tour of the first floor had moved on. Gale finished off his second bottle of beer and put it down next to the bust on the small table.
He studied the artwork for a minute before looking up and realizing Randy was gone. He saw the tour group, complete with Thea, Michelle, Scotty, and a bunch of other crew members, rounding a corner. After a quick evaluation, he decided that Randy wouldn’t have gone to catch up with them.
Gale cleared his throat. “Marco?”
“Polo!” came from an ajar door down the hallway.
Gale hesitated when he stood in front of the door, feeling 50 percent certain that the word bathroom had been dropped earlier when Dan pointed into that direction.
“Rands?” he asked, fingers just barely connecting with the wood.
“Gale, you have to come see this.”
The door was pushed open and Randy grinned at him from inside the tiled room.
“Wow. Does that come with the Flowbee Precision Haircutting System, too?”
::
They were still sitting in the empty, gigantic bathtub two hours later. Gale had gone to get beer—and wine for Randy—once, but other than that, they hadn’t moved.
Gale’s feet were barely touching Randy’s as they sat across from each other, that’s how long the tub was. It was fucking wide as well, complete with ominous recesses and jets everywhere.
“No, no, no, you can’t use the same and the very same synonymously,” Randy insisted, tapping the wine bottle with a frog-shaped piece of soap for emphasis.
“Of course I can! What you are getting at is the difference between the same and similar.”
Randy shook his head. “I might be tipsy, Gale, but I do have second grade semantics down.”
Gale sighed and sunk a little deeper into the tub. “Well, I’m not the one who wanted to discuss this. Just sayin’.”
“Look, let’s try this approach. Schopenhauer said that—”
“There you are!” Scotty stood in the door, knob still in his hand.
Gale tipped his beer bottle in greeting and Randy wiggled the little soap frog at Scott.
“Get in, Scotty.” Gale waved him over.
“Er, yeah, no, thanks.” He kept standing in the doorway, looking from Gale to Randy and back.
“So, anyway,” Randy started and resumed pulling on the label of the Merlot bottle. “Schopenhauer says that every—”
“Give me the frog.”
“Gale, I’m kind of in the middle of talking.”
“Schopenhauer, yes, whatever.” Gale pulled his lips in. He didn’t use to do that pre-Queer as Folk. “Now let me see that frog.”
“Why?” Randy pouted.
“Because it was one of the gifts I received for ordering within 24 hours, duh.”
Scotty watched as they both cracked up and tossed the soap animal around. He shook his head. “Why does everything feel like a college party with you two?”
“Because,” Randy concentrated. “We’re funny. And drunk.”
“And because Randy recites Schopenhauer,” Gale added thoughtfully.
“Right. So, um, you’re gonna be alright up here for another half hour?”
Randy wrinkled his nose. “Uh, yeah, why?”
“Because in half an hour, I’m coming to get you guys and then I’m driving you home. You have your truck here, right, Gale?”
Gale wanted to protest, but in the end only confirmed with a nod.
“Good. I came here by taxi, so that’s set,” Scott decided.
“But what about Randy’s car?” Gale said it as if he was outraged.
“Jesus, Gale! Shh!” Scott peeked out into the hallway.
Gale felt toes tapping against the heel of his foot. “I came with Peter,” Randy explained.
“Yeah, I thought you might.”
Somewhere between Scotty rolling his eyes and Scotty leaving, Randy had crawled over to Gale’s side and started wrestling the frog from Gale’s hand.
They managed to break it in half, and Randy sank back down next to Gale in defeat.
“You broke our frog. It was symbolic.”
“I’m sorry.” Gale pulled Randy close, his fingers playing in the long hair at Randy’s nape. He didn’t want to argue just whose fault it was. Instead, he pushed through the few inches between them and kissed the pouty lips softly.
Randy had his eyes closed and sighed, his mouth tugging up on one side.
Gale found that funny and kind of cute, so he leaned forward to press his lips to Randy’s once more. And once more. And again.
And Randy’s mouth opened just a tiny bit wider with every smack of lips and Gale started lingering.
He didn’t want to think about that and searched to distract himself from how soft everything suddenly was and how nice Randy’s tongue felt as it swept out to brush his mouth.
Distraction found, Gale’s fingers rubbed the skin on Randy’s lower back, just where his sweater had ridden up. Gale felt that weird, small patch of fine hair there and had to smile. He hid his amusement in Randy’s neck before moving his mouth up again.
And then it wasn’t funny anymore.
Naked feet squeaked against ceramic, tongues pushed and rubbed against each other, and fingers caressed skin.
Gale tried to remember if he had ever moaned while just kissing before.
There was a sudden loud squeal as Randy’s hand slipped on the bottom of the tub and his head clunked softly against the ceramic wall. Randy calmly assured he was okay, but the energy had shifted.
Gale still didn’t want to start thinking just yet.
Luckily, Randy didn’t seem to either, for he pressed one last aimless kiss to Gale’s neck and lay his head on Gale’s chest while closing his eyes.
Then, they waited for Scott to come get them.
::
Gale didn’t know why they were suddenly both at his place. Something about lost keys? It had all been a blur.
Much less did Gale know how they had landed in his bed, Randy’s pliable body and damp skin under his.
Gale learned then and there what people meant by living in the moment. His mind was free from consequences.
Instead, he was filled with feeling — lust and longing and god yes. The body arching against him was such a glorious countervailing power; he wanted to live in the moment forever. The moment in which the laws of physics ruled in perfect balance.
He panted into the mouth beneath him, straining, shaking, trying desperately to delay the imminent end.
It came with a force Gale couldn’t have expected.
In the morning, Randy would leave as soon as he had found his clothes and called the cab service. They would try to make light of the situation and everything would be blamed on the alcohol.
Three months and twenty-four days later, Gale would write an email.
::