Fanemies {Coming... Later?}

3 || Fantasies Shattered

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮
𝐹𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 the hotel hadn't been wrong—there was a line already forming when I arrived. It wasn't as long as I had feared, but I still pouted slightly upon taking my place.

Business awnings provided shade during the hot summer day. That, along with plenty of people around to discuss one of my favorite fandom with, made the three hours it took to get inside move quickly.

The girl in front of me—a bespectacled ginger—inhales sharply when we begin our shuffle into the crowded book store. She introduced herself as Mariah earlier when showing me the Garrett and Alysia fanart she drew.

"I can see him," she whispers.

My heart stutters in my chest, and my grip on my book and letter tightens. I am in the same room as Tristen Kelley. When I had arrived, I had been too far back to catch any glimpses into the window, so when he'd made his appearance, I couldn't see it. I had heard the cheers loud and clear though. Then, as I'd grown closer, I hadn't been able to find an angle that let me see past the crowd to him.

Maybe it's silly. Are people supposed to have such a strong urge to see their favorite author in physical form? Do they count as celebrities?

No, I realize. Or, at least, it isn't for me. Maybe it's because I write, but an author seems more human, and somehow, that only makes the desire stronger.

Ignoring the heat rising to my cheeks, I wiggle to the side, and I get my first glimpse of Tristen Kelley.

Well, it isn't really the first. I'd seen him in the back of books and in articles, but those were always photos. It's different to see the real person. He flashes smile after smile, dark eyes alight as he speaks with his fans. I think it is that which makes the live view of him better. Although he's handsome in his photos—light brown skin, dark brown-almost-black hair, beautiful brown eyes, a runner's body—the passion he shows in real life pushes him toward hot.

That thought isn't what forms the butterflies in my stomach, though. No, that is the fact he's Tristen Kelley. The Tristen Kelley. Lightinthedarkness1015. Creator of Garrett Ryker and the Heartsworn Saga. Escape-provider for readers across the world.

My letter feels as heavy as the heart I poured into it. The quiet chatter of the room fades into an insistent buzz of excitement. It grows louder and louder as less and less space divides me from the beautifully decorated table.

It isn't until only five people separate us that I notice the slight change in Tristen. His smile no longer quite meets his eyes, and the spark that was once there has dimmed. About thirty minutes of non-stop interaction has passed, so it's very possible he's growing tired. But no, there's something more, a tightness to his every action, almost like he's trying to reign in those feelings I had noticed earlier.

But why would anyone want to hold back their passions? Maybe a fan in front of me had actually been a critic who doused his fire. Even if he'd been exposed to tons of criticism during his career, it would hit different here. I bite my lip and glance nervously at my letter. Would something like this cheer him up, or would it just be a hassle for him?

Despite my best attempts, my enjoyment of fanfiction pricks, and my brain begins fabricating scenes that would never be reality. I will step forward, head partially down while somehow looking up at a sitting Tristen through my lashes. A faint blush will make me look even meeker, but then he speaks to me, saying how he's had a tiring day but is happy to meet yet another fan. I'll tell him that no, I'm not just another fan—I am one of if not the original fan. I will strengthen my resolve and hand him my letter. Even as I hurry away, his eyes will be on it, and although he hasn't read it yet, it will make his day easier because—