A/N: I highly recommend listening to the song while you read, or just whenever. It's a really good song. And really (strangely) fits this story almost perfectly.
it was always hard to pin you down/
and it was only natural for me to hope you'd come around/
but please, take your reservations and forget them/
you know things could be so easy if you'd let them
One month into filming, and Shawn and I have not lost contact with one another.
I have no idea how we ended up here, either. I was so ready to forget about him and never talk to him again because I was so certain he was going to hate me for the rest of his life, but as always, he's surprised me and been kind to me. He's kept in touch with me when I most certainly do not deserve it.
But he has.
We don't talk about much. Just about our days, which are pretty hectic now. He's starting to play more shows, and we're halfway done with filming here. Our busy schedules have limited our talking to text only – and those are even sporadic. But for some reason, it's enough. Just hearing about his day is enough for me, even if one day he may wake up and realize he doesn't need to talk to me anymore.
I won't be surprised if that ever happens. I know how it happens. You talk to someone after ending things, only to realize you don't need to anymore. You realize you're better off. You realize all you're doing is making it harder to let go. Until you finally do let go. And then you realize it wasn't hard at all. And you wonder why you hadn't done it sooner.
I'm speaking from experience.
Which is why it doesn't surprise me when Shawn's texts begin to slow down. Every day becomes every other day, and then a day here and there. Talking about our days becomes talking about our weeks because it's been that long since we've caught up with one another. Until one day an entire week has passed without a word.
And I'm not surprised. But I can't say I'm not hurt.
I get dressed and ready to head to the makeup trailer, trying not to think about it and trying not to look at my phone. One week left of filming. And then I can...I don't know. I can't hide forever. But maybe hiding for a month or two wouldn't hurt. Hiding while the movie goes into post-production has to be normal for actors, right?
I slip into my shoes, grabbing my script to take with me. I cast a fleeting glance at my phone before deciding to leave it here, hoping to feel a little less hurt if I don't have it on me as a constant reminder.
But, something in me tells me to check it one last time before I leave in case of any updates, and I'm glad I did. Apparently, they need a few more minutes, but Lindsey will text me when she's ready for me.
I'm not ashamed of the sigh of relief that leaves me. I could use a few more minutes to look over the last scene and to just breathe, alone here in my trailer.
I manage to do just that, getting to spend these rare few moments alone by myself in some quiet. Until someone starts knocking on my trailer door. It sounds a lot like how Lindsey knocks, which is strange.
Curious, I walk over, pulling the door open. "I thought you said you'd text—"
Shawn's eyebrows furrow, his head tilting as he bites back a smile.
In a moment of panic, I slam the door in his face.
But then in the next moment of panic where I realize what I did, I yank the door back open. "I'm so sorry—"
"Not the reaction I was expecting," he chuckles. "But this is kind of a surprise, isn't it?"
"You could say that," I mumble, my hand still clutching the doorknob. "What—What are you doing here?"
"Yeah...I guess I should explain that."
"Maybe," I blink, still not sure if he's really here or if this is me lucid dreaming. Or is it hallucinations, even if it still feels like a dream? "Uh, but, come in. Sorry...for slamming the door in your face."
"It's okay," he shrugs, laughing a little as he steps up into my trailer. He turns around, holding out one of the cups in his hand. "This is for you, by the way."
"Thank you," I smile, taking the cup from him. Iced caramel coffee. The one he got me addicted to. "I haven't had one of these in ages."
"Really?" He asks, raising his eyebrows as he wraps his lips around his straw – seriously? He's in front of me for two seconds and my brain is already focusing on his lips. For Christ's sake, calm down.
"Y-Yeah," I nod awkwardly. "Not since...you know."
His face falls in realization, his cup coming down from his lips as well. "Oh."
"Yeah," I repeat, nearly grimacing. "Uh, sit down, explain yourself," I tease, gesturing to the couch and trying to ease some of the awkwardness in the room.
"Oh right," he nods, planting himself in the middle of the couch, leaving me nowhere else to sit but beside him.
And I do – inelegantly. I bring my legs up underneath me, resting my coffee on my knee. I still haven't taken a sip. Something about it is so...odd. This entire situation right now is odd, and I'm still not totally sure he's real, but I almost don't want to take a sip from the coffee, in fear that it'll disappear from my hand if I do.
And the fact that he's just staring at me doesn't help matters either.
"So...what are you doing in Vancouver?"
"Oh, a festival," he explains. "And I thought since I was in town, I...I thought I'd come talk to you."
There it is. The famous, "Can we talk?" or "I need to talk to you." It's always something about needing to talk.
"Right, festivals," I smile, trying to deflect a little. "Sorry, I haven't kept up with a lot of the stops since we started filming. I've been in my own bubble."
"I understand," he nods. "How is it?"
"What, filming?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, it's good," I pause. "Everything I dreamed, I guess. It's been really fun."
"I'm glad," he grins. "How are you?"
"Oh, I'm good," I lie, adding a smile. I'm not entirely lying. I am good. I'm proud of the work we've done on this movie. I've had so much fun spending these two months living with Kate and working with her, and so many more actors I've looked up to. I've gained a new friendship with Andrew, and he's really taken me under his wing. I'm good. I've got good things going for me.
But I am so not doing good. At the same time, I am not good at all.
"How are you?" I ask, deflecting.
"I'm okay," he replies, and he seems sincere enough, but he looks tired. But he's also on a festival tour.
"Shawn, I'm sorry."
The sentence leaves my lips before I have any time to protest, and I nearly smack my hand over my mouth in shock when I realize what I've said.
Oh, and his hand doesn't help. His hand that instinctively reached out and is now resting on my knee as he looks at me again with that look.
"Why, honey?"
Might as well continue on, now. What else do I have to lose? "Oh, God, I was awful. Leaving you like that," I shake my head. "God, I am so sorry."
"You don't need to apologize," he murmurs. "I forgave you for that the moment I read your letter."
"Oh, God I had forgot about the letter!" I groan, smacking my hand over my eyes. "Who does that? Who walks out and leaves a letter? That's awful!"
"I still have it," he admits quietly. "I read it before bed every night for a long time."
I split my fingers, glancing at him. "You're serious?"
He nods.
"Why...why'd you stop?"
"I wanted to talk to you about it in person," he shrugs. "Not in my head while I looked at your handwriting."
I chuckle, leaning my elbow on the back of the couch to rest my head in my palm. "I've talked to you in my head a lot, too."
"Yeah?" He laughs. "Did you apologize to me in there, too?"
"Every day," I nod seriously.
He frowns. "Honey..."
"I've missed you saying that."
"I've missed saying it."
Tears. The tears are real, and they are gathering in my eyes at the exact moment I don't want them to. But I can't help it when I'm looking into his eyes and I see the same reaction.
"You put in the letter that I deserved to meet someone in a normal way," he begins.
"Because you do," I mumble.
He gives me a look. "If you want me to, then I'll camp out in the Starbucks and I'll wait for you, and I'll offer to buy your coffee, and it'll be like a clean slate, but my point is—" His hand moves from my knee to wipe one of the stray tears that had fallen down my face. "The point is it wouldn't matter. I've loved you since you walked into the room and if I had met you in the Starbucks downstairs that day, I know I would've loved you then, too."
I scrunch my face up, trying to stop the emotions, but it never works. I lean down and put my coffee on the floor while he continues talking.
"I don't want to meet someone else in a 'normal' way," he chuckles, using air quotes. "We're not normal. We don't have normal lives – or not the normal lives my parents have, that's not my point."
He stops himself, reaching out to grab my hand. "I don't want to meet someone else because I don't want someone else."
"Me either," I blurt, sniffling and probably looking absolutely disgusting as I wipe my nose on my sleeve. "Oh my God, me either."
I can't control my body as it practically lurches toward Shawn, giving him a split second to set his coffee down before I've wrapped my arms around his neck. I sigh shakily when I feel his arms wrapping around my back, holding me against him, and good God, I've missed this. I've missed him so much. Too much.
I pull back from the hug, expecting to sit back and calm down, but there's no time, because Shawn cradles my face and pulls me back in, this time pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.
I've missed that, too. So much.