Chapter Text
For the first time in what feels like forever, James finds himself in the midst of an extended stretch with no commitments. Yes, a whole seventeen hours or so without expectations, or travelling to a second or third location. No one asking for his opinion, his time. His soul, even.
Honestly, he’s not even sure how he swung it, especially not on a random Thursday night. But he’s not going to complain. Nor will he waste it. He already has big plans for his first night off in forever.
If anyone does ask, he will make up a lie, probably. Tell them about how he was so productive with his night, catching up on his to-do list and ticking a few things off. Reading the book that has been on his bedside table for three months. Watching a new release movie that actually turns out to have been released a few years ago now, because time is a bitch of a concept and James occasionally still thinks it’s 2019.
Keeping busy, the way his parents taught him to relax.
But really, his plan is to do little else than eat his weight in takeout food and become one with the couch and Netflix until his bed starts calling his name. And if he works in some doomscrolling and quality Instagram stalking, then so be it. It is his night, and he will do what he wants.
This entire plan goes out the window not five minutes after he steps out of the shower, with sixteen and a half hours left of his extended stretch with no commitments.
It’s a phone call that interrupts his peace, an unknown number flashing on the screen. James knows that a lot of people would just ignore it, especially when they’re about to settle into doing absolutely nothing on a random Thursday night.
But James is not a lot of people. It could be an emergency. It could be a scam. Either way, he’s already priming for a little bit of drama in his life.
“Hey,” a voice says when he answers, soft and warm and instantly recognisable. James would know that voice anywhere these days. Pick it out in a crowd of fifty all talking at once. “It’s Ryan.”
“Hi?” James stutters out after the briefest of pauses, certain he sounds like an idiot. Maybe even suspicious. At the very least thrown for a loop. All with just one word. This is not what he expected today. And he’s not complaining, but Jesus. “Wait, you—sorry. How are you?” He pauses for barely a millisecond before giving in to curiosity. “You changed your number?”
“Maintaining an air of mystery does keep life interesting, I’ve always thought,” Ryan says. “It does also mean that occasionally people do ignore my calls completely, but I guess that’s one of the interesting parts. You answered, though.”
He sounds tired. A little down, perhaps, a touch off, though he’s hiding it well enough. But James just has a sense. After so many months together, he feels confident enough to know when the energy isn’t quite right.
“I figured it was just someone selling me something in exchange for my soul, and I’m always up for that,” James replies, instead of asking the question. He’s willing to play along. Keep it light. “I’m far less interested now that I know it’s you.”
“Oh, okay,” Ryan says, huffing out a breath that almost resembles a laugh. “Yeah, that’s fair. Completely normal reaction to have, by the way.”
“Ryan, just admit that this is a burner phone and you’re trying to sell me drugs, and then we can go from there.”
“Do you know how much it costs to put two kids through school these days?”
“Not personally, though I have heard rumours, sure. But drugs, Ryan?” James asks, setting himself down on the couch. He knows this dance, one that they almost perfected in England. The back and forth, easy banter. Historically, it can last a while. Best to get comfortable. “Maybe you should try kicking your watch habit first before resorting to more desperate means? See how much that saves you for schooling.”
“That is not a world I want to live in.”
“What, the real world?”
“Hey,” Ryan says, but he’s smiling. James doesn’t have to see it to know.
It’s a relief and a motivator all in one. Keep going, keep him smiling.
“Do you even pay for those watches? Or does Tag Heuer just keep throwing them at you to flaunt every chance you get?”
“That’s not important right now, James.”
“Oh, noted.”
“See, when you say it like that, it kinda makes me feel like you think I’m an asshole.”
“God, never.”
Ryan laughs, warm and addictive as always. “How are you, anyway? Sorry, I—”
“No, I—we got off track. I’m doing . . . I’m good. Busy, actually.”
For a moment, Ryan is silent, before quietly starting, “Oh, like—”
“I don’t mean now, just. Life, you know. In a good way, though, a great way. Don’t worry. You’re not . . . I am doing nothing tonight, besides, like, Netflix and—” James cuts himself off abruptly. He almost said you. He almost neglected talking to and went right into you. And while he is sure Ryan would have likely moved on from that (before gently teasing later when least expected), James would never fucking forget. Ever. “You know, just taking it slow tonight. How are you? The girls? Is it—are you good?”
“Course. You know it,” Ryan says, in a way that almost feels like you know me. And James does. He did, for months. But Ryan is still calling from a new number, and a part of James wants to ask how long ago that was changed. There’s knowing and then there’s going separate ways after months of being in the trenches together. “You’re home then? In New York, I mean.”
“I am.”
“Alright, good. Yeah, I’m in town, actually.”
“Oh,” James says after a beat. This is not at all how he thought his Thursday night was going to pan out, not in a million years. With one hand, he starts typing Ryan’s name into Google on his laptop, wondering if he’s missed something. Not that he’s keeping tabs, or anything. “You’re . . . SNL?”
“No, just working through some things. For work. Meetings, you know.”
“We have Zoom for that these days, Ryan.”
“Well, okay, but some of us do prefer to be old school. Or maybe I felt like coming out, it’s hard to know for sure. But it’s good to make an appearance from time to time. Healthy, or so they say.”
“They do,” James agrees, just because he’s not actually sure what else to say. A part of his brain still feels like it’s scrambling. “How, uh, how long are you here for?”
“Fly out in the morning. Just dropping in and right back out. Could have gone back tonight actually, but—you never know what’s going to happen, I guess. Good to have a buffer.”
“I mean, yeah, meetings do run long sometimes,” James says, though he feels like that’s not what Ryan is alluding to.
“Not today, they didn’t.”
Anticipation prickles at James’ neck. He’s not an idiot; he half-figured when Ryan said he was in town where this might be going. But it’s feeling more real by the second. “You’re done for the day, then?”
“You could say I’m a free man, yeah. But only if you want to.” Ryan pauses. “No pressure or anything.”
“And you’re alone?”
“Just me,” Ryan confirms after anther pause. “James, I mean it. No pressure, I know it’s last minute, and I’m not . . .” He trails off, then huffs out a breath. “I’ve just, I’ve been missing you, man.”
It’s enough to make James’ chest ache, even as he wants to scream. Nothing in particular, just some noises. Anything to get his heart to return to a normal beat. Ryan missed him. Ryan. Missed. Him.
“You say no pressure, and then you throw out that line?” James says, instead of parroting Ryan’s words right back at him, or doing something far more drastic. “What am I supposed to do with that, Ry?”
“It’s not a line, it’s the truth,” Ryan replies, sounding close to a whine. As endearing as he’s ever been, which is saying something, and a welcome relief. The wrongness hanging about is almost gone. “A simple fact, but feel free to do what you want with it though.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“Thank you. Did it work, though? As a line?”
“What has happened to you since we last saw each other? You’ve lost a smidge of that Canadian shine and become a touch pushy.”
“See, I knew you were thinking I was an asshole.”
“Well, show business had to get you eventually, I suppose. That, or New York is just rubbing off on you. Making you more like me.”
“I should be so lucky.”
James doesn’t respond for a moment. It always floors him when Ryan gets that flattering lilt to his voice. God, James has missed him.
“I’m ordering Japanese in tonight; I’ve already decided that.”
“Really?”
“Mmm. And watching Seinfeld, I think,” James says, though he already committed to that decision hours ago. “I’m in the middle of a rewatch.”
“What season?”
“Just started four.”
“That’s a good season.”
“It is,” James agrees, then waits. For at least three seconds. “This is where you tell me you’re happy with both those choices. Because I’m flexible about a lot of things, as you know, but not this.”
“I get that,” Ryan says. He’s smiling again. “And yeah, I’m—if you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“Okay, glad we’ve settled that. I’ll text you my address.”
“Do people still say Netflix and chill, or have we moved past that as a society?” Ryan wonders.
It’s absolutely the last thing James expected him to say, though a part of him probably should have seen it coming. He knows Ryan. James is sure of it. To the point where, if he thinks about it too hard, he begins to feel a little warm.
“Jesus Christ. Ryan. I’m not even going there with you, just let me know when you’re close, okay?”
“Yeah, I can leave—”
“I missed you too, you know.” It tumbles out before he can stop himself. But he’s not mad about it. It’s the truth, and he’s never been one to be ashamed of honesty.
Ryan pauses. “You did?”
“He asks, as if he’s not immensely loveable.”
“Hold on—”
“Oh, don’t even try to fight it.”
“No, hold on, I wanna say something,” Ryan insists.
“Okay, okay.”
“Hold on,” Ryan says again, and then just falls silent. Like he’s malfunctioning in real time.
“Are you done?” James asks, though he’s gentle about it. He’s not looking to bring the energy back down.
“It seems likely,” Ryan replies, with the air of a man that knows he’s defeated. By himself, more than anything.
“Good, I’ll see you soon.”
James hangs up without another word, ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind wondering whether that was rude, the lack of goodbye. It’s not helpful, that line of thinking, especially not on such a night. When he’s pivoting hard from doing nothing to having his evening turned completely upside down. In a good way. In the best possible way.
Still, he adds an x at the end of his address when firing off the text, maybe to make up for the lack of goodbye, perhaps just because he wants to. As soon as the text sends, that little voice in the back of his mind starts up again, headed down a different path entirely. Why the fuck did he add a kiss? He’s never done that before with Ryan. He barely does that with anyone in his life.
“Shut up,” James tells himself even as he stares at his screen, waiting for a response.
Despite his phone informing him that Ryan read the message almost immediately, the reply, or replies, don't come for a few minutes, arriving in quick succession:
ETA 7:13pm
but you know NY
I’ll let you know when I’m close x
James slumps back against the couch with a sigh that turns into a laugh, shaking his head. He saves the number as Ryan (dealer) if only to make himself laugh harder now and potentially in the future, as well as to differentiate from the previous saved number he has for Ryan.
Just in case.
With that sorted, James glances around his tiny living room, taking in the dirty mugs and piles of laundry. The floorboards that are in desperate need of a vacuum. He doesn’t even want to think about the state of the kitchen and bathroom.
“Right,” James says, and starts to panic. Just a touch. “Shit.”
Despite what some people might say, it isn’t a big deal to end up with a crush on a friend from work. Especially if said friend never actually found out, and therefore the friendship itself never had to change.
Especially if your friend was Ryan Gosling.
Ryan, with that face, that body. That charm, warmth and sweetness. The whole goddamn package. What was a man to do when exposed to all those elements for months at a time?
Really, James was confident that a lot of Ryan’s co-stars over the years had left their production behind with an enduring infatuation. At the end of the day, though, Ryan had only married one of them (and dated two others, to be fair, but that was a long time ago). So, it didn’t matter anyway, for any co-star to carry a torch for the guy. Besides, no one would ever know, and it was completely innocent. And normal.
James has been telling himself that for a while.
He can’t help but think about it now, either. While rushing around his apartment and coming to terms with the fact that Ryan would be here soon to look around, take in how James lived.
It wasn’t like James hadn’t had Ryan over before. He had, a few times in England. But that was different. That wasn’t James’ personal home; it was just temporary. Someone else’s life, borrowed for half a year. This, however, was his personal space. His entire life.
Ryan was about to see a true part of James, and finally understand what he was like, deep down, based on innocuous yet damning shit like the artwork hanging above the couch or his extensive record collection. Even the way he folded his towels before tossing them in the linen cupboard and slamming the door shut told a story. Not that Ryan was going to see his towels.
But what if he did?
For the next forty minutes or so, James exists in a flurry of frantic activity, straightening up in record time. Shoving his dishes in the dishwasher, wiping down counters and the coffee table, cleaning the toilet and bathroom sink as a minimum.
He runs the vacuum cleaner through every room bar his bedroom and lights a candle on his TV cabinet before throwing his laundry and abandoned sneakers on his bed and shutting the door. That is one room he’s sure Ryan won’t need to see tonight.
Then James stops, just like that, parking his ass back onto the couch to wait until Ryan texts again with a five-minute warning. After snuffing out the candle and using the toilet, James lingers by the front door, anticipation crawling up his spine and churning his stomach. He’s not anxious; he’s just excited.
He’s not anxious.
And he has no reason to be, because when Ryan arrives, he’s as perfect and as real as he’s ever been. Filling the room with his warmth the second he steps inside, apologising for being a few minutes late, smelling like twilight in springtime as he pulls James into a tight hug that settles him in an instant.
It’s like no time has passed at all, as if they’re back in England, running lines in James’ Airbnb before getting distracted and talking about movies for an hour instead. Huddled on the couch, scrolling through Prime, hunting for something despite not knowing, exactly, what, Ryan throwing out “no, no, absolutely not, have you seen—oh wait, go back, no no,” while squinting at the television, his eyes shining, cheeks full of colour. Warmed by the handful of drinks already thrown back, that left him loose-limbed and giggly.
James has missed this. He’s missed Ryan. To the point where it feels necessary to say it again and again until Ryan believes it. But James also knows restraint is key, at times like this.
He’s not looking to overwhelm or make things less than casual and easy. So, he bites his tongue, taking in the line of Ryan’s back, his side profile as he homes in on the record collection by the TV, pulling out albums for a closer look after asking for permission first.
It’s a running commentary for the next few minutes from there, as Ryan compliments his taste, notes which records they both have and others that he’s yet to get around to buying, before losing sight of the task at hand and wandering around the room to take in this or that. Looking as if he actually adores the life that James has built.
Still, he does seem tired. Out of sorts. As flat as he sounded at first on the phone, but working hard to mask it.
It’s not enough to make James worry too much; however, he knows it will play in the back of his mind for the rest of the night, and on occasional bursts until they see each other next.
“So, what do you feel like?”
“That’s personal,” Ryan says as he finally settles down on the couch, looking up at James through his eyelashes and quirking an eyebrow when only silence, punctuated by feigned frustration, follows. “Uh, in what sense?”
“The Japanese sense, Ryan.”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m easy, whatever you think works, you know what’s good.”
“Alright,” James says, flopping onto the couch and reaching for his phone. No pressure. He does know what’s good at this place, after all.
“Wait, I can get it.”
“No, you absolutely cannot. You’re my guest, and don’t you forget it.”
“Yeah, but I basically—”
“Settle,” James cuts in, pointing his phone towards Ryan like it’s a threat. “I need to concentrate.”
“Is the place expensive?”
“Ryan.”
“James.”
“You’re not going to win this, so I don’t know why you’re bothering to try.”
James is expecting a fun comeback, or a laugh. At the very least, a smile. But Ryan surprises him by going quiet and mostly still, fiddling with his watch band as he turns his attention briefly to the window.
And yeah, maybe James is a little worried. It’s not just tiredness, he doesn’t think.
“Why do we do anything?” Ryan asks, turning back with a smile that almost lands.
“Are you okay?”
“Me?” He frowns, his expression becoming almost suspicious in that special Ryan way, looking James up and down as if he’s not sure whether to be confused by the question, heartened by it, or begin readying himself for further interrogation. “Yeah. I’m good.”
It feels a lot like you know me, I’m always good. Another Ryan speciality. James is tempted to push. But this is his first time seeing Ryan in forever, and he doesn’t want it to be their last non-contractual get-together.
“Alright,” James says, turning his attention back to his phone. “There are some drinks in the fridge, if you want. I might even have some harder liquor in the cabinet above it, though I couldn’t tell you what. But . . . whatever you want, Ry. It’s yours.”
Ryan doesn’t need to be told twice. He heads to the kitchen to stare inside the fridge before turning elsewhere, the sound of cabinets opening and closing and glassware clinking soothing James like a familiar balm as he scrolls through the app and orders. It feels almost domestic.
How many years has it been since James shared his space with someone? Five years? He’s forever losing track of time.
He hasn’t missed it, really. Not until now. And he’s not sure if this is him missing that. It might just be Ryan's impact.
But it does feel domestic—James cannot deny that, even if it is just wishful thinking. From Ryan emerging with two glasses in his hands and a winning smile to how he situates himself back down on the couch and looks over James’ shoulder to squint at the app, asking, “How long we got?”
“Hungry, are we?”
“You know I can always eat.”
“But you’re not always allowed. Not like you want to.”
“Yeah, well, that’s show business, you know.”
“I couldn’t do it,” James says, then casts his eyes at Ryan’s torso. “I can definitely see the benefits, though.”
“Alright, alright.” Ryan shakes his head, reaching for his glass. He’s not smiling, not like he should. “I’m between shoots right now, so we’re good.”
“Good, because I ordered extra. ETA thirty-eight minutes, by the way.”
“I can work with that,” Ryan says, raising his glass with a crooked grin. “Sooo, what’s up, anyway?”
A lot. James isn’t sure where to start. But he tries anyway while they wait for their food, and it does feel a fair bit like being back at England. Him and Ryan spending countless hours hanging out and talking, just fucking talking, about everything and anything, with Ryan always so patient as he waited for the story to end, urging James on with a smile and a nod, his gaze fixed like a laser the entire time.
It’s not quite the same now. And maybe that’s not all on Ryan. For all James knows, he might have changed himself.
Yet he doesn’t feel different. And neither does Ryan, really.
It’s just one night. Nobody can be perfect all the time.
The food arrives before James is ready, steaming and far too much for two people, but it doesn’t matter. Even when Ryan raises an eyebrow, it simply doesn’t matter. It will keep for days, whatever is left. James is just glad to have it. To look after Ryan in such an admittedly miniscule way.
As proposed, they do eat Japanese takeaway and watch Seinfeld, slumped on the second-hand couch like two degenerates for a time after shovelling in their share of food. Of course, James is hyper-aware of the presence at his side the entire time. And because of that, he can feel whenever Ryan watches him, shooting glances when he thinks James isn’t paying attention.
Something is definitely up, though James knows asking again will get him nowhere. A distraction is needed, perhaps. Some ribbing, a touch of fun. Anything to make Ryan laugh. It’s not a fix, but maybe a fix isn’t needed. James hasn’t seen Ryan in so long and won’t see him for a while yet after this. For all he knows, whatever is up is just contained to tonight.
“Okay, I have a question,” James says the second Ryan returns from the bathroom, catching him a little off guard. “And please, feel free to tell me to fuck off once you hear it, I won’t be offended.”
This piques Ryan’s interest, his eyebrows shooting up. “Can’t say I’m not a little scared to hear what’s coming, when you put it that way.”
“It’s not scary, but it is extremely personal.”
“Is that you trying to set my mind at ease?”
“You’re a Disney kid,” James starts instead of going down a rabbit hole with Ryan about what constitutes oversharing.
“I was,” Ryan corrects, faintly smiling and frowning at the same time. Amused, confused and a little wary, another Ryan specialty. “In the 90s. I think it’s fair to say we moved past the kid stage a while ago now.”
James waves a hand. “Semantics. I also think it’s fair to say that once a Disney kid, always a Disney kid at heart. And that wasn’t my question by the way—I was just setting the scene. You’re a Disney kid, then and now.”
At this, Ryan sighs and offers an almost defeated shrug. “Aren’t we all?” he asks as he sits back down.
“No, not like you, we’re not. Only a very small group of people can claim to be part of a certain club.”
For a moment, he looks at James. Gearing up for a few different responses, before finally settling on, “What are you getting at, James?”
“Look, all I want to know is how it works. You, post-Mouseketeer.”
“Mostly? It’s just been a lot of questions about Justin and Britney.”
“No,” James says, biting back a laugh. He can only fucking imagine. “I mean, like, do you have to pay to get into the park, or have you had a free ride to everything Disney for the past thirty years?”
Again, Ryan stares, looking incredulous now. “That’s your question?”
“I’ve always been curious, okay? I figured it was a good time as any to bring it up.”
“You understand I’m not at liberty to discuss my relationship with Disney. Especially now, with . . .” Ryan makes a complicated hand gesture that vaguely resembles a plane in flight, which James takes to mean Star Wars, before pointing to the window. “Sniper watching my every move.”
“Well, I’d hate to be responsible for anything bad happening to you. It’s alright. Like I said, curious. Those admission prices are a bitch.”
He’s expecting a laugh. It doesn’t come. Instead, Ryan just watches him for a few seconds before quietly saying, “I can take you.”
James giggles. He’s not sure why, and he stops almost immediately. Ryan is serious. Of course he’s serious. “No, I’m not asking . . . Ryan, you don’t need to do that. I can afford it.”
“I know. But I can still take you.” Ryan’s mouth quirks into a sweet little grin. “It may or may not cost me a thing.”
Okay, James wants to say immediately, followed by when? with a side of begging for can we do it right away?
“I’ll think about it,” he says instead, then, “What about Disney Plus? My subscription runs out next month—”
“Nope, they are strangely weird about Disney Plus.”
“Really? They actually make you pay?”
“Maybe.” Ryan shrugs, gesturing to the window. Sniper, right. “But we can't go without Bluey, so. How much is your subscription again? I can probably get away with claiming it as an expense.” He shrugs again, his expression making it hard to tell whether he’s serious or not. A very familiar predicament. “Producer, you know.”
“You know,” James starts because he cannot help himself, not when such an observation springs to mind so quickly, “you’re starting to sound like a Disney sugar daddy.”
“I don’t think we need to put it that way,” Ryan says. On any other night, he might have screwed up his face.
“Which part is bothering you?”
Ryan doesn’t answer; he just laughs and reaches for his drink, shaking his head.
“I should go,” he says after downing his glass, sounding truly regretful at the idea.
Somehow, that doesn’t make James feel better about it. A part of him wants to throw a fit at the thought of being abandoned, and so soon. Of course, he’s not going to do that. He’s never been one for creating a scene or turning to pure dramatics (not unless the situation calls for it). To do so would just be too stereotypical.
That doesn’t mean he’s not tempted as fuck.
“Alright.”
“Early flight.”
“I know.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, looking like he has at least twenty different thoughts occupying his mind, all fighting to come out on top.
He glances at James, sidelong, and doesn’t move.
It feels like a victory.
“Another drink?” James asks.
“Another drink,” Ryan confirms.
And that is that. One simple suggestion, and he stays for another hour, dragging his feet when he eventually gets up to leave. Pulling James in for a hug that won’t quit but does before once again walking out of his life.
James isn’t sure what to do once he’s closed the front door. He can think of a few things, and at least two of them aren’t so pure.
Let me know when you get to the hotel, he drafts but deletes before sending the text.
Who the fuck is he? Not Ryan’s wife nor mother, that’s for sure.
With a sigh, James begins to clean up for the second time that night, jamming takeaway containers into the trash and adding to the dishwasher.
He’s still not sure what to do even after settling back down onto the couch. Netflix is an option, though it’s not demanding as loudly as it did earlier. His bed, too, is calling his name—but not for sleeping, no. Those impure thoughts look close to coming out on top.
James doesn’t want to head to his bedroom, however. He’s happy to stay right where he is.
He can still smell Ryan’s cologne.