Love Conventions

by Morgan James

  “Hey,” Ash said quietly, but Remy still jumped.

  “Oh! When did you get in?” Remy blinked up at him a few times, his brow furrowed.

  “Just now. You doing alright?”

  Remy turned back to his laptop, and the lines between his eyes grew deeper. “Yeah….” He chewed his lip. Ash pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. “Janet… suggested I give her a script if I wanted to, write up one of the ideas I’ve given.” He stared at his computer, refusing to meet Ash’s gaze. “But it’s not… it’s not working. It’s—the characters are flat, and the plot doesn’t make sense, and I can’t get the two main parts to marry together, and—” He took a shuddering breath. His mouth curved downward as he scanned the screen. Ash wanted to hug him. Could he? Was that allowed now?

  He tilted his head and kept his hands to himself. “So you have writer’s block. Maybe if you left it alone tonight—”

  “But it’s not just tonight,” Remy snapped. Then his shoulders slumped and he rubbed at his face. “Sorry. I’m frustrated, it’s been a week of tortured writing, but you didn’t deserve that.”

  Ash shrugged. “I can take it. But is there something else the matter?”

  Remy turned to him, cocked his head, and stared. Then he sighed. “Insightful. I guess it feels like a job interview. I’m just an intern right now, which pays… okay, but if I can prove to Janet that I can write, then maybe I’ll be able to get myself a job as a writer next year—if not on Mythfits, then on another project. Janet has connections.”

  Ash swallowed. “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” Remy rubbed his face again. Since when did he have bags under his eyes?

  Ash pushed away thoughts of Remy leaving for another show, and focused on what was important. “Well, maybe this is a very important script, and maybe it’s giving you troubles, but I think it’s late enough tonight to put it aside.” He reached out and flipped the notebook closed. When Remy didn’t object, he moved in for the laptop. Remy sighed and didn’t protest that either. “And maybe, if you can, you should stop putting so much pressure on this one script.”

  Remy huffed. “Nisha said the same thing, but I don’t know how.”

  “Well. You won’t solve it tonight. But maybe, tomorrow, if you like, I could help?”

  Remy eyed him suspiciously. “How?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe read what you’ve got?” Remy’s eyes widened with such clear horror Ash added, “Or you could bounce ideas off me? Sometimes saying something out loud….”

  “Maybe,” Remy conceded. “You’re definitely right about it being quitting time.” He stood. “There’s leftover dinner if you want some.”

  Ash nodded. He settled at the breakfast bar and watched Remy plate him a dish of leftover lasagna and heat it up.

  Etta closed her book and approached the kitchen. “I’m off to bed.” She ruffled Ash’s hair and waved at Remy. “Night.”

  It was early for bed, but Ash wouldn’t point that out. He nodded his thanks.

  “Night.”

  Remy pulled the lasagna from the microwave and placed it in front of Ash, then took the seat next to him.

  After a few bites, Ash smiled at him. “This is good. Thank you. For coming over and for making me dinner even though—” Remy waved him off. “Well. Glad you’re here.”

  “Me too,” Remy said with a tiny private smile.

  “Good.”

  “And I’m sorry for—no, listen. I’m sorry I’m in a mood, but please know it has nothing to do with you. You are the only good thing about this stupid week—I know it’s only Wednesday—but I need you to know that you are a very, very good thing.” His voice dropped and his eyes turned warm.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Ash leaned in and pressed a kiss to Remy’s cheek. Remy turned and brushed their lips together. The kiss was soft and slow and tasted of lasagna. Ash pulled reluctantly away and turned back to his dinner, too famished not to, and they sat in comfortable silence. Though Remy skootched closer to press their shoulders together.

  After Ash was fed, they settled on the couch for a time, pressed close together, kissing like teenagers, touching above the belt, sliding their lips slowly, almost sleepily together.

  Later, as Ash watched Remy get into a cab—which he had ordered and paid for over Remy’s protests—and drive away, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing.

  THE following afternoon Etta and Ash walked to Jasmine’s, Ash carrying the bag with drinks, Etta the salads.

  They arrived to find Remy sitting at Jasmine’s breakfast nook and chatting with her and her boyfriend, Amal.

  “Hey! Drinks in the fridge.”

  “Hi,” Remy said, looking relieved to see them.

  Jasmine laughed. “Next time I invite someone new over, remind me to explain about time. Poor guy has been here thirty minutes with nothing to do but watch Amal and me cook.”

  “And cuddle the dog,” Remy said, with a gesture to the furry mop in his lap. Pickles had flopped, leaning heavily into Remy’s stomach and looking supremely pleased. It turned out to be true love, Ash guessed, because Pickles spent most of the evening following Remy around and asking for more cuddles. Ash tried not to be jealous of a dog and was successful—some of the time.

  The group filled out, and once Kim arrived with her brother, Jordan, in tow, their party was complete. They loaded up the coffee table in the living room with the food and settled round it. Observing the limited number of seats, Remy shrugged and sank to the floor, rested his back against the frame of the couch, and bumped his shoulder into Ash’s knees, making them tingle at every accidental brush. Ash longed to tangle his fingers in Remy’s hair, so he curled them to avoid temptation.

  And he only side-eyed Pickles a little when she curled into Remy’s lap.

  Jasmine pulled out 90’s Trivial Pursuit. “Stuff it, Amal,” she said preemptively, smiling. “We can’t play a game where we have to hold stuff, our hands are full of food.”

  “And beer,” Miya pointed out. She was curled up in a wingback, with her plate on her knees and a bottle of stout in her left hand.

  They broke into two teams, and the battle began. It became rapidly apparent that any game involving Remy and Jasmine would be played to win. While everyone else seemed willing to be lenient—surely a last name was sufficient?—Jasmine gave no quarter. Remy sat up and leaned into the board. “Right,” he muttered to himself, with a gleam in his eye that made Ash want to snog him, and then proceeded to destroy them all with his pop-culture knowledge.

  “You’re a baby. How do you even know Growing Pains existed?” Jasmine moaned, exasperated.

  Remy smirked and slotted the pie piece into the token. “I have my ways.”

  “Seriously, though, you can tell us, your teammates,” Miya said.

  Remy considered this. “Good point. I was an only child with access to a lot of reruns.” He smirked, and Ash wished he could kiss him.

  Jasmine groaned and grumbled, and Remy picked up the die to roll it again.

  Fortunately for everyone else, the battle royale across the coffee table was called to a halt at five to seven.

  Jasmine cleaned up the board, muttering darkly about ringers, while Amal, shaking with laughter, turned on the television.

  The room buzzed with anticipation. Everyone but Kim and Amal had already seen the pilot. They knew it was good, but soon they’d be able to check Twitter and see what people thought. And according to Janet, they expected a lot of people to tune in, what with all the drama already on the internet.

  They made a pact to keep their phones tucked away for the duration, and they all sat on their hands, even through the too-long advert breaks.

  But as the credits finally rolled, and the two new viewers began to heap praises upon the rest of them, Remy, Michael, and Jasmine whipped out their phones.

  Ash touched his coin. His stomach clenched. He might be sick.

  Jasmine crowed. “They fucking love us!”

  “Yeah?”
Miya asked in a tiny voice.

  “Feck yeah!” Michael agreed. “Love. Us.” He scrolled frantically.

  Ash thought he might faint with relief.

  Jasmine squirmed with delight. “I keep seeing hashtag representation matters.” She looked up to give them all a sunny if slightly watery grin.

  “Good,” Kim said fiercely.

  Remy nodded. “Damn, I can’t even—there’s so much good and for every one of you. People are super stoked about the show.” He frowned. “Well, except for the douchebags, but the positives are definitely outweighing the negatives.” He shot a smile at Ash, who wished he could lean in and kiss it. He pressed his knee to Remy’s shoulder instead. For a second Remy’s eyes seemed to smolder at him. Later, they promised. Then he turned back. “They love you.”

  Grinning, Michael agreed. “They’ve dubbed us Niamish.” He looked at Ash. “Told you they’d love us, darlin’.”

  Despite himself, Ash’s cheeks flushed hot. He could hardly believe people supported this—him. “Of course they do,” he managed. “I’m charming.”

  Michael cackled and went back to reading tweets. “I’m scrolling the Niamish hashtag, which is surprisingly busy already. They think we’re adorable.” He paused. “Oh my.” He fanned himself with an empty hand. “This one does not think we’re ‘adorable.’” He winked. Ash would have blushed again, were he able.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Jasmine said imperiously, holding up her beer, “I think we can call our premiere a success.”

  “To us!” Michael cheered.

  And they all answered in kind: “To us!”

  Ash sipped his beer and, despite his burning desire, didn’t take Remy’s hand or kiss his smiling mouth.

  Chapter Eight

  THE large beast came barreling out of the woods, crashing through the underbrush, swept a branch to the side, and roared.

  Of course, without the animal noise which would be overlaid during postproduction, the roar sounded rather human and weak, but Ash could imagine the effect that could be created with close-up shots, mood lighting, and a large predator’s snarl.

  Mythfits wouldn’t do that. Well, they would, but then they would also cut to Ash and Miya cooing over the sight of a sasquatch in the wild. Apparently brownies and weather spirits weren’t frightened by seven-foot-tall man-apes protecting their territory.

  Martin, the guy in the costume, motioned for a bottle of water. There were two versions of the mask, one he could talk in and one he couldn’t. He was wearing the second now, as it was easier to put on and they were only filming action shots—it was highly entertaining to watch a sasquatch drink through a bendy straw.

  “All right, let’s get set up for the first interactions,” the second director, Sabina, said. “We’ll run through the entrance again, but this time let’s swivel round to see Hamish and Nariko unflinching, despite the bigfoot in their face.”

  Ash looked at the rig and figured it would take less than an hour to refigure everything and be ready for shooting. He picked up Boy Erased and settled into his chair to read. Then he pulled out his phone to check it and smiled when he saw the message from Remy.

  So bummed I wasn’t deemed crucial for island shooting D: why @ universe!

  Smiling, Ash tapped out a quick reply. You’re not missing much. Mostly trees and cameramen.

  Not helping! I looked at pictures of the island’s national parks. Jealous forever.

  It was indeed unfortunate. But the cost of getting him to Vancouver Island and putting him up was prohibitive when he could advise and script-doctor over the phone—even if Remy would love it here.

  Unless….

  There was no reason Remy couldn’t come anyway. They both had the weekend off, miraculously, and Ash was already here….

  Thanking the universe for mobiles and data, Ash phoned the Empress and inquired about a room. Why yes, they did have one available for the weekend. A view of the harbor? Not a problem. Two beds? Well, no, sir, but they could give him a suite with a king and a pullout sofa. For Friday and Saturday night? Perfect.

  Once the reservation was made, he switched back to the text thread with Remy.

  I’m languishing in the office with no one else around, revising another script and waiting by the phone in case someone calls. And thinking about your face and your lips and your beard.

  I’m so bored.

  Did you go back to filming? Because ugh if you did. I need you to entertain me.

  Flushing at the memory of Remy’s pink cheeks, Ash shook his head. Not filming, on the phone. Wanted to be sure was possible before told you. Want to take ferry to Victoria on Friday and spend weekend here? Can go back to mainland Sunday.

  WHAT?!!!!! Not serious! was the instant reply. Followed by, Serious?

  Chuckling, Ash wrote, Of course serious. Come. I’ll show you around.

  There was a long pause. Ash waited and waited, his book long forgotten. But there was still no answer when the director called to him a minute later.

  Scowling, Ash set his phone aside. He went to work and pushed his anxiousness down, and doing his best to ignore it.

  Fortunately Hamish was an especially confident creature, comfortable in his skin and not prone to worry. The only wrinkle in his life was Niall, who wasn’t in the scene, so Hamish hummed placidly under Ash’s skin.

  Playing him was better than therapy.

  An hour later Ash was finally able to check his phone. Remy had sent two messages, twenty minutes apart.

  I would love to but can’t. No way I can afford.

  Sorry :(

  Ash frowned at his phone and wrote as quick as he could, Don’t be silly. Weekend is on me. My treat. Will only cost you ferry ticket.

  Dude! I couldn’t!

  Yes you could.

  Living in Vancouver is expensive. I can’t let you pay for a last minute hotel because of me!

  Ash scowled. He wondered how to get out of this conversation quickly and tactfully, but eventually gave it up for lost Living here is lot less expensive without rent/mortgage. Let me do this for you?

  Again, the wait was excruciating. He’d never done anything like this before. Maybe it was too soon? He might have crushed his water bottle if it weren’t made of metal.

  But finally the answer came, simple and such a relief that Ash’s heart leapt.

  Okay.

  Ash curbed the desire to fist pump—well, for a moment.

  It turned out Hamish’s implacable calm was more difficult to harness when Ash’s happy heart couldn’t stop beating double time.

  REMY arrived on the island in the late afternoon, well before Ash finished work. He sent more than one apologetic text as the filming dragged on and on, and insisted Remy go to the Empress.

  I know they won’t let you in, but wait in the lobby. I’ll be there asap.

  ASAP turned out to be almost eight, and Ash felt extremely guilty as he slunk into the historic building… until he saw Remy, lounging on a leather couch and chatting with three other early-twentysomethings.

  Ash licked his lips and walked up to them.

  Cuddled close and holding hands, two women sat on the same couch as Remy. One had long, curly hair in an intricate braid, the other a shaved head revealing a tattoo. Their friend was male, dressed in a pink button-down, and had a stylized cut with shaved sides and long fringe. He flicked his head to get the hair out of his eyes, and they widened as he noticed Ash and looked him up and down.

  Then Remy saw him, their eyes caught, and a smile lit his face. Ash answered it with a more subdued, shier one. “’Ello.”

  “Hey! You finally escaped.”

  “Fin’lly,” he agreed. He was knackered, and after a day as Hamish, his accent was slipping. What followed came out very Scottish. “Readay tae check in?”

  “Oh my,” said the man on the couch. “Damn.” He sighed and fanned himself. “Nice meeting you, Remy. But we won’t keep you any longer… not that we could.” He looked Ash up and down, again, and then
sighed, again. Ash went red.

  Laughing, Remy stood and said goodbye. “Libby, Sarah, Beau, it’s been a pleasure.”

  The one with the braid waved, and a rather sparkly diamond glinted on her left ring finger. “Later. Maybe we’ll catch you again. Though, maybe not.” She also eyed up Ash, and if he could burn hotter, he would do.

  Since reaching adulthood and growing into his ears and weight, Ash had been blatantly admired many times. He didn’t think he would ever get used to it, even if he’d learned to ignore it. But never had anyone insinuated he and another man were an item. Butterflies swooped into his stomach. These strangers thought…. It had been a long time since he’d last dreamed about others thinking of him as part of a set.

  Remy slung his bag over his shoulder and motioned for Ash to lead him to check-in. “Sorry about that. I didn’t tell them anything, but they assumed and….”

  “It’s fine,” Ash said, surprised to find it was. They clearly hadn’t recognized him. Being seen as gay… well, it had been a relatively painless experience.

  Though probably for the best that Remy hadn’t confirmed anything. Really.

  THE suite was fancy. It had three rooms—the bedroom, bathroom, and living room—and all the furniture was pristine, the pillows perfectly plumped. The hotel might be a historic monument, but the room had all the comforts of modern furnishings and décor.

  After a brief look round and considering the state of his boots—dirty after three days filming in a national park—Ash kicked them off, dropped his bag by the couch, and went to check out the view. He might be getting somewhat jaded about such luxuries, because when he turned back, Remy still stood by the doorway, his mouth wide enough to catch flies.

  “Ash,” he said somewhat uncertainly. “How…? This looks expensive.” He turned to Ash, chewing his lip.

  Ash shrugged it off. “Not so much.”

  “But… we could have gone somewhere cheaper.”

  Ash shook his head. “Naw, the Empress is the place to stay.” Remy didn’t look convinced. “I told you, I can afford it.” Ash licked his lips. “And I wanted to do this for you, to spend time with you.”