by C.M. Kars
I’ve never been really good at hiding anything—I’m a terrible liar, and my face just gives all my thoughts away. So how am I going to keep this from him—that I’m falling in love with him and not the fictional character he plays?
Ayden’s coming over tonight, coming over to my apartment, and he’s going to see my stack of bookshelves, and he’s going to look at the titles and authors and figure out another piece of me. He’s going to look at my movies, all neatly arranged by genre and then alphabetical order therein, and he’s going to have another piece of me I don’t feel ready to give. He’s going to know more and more about me by stepping foot in my home—the smells of my cooking, the dust collecting in a corner that never leaves and just perpetually hangs out, the figurines of all the Leviathan characters I have stacked on my bookshelves.
Dreams like these aren’t supposed to come true—they’re supposed to stay within the realm of fantasy, where it’s safe, where you’re safe and you can’t get hurt.
My phone goes off, with his name and a little rocket emoji next to it flashing on the screen. I stare down at my phone a little too long, chewing on my lip like everything I’m feeling might just come spilling out if I don’t actually swipe on my phone to get the door downstairs to the building unlocked. I swipe, put my phone down on the kitchen counter and stare at the front door. Ayden’s probably walking up the stairs now, one step at a time, matching my frantic heartbeat.
And then the knock comes against my door and I’m moving towards it with numb feet and a dry mouth, too nervous to think about what I’m wearing or how I look, because my face, my dumb face, is going to say everything for me and I don’t want it to.
“Hi!” I say, noticing the squeak in my voice, and am very aware that the blood is rushing to my cheeks just in case Ayden missed my overenthusiastic greeting. Not because I’m not happy to see him—I am, just maybe a little too much, wanting to talk it over with him, to figure out what we can do.
Like, what’s the protocol? Are there statements to be made, or did I just make that up?
“Hi,” Ayden says, brandishing a bouquet of daisies my way. “These are for you.” Arm fully extended, Ayden grins at me, a measure shy and uncertain, a measure happy and excited to see me.
I smile back at him, feeling a warm fuzzy feeling fill me up from the inside out. “Thank you, Ayden. They’re beautiful.” I keep smiling down at my flowers, then beam at him, smile stretched wide enough that my cheeks hurt, and the explosion of butterflies in my belly makes it feel like I’m on the downslope of one hell of a roller-coaster ride.
His cheeks are pink as he crosses the threshold and moves fully into my space, his eyes sweeping over my living room, then dining room and kitchen. I glance away when he looks at the hallway and the closed door that leads to my bedroom. Man, I can picture us there, but I don’t want to rush anything, but that doesn’t help the wanting it, either. “I love your home.” Ayden’s looking all over, all around, seeing everything, taking everything in, taking all of me in.
While his trailer was devoid of anything remotely Ayden, my apartment is a declaration of my personality surrounded by a lot of fluffy and cozy blankets.
God, it’s like we rehearsed an awkward first date from any rom-com ever written.
I snicker to myself, then get down to business. “Thanks. Let me put these in some water,” I call back as I head towards the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. Want something to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having? Jesus, Aria, how many figurines of Chris do you have?”
Oh God, Oh God. I forgot about only wanting two on display! I slide out of the kitchen on sock-feet, flowers forgotten on the counter, and am treated to the sight of the actual Chrisander Gage holding up little toy figurines of himself, and the whole thing might make my brain explode.
Ayden looks at me, grinning, holding up all seven of my various figurines. “Guess you really have a crush on him.”
I nod slowly, throat closing up. This is not fangirl fantasy, this is real. “Something like that.” I’ve pledged my undying love is more like it, but I keep my mouth shut. “And be careful with those.” There’s no reason why he has to be careful with those—the variants are available almost everywhere and will probably take little to no effort to find them again. But these figurines have been touched by the actor who plays the character and I’m going to have to bronze them or something to preserve them forevermore. I walk back to the kitchen, losing him from my view, and try to keep calm enough to put my flowers in some water.
“I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest.” Ayden Stone is in my living room. Ayden Stone is in my living room touching my figurines!
“Oh?” Is that my voice? Is that really my voice? Am I attempting to flirt? Yes, yes, I am.
I peek around the flowers once I’ve put them in a vase and some water, only to see Ayden putting the figurines carefully back on the bookshelves, moving his fingertips to drag along the spines of my favorite books, like he’s trying to get to know pieces of me through them. I end up shivering, even though he hasn’t touched me at all.
“I know it bothers you,” I say, broaching the subject that we haven’t talked about in weeks, especially when it’s so much a part of him. “You don’t like that I love the show, and that I love Chrisander. Don’t deny it, Ayden, you know it’s true.” I frown at him, worried if this is what’s going to tip the night into a bad one.
He shakes his head. “If I’ve led you to believe that you have to walk and talk around me with trepidation over something you clearly love then I’m sorry. I never meant to do that to you. I love watching how you shine when you talk about the things you love. It’s what I like most about you, actually.” He’s moving now, each measured step bringing him closer to me, where I’m currently frozen to the spot.
This is happening, this is totally happening. Ayden Stone is in my apartment and he’s walking towards me, exactly like I’ve imagined it a million times before, and you know what? Reality is SO much better!
I want to say ‘thank you’ but right now might not be the time. I also want to make a Leviathan reference, but again, not the right time.
“When you say sweet things like that, it makes me want to kiss the crap out of you,” I say, keeping still, waiting, watching to see what Ayden will do.
He tilts his head to the side when we’re toe-to-toe, leaning down close enough so that if I stretch on my toes, we’re in perfect kissing range. “Is that right?” His hands move to my cheeks, cradling my face between his palms and the whole thing makes me melt. This is exactly how Chrisander Gage holds the faceless person he kisses in flashback scenes, and now he’s doing it to me.
But is Ayden doing it for my benefit?
I nod. “Yup. I get all melty when you say sweet things. I also really like cuddling; it’s my second favourite thing to do. You kinda already know this.” I’ve made no secret of my need for tactile affection. Honesty first and all that.
Ayden’s eyes widen at that statement and he’s laughing close enough that when he dips down to kiss me, I feel like I should start laughing too. He smiles against my lips and holds me close as he gives me a sweet kiss, no rush, no immediate hiking it up a notch, but it’s still enough to drive me crazy because I want so much more.
More, more, more!
“What’s your most favorite thing to do, hmm?” he asks, planting a kiss on the tip of my nose and then my forehead before moving back and keeping his hands to himself. I swear, if I heat up anymore, I’m going to sit him on my couch and we’re both not going to come up for air for a good long while.
Yes, do that! my brain suggests. I’ve got Ayden Stone on the brain, and I don’t want to stop anytime soon.
“Read books, obviously.” I gesture to the bookshelves lining the walls in my living room. The whole Leviathan thing is kept quiet, but we both know it’s there, unsaid.
“Well, we can cuddle and read books if you’d like,” he says, his eyes wide now, his smile perfect enough f
or the paparazzi to show up and publish every single photo.
Wow, and I get a close-up all to myself.
“Don’t tempt me, Ayden. I will keep you to your word, and it doesn’t matter if your arm goes numb or whatever, you’re not allowed to move until I’m done.”
“Why would I want to? Move, that is?” His smile is big and infectious, as if I’m making him happy.
Oh, yes, please. I like making him happy—it makes me happy, too.
I had turned around to go to the kitchen and get supper plated when he asks that question, and before I can really think about it, I’ve turned right around and thrown my arms around his neck, stretched up onto my toes and planted one on him. “You have to stop saying nice things.”
Ayden laughs, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me up off the ground in a hug to end all hugs.
I could get used to this. Ask him to marry you—right now!
“Never.” His stomach lets out a growl, and he puts me down reluctantly. He’s gotten more playful, more open with me, and I love it.
“Come on, I’ll feed you. Food’s almost done. Grab a seat.”
“You can’t compare Leviathan to Star Wars, Aria. It’s just not done.”
I wave my fork at him, my piece of chicken still hanging on for dear life, excited that he wants to listen to me go on and on about this show that I love, the very one that he doesn’t seem the most fond of. How awesome is that?
“Excuse you, but I can do whatever I want. Star Wars has a more mythical feeling to it—in a galaxy far, far away. Leviathan is in the future dealing with issues that are totally relevant today. It doesn’t deal with a religion in the way like the Jedi or Sith, and the characters are morally gray in your show. You’ve got anti-heroes on Leviathan and they’re my precious cinnamon rolls and I want nothing bad to happen to them.”
“Cinnamon rolls?”
I nod, put the fork in my mouth and eat like an adult before saying, “It’s like a fangirl term. You can look it up.”
He smiles at me while being precise with his knife and fork and chicken, being slow in his eating. “Chris isn’t an anti-hero.”
I chew and swallow before taking a deep breath and start getting into one of my favourite discussions of all time. “He’s a total asshole in season one. Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true. He’s pompous, he’s entitled and he’s just a dick to everyone around him. He thinks that because his name is Chrisander Gage that he’s the most important person on the ship. My favourite scene in the mid-season finale is when Amy totally just gets in his face and lets him have it. Just verbally whales on him and the guy’s kinda struck dumb for a second. Is it weird that I’m talking about this? You’ve gone a little quiet.”
“I’m just listening. Please, continue.” He looks interested, leaning forward, the corner of his mouth twitching, as if unsure whether to turn into a smile or not.
So I fangirl even harder, talking faster, gesturing with both hands, my half-full plate forgotten, and cutlery abandoned. “And there’s only one person he really cares about, you know? His best bro since he was a kid, and he’s protective of him, and I think maybe that episode was the first time I realized there was something more to the character—that there were hidden depths to him, and I wanted to find out more about him. Before, he was just a pretty face, and the constant shirtless scenes were, I guess, in homage to James T. Kirk or something? I don’t know. But at that scene, when he’s struck dumb and can’t say anything, but then Amy makes the mistake of saying something shitty about Mage and it all just comes crashing down, I was super invested then, and I was hooked.”
Ayden eats some more food, making appreciative noises that fan my ego up to the stratosphere. He’s quiet for a time, and I don’t know if I’ve broken some unwritten rule.
Rule number one of fangirling over Ayden Stone—don’t talk about Leviathan.
Rule number two in fangirling over Ayden Stone—don’t talk about Leviathan!!!
“The writers weren’t expecting my character to be anything more than a pretty face. They were actually going to kill him off in the first season. I was only under contract for sixteen episodes.”
He’s dropped a bomb on me, and I’m hot potatoing it. “What?!” I screech, thankful that I don’t have any food in my mouth to choke on. “Are you serious? They were going to kill Chrisander?” It’s as if we’re discussing an actual crime. The whole thing’s making my heart beat fast, and I’m angry enough that my hands have clenched tight into fists like I’m gonna fight someone.
Ayden nods, setting his fork and knife neatly on his plate, real proper etiquette type stuff that makes me self-conscious about my own table manners. “We weren’t supposed to make it out of the first season and then the fandom got involved once we aired about ten episodes, if I remember it right.”
“I love my fandom. See? Fangirls save lives…and jobs.” I clutch at my chest, my heart the exact size of the Leviathan, and I’m fangirling—hard.
Ayden grins and crosses his arms on the table, leaning in close. I can’t believe he’s in my home right now. Talk about dreams come true. He just can’t go into my bedroom—like, ever. I have too many posters of him, way too many posters, and a life-sized cut-out. They might just scare him off for good.
The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s charged with enough energy that I feel it crackling along my exposed shoulders and arms. I haven’t been with someone in a good long while, and there’s a part of me that wants to, of course—Ayden is beautiful and kind and thoughtful and sweet, but this all feels like a dream where making the wrong move will definitely end up with me tipping to consciousness.
What if we’re not compatible in bed together? That happens to couples, right? What if that happens to us?
“What’s going on in that head of yours, darling?”
Melting—I’m melting. That word. Ugh. “That word has special powers, and you can only use it for good.” I lean back in my chair, just giving me enough space to breathe some air that doesn’t smell like Ayden.
“I thought I was.” He tilts his head to the side, watching me with those eyes, his lips parted on words that remain unsaid.
“I’m afraid to be with you,” I blurt, having no one but myself to blame, not even the glass of wine I had a couple of swallows from. Here I am, laying it all out there, nervous, scared and worried, pushing back a little more and away from the table.
Ayden moves back out of my space, like he’s afraid of crowding me, leaning back against his own chair. He’s shaking his head, and I find myself already reaching over to touch him, to reassure him. “I came over because you told me you would make dinner for us. I didn’t want there to be any presumptions—”
I reach for his hand when he looks like he’s about to push back from the table and bolt out the door. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not scared of you, just nervous around you, if you haven’t noticed.”
Ayden looks like he stops breathing, going very still, his eyes intent on me, those eyes I fell in love with first, and now slowly creeping into love for the guy they belong to.
“The feeling’s mutual. I promise you that,” he says quietly, calmly, a statement of fact, but it sets me off.
“How can you be nervous around me? I’m not anybody famous or special. There’s nothing to be nervous about around me. I’m normal.”
Ayden actually pushes back from the table this time and comes to stand before me, taking my hand and pulling me out of the chair. I follow the gentle tug of my hand where he guides me to my own couch in the living room, the screen on the TV black and the music playing in the background falling on deaf ears.
When he seats me next to him and then practically pulls me on top of him so that I’m lying sprawled on his chest, his heartbeat beneath my ear—beating faster than normal, like I have made him nervous—his words rumble in his chest and make me relax. “God, Aria, you’re incredibly special to me, and I’ve been doing a shit job of letting you know.”
&n
bsp; Here it is. Here’s the actual precise moment where I fall head over heels in love with Ayden Stone—a real person, not a fictional character.
This totally wasn’t the fangirl problem I was expecting, this isn’t a fangirl problem at all.
EIGHT
“How is your hair so soft?” Ayden asks, running his fingers through it, semi-stroking my back because of its length. It’s lulling me to sleep and I’ve decided that I’m never going to move ever again. I live here now.
“Excellent products. You’re exceptionally comfortable, by the way. You shouldn’t let me stay on you too long, I’d get too comfortable and then you’d have to stay here forever and ever.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.” I can hear his snicker. Ayden puts his hand to the back of my neck underneath my hair, warm and comforting.
“Nah, you’ve got to work, I’ve got to work, if only to keep us in food and good books.”
“I thought you liked your job?” Ayden asks, shifting underneath me so he can get more comfortable. His free arm comes to circle around my waist, holding me tight to him.
I melt into him, a complete spineless noodle, and I swear, I could stay here forever.
I shrug. “It’s a job. Pays the bills. I don’t love it. I don’t enjoy waking up super early every morning and doing the long-ass commute with the bus and subway, just to rinse and repeat from Monday to Friday.” I sigh, tapping my fingers along his chest, marveling all over again that I’m able to touch him like this. “That makes me sound ungrateful, doesn’t it? I’m not, but I just don’t see myself doing my job forever. But just thinking about starting over makes me break out in a cold sweat. I’m not like you.”
“What do you mean?”
I rub my cheek against his t-shirt, almost purring like a contented kitten that curled up in the perfect spot to sleep. “You’re so passionate about what you do.” I keep staring at my blank TV screen, trying to word this right. “Remember when you let me on set the other day, and you were going over the script for the latest episode and sort of spacing out?”
