Fangirling Over You: A Fangirl Romance

by C.M. Kars

  I tap my nails against the mug, making a chiming sort of sound, lean down to sip up my hot chocolate, groan in appreciation, licking the chocolate and marshmallow concoction away from my lips. I sigh, knowing I need to keep going. “I thought of you as nothing more than a dream within a dream, you know? Like, how could you possibly be real and wanting to be with me? I just…it felt a little too real, too fast, and I’m sorry that I didn’t let you know what was going on in my head, I’m sorry I didn’t give you the opportunity to hear me out, and I’m sorry I in turn didn’t listen to you.”

  “Aria—” he tries to break in, face gone pale, eyes bright.

  “I’m almost there, Ayden, just let me get through this, okay?” I pull in another deep breath, let it out just as slowly. “Now that you’re in my life, however it happened, I want to keep you there, if you want to be, that is.” I watch his face for clues, but he’s giving me nothing. “Unless there’s someone else who’s taken my place?” I think back to that photo of him and Bekah holding hands, knowing that it means nothing, but a niggling seed of doubt is still there, waiting to be fed with any sort of stray thought. “Unless you don’t want me anymore?”

  Shit, maybe I am too late, maybe this is all too late.

  It’s been three weeks, three freaking weeks.

  Ayden’s shaking his head, and the blood’s pounding in my ears, and I let out the breath I was holding in a whoosh. “That’s not it, that’s not it at all. God, you drive me crazy. I don’t hear from you for three weeks, and everything’s been utter shit, and you’re here and all I want to do is hug you close and take forty naps in a row.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Forty naps? In a row? Guess you weren’t lying about not sleeping, huh?”

  Ayden shakes his head again, moving his mug to the side, reaching out for my hands. I do the same and put my hands in his, Ayden sighing when we make contact. “I can’t change my job or who I am.”

  “I know,” I murmur, watching his eyes soften.

  “That doesn’t mean that I just expect you to accept it, or to not tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. It doesn’t mean that I’ll know what to do always, but that’s why we have to talk, to get through it together. I want to be with you, in any way you see that happening.”

  “Even if I don’t want to go to cons, or photo shoots, or go on lavish dates where we’re bound to have our photos taken?” I can’t imagine being photo-ready all the time; it must be exhausting.

  Ayden smiles, his eyes almost closing with it. He brings my hands up to his mouth, kissing me along the knuckles, and my heart does acrobatics in my chest. “We do whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t care for those, you already know that. I just want to be with you, and no one else.”

  I look at him, tracing his features with my gaze alone, watching him for a long, long minute.

  “I want to be with you, Aria. I’ve fallen in love with you, you’ve made it so easy to fall in love with you.”

  Ah, shit, that hits me hard, crushing my heart in the best way possible. “Yeah?” I croak, my throat raw.

  “Do-do you think you could love me, too?” His words are vulnerable, carefully asked, like he might scare me off.

  And of course, of course, my brain takes the opportunity to make a Leviathan reference, like an asshole. “You bet.”

  Ayden blinks at me, then starts laughing, pressing the laugh against the back of my hands while his whole body shakes with it, making it echo, hitting off the surface of the table.

  “You bet?” he asks, leaning up to look at me, still chuckling, but his eyes are wet, and he won’t stop kissing my hands.

  “I love you, Ayden. I do.” He sniffs and I get up, tugging on his hands to lead him back to his bedroom, knowing that everything isn’t always going to be perfect from here on out, but it sure is going to be a hell of a lot better with Ayden by my side. “How about those forty naps in a row?”

  I wake up to the smell of waffles being made, the butter sizzling on the waffle iron, the smell of rising dough making my stomach growl even in half sleep as I am now. My body aches in a whole bunch of places, muscles in my abs and hips that haven’t been used in a long time making themselves known under protest as I stretch in Ayden’s bed. Weak sunlight comes through his closed curtains, and I wonder what time it is and how late I let myself sleep in.

  I never let myself sleep in—it’s a sin against the sun and since the Torontonian winter’s coming, nighttime at three-thirty in the afternoon is quickly going to become a reality.

  I stretch, hearing something crack in my shoulders, and every muscle gives a twinge like I’ve been doing heavy weights.

  You have. His name is Ayden Stone.

  I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling of Ayden’s trailer, grinning at it like it made the best joke and then did something adorable. I can’t believe this is actually happening to me. Butterflies have erupted in my belly, and my cheeks are starting to hurt with all the grinning I’m doing. Like, I had sex with the man of my dreams, and it was everything I could have hoped for, my high expectations are nothing more than dust.

  I shake my head at myself, resigning myself to the fact that I’ll have to drag my ass out of bed and get dressed. I stand on shaky legs to get my underwear on but opt for grabbing one of Ayden’s shirts from his dresser to put on instead of getting back into my dress.

  I walk out of his bedroom after doing my morning routine with the measly supplies I had in my bag and head towards Ayden, standing with his back to me at the stove, whistling to himself. “Fuck,” I gasp, looking at the scratches on his back—that I put there. Oh, sweet Jesus, I hurt him, ruined his skin because I was crazed with wanting him last night, never wanting it to end, never wanting it to stop. “Oh, God,” I moan into my hands, muffling my distress. Ayden still turns to look at me, spatula in hand, eyebrows trying to meet his hairline, lips parted in surprise. “I freaking maimed you,” I moan again, biting my lip, and wanting to die right here, right now.

  Then I watch him look down at where my eyes are riveted on the ragged skin of his back, hot pink streaks that run from shoulders to hips and back up again, and then he just grins at me, that dimple popping in his cheek, his eyes practically twinkling with male satisfaction.

  I shake my head at him, afraid to move, afraid to touch so I don’t make it worse. How messed up was I last night? Well, if he didn’t know how into him I was, then he sure as hell does now. I was completely uncontrollable and that’s terrifying, especially in the daylight where I can see what that’s cost him.

  “There’s nothing to be upset about, darling,” he says, turning away from me to turn off the element with a flick of his wrist and plating the fluffy waffle from the waffle iron. He sets the plate on the table while I’m rooted to the spot, watching him be all domestic and cooking me the biggest breakfast I’ve ever seen, then turns and grabs the carafe to pour me a fresh mug of coffee, plumes of steam wafting off it, begging me to come and take a sip.

  But I’m a dog, and seeing what I’ve done to him is the bone I’m going to worry until there’s nothing left. “Nothing to be upset about? Ayden, I hurt you. That’s never happened to me before. I’ve never done that before. Jesus. We have to clean those out. That’s all I need now, you getting a wicked infection because of me. Shit.”

  Of course he looks up at me from pouring himself a mug of coffee and grins at me again, not rushing to the bathroom where I assume some sort of medical supplies are. I’m not even waylaid by the way his body looks, dappled by sunlight streaming through his window curtains, looking relaxed, all cuddly—and smug.

  “Stop it. Wipe that expression off your face. I don’t like it.” I wave my hand at his face, as if I can wipe it off like marker with an eraser on a white board.

  His grin gets even bigger, if that’s possible. He motions towards the opposite seat at his microscopic kitchen table, and I stumble my way forward, settling myself opposite him, our knees bumping underneath the table. I look down at the spread he
made and wonder how in hell I slept through all of it. There are fluffy scrambled eggs, and crispy bacon, and waffles with maple syrup waiting to be poured from a decanter, and buttered toast, and coffee wafting up my nose, tempting me with its life-giving essence, all smushed together without any tabletop surface to be seen underneath.

  Except I just sit in my seat, shoulders slumped, looking at the food and not knowing if I can make myself eat it.

  I’m embarrassed by what I did, and I’m upset that I hurt him, even though he’s walking around like he won the MVP of the year award, practically begging people to ask him about it. At least he can’t go on set without a shirt on.

  Oh, shit. No, no, no.

  How in hell is he going to film those shirtless scenes now? How much makeup is it going to take to cover those up? That can’t be good for scratches, right?

  My eyes fly to his, only to find Ayden studying me over the rim of his mug, his throat working as he gulps down his steaming hot coffee. I wince in sympathy for his esophagus. “Did I just ruin a scene for you today? Are you filming a shirtless one?” I grab hanks of my hair, panicking. Everything was going great this morning, and then I saw his back. “Ugh, everyone’s going to see what I did to you. It’s not like the crew doesn’t know about me entirely. Pretty sure they recognize my face by now, if judging by yesterday counts. God. That’s it, I’m living here from now on. You’ve got a new roomie.”

  Who knew I had it in me?

  Then again, he is the object of my obsession, and in this weird world we live in, he somehow likes me back. Weird.

  “I’m rather proud of them. I wouldn’t mind showing them off.” He gives me another wolfish grin while he attacks his stack of waffles, cutting them with a knife and fork like a proper gentleman.

  “Ayden, you can’t say things like that to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…you shouldn’t be proud that I injured you. Your poor back. Does it sting? What if you get a weird infection from my fingernails?” I look down at said fingernails like I can peer into them at a microscopic level and see if there’s gross germs under there. “I don’t know why I’m freaking out. It’s like I don’t want you to know how much I’m into you. Like that’s a surprise. God.” I stare down at my laden plate, looking for answers in my eggs, bacon and toast. Maybe the answers can be found in the soon-to-be river of syrup I’m going to pour over my stack of waffles. I’m so embarrassed, cheeks burning with it, upset stomach and all.

  “Aria, can you look at me? Please?” Ayden’s voice is soft, gentle, and for some reason my eyes well up. He’s talking to me like I’m a skittish animal, and true, my heart’s pumping hard and I’m sure he can see my pulse jumping at the base of my throat, and yeah, I want to run away from all of this, but I’m pinned to my seat by his voice, his softness.

  I pull all my courage together and make myself look at him, ignoring my cooling food. My stomach gives a howl of hunger with all the smells accosting my nose, but both Ayden and I ignore it. I sigh, mashing my lips together so Ayden can’t see them trembling.

  “I loved every single second of last night and this morning. Did I do something wrong that you’re so upset right now?”

  “No!” I practically yell at him, trying to blink away the would-be tears. Die, die, you bastards! No tears today. “I’ve never been like this with anyone before. I’m more embarrassed than anything.” My cheeks are inferno-hot, and there’s nothing I can do to control my blush.

  “Why?” Again with that stupid word. I hate that word. Kill it with fire. His tone is firm, though, and it pushes me to open my dumb mouth and spill out the truth.

  “Honestly? I don’t know about all of this. Me and you.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug, totally miserable. I knew it would come to this. I knew I would ruin it all with my expectations. How could I not? It’s my modus operandi, what I do, how I go through life, who I am as a person. “I love you, you stupid idiot, and I don’t want to.”

  I swear if he asks me why again, I’m going to start flipping tables. “I don’t understand, Aria. I don’t think it’s a choice you can make.” Ayden’s speaking to me now precisely, and slowly.

  “Exactly! You took that choice away from me the minute you came to see what was wrong with me back in California at the con. And there you were, eating in front of me, the man of my dreams, perfect in every way, and then you weren’t what I expected, not at all.”

  He’s so quiet, so I fill the silence with more confessions and words, feeling like my heart’s being pulled right out of my chest. “And then I found out how great you were in your own right; how thoughtful you are and conscientious and kind. God, so kind, especially when people are practically falling over themselves to do things for you. I thought you would be arrogant and mean, but as long as I had my fantasy with Chrisander Gage, then it was fine by me. I fell in love with a fictional character—it’s safer that way, easier to give my heart to people who don’t exist. What better way is there to never get hurt?” I shake my head at myself, knowing how it all sounds when I say it out loud, dumb, stupid, but reality, nonetheless. “I wasn’t ready to fall in love with you, Ayden, but here I am, and I hurt you, because you made me go crazy last night. I’m a fangirl, Ayden, I obsess, and I’m obsessed with everything about you, learning about you, listening to you and the thoughts you make, everything that makes you into the person you are.”

  He’s so quiet, all tense muscles and angles, and I gulp hard, my heart aching in my chest because I just know how he’s going to let me down easy.

  “Can I speak now?”

  I nod at him to continue, heart in my throat, being pulverized to bits in anticipation of what he’s going to tell me with that serious face, no dimple to be found.

  “I never wanted to be with a fan. How could that ever work? How could I trust what they felt for me, for it to be real, for them not to be constantly comparing me to my character, to who he is? I thought I would resign myself to short relationships on set with those who understood what it was to be with someone like me, an actor, always trying to be someone else but myself.” He smirks a mean one, eyes downcast, and the whole thing’s breaking my heart. I didn’t want to make him sad.

  “And then I met you, lovely Aria, and everything changed for me, because of you. Anything could happen, would happen. I became obsessed with your thoughts, what would go on in that head of yours, the way you looked at the world, and I knew that I would do anything in my power to make you happy, even if that meant walking away and removing myself from your life so you can find someone not like me at all, but someone who doesn’t have a camera in their face all day or is just waiting for it to happen. Someone who could openly hold you in public, kiss you whenever you say something utterly adorable, and just hold you close when I thought you need it, or when I needed it. This has been hard for you, I know. We’re cooped up in my trailer more than we can go on small adventures together, experience the world together in ways that can only change us for the better.

  “This is my life, and this is what I can offer. I can promise you that I will always be there when you need me. I can promise you that I won’t kill all the spiders, just displace them so they can find their home somewhere other than your apartment. I can promise to read to you at night when you’re having a hard time sleeping. I can promise to share with you as much as I can about Leviathan and what will happen to your favourite characters. I can promise to kiss you to sleep every night if that is what you want. I can promise to love you, Aria, for as long as you’ll have me.”

  I swallow past the tightness in my throat, ignoring the stinging in my nose and the burning in my eyes that are a prelude to tears. I’ve practically chewed through my lip trying to keep quiet, and I’m dizzy from holding my breath, expecting pain and getting this kind of sweetness instead.

  “Is this real?” I ask, voice cracking on the tail end of the question. “Are you real? How can all this be real?” God, I will lose it if this is all a dream
or some sort of weird Matrix thing.

  Ayden laughs, a sharp crack breaking the stillness as he leans closer to me across the table, gathering up my hands in his. His smile is wide, his eyes crinkled in his face, that dimple making an appearance and making my heart flip-flop in my chest. “Of course it’s real, Aria. How can you doubt it?”

  “I don’t know. I never expected this to happen to me, to be here, with you. To love you as much as I do and to have you love me back. I feel like I’m in an alternate universe, a place where dreams are reality.” I sniffle and knuckle a would-be tear away from my eye.

  “Then maybe that’s where we are. Am I being too sweet, is that why you’re crying?” Ayden smiles at me, all gentle and soft and loving. That’s the word I’m looking for, loving.

  “Yes!” I blubber, my face going, if possible, even more red as I sniff hard and try to wipe away the flood of tears with angry swipes of my hands.

  “Come here, darling,” Ayden requests, moving his body as far back into the chair as he can go, holding his arms out. I could be embarrassed by how fast I fall into his lap and let his arms come around me and hold me close, comforting, safe, but that would be dumb. “I love you, Aria. I do.”

  “Even if I love your show too much? Even if I’m a giant nerd about it?” It’s a test, a bonus question worth a hundred points.

  He chuckles in my ear, his chest rumbling. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Okay,” I say, clearing my throat and wiping at my eyes again. “Okay. Where do we go from here?”