Multi Fandom. I'm @c-hartwriteshockey call me Jazz or Queenie. Choice is yours.On this blog we Stan Ronan Lynch and the Raven Boys. On this blog we Stan John B and the Pogue Life. On this blog we Stan hockey and whatever the fuck else I want.
Summary: Rubbing elbows with the hollywood crowd isn’t easy at the best of times, especially when you don’t feel like you fit in.
Warnings: None
AN: Story is set to the tone of Beautiful People by Ed Sheeran. This is my first Drew story but I have others planned, though. Please be kind. I hope you all like it!
Word count: 1470
Gif by @kitluvs1
The wine glass in your hand had emptied long ago, and you couldn't find someone to take it away from you for the life of you. It was a dead weight in your hand, something to play with as you moved through the crowded room of people, trying to make connections and stir up some semblance of a conversation.
Making useless conversation wasn't exactly one of your strong suits, but you knew you needed to at least try to make it work. This wasn't for you; it was for your boyfriend. You were there to be a supportive, understanding, and dutiful girlfriend, which was easy. He had supported you with your career effortlessly; it wasn't too much to ask that you do the same. You did it with a smile, no matter how tired you were or how sore your feet were. It was part of the price paid for the type of career he wanted.
Some times it was fun, you had to admit. Like days when the people you were meant to rub elbows with were closer to your age and didn't put themselves up on a pedestal. Sometimes, the laughter and smiles were genuine. Tonight was not one of those times, much to your smile's dismay. You're not sure what the reason for the party was, but you're pretty sure you're supposed to know. You have a vague memory of Drew explaining the benefit of the evening, but your nose was stuffed in something work-related, and you'd forgotten almost instantly what it was he'd said.
"Here," someone says from beside you, "let me take that for you." A delicate hand plucks the glass from your fingers and places it on a tray filled with other empty glasses.
"Oh," you say, more shocked that someone was taking the glass from you than the fact that someone had snuck up on you. That was happening more often than not at the party. You knew almost no one and Drew had been dragged away from you almost the moment you showed up. "Thank you," you say politely as the person takes your coping mechanism away from you.
With your hands-free, it's hard to keep your mind occupied. Your eyes scan the crowd, taking in all the different people milling about. It was LA; there was no shortage of cookie-cutter, factory created cardboard cutouts. Everywhere you look, everyone looks the same. You never feel like you fit in, but you're able to fake the smile for a few hours.
A sigh slips from your lips even as you force a smile higher on your face. You can do this, you tell yourself. You've got this. This is for Drew. Your hands smooth down the front of your outfit, and you step forward to throw yourself into the party. You might as well get this over with.
As you step forward, something, or rather someone catches you around the arm and pulls you backward. The shock catches in your throat, forcing a gasp from your lungs.
"Shh," a whispered hiss says softly into your ear. "Don't draw attention to us." Drew's voice is playful in your ear, low and conspiratorial. He tugs on you once more to follow him, and you do as requested.
"Where are we going?" You ask as you drop your voice to match his.
He pulls you down a hallway, out of earshot from the party, and then through a door which turns out to be a bathroom. Not a single word is uttered while his hand tightens on yours.
"The bathroom?" You ask, an eyebrow raised.
He smiles a devious smile, the kind you love so much that typically means he's up to no good. His arms wrap around your waist, and without a single explanation, he pulls you against him and places his lips over yours. It's deep and full of passion. You lean into the kiss, letting him hold your weight as you wrap your arms around his neck. You deepen the kiss, your eyes sliding shut to focus on the feel of his lips on yours and his fingers holding you tightly at the waist.
You don't want to let go; you don't want to break the kiss. You want to sink into him, to lose yourself in the feel of his body and his touches. You want to find the distraction he's offering you. His fingers trail up your spin, sending a shiver through your body.
"You're evil," you tell him against his lips. "We can't do this here." You were always the logical one of the relationship, always thinking a few steps ahead. Sometimes too many to enjoy something.
"I know," he says as he breaks the kiss. "You just looked liked you needed a distraction."
"Did I?" You had hoped you were putting on a better face than you felt like you were doing, but evidently not.
"Does your face hurt from smiling so much?" His hands cup your cheeks gently while his palms softly message you face.
"A little," you admit. "I don't feel like this place is really it for us," you tell him honestly. It felt more fake than other parties you'd been privy to recently.
"Yeah." The sigh that accompanied his simple word tells you he feels it too. Neither of you is very good at fitting in with the Hollywood crowd. It usually doesn't bother you, but his lips tip down in a pout, and he pushes his hands through his hair, making him look as thread worn as you feel.
That was the funny think about LA and the culture that surrounded the type of work Drew did. It was a popularity contest. It was all about who you knew and what you looked liked.
"Whaddaya say we get out of here?" You ask. Your fingers thread through his hair, pushing it out of his face in a much more delicate and deliberate way than he had. "It's still early; we could find something fun to do, enjoy the warm evening, and just," you hesitate, "be ourselves."
His lips press together in a thin line before he pulls you back in for a soft kiss. "I was supposed to be the one cheering you up, how did the script get flipped on this?" He asks, a smile on his face when he pulls back to look at you.
"Talent," you tell him with false bravado. You pretend to dust off your shoulder, a smirk on your lips. "Maybe you should take some lessons from me."
He laughs, open and honest. The smile on his face makes the blue of his eyes stand out. He's stunning, and the smile makes you melt. "I'll keep that in mind... Do you have a plan to get us out of here without looking like we're ditching?"
You scoff, "that's easy. I don't feel well." You sag against him, letting your face fall slack. Almost without effort, your bright and vibrant face morphs to one of discomfort, your eyes droop to mimic tiredness. "Think you can carry me to the car?"
He's 6'2 and physically fit, he's absolutely up to the challenge of getting you out of the house and into the car without difficulty. The question was more of a challenge than anything, and he knows it. He has to school his features into something akin to concern and not amusement, which, he's an actor. He's got this.
Getting out of the bathroom was easy, no one was around, but getting through the central space of the party was a little tricky. Many attempted to stop the two of you as Drew held you against his side, falsely worried about your wellbeing. They were so easy to play sometimes.
Drew keeps up the charade until he's pulled the door open to the passenger side of the car and helped you in. By the time he's sliding into the driver's side, the smile on his face is his again, and you can't help but laugh. Yes, this is the life he wants, but some things can't and shouldn't be compromised. Himself being one of them.
"Where to, babe?" He asks as backs down the driveway of the house you'd been at. His right hand holds yours as he hits the street and speeds away from the party.
You hum softly, considering all your options. "In N Out and a drive up the PCH." The 101 was a gorgeous drive, especially during the summer with the top down.
He pulls your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles. "Deal," he says with a grin. The gas pedal gets pressed as soon as the light turns green, and the two of you are gone—the party only a distant memory.
When Luke Alvez said "I know I may not be the someone you want to talk to, but I cant walk away with you like this," I literally melted into the ground like a depressing little puddle because that is real love right there.
