Chapter Text
Archer had developed a problem.
Unfortunately, the problem was Damian.
More specifically, the problem was that Archer was in love with Damian, and Damian had apparently decided to spend the next several weeks being the most lovable person on the planet.
It was inconsiderate, really.
Archer had spent the better part of Monday morning attempting to behave normally. He'd arrived on set, greeted the crew, stolen Callum's coffee because Callum had stolen his the previous week, and successfully completed an entire conversation with Celeste without spontaneously combusting.
Then Damian had walked through the studio doors.
He'd been carrying two coffees.
One for himself.
One for Archer.
"Morning," Damian said, handing it over.
Archer stared at the cup.
His name was written on the side. Underneath it, in smaller handwriting, Damian had added a little smiley face.
A smiley face.
Damian Mercer, who once described a birthday cake as "adequate," had drawn a smiley face on Archer's coffee.
Archer was going to have to lie down.
"What's this?" he asked, because apparently his brain had abandoned him.
"Coffee."
"I can see that."
"Excellent. We agree on what coffee looks like."
Archer looked up.
Damian's mouth twitched.
"Your usual order," he added. "They were making mine, so I got yours, too."
"Oh."
"Unless you don't want it."
"No! I want it. Obviously. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Damian started walking toward the dressing rooms.
Archer stood in place for another three seconds, staring at the smiley face.
Then he followed.
He was in love with Damian.
He was in love with Damian, and Damian had drawn him a smiley face.
This was how people died.
Not dramatically. Not in some grand tragedy. They simply received a coffee from the man they loved, saw a tiny doodle, and their internal organs collectively resigned.
"Why are you standing there?" Damian asked from several feet ahead.
Archer hurried after him.
"I'm coming!"
"I noticed."
"Then why did you ask?"
"I didn't."
Archer caught up and bumped his shoulder against Damian's.
Damian bumped him back.
It was an ordinary interaction. Something they'd done hundreds of times before.
Archer's heart reacted as though Damian had written him a sonnet.
He was going to need professional help.
Possibly several professionals.
And perhaps a new brain.
Damian had a different problem.
His problem was that Archer had become a permanent fixture in his thoughts, and now that Damian knew he was in love with him, he couldn't seem to stop noticing things he'd previously accepted as perfectly ordinary.
For instance, Archer's laugh.
It was distracting.
Not because it was particularly unusual, but because Damian had started recognizing all its variations.
There was the polite laugh Archer used with strangers, which was brief and rarely reached his eyes.
There was the incredulous laugh he produced whenever Callum said something particularly stupid.
There was the sharp, delighted laugh that escaped when he won an argument.
And there was the real one.
The helpless, unguarded laugh that made Archer fold forward, cover his face, and occasionally wheeze when something genuinely caught him off guard.
Damian had recently discovered that he was willing to do almost anything to hear that last one.
This was concerning.
It was also becoming increasingly difficult to conceal.
"You're staring," Callum announced.
Damian looked away from the other side of the studio.
"I was looking at the schedule."
"The schedule is on the wall behind you."
"Then I was looking at the wall."
"Fascinating. Does the wall usually have Archer's face?"
Damian turned slowly.
Callum was grinning.
Damian considered several responses. Most involved finding a convenient place to bury a body.
Instead, he said, "Do you have a scene to film?"
"Not for another twenty minutes."
"Then you have twenty minutes to become less irritating."
"Impossible. It's a gift."
Callum followed Damian's gaze across the room.
Archer was standing beside a makeup station, talking to one of the stylists. He was smiling at something she'd said, one hand wrapped around his coffee cup.
Damian looked away again.
Too late.
Callum made a small, strangled noise.
"Oh, this is incredible."
"What's incredible?"
"You."
"That isn't an answer."
"No, it's an observation. You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you pretend you're not watching Archer while actively tracking his location like a military satellite."
Damian stared at him.
Callum stared back.
"You're imagining things," Damian said.
"Sure."
"I am."
"Absolutely."
"Callum."
"Damian."
"Go away."
Callum leaned closer.
"Have you considered just asking him to marry you? It would save the rest of us a lot of time."
Damian walked away.
Behind him, Callum called, "I'M JUST SAYING, THE FANDOM ALREADY THINKS YOU HAVE A JOINT BANK ACCOUNT!"
Damian did not turn around.
He did, however, hear Archer laughing from across the room.
And, against his better judgment, he smiled.
By Wednesday, Archer had hugged Damian six times.
He knew this because he had started counting.
The first hug had been perfectly reasonable.
Damian had arrived on set looking tired after a late-night reshoot, and Archer had opened his arms without thinking.
Damian had looked at him for half a second before stepping forward.
Archer had squeezed him.
Damian had squeezed him back.
Nothing unusual.
The second hug had occurred after Archer returned from a phone call with Elena. She'd been having a difficult week, and Archer had been quieter than usual when he came back into the studio.
Damian had noticed immediately.
"You okay?"
Archer had nodded.
Then he'd looked at Damian, and for reasons he couldn't explain, he'd wanted to be held.
So he'd hugged him.
Damian hadn't asked questions. He'd simply wrapped his arms around Archer and held him until Archer was ready to let go.
That had been fine, too.
The third hug had been because Damian had made Archer laugh so hard that he'd nearly dropped his phone.
The fourth had been because Teddy had sent Archer a particularly adorable picture, and Archer had decided Damian deserved a hug for having produced such an excellent dog.
The fifth had been because Archer had missed him.
That one had been dangerous.
Damian had been gone for approximately two hours, attending a meeting with the production team in another building.
Two hours.
Archer had survived longer periods of separation from Damian before. He had once spent an entire weekend away from him and had experienced no lasting damage.
But when Damian returned, Archer had seen him through the glass doors, and his entire body had reacted before his brain could intervene.
He'd walked straight over and hugged him.
Damian had blinked in surprise.
Then he'd smiled and hugged him back.
"Miss me?" he'd asked.
Archer had buried his face against Damian's shoulder.
"No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Damian had laughed.
Archer had held on for another few seconds.
Then he'd let go and walked away before he could do anything else catastrophically embarrassing.
The sixth hug happened on Wednesday afternoon.
It was the least defensible of all.
Archer was standing beside Damian while they waited for the next scene to be set up. They weren't talking about anything important. Damian was telling him about a documentary he'd watched the previous night, and Archer was only half listening because Damian had pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and apparently Archer's brain had decided forearms were now a personal attack.
Then Damian said something dry about the documentary's narrator.
Archer laughed.
And suddenly, irrationally, he wanted to hug him.
So he did.
He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Damian's middle, and pressed his cheek against his chest.
Damian stopped speaking.
Archer froze.
Why did you do that?
He could have stepped away.
He should have stepped away.
Instead, he stayed exactly where he was.
There was a pause.
Then Damian's arms came around him.
One hand settled between Archer's shoulder blades. The other rested lightly against his upper back.
"Everything all right?" Damian asked.
Archer closed his eyes.
"Yep."
"You're hugging me."
"I know."
"Just checking."
Archer felt Damian's chest move with a quiet laugh.
Then, to Archer's complete and utter devastation, Damian rested his cheek briefly against the top of his head.
It lasted perhaps a second.
Maybe less.
Archer was fairly certain his soul had left his body and was currently filing paperwork to establish residency elsewhere.
He tightened his arms around Damian.
Damian's hand moved once across his back.
Neither of them spoke for a little while.
Then Callum's voice rang across the studio.
"IF YOU TWO ARE GOING TO HAVE A MOMENT, COULD YOU AT LEAST DO IT SOMEWHERE THE REST OF US CAN PRETEND NOT TO SEE?"
Archer jerked away.
Damian's hands dropped.
Callum stood several feet away with a script in one hand and the expression of a man who had just discovered a new source of entertainment.
"Good," Archer said sharply. "Now I know where to bury you."
Callum grinned.
"Love you, too."
Archer immediately regretted every decision that had led him to this studio.
Damian, meanwhile, looked suspiciously amused.
"You were saying?" Archer demanded.
Damian raised his hands.
"Nothing."
"Good."
"Wouldn't want to interrupt your murder plans."
"I have a list."
"Do I rank highly?"
"You're at the top."
Damian smiled.
Archer wanted to hug him again.
He did not.
He deserved a medal for his restraint.
The trouble with being in love with your best friend, Damian was discovering, was that all your usual excuses stopped working.
Before, he had been able to explain almost anything away.
He liked having Archer around because they were friends.
He remembered Archer's coffee order because he had a good memory.
He noticed when Archer was upset because he was observant.
He wanted to hear about Archer's day because they talked about everything.
He was pleased when Archer hugged him because Archer was affectionate.
All perfectly reasonable.
Now, however, he was standing outside Archer's dressing room with two pastries and a bottle of water, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to explain why he'd walked past the catering table, noticed the cinnamon rolls Archer liked, and immediately turned around to buy one.
Archer opened the door.
He was halfway through removing a jacket from the costume department, his hair slightly disheveled and his expression distracted.
He looked at Damian.
Then at the pastries.
Then back at Damian.
"What's this?"
"Food."
Archer narrowed his eyes.
"You're getting very creative with your answers lately."
"I've been working on it."
"Clearly."
Damian held out the bag.
"They had cinnamon rolls."
Archer took it slowly.
"Okay."
"You like them."
"I do."
"So I got you one."
Archer stared at him.
Damian stared back.
For one horrible moment, Damian wondered whether he'd overstepped. Whether bringing Archer food without asking was strange. Whether he should have texted first or pretended he'd bought too many.
Then Archer's face softened.
"That's really sweet."
Damian's chest warmed.
"It's a cinnamon roll."
"Don't ruin it."
"I'm not."
"You are. You're trying to make it sound like you didn't just do something nice."
Damian looked away.
Archer smiled at him.
It was a small smile, but it did something to Damian that no amount of preparation could have prevented.
"Thank you," Archer said.
"You're welcome."
Archer set the bag on the counter, stepped forward, and hugged him.
Damian's entire nervous system lit up.
Again.
He was beginning to suspect his body had become deeply unreliable.
"You're very huggy lately," he murmured.
Archer went still.
Damian immediately wished he could take the words back.
Archer pulled away just enough to look at him.
"Is that a problem?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Archer blinked.
Damian cleared his throat.
"I mean, no. It's not a problem."
"Because I can stop."
"Don't."
Silence.
Damian's brain caught up with his mouth.
He had said that out loud.
He had actually said that out loud.
Archer's eyes widened slightly.
Damian considered throwing himself into the nearest rubbish bin.
"I mean," he continued, with all the grace of a man falling down a staircase, "you don't have to stop. If you want to hug me. I don't mind."
Archer stared at him.
Damian stared back.
Then Archer's expression softened again.
"Okay," he said quietly.
And he hugged Damian once more.
Damian closed his eyes for half a second.
He was in love with Archer.
He was so, so in love with Archer.
And apparently, he was going to spend the rest of his life pretending that being hugged by him was a perfectly manageable experience.
Callum had reached the end of his patience.
Not because Damian and Archer were being unbearable.
They were always unbearable.
No, the problem was that they had become unbearable in a new and deeply fascinating way, and neither of them seemed aware of it.
They were standing near the monitors while Celeste discussed a scene with the camera team.
Archer was holding Damian's hand.
Again.
This was not unusual in itself. They'd held hands in crowds for months, and lately they had been doing it on set, too. Sometimes Archer grabbed Damian's hand when he was excited. Sometimes Damian reached for Archer when they were moving through a crowded space. Sometimes one of them simply took the other's hand without thinking.
The problem was that this time, they weren't in a crowd.
They weren't moving.
They weren't even talking.
They were simply standing next to each other, watching the crew work, their fingers loosely intertwined.
Callum stared at them.
Then he looked at Celeste.
Celeste stared at them, too.
Then Callum looked back.
Archer rubbed his thumb over Damian's knuckles.
Damian shifted his grip, lacing their fingers together more comfortably.
Neither of them looked down.
Neither of them seemed to notice.
Callum slowly turned to Celeste.
"Am I dead?"
"No."
"Because I think I've died, and this is some sort of afterlife designed specifically to torment me."
Celeste didn't look away from the pair.
"You're not interesting enough for that."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Callum pointed at Damian and Archer.
"Look at them."
"I have eyes."
"They're holding hands."
"Astute observation."
"They're not filming."
"I noticed."
"They're not rehearsing."
"Yes, Callum."
"They're just holding hands."
Celeste finally turned toward him.
"Would you like me to have them stop?"
Callum considered this.
"No."
"Then be quiet."
Callum looked back at the pair.
Archer said something to Damian.
Damian smiled.
Archer squeezed his hand.
Damian squeezed back.
Callum made a noise that was not entirely human.
Celeste patted his shoulder.
"Be strong."
"I can't do this anymore."
"You've been saying that for six months."
"And every day, they give me new reasons to suffer."
"Perhaps you should take up a hobby."
"I have a hobby."
"Watching them?"
"Watching them suffer."
Celeste sighed.
"Callum."
"What?"
"You're going to make them suspicious."
Callum looked offended.
"Me? Make them suspicious? I'm the only person in this building who isn't suspicious."
Celeste raised an eyebrow.
Callum glanced at Damian and Archer again.
They were still holding hands.
He lowered his voice.
"Do you think they're dating?"
Celeste looked at him for a long moment.
Then she said, "I think if I asked them, both would say no."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know."
Callum groaned.
Celeste turned back toward the monitors.
"Places in five."
Callum followed her, still muttering.
Behind them, Damian and Archer finally let go of each other's hands.
Archer immediately looked down at his own.
Then he looked at Damian.
Damian was looking at his phone.
Archer's stomach did an unpleasant little flip.
He had been holding Damian's hand for nearly ten minutes.
Ten minutes.
And he'd liked it.
He'd liked it so much that the idea of doing it again made him want to crawl under a table and scream.
Then Damian glanced up.
"Ready?"
Archer nodded.
"Yep."
Damian smiled.
Archer reached for his hand again.
He didn't even pretend there was a reason this time.
Damian looked down at their joined hands.
Then up at Archer.
For one terrifying second, Archer thought he might say something.
Instead, Damian's fingers closed around his.
"Come on," Damian said. "We've got a scene."
Archer followed him toward the set.
Behind the monitors, Callum put both hands over his face.
Celeste sighed.
"They're hopeless."
"Utterly," Callum agreed.
Elena had been suspicious for months.
She had, however, decided to give Archer the opportunity to figure things out himself.
This was an act of extraordinary generosity.
It was also becoming increasingly difficult.
Archer had called her on Thursday evening to complain about a scene they'd filmed that afternoon.
The scene had been simple. Damian's character had been supposed to comfort Archer's character after a difficult conversation, and the blocking involved Damian sitting beside him and putting an arm around his shoulders.
Archer had found the scene easy.
Too easy, apparently.
Now he was on the phone with Elena, pacing his apartment and talking at a speed that suggested he was being paid by the word.
"And then Celeste said the take was perfect, which is great, obviously, but Damian looked at me afterward and asked if I was okay, and I said yes, because I was, and then he gave me this look."
Elena lay back against her pillows.
"What look?"
"I don't know. A look."
"Very descriptive."
"You know what I mean."
"I really don't."
Archer stopped pacing.
"He just looked at me."
"People do that."
"Not like that."
Elena was silent for a moment.
Then she said, "Archer."
"What?"
"You've been talking about Damian for twenty-three minutes."
"Because he was in the scene."
"You talked about him for forty minutes yesterday, and he wasn't even in the scene."
Archer opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then opened it again.
"That was different."
"How?"
"We were discussing the script."
"Were you?"
"Yes."
"What was the script about?"
Archer stared at the wall.
He couldn't remember.
Elena began laughing.
"You're hopeless."
"You're supposed to be supportive."
"I am supportive. I'm supporting the theory that you're an idiot."
"Elena."
"Archer."
He dragged a hand over his face.
"I don't know what's wrong with me."
Elena's laughter faded into something gentler.
"Nothing's wrong with you."
Archer stopped pacing.
She continued, "You like him. You're allowed to like him."
His heart gave an uncomfortable thud.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Because you sound like you're trying to convince yourself."
Archer sank onto the couch.
He thought about Damian's smile. The coffee. The cinnamon roll. The way Damian had told him not to stop hugging him.
"I don't want to ruin things," he admitted.
Elena was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, "You haven't ruined anything."
"I haven't done anything."
"Exactly."
Archer rubbed his forehead.
"That's not helpful."
"It's not supposed to be. I'm your sister, not your therapist."
"You're a terrible sister."
"I'm an excellent sister. I'm just not going to tell you that you can never get hurt, because that's not how any of this works."
Archer stared down at his hands.
Elena's voice softened.
"But you don't have to figure everything out tonight. You can just let yourself feel what you're feeling."
He swallowed.
"Okay."
"And maybe stop talking about his face so much."
Archer groaned.
"I do not talk about his face."
"You described his eyelashes to me yesterday."
"That was relevant."
"To what?"
He had no answer.
Elena laughed again.
"Love you, kid."
"Love you, too."
"And Archer?"
"Yeah?"
"Please tell me when you two get together so I can stop pretending to be surprised."
Archer nearly dropped his phone.
"WE ARE NOT GETTING TOGETHER!"
Elena cackled.
He hung up.
Then he lay down on his couch, pressed a cushion over his face, and contemplated changing his name.
Archer's parents were not subtle people.
They were, however, kind enough to pretend to be subtle when they thought Archer needed it.
Unfortunately, Archer was beginning to suspect they had given up.
He was at Sunday dinner when his mother placed a second helping of potatoes on Damian's plate.
"Eat more," she instructed.
Damian looked down at his plate.
"I've already had two servings."
"And?"
Archer's father nodded solemnly.
"She's right."
Damian glanced at Archer.
Archer shrugged.
"Don't fight it. You'll lose."
"I can see that."
His mother smiled at Damian.
"You're looking tired, sweetheart."
"I'm fine."
"You're always fine," Archer said.
Damian looked at him.
Archer gave him a pointed look in return.
His mother noticed.
Of course she noticed.
She noticed everything.
"Archer," she said, "why don't you take Damian into the living room? You two can relax while your father and I clean up."
"We can help," Damian offered.
"Nonsense. You're a guest."
"He's not a guest anymore," Archer's father said. "He's family."
Damian went still for a fraction of a second.
Archer noticed.
He always noticed.
Then Damian smiled, small and genuine.
"Thank you."
Archer's father waved him off as though it were nothing.
"Go on."
Archer led Damian into the living room.
"My parents are going to adopt you," Archer said.
Damian glanced over.
"I think your mother already has."
"She texted you about Sunday dinner before she texted me."
"She was asking what dessert I wanted."
"She asked you what dessert you wanted?"
"Yes."
"She has never asked me what dessert I want."
Damian's mouth twitched.
"Perhaps she likes me more."
Archer gasped.
"You traitor."
Damian laughed.
Archer leaned against his shoulder.
It was automatic.
It was comfortable.
It was, in Archer's increasingly complicated opinion, one of the best things in the world.
Damian shifted slightly to make room for him, then rested his arm along the back of the couch.
Archer could feel the warmth of him beside him.
He wanted to hug him.
He didn't.
He was trying to develop some self-control.
Damian glanced down.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You've gone quiet."
"I'm allowed to be quiet."
"Of course."
Archer looked up at him.
Damian was smiling faintly.
"You're very annoying," Archer murmured.
"So I've been told."
"By me."
"Mostly by you."
Archer smiled.
Then, before he could think better of it, he wrapped his arms around Damian's middle and hugged him.
Damian made a small sound of surprise.
Then his arm came around Archer's shoulders.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
Archer nodded against him.
"Just wanted a hug."
"Okay."
Damian held him.
Archer closed his eyes.
He could stay here forever.
He didn't want to stay here forever, because forever was a long time and the couch wasn't particularly comfortable.
But he wanted this.
He wanted Damian.
He wanted to be able to hug him whenever he wanted without having to worry about whether it meant too much.
He wanted to stop feeling as though every ordinary gesture was a secret he was terrible at keeping.
He wanted to know if Damian felt anything close to what he felt.
He wanted to know whether Damian's heart did the same ridiculous things when Archer smiled at him.
He wanted to know if Damian ever looked at him and thought, I love him.
He wanted to know.
But he didn't ask.
Instead, he held on.
Damian's hand moved gently over his shoulder.
Neither of them noticed Archer's mother standing in the doorway.
She watched them for a moment, her expression softening.
Then she quietly walked back into the kitchen.
Archer's father looked up from the sink.
"Well?"
She shook her head, smiling.
"They're still not dating."
His father stared at her.
"How?"
"I don't know."
"They hold hands."
"Yes."
"They hug constantly."
"Yes."
"Damian comes here every Sunday."
"Yes."
"Archer looks at him like he's hung the moon."
She gave him a look.
"And Damian looks at Archer like he personally invented sunlight."
Her husband considered this.
Then he sighed.
"Should we tell them?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I want to see how long it takes."
Her husband smiled.
"You're a terrible woman."
She bumped her shoulder against his.
"You married me."
"I did."
"And you love me."
"Unfortunately."
She laughed and returned to the dishes.
In the living room, Archer and Damian remained curled together on the couch, entirely unaware that the adults in their lives had already reached a unanimous conclusion.
By Monday morning, the internet had reached its own conclusion.
It began with a photograph.
Someone had taken it outside the studio the previous Friday, just as Damian and Archer were leaving for dinner. Archer had been saying something, his face animated, while Damian looked at him with a small, unmistakably fond smile.
Their hands were linked.
Not loosely.
Not the hurried grip they used when navigating a crowd.
Their fingers were intertwined.
The photograph was posted at 8:12 a.m.
By 8:30, it had twelve thousand likes.
By 9:00, Callum had sent it to the group chat.
CALLUM: GOOD MORNING TO EVERYONE EXCEPT THESE TWO LIARS.
CALLUM: [image]
CALLUM: EXPLAIN.
ARCHER: We're holding hands.
CALLUM: THANK YOU, SHERLOCK.
ARCHER: You asked.
CALLUM: WHY ARE YOU HOLDING HANDS?
DAMIAN: We have hands.
CALLUM: I AM GOING TO WALK INTO THE SEA.
ARCHER: Please don't. You're a strong swimmer, and you'd just come back.
CALLUM: I HATE BOTH OF YOU.
DAMIAN: You say that a lot.
CALLUM: BECAUSE YOU KEEP GIVING ME REASONS.
ARCHER: Maybe you should take up a hobby.
CALLUM: MY HOBBY IS YOU TWO.
DAMIAN: Find a better one.
CALLUM: I'M GOING TO THROW UP.
Archer laughed so hard at the messages that he nearly dropped his phone.
Damian, sitting beside him in the makeup chair, glanced over.
"What?"
"Callum's having a normal morning."
"That sounds unlikely."
Archer turned the phone so Damian could see.
Damian read the messages.
Then he looked at the photograph.
His smile faded slightly.
Not because he disliked the picture.
Quite the opposite.
He liked it.
He liked the way Archer's hand fit into his. He liked the way they were standing close together. He liked that the photograph captured a moment when neither of them had been thinking about cameras.
He liked the fact that, for once, they looked exactly as they felt.
Comfortable.
Happy.
Together.
The thought made his chest ache.
Archer was watching him.
"You okay?"
Damian looked up.
"Yeah."
Archer's eyes narrowed.
"You're doing the thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you say you're fine when you're thinking about something."
Damian blinked.
Then he smiled.
"You're learning my habits."
"I've always known your habits."
The words landed between them.
Archer seemed to realize what he'd said at the same time Damian did.
His expression changed.
For one brief moment, they simply looked at each other.
Damian felt his heart beat a little harder.
Archer looked away first.
"Anyway," he said, voice slightly too bright, "the comments are ridiculous."
Damian glanced back at the phone.
The comments were, in fact, ridiculous.
@damarcherofficial: THE FINGERS ARE INTERTWINED. INTERTWINED. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.
@heartbeatsource: this is not a coworker handhold this is a married-couple-waiting-for-their-table handhold
@archerslefteyelash: Damian looks at Archer like he's the only person in the room. I am not surviving this show.
@teddyslawyer: somewhere Teddy is watching this and planning the wedding
@callumdefinitelydoesntrunthisaccount: DAMIAN AND ARCHER HAVE BEEN DATING FOR SIX MONTHS AND THE PUBLIC IS THE LAST TO KNOW. SOURCE: MY VIBES.
Damian read the last comment twice.
Then he handed the phone back.
"Callum needs to get a life."
Archer laughed.
"He's very committed to his craft."
"His craft is harassment."
"He's passionate."
"He's a menace."
Archer smiled at him.
"You're cute when you're annoyed."
Damian stopped breathing.
Archer stopped breathing.
The room became very quiet.
Damian slowly turned his head.
Archer looked as though he had just watched himself walk into traffic.
"What?" Damian asked.
Archer's mouth opened.
Closed.
Then he said, "I meant Teddy."
Damian stared at him.
"Teddy?"
"Yes."
"Teddy isn't here."
"I know."
"Then why were you talking about him?"
Archer looked at the ceiling.
"I don't know."
Damian watched him for another moment.
Then, mercifully, he laughed.
"You're impossible."
Archer pressed a hand over his face.
"Please stop talking."
"Gladly."
They sat in silence for approximately four seconds.
Then Damian's phone buzzed.
It was Callum again.
CALLUM: FOR THE RECORD, THE INTERNET HAS DECIDED YOU'RE DATING.
CALLUM: THERE ARE ALREADY EDITS.
CALLUM: ONE OF THEM HAS YOUR HANDHOLDING PICTURE OVER A WEDDING SONG.
CALLUM: SOMEONE PUT A VEIL ON ARCHER.
ARCHER: Send it.
DAMIAN: Do not encourage him.
ARCHER: I want to see the veil.
CALLUM: ARCHER YOU ARE THE REASON I HAVE BLOOD PRESSURE.
ARCHER: You're welcome.
Callum sent the edit.
Archer watched it.
Then he burst out laughing.
Damian leaned over to look.
The video opened with the photograph of them holding hands, followed by a montage of their scenes from the show, their interviews, the slow dance rehearsal clip someone had somehow obtained, and a picture of Teddy.
The caption read:
THE BOYFRIEND. THE OTHER BOYFRIEND. THE DOG.
Damian stared at the screen.
Then he began laughing, too.
"Oh, that's actually good."
Archer looked at him in delighted disbelief.
"Right?"
"The dog is a nice touch."
"Teddy deserves his own fan account."
"He has one."
Archer whipped around.
"What?"
Damian froze.
Archer stared at him.
"You know about Teddy's fan account?"
Damian cleared his throat.
"I've seen it."
"How?"
"Someone sent it to me."
"Who?"
Damian hesitated.
Archer's mouth fell open.
"You follow Teddy's fan account."
"I don't follow it."
"You have seen it enough to know it exists."
"That doesn't mean I follow it."
Archer snatched Damian's phone.
Damian immediately reached for it.
"Archer."
"Let's see."
"Give me my phone."
"Let's see what you're hiding."
"I'm not hiding anything."
Archer opened the social media app.
Damian made a desperate grab for the phone.
Too late.
There it was.
An account dedicated entirely to Teddy, which Damian did indeed follow.
Archer stared at the screen.
Then he looked up.
Then down again.
Then back at Damian.
"You follow Teddy's fan account."
Damian closed his eyes.
"Yes."
Archer made a sound of pure delight.
"Oh my God."
"Please don't."
"You follow your own dog's fan account."
"It's a good account."
Archer collapsed against his shoulder, laughing.
Damian took his phone back and tried to look dignified.
It was difficult when Archer was practically wheezing against him.
"I hate you," Damian muttered.
"No, you don't."
The words were teasing.
Light.
Completely ordinary.
Except Damian looked down at Archer, who was still laughing against his shoulder, and thought, with absolute certainty:
No. I don't.
He loved him.
He loved him so much it was becoming difficult to remember what his life had looked like before Archer had walked into it.
And the worst part was that he had no idea whether Archer felt the same.
On Saturday morning, they arrived at a promotional event together.
They had not planned to arrive together.
Damian had simply texted Archer that he was leaving his house, Archer had replied that he was five minutes away, and somehow they'd ended up in the same car.
This was normal.
They did this all the time.
It was also, apparently, enough to send the internet into cardiac arrest.
The moment they stepped out of the vehicle, cameras flashed.
Fans called their names.
Someone shouted, "DAMIAN, HOLD HIS HAND!"
Archer laughed.
Damian looked at him.
"Should we?"
Archer's smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
Then he held out his hand.
"Sure."
Damian took it.
Their fingers intertwined.
The crowd erupted.
Archer burst out laughing.
"Oh my God."
Damian glanced at him.
"What?"
"Listen to them."
Someone was chanting their names.
Someone else was yelling that they loved them.
A fan near the barricade held up a sign that read:
JUST KISS ALREADY.
Archer nearly folded in half laughing.
Damian looked at the sign.
Then at Archer.
Then, despite himself, he laughed, too.
"Subtle," he remarked.
Archer wiped at his eyes.
"They're very patient."
"They've been asking for months."
"They'll survive."
"Will they?"
"No idea."
A surge of people pressed forward, and Damian instinctively moved closer to Archer, keeping their joined hands between them as he guided him toward the entrance.
Archer stayed close.
He trusted Damian to get them through the crowd.
He trusted Damian to notice when he was uncomfortable, to keep an eye on the people around them, to make sure they reached the building without being separated.
He trusted him.
And he loved him.
The realization still frightened him, but it no longer felt entirely like a disaster.
It felt like something he could carry.
Something he could keep close until he understood what to do with it.
Damian glanced down at him.
"You okay?"
Archer smiled.
"Yeah."
"Sure?"
"Positive."
Damian nodded.
Then, with a small smile of his own, he squeezed Archer's hand.
Archer's heart promptly forgot how to behave.
They reached the entrance.
A reporter called out, "Are you two dating?"
Both of them stopped.
Archer looked at Damian.
Damian looked at Archer.
For one long, horrible second, neither spoke.
Then Archer laughed.
"We're best friends."
Damian nodded.
"Very good friends."
The reporter looked unconvinced.
"So that's a no?"
"That's a we're-best-friends," Archer replied.
Damian gave him an amused look.
"You're not helping."
"I'm being honest."
"You could be honest more concisely."
"You're welcome to try."
Damian turned back to the reporter.
"We're close. We're happy. And we're not going to give a label to our friendship just because people want one."
It was a perfectly reasonable answer.
It was also the sort of answer that would make the fandom worse.
Archer knew it.
Damian probably knew it, too.
But neither of them had a better answer to give.
They entered the building, still holding hands.
Behind them, the reporter immediately turned to the camera.
"Well, that was interesting."
Within ten minutes, clips of the exchange were everywhere.
Within twenty, the hashtag #DamianAndArcher was trending.
Within thirty, someone had posted a detailed analysis of Damian's use of the word close.
Callum sent them the link.
CALLUM: CLOSE?????
CALLUM: CLOSE???????
CALLUM: YOU SAID YOU WERE CLOSE?????
CALLUM: I'M GOING TO WALK INTO THE SEA AGAIN.
ARCHER: Take a towel this time.
CALLUM: I HOPE YOU BOTH HAVE A TERRIBLE DAY.
DAMIAN: We're having lunch together.
CALLUM: I KNOW. I SAW THE SCHEDULE. I'M COMING.
ARCHER: You weren't invited.
CALLUM: I DON'T NEED AN INVITATION TO WITNESS HISTORY.
DAMIAN: You absolutely do.
CALLUM: SEE YOU AT TWELVE.
Archer put his phone away, laughing.
Damian shook his head.
"He has no boundaries."
"No," Archer agreed. "But he does have a lot of enthusiasm."
"That's one word for it."
They walked down the hallway together.
Their hands brushed.
Neither moved away.
Then Archer reached over and took Damian's hand again.
Damian looked down at their joined fingers.
Then at Archer.
Archer gave him a small, sheepish smile.
"Sorry."
Damian's heart twisted.
"Don't be."
Archer's smile grew.
Damian looked away before his expression could betray him.
They continued walking.
Neither of them said what they were thinking.
Archer thought, I love you.
Damian thought, I love you.
And somewhere behind them, the internet was writing a wedding speech.