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Aki takes a sedate sip from his sensible lime seltzer and absentmindedly smooths a hand down the side of his blazer. Monet throws him a significant look from across the room but Aki just ducks his head to evade her sharp eyes. The celebrity stylist she's been insta-stalking for almost two years is talking animatedly to her so Monet won't risk blowing her chance just to bother Aki about socialising. Small mercies.
He's only here for an obligatory hour or two to appease the higher-ups at Vanity Fair and then he can go back to his hotel room and take a shower or something. He's got a deadline breathing down his neck, the piece he was putting together on the new Sex and The City reboot, he'd much rather be in his hotel room with his laptop and headphones on.
Granted, Aki's not one for parties at the best of times, much less when the party in question is the Vanity Fair Oscars after-party and the Wallis Center is filled and all but heaving with the sheer volume of combined star power.
Aki's probably written about most of these people, has definitely interviewed at least half of the people in his immediate vicinity.
He just so happens to catch Guillermo del Toro's eyes across the room and Aki nods, in acknowledgement and congratulations for the shiny golden statuette, no doubt clasped tightly, in his hand. Guillermo beams earnestly and Aki's lips curve into a smile, his feature on Guillermo went out only a month or so ago. It's a well-deserved win. He predicted Guillermo's win in the office betting pool too, he'll be collecting some money tomorrow morning from various people. The thought has his lips curving into a faint smile. Julien always complains that he's got some kind of sixth-sense for award ceremonies. What can he say, his record is just that good.
Aki doesn't stop moving, cutting through the crowds, ignoring the familiar faces. The people in the corners doing questionable things.
He saw Obie about an hour ago trying to chat up an up-and-coming theatre actress. That Obie can treat the VF Oscar party as a way to meet people shouldn't amuse Aki as much as it does, then and again, Obie's mother has done business with most of the people in the room. This is just keeping it within the family for the Bergmanns, Aki supposes.
He tries not to think about all the people who must know about Aki's own sordid family background. He's done a lot of work in the past few years to distance himself from his father's work and carve out his own path but, well, when he swims in the same proverbial media pool as him, the comparisons are inevitable. He hopes he doesn't also come off as a crazy psychopath but he's not in control of other people's opinions he concedes.
Aki spots a make-up artist he knows who was up for a make-up and hair award, he should go give her his commiserations- it's a tough business. She's busy chatting to a few people though and Aki thinks a director he panned in a recent review is there too. Aki turns on his heel and heads for the opposite direction, he's not one for confrontations. Directors and actors are all wounded little creative kids and they have a unique way of taking every little thing personally. Aki's just giving his opinion and doing his job- and apparently a hell of a lot of people agree with him, or care enough to keep reading his articles and keep him gainfully employed, so he tries to rise above it.
James Cameron once called him a self-important little asshole with a dumb hairdo after a fairly unflattering review and Monet printed out the article and had it framed for Aki's office. She even got champagne and everything, it had to be said, Monet de Haan didn't do things by halves. "You've finally made it, Menzies," she toasted. There was a similar headline dubbing her a bitter rancid bitch straight from the cursed mouth of Perez Hilton. It's framed in an ornate gilded gold frame in Monet's corner office.
Aki's not too bothered about Cameron's petty defensiveness, that same week Joaquin Phoenix specifically stopped by Aki's table while he was out at lunch and they exchanged a few amiable words. Right before he left, Phoenix informed Aki he was "alright." That's the business.
Plus, Aki likes his hair just fine.
He weaves his way to the bar and waits until the crowd to disperse a bit before so he can get a top up of his seltzer. There's a CW actor who must not know who Aki is and it making eyes at him. Aki stays away from network television actors if he can, they're a messy bunch, if Monet and Obie are to be believed that is. The CW has a particularly notorious reputation.
Aki is about to pull his phone out of his pocket just for something to do when someone nearby clears their throat loudly, it is promptly follwed up by a silkily delivered invitation, "can I buy you a drink?"
Aki glances up about to politely decline and almost chokes on his tongue, Max Wolfe smiles back charmingly.
His smile is, quite frankly, criminal. Edged out by a well-deserving Sam Rockwell in his category tonight, over which Aki is sure he must still nevertheless be smarting, and yet, he's still smiling.
Aki stares back at Max Wolfe and wonders how many boys and girls in America (nay, across the globe) would kill to be this close to the actor right now. Aki's not sure if Wolfe recognises who Aki is, he's only a writer after all and only a little further down the bar two of the real housewives of somewhere or other are doing coke off a coaster. Maybe he thinks Aki is someone's PA.
"A drink?" Wolfe prompts again patiently.
Aki blinks, "that might be a conflict of interest," he points out, his attention is captured by the sight of one of his colleagues taking a sloppy selfie with the kids from Riverdale. His gaze returns to Max who seems to be bemused more than anything. Aki wasn't trying to be deliberately glib, it could reasonably be construed as a conflict of interest if he started accepting drinks and gifts from people he occasionally interviews and critiques.
There was a company-wide seminar about this. Monet was conveniently away on her annual skiing trip that week. Aki missed the last day of the seminar because Eliza went into labour so he borrowed notes from Julien; there was a whole section about gifts and implicit quid pro quo.
That said, Aki hasn't interviewed Wolfe yet- he thinks GQ snagged him for a write up in the lead-up to awards-season and Vanity Fair ended up profiling Nicholas Hoult. Aki spent a pleasant afternoon interviewing the Englishman and discussing Hoult's childhood trombone lessons.
It's only a matter of time though, Aki has no illusions, Max Wolfe is far too talented, even if he missed out on the trophy on this evening, to not be on VF's radar for the near future. That and the fact that Wolfe's own father practically mentored and/or backed the careers of at least six of the latest Tony Award winners means Max Wolfe is not going anywhere.
Not that Wolfe's talent doesn't, comfortably, stack up to his- delicately put, impressive upbringing (and Aki is really the last person who should be judging someone based on their last name). Max Wolfe is good. He's good enough to be here even if he had a different, inconsequential, last name.
Even Obie was raving about Wolfe's turn in his latest and Aki knows for a fact that Obie's favourite film of all time is Top Gun (Obie tells people it's Citizen Kane but Aki knows it's Top Gun). Aki thinks he even touched on Max Wolfe's portrayal in his own write-up of the film when it came out, Wolfe was really very good. The kind of good that demanded mention. He demolished the role of the bitter adopted son of a rich heiress spiralling into depression, aided by a cocktail of prescription meds. The screenplay wasn't anything particularly special but that made Wolfe's portrayal all the more brilliant. Aki mentioned that too in his write-up.
That is to say, this won't be Max Wolfe's last Vanity Fair Oscars Party. Aki is fairly certain he'll end up with one of the shiny gold statuettes himself. It's only a matter of time.
But that just enhances the need for Aki to maintain a professional distance, unlike Monet sticking her tongue down the throat of tinsel town's favourite stylist or Obie trying to inflict himself on that unassuming starlet, Aki has standards. Or he tries to at least. It might be the guilt, every time someone does a double-take when they read his last name or when he sees someone reading one of his father's newspapers across the airport lounge, Aki tries to hold himself to high standards of propriety.
Wolfe smirks as if he knows just how much effort Aki is expending trying to stay rational, he really is unfairly hot. But Aki has standards, he has to.
He prides himself on that.
The wicked curve of Wolfe's lips though, fucking hell, it's testing him.
Wolfe cocks his head, "humour me?"
Aki shakes his head incredulously, Max Wolfe doesn't look like he plans on relenting anytime soon though. Aki allows a small smile, maybe one drink is permissible, "well," he jerks his chin towards the bar, "I work for the hosts, so technically wouldn't that make me the one buying the drinks?"
Max Wolfe tips his head back and laughs. It doesn't escape Aki that at least four people nearby turn to admire him. Aki can really see why half of Hollywood is chasing him down to be their leading man. Aki is struck by a sudden unexpected pang, he hopes Wolfe isn't taking it too personally, isn't beating himself up over losing out on the Oscar tonight. He's got great things ahead of him, Aki is certain of it, and Aki, not to sound smug, kind of knows what he's talking about when it comes to these things. He banishes the thought though, unsure where the sudden inexplicable protectiveness came from.
The bartender finally gets to them and Aki requests his top up and Max leans across the bar to ask for a whiskey neat. There's a rueful tilt to his lips and his tap fiddle nervously on top of the table. More pangs in Aki's chest; Monet always says he's too soft.
"I'm sorry you didn't win," Aki says and immediately regrets it, no one ever wants to be reminded of a loss no matter how nice the party is. He takes in Wolfe's pained wince. Aki doesn't tell Max that he should have won, that's not how these awards work really. He could have won, sure, but he didn't. "You'll probably win one, it's only a matter of time," Aki says and he mostly believes it. Max Wolfe will deserve it, but that's not how these awards work either.
"Is that your professional opinion?" Wolfe cracks a smile. Oh, Aki thinks, maybe Wolfe does know who he is.
Aki abandons examining that nugget of information in favour of pondering his response to the question for a few moments, "fifty-fifty," he settles on with a small smile, "you deserve one," Aki says eventually, "even though deserve is such a shitty word to use," he concedes with a shrug. "You deserve one," he repeats firmly, "but not everyone who deserves an Oscar gets one." That's true too. Max Wolfe meets his eyes and his gaze is piercing.
The bartender presents their drinks and Aki gratefully tears his eyes away from Wolfe's to thank him. Wolfe, to Aki's surprise, also thanks the bartender warmly.
"That's kind of you," Wolfe murmur swirling his drink around a bit, Aki wonders if it's true, the rumours that he's dating his last co-star. Aki wouldn't blame her, Max Wolfe has charisma in spades and the kind of charisma laced with something dangerously potent. Charisma on crack. It's the kind of old-Hollywood appeal that Aki thinks could do a hell of a lot of damage to a young actor with potential weighing on him like a bad omen and the kind of background that suggests he's not good at not winning. Old-Hollywood in the Marlon Brando sultry eyes and sizzling sexuality but also, equally, Old-Hollywood in the complete and utter lack of any self-preservation instinct. Driving too fast along the coast in a beautiful car and off your fucking face.
Aki doesn't know if he wants to write about Max Wolfe or tumble into the backseat of a limousine with him. He hopes it's just the former and not the latter. Or worse, a messy combination of the two.
In his chest, Aki's heart does something complicated and painful, it's not new- co-stars dating each other, it's almost a given, really. He should just presume that Max Wolfe is dating is pretty co-star with whom he had excellent on-screen chemistry. Aki shouldn't be getting hung up on him. He knows better.
That's another reason why that distance, professional distance, is important.
Aki clears his throat, eyes trained on the three ice-cubs bobbing merrily in his seltzer, he retreats towards safer topics of conversation, "my editor would murder me if I didn't ask- are there any new roles on the horizon, Mister Wolfe-"
He barely gets the question out before Wolfe is frowning incredulously and leaning in, elbow braced on the bar table, "you know," he interrupts, amused, "you can call me Max," he points out with a crooked smile.
"Ah," Aki opens his mouth but his voice trails off, he's made the mistake of meeting the other man's eyes.
A few moments pass and Max's expression does not lose an ounce of merriment and Aki realises he still hasn't said anything.
"In that case, I never properly introduced myself," Aki hastily begins, "I'm Aki-"
"-Menzies," Max supplies, still grinning, "yeah," a little chuckle, "trust me, I know."
Aki really isn't sure what to say to that.
Max shrugs and seems to pick up on Aki's momentary loss of speech, "senior writer in the employment of," he nods cheerfully to the nearest Vanity Fair logo, red text plastered conveniently across a coaster, "our generous hosts for the evening." He cocks his head, "one of the most respected writers in the industry with a viciously discerning eye for film but a thoughtful, fair, and," his eyes soften almost imperceptively, "forgiving written voice."
Aki thinks he's going to melt into the thick carpet in embarrassment.
Wolfe isn't done though, his eyes are twinkling as he leisurely ticks off his fingers, "crowned People Magazine's Sexiest Journalist just last year," Aki flushes, he got so much crap for that in the office when that came out. "Rightfully crowned, I might add," Wolfe grins as if he's delighted by Aki's embarrassment.
He's still not done though.
"Regular appearances on GQ's annual best dressed lists, and, of course," Max leans in and Aki inhales so sharply that he's certain the other man heard it, "rumoured to be one of the most eligible bachelors to those in the know."
Aki really hopes Max isn't dating his rather pretty co-star because if he's the kind of asshole who tries to openly pick up while dating someone else- Aki doesn't know if he'll be able to write objectively about him. Not that he hasn't written about assholes with reasonable objectivity before, but something about Max Wolfe tests Aki. Properly tests him.
"Did you wikipedia me before coming to buy me a drink?" Aki manages, voice strained.
Max tips his head back to laugh, "does it make it better or worse if I tell you that I knew all that off the top of my head?"
Aki replies without thinking, "it's not great," he concludes bluntly. Max laughs again, absolutely no shame or compunction though his cheeks look a little pink. Aki tells himself it's the alcohol, it has to be the alcohol. "I'm not that interesting," Aki remarks dryly.
"I beg to differ," Max counters.
"Well," Aki clears his throat, his neck feels warm with the unflinching way that Max is staring at him, "It reflects worse on you than it does on me, if you're that interested in me," he deflects.
"Will the barbs never end, first I lose my first Oscar nomination and then this beautiful man effectively tells me that my interest in him is a character flaw," Max bemoans but there's laughter and mirth in his eyes. Aki wonders how the entirety of Hollywood isn't obsessed with him. He's an open flame, draws you in like a poor mesmerised moth, draws you closer still until you burn your fingertips and tongue on the flames. Or maybe, Aki allows, everyone else already is obsessed with him and it's just Aki who's late to the party.
Max leans in once more, "how about a sympathy date with a sorry old loser," he suggests though his tone is less teasing, almost earnest. Though there's nothing sorry about Max Wolfe, Aki thinks, maybe some humbleness softening his eyes but this is a man who doesn't know how not to win. In some manner or other.
Aki snorts softly, "a consolation prize?" he pretends to wince, "ouch, no thanks, never in a million years."
Max whistles lowly. Aki admires the way it has the lights playing across his sharp cheekbones, the contours of his expressive, Oscar-nominated, face. "Baby," he breathes, Aki shivers slightly, "you could never be a consolation prize." He leans back in his seat, his dress shirt pulls enticingly across his chest and Aki tries not to stare, "this?" Max waves his hand airily at the room around them, "this is all child's play, stretching before the real race... you're the grand prize."
Aki has to turn his face so he can laugh though his cheeks feel hot.
"I don't..." Aki searches desperately for the right words, "I don't eat where I shit," he settles on with a wry smile.
Max seems to consider his words, Aki wonders why he's still bothering, "I'm not just trying to fuck with you," he admits, voice flickering with gentleness. Aki doesn't know if it's real or fake, Max Wolfe may just be that good of an actor. "I think you're impressive as fuck and easily the most beautiful person in the room," he says and he sounds almost anguished by it.
Aki shakes his head instinctively, "this is a party held expressly to celebrate Oscar winners and nominees, I am neither," Aki averts his gaze so he doesn't have to meet Max's unreadable eyes, "and there are at least five Victoria Secret Model's in my direct eyeline, Max-"
"Yeah," Max interrupts hotly, "and?"
For the second time that evening, Aki is rendered speechless by Max Wolfe.
Aki watches Max accept the gold statuette from Amy Adams and snorts softly under his breath at Max's charming little bow to her, the audience titters even as the applause shakes the very room. He's nervous, even though he's hiding it (and hiding it well), Aki can tell he's nervous. Aki stands to join everyone else in the standing ovation as Max attempts to begin his speech.
His voice is shaky at first but gains momentum soon enough.
Aki wanted to tell him to write down some short words to say, just in case, but he also didn't want Max to think he was jinxing it. He seems to be doing just fine without a script too, Aki muses to himself.
"... And of course, I'd like to thank my incredible cast and crew, this kind of project wouldn't be possible without the insane levels of dedication and," a brilliant grin, "quite frankly, borderline insanity, of so many ridiculously talented individuals," everyone laughs and Max looks positively buoyant. "Thank you all, my apologies if I've missed anyone, it's uh," another blinding smile that Aki is certain will wind up on the cover of no few magazines and disseminated all over social media, "it's been quite an evening, eh?"
Everyone laughs and Aki claps politely even as his own smile threatens to tear his face in half.
"... And he'll hate me for this, but I can't not thank my incredible boyfriend," Max's glittering eyes manage to find his and Aki is too breathless to get properly mad at him for breaking their promise, "thank you, Akeno, love, looks like your prediction was right eh?"
That sets off another round of laughter. Aki has a feeling that this win and this speech will be one for the history books.
Aki is going to be in so much trouble tomorrow, Monet is going to burst into laughter the moment he sets foot in the office. He can already see the headlines. From 'Vanity Fair's Akeno Menzies picking favourites?' spanning all the way to, 'Max Wolfe: Media (and Hollywood) in his pocket?' He can't think about any of that right now.
Vogue has been nagging them for a joint cover and accompanying story and Aki has a feeling that the pleas are only going to get even more persistent now. Not to mention the fact that Max has taken to making thinly veiled suggestions, sighing dramatically as he enters rooms and pronouncing, god, I'd love to be on the cover of a fashion magazine, would do wonders for my career, don't you think?
To which Aki always likes to remind him, I'm sorry, who's your father again, Max? Who did he invite to sing at your eighth birthday because the accounts are unclear, was it Cher or Idina Menzel- or was it both, Max?
Max always laughs at that, and calls him an unrepentant journalist, Aki doesn't mind. Self-important little asshole with a dumb hairdo, Max likes to chuckle to himself as he makes them both coffee in the morning. Aki is always quick to throw a nepotism baby born with a silver spoon in his mouth and half of Broadway on speed dial right back at him. It's their own little inside joke and their way of saying I see you.
Aki knows Max's agent offered him a Cameron role and Max had rejected it without even missing a beat.
Aki loves him an awful lot. Monet says they're disgustingly sappy and that if he's going to be drastically testing Conde Nast's conflict-of-interest-fraternisation policies he should at least be doing so with someone who isn't Max Wolfe.
Aki's not too fussed by all the background noise, it's followed him around for almost his entire life. From the moment he entered the world with one of the most powerful last names on the planet, to the day he started trying to make his own name something he could trade on alone, all the way to the moment he started dating the one person uniquely ill-suited to Aki's goals thus far in his life. He's not fussed by any of that.
He's good at his job, likes his hair just fine, and likes his boyfriend even more. Ah, no, his Oscar-winner boyfriend, Aki mentally corrects as he watches Max dancing in his old silk robe while he makes their coffee.
The gold statuette sits on the kitchen table, on top of a stack of old copies of Vanity Fair.