Work Text:
What the hell is this guy saying to you?
Your face is pinched with humour the same way after Zac tells one of his own jokes. He can only see the back of the guy’s blond head, so he can’t even attempt to lip read.
Movement in the foreground of his periphery catches his attention, and he shifts his focus from the table over to Jennifer seated in front of him. Her eyebrows are raised, prompting Zac to say his next line—except he doesn’t know his next line because he’s too busy trying to eavesdrop on your conversation with this random extra.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. Fuck. “I’m sorry, guys. Can we go back a couple lines?”
Behind the camera, Director Michael motions to keep rolling.
You’re a professional, Efron. Act like one.
He slips into character, and everything fades away but the script burned into his brain.
When the scene gets to the part where Zac’s character is fed up with Jennifer’s and he stands to leave the cafe they’re in, Zac stupidly looks over. Just in time to catch you reaching over the table and tangling your fingers with the blond’s.
Something vicious grabs hold of his chest.
Fuck, for someone who hasn’t done any professional acting, you’re doing a hell of a job playing the loved-up couple. Convincingly so.
You lift your mirthful gaze up to his, and your expression changes to one of curiosity.
“Cut!” Michael yells. “Everyone take ten. Zac, can I talk to you for a sec?”
The set bursts into noise and movement.
The makeup artist hurries over and touches up Jennifer’s face.
Zac sighs harshly and steps away from the table, almost toppling his chair over. He approaches Michael. “I know, I know. Sorry, man, I’m just…”
Zac’s voice trails off as he and the Director walk off the set. You pull your hand away from your scene partner Leo, who stands and stretches his arms over his head with a loud yawn.
“I’ll be back,” he says. “I gotta see a man about that”—He lowers his voice—“wedgie.”
You snort out a laugh. “Wash your hands,” you call after him.
When Zac asked if you wanted to be an extra in his upcoming film, you thought why the fuck not? It’s a perfect opportunity to see him in action, not to mention spend more time with him—especially now that so much of it is taken up by this project.
Though you’ve helped him practise his lines at home, this is the first time you’re seeing him enveloped in his character. You were so excited this morning to get the chance to watch him work.
Poor guy must be having an off day, with all his mess ups.
You’re looking over the craft service’s colourful layout of food when an arm by your left reaches for a slice of watermelon.
“Hey,” Zac mumbles.
You keep your eyes on the table and your voice quiet. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
You turn to him. “Zac—”
“Hey guys!”
You both jump apart as Leo approaches.
“Leo,” you say, almost gasping his name.
“Long day, huh?” He grins at Zac, who frowns. “You’re doing great, man.” He holds out his hand. “Leo Adams.”
Zac doesn’t even spare the hand a glance. “Hey, dude.”
You let out a nervous laugh and grab Leo’s hand.
The muscle in Zac’s jaw clenches.
“Let’s go, Leo. I’m sure Zac needs some quiet before filming starts again.” You tug him along. “How was your trip to the bathroom?”
“Relieving.”
You chance a glance back at Zac, who has his fingers pressed into his eyes.
The rest of the day goes by smoothly; Zac hits his mark every time. You spend it chatting with Leo, and though you sneak glances at Zac, he ignores you. In fact, as soon as shooting ends for the day, he leaves the set without saying goodbye to anyone.
On your way out of the studio, Leo catches up with you. “A few of us are heading off to a bar right now, if you’re interested?”
You glance at your phone, disappointed that there isn’t even a message from Zac. Pocketing it, you paste a smile as you look at Leo. “Sure, sounds fun.”
~&~
Zac closes the front door, panting and pulling at his sweat-stained tank top. He calls your name, but the only sound that comes back is his own hopeful voice echoing back.
He anticipated his hour-long jog was enough to kill time until you’d be back. It’s almost dinner.
With a sigh, he pads to the kitchen for a glass of water. He grabs his phone on the counter, but you haven’t texted him since your ‘Going out for drinks with some extras’ message two hours ago.
This is not how he imagined today going. Call him an idiot, but he was excited to show off in front of you—hoping that seeing him live in action would stir something inside you that would lead to a hot, long night at his place before you have to go back home tomorrow.
Swiping a hand down his face, he grabs his phone again.
How long until your home?
He finishes off the glass.
Call me when you need a lift.
Placing the glass in the sink, he reaches for his phone again. He’s in the midst of typing another message when the front door clicks.
“I’m back,” you call.
He hurries to the front of the house, half expecting to see you swaying on your feet, but your gaze meets his as soon as he steps into view, steady and sober.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hey.” You give him a closed-mouth smile.
“You have a good time?”
“Yep.” You toe your shoes off and drop your key by the table beside the coat rack.
He scratches a bicep. “Did you get my messages?”
“Oh, sorry. My phone died. Did you need something on the way?”
“No, just… worried.” He licks his lips. “Are you okay?”
You hold your arms out, shrugging, and there’s a wariness to your movements that make him uncomfortable. “Fine.”
“I mean, you’re acting a little weird right now.”
“Am I?” Your head jerks back a little, and his heart thumps. “You’re the one who seems weird.”
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
You smile with a slight frown. “I’m not mad. Are you?”
He shakes his head, smiling too. “Come here.”
He meets you in the middle of the foyer and wraps his arms around you. Grasping your chin, he leans in for a sweet peck. “Hi.”
“Hi.” You tilt your head and glance up at him through your lashes, and fuck if that look doesn’t just do something to him.
“Have you had dinner yet?” He traces the tip of a finger down the side of your face.
“Not yet.” You grip his sides. “You?”
“No. You hungry?”
“Starved.”
He takes a step back and catches your hand. “Let’s cook something up.”
You and Zac put together a healthy and nutritious meal. As he looks after the food on the stove, you focus on preparing the remaining ingredients for him.
The smell permeates the kitchen, and your stomach grumbles greedily.
You hand him the last of the veggies and press a kiss to the back of his shoulder. There’s a hint of sweat lingering on his skin, mixed with his mango body wash. Your chest swells because this is so domestic. You’ve only been dating for a few months, but the thought of doing this every day; waking up against him, seeing his things amongst yours, cooking together—it feels right.
You press another kiss and continue on.
You grab the tableware and silverware, and as you set the table, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You laugh at the photo Leo sent you. It’s one he took of you both earlier at the bar; there was a bachelorette party there, and Leo managed to talk his way into the party. Soon enough, your small table of five joined the boisterous eight.
“What is it?” Zac asks.
You show him the photo; you and Leo with matching flower crowns. Your mouth is stretched into a comically big smile while Leo sucks on the straw of his bright orange cocktail from a phallic-shaped receptacle.
“I don’t like that guy.” There’s a bite to his words.
You give him a soft chastising look. “You weren’t nice to him today; he just wanted to be friendly.”
He resumes focus on the food, shoulders shrugging noncommittally.
“I think you’d like him if you talked to him a bit, he’s pretty funny.”
“I noticed.” He turns the stove off. “You were ignoring me and flirting with him all day.”
You frown. “I was acting, in your movie.”
“You were doing a good job of selling it.”
You bristle, taking a step back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” If there’s a tinge of defensiveness in your voice, then so be it.
Zac sighs, rubbing his eyes. “It just distracted me.” He turns to you. “I’m sorry, I know you were just doing your job. But it drove me crazy seeing you openly be affectionate with some guy who’s not me.”
Rolling your lips together, you frown down at the space between you. “I get jealous at the thought of you being romantic with someone else, too.”
“I only want you.” His voice gets breathy on the last word, and he inhales shakily.
“And I only want you.” You soften your tone. “Keeping us a secret was your idea, remember?”
“It was supposed to protect us. Shield us while we build a foundation steady enough for prying eyes.” He leans back against the stove counter and props the palms of his hands on the edge of the countertop behind him.
“Do you know what I was thinking every time I reached over to hold his hand? Every time I smiled at him or stroked his cheek? I imagined it was you,” you whisper this last part and cross your arms over your chest. You don’t know why, but telling him this makes you feel vulnerable. More so than when his intent gaze followed your every move as you undressed last night.
You shake your head. “You have no idea how hard it is sometimes to stop myself from holding your hand in public, much less kiss you whenever I feel like.” You dip your chin and shyly look up at him through your lashes. “I kind of like you, Efron.”
He pushes off the counter and runs a gentle finger along your jawline, pausing to encourage your chin up. He murmurs your name. “I kind of love you.”
Your heartbeat quickens. You swallow thickly. “Wh-what?”
“I’ve been holding it in for weeks now, and it’s been driving me crazy.” He reaches for your hands. “I love you.”
You bite your lip to keep your smile from tearing your face. You bob on your toes. “I love you too.”
“Really?”
You nod.
A hint of a smile, like smoke, wafts across his lips. “Because you don’t have to say it if you’re not ready. I don’t want to pressure you.”
“You’re not pressuring me. I really love you too.”
His face bursts out into a grin, and he lets go of your hands to ball his fists. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and pumps his fists. “Fuck, that’s amazing to hear.” He grabs you hard, and you gasp out a surprised laugh as he lifts you into a hug.
As you land back on your feet, he swoops in for a hearty kiss, a hand cupping the back of your head as the other grips your hips against him.
He pulls back and leans his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispers.
Your eyes flutter. “I love you.”
“I love you,” he repeats.
“I love you,” you say around a smile.
“I love you.”
You laugh. “Enough.”
He grabs your face—“Never.”—and kisses you soundly.