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Timmy knew Armie well enough to realise how much this unspoken rejection must be hurting him. And now, two weeks later, he was still cursing himself for even opening the message in the first place – damn that ‘read’ notification!
It had pinged through just as the Bones & All after-party was reaching the messy stage. The Jack & Coke’s were flowing, Steph was at the bar, and Timmy found himself alone for the first time since he’d stepped onto a boat twelve hours earlier. He scrolled through the notifications on his lock-screen, then almost on autopilot, and without really registering what he’d done before it was too late, he opened up a message from Armie. Oh shit!
He blinked and took a deep breath. The thump thump thump of his heart suddenly seemed way louder than the deep thud of the music coming from the DJ booth. Through blurry, bourbon-skewed eyes he quickly scanned down the words – proud and congrats and shine and beautiful popped out from the screen.
No, no, no. Can’t deal with that right now.
He gulped down the last of his drink and forced it past the huge lump in his throat. Not tonight. Not after such an amazing day. He locked his phone, shoved it back in his pocket, slapped on a smile and went to find Haider. It was a self-preservation thing.
The next time he almost read it was on the flight back to Hungary. Being on a plane always made him think of Armie - the way he’d try and combat Timmy’s fear of flying in the most ‘Armie-ish’ way imaginable by shouting ‘we’re all gonna die!’ before tickling him in the ribs until he forgot they were thirty-five thousand feet up in a tin can. Or when Tim would get sleepy and cold and Armie, without a second thought, would tuck him into his side and rub his arms until he felt warm and safe. And all the times they’d touched in secret, their hands clasped together, low-down against their thighs. The feel of Armie’s thumb tracing small circles on the inside of his wrist that would send little bolts of electricity buzzing around his body as he pretended to watch a movie…
He took a breath and opened the message: Hey. I saw your premier tonight. So proud of you. You looked so fucking beautiful and I…
Timmy blinked back instant tears and tossed the phone into the top of his backpack as if it were on fire. Nope. Too soon. Later, Armie, later. He reclined his seat, plugged in his AirPods and drowned out his thoughts with Bauhaus and Nine Inch Nails, sinking deep into his Lee-feels for the rest of the journey.
It turned out that he wasn’t ready to read the message fully until much later. Fifteen days to be precise, when he was back in his Budapest apartment, winding down after a long day at the studio. It wasn’t to be intentionally cruel or to make him pay - the thought of Armie spending two whole weeks believing he didn’t care was agony - but Tim figured that sometimes you just have to be selfish for your own mental wellbeing. Because the truth was, his fucking heart was broken! And Armie had been the one to break it.
So maybe there was an element of payback if he was being completely truthful to himself. It didn’t stop him feeling really shitty about it though.
But how the fuck could Armie have ever thought all those ridiculous stunts were a good idea? And those god-awful women! Why would he do that? Tim realised very early on that despite outward appearances, this big complicated man was just as flawed and vulnerable as everyone else. But it never mattered to him. Timmy loved his flaws. They could have got through this together. United. He was sure of it.
But Armie had cut him off. Ghosted him. And when Tim needed him most, instead of a hug, he got a cold ‘sorry for your loss’ message. That hurt. A lot!
When Luca said he wanted to dip his toe into the CMBYN-2 water, to gauge the mood of the press and public, Timmy had come up with a few well-rehearsed responses should anyone ask about his ‘old co-star’. Because other than skirting around the subject, what could he say in all honesty? We’re friends. More than friends. I love him and I miss him. And his pain is my pain – I feel it as strongly as if those bullshit accusations and cruel words were about me.
The studio execs would have a field day with that wouldn’t they? And as for Brian, well it might just finish him off!
Instead, he talked of the dangers of social media and societal collapse and just hoped that the people that mattered – the person that mattered – heard him loud and clear.
So when that message pinged through in Venice, after months of radio silence, he was legit shook. Would it be best to just ignore it? Would it be crass to reply now at this late stage? Was it too late for everything? Should they just leave things be – put it all in the past, draw a line in the sand?
Oh who the fuck was he trying to kid! Armie was in his DNA. He could no more forget him than forget his own self.
A bell tolled outside the apartment, and his thoughts immediately flew back to Crema. So many bells. Too many bells! All clanging and chiming as if the churches were competing against one another, especially on Sunday lunchtimes when the cafés down the pretty main street would be filled with families enjoying coffee and gelato after worship. He remembered a particular day, sat with Luca and Armie in the Piazza Duomo, sipping red wine and sheltering from the midday sun. All three of them were yelling to be heard over the sound of the bells, when suddenly the ringing abruptly stopped at the exact moment that Timmy shouted out ‘I jerked off into a peach last night!’. They’d fallen about laughing until they cried.
Timmy smiled at that bittersweet memory. He went over to his book collection and picked out the tattered copy of The Brothers Karamazov that travelled everywhere with him. He opened the front cover. Beautiful, familiar cursive writing filled the title page…
To Armie from Timmy
He flicked through the pages and landed on a highlighted passage: ‘The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him.’
He huffed out a laugh, shook his head and flopped down onto the bed. He reached out for his phone and opened the message - and read it once, twice, three times... then began to type...
Hi
It wasn’t much – but it was a start.