Work Text:
Break-ups were hard for everyone, but it was especially difficult when your ex-boyfriend just won a Pulitzer Prize.
Since separating, Daniel had successfully published his serial on the crisis affecting people all over the country. It crowded the shelves in every bookstore, Daniel’s author photo turned into advertising posters, and Armand was forced to pretend that everything was fine whenever he left the house and was forced to stare into his darling eyes.
He had done things since they broke up, too. It’s not like he's just sat around waiting for Daniel to call. He certainly wasn’t concerned that Daniel had really moved on this time. Absolutely not.
Daniel’s second book makes it to the Best Sellers’ List in less than twenty-four hours.
The dynamic new novel from Pulitzer Prize Winner blah, blah, blah.
Armand barely resisted slamming his fist through the wall of yet another bookstore choosing to clog up their display windows with Daniel’s face. Honestly, it was just ridiculous at this point. Sure, Daniel was a talented writer. Sure, he wasn’t afraid to tackle difficult subjects. Sure, he was also incredibly handsome, charming, and intelligent, and – and, Armand had forgotten his point, but damn it, people needed to stop shoving his ex’s picture in his face!
The third book gets Daniel death threats. Americans appear very attached to their guns and the Second Amendment.
Armand reads about the legal protections Daniel has taken to protect himself. At every event, he has a bodyguard standing nearby, and he is already filing two different restraining orders against clear madmen. Armand hopes they come to Daniel, then he can kill them himself.
Daniel had changed his author photo. He always looked good in green.
The fourth may just kill him because now Daniel is giving television interviews and Armand can hear his beautiful voice echoing through the room as he sits in the darkness, re-watching every tape he recorded just so he can live in that moment forever.
Daniel’s started going grey, a few strands, and Armand wanted to run his fingers through Daniel’s hair again.
Ten books. Armand had survived ten book releases from Daniel Molloy, the best-selling author. He had seen every advert, every interview, and read every word. Anything to prove that he was absolutely fine. Until…
Hate & Ashbury sits on Armand’s table. He stares at the book with wide, frightened eyes as he tries to build his courage to open to the first page. He knows he won’t be in it, but he also knows that he should be. Daniel might write about moments that were shared between them as though he experienced it alone, or worse, with someone else entirely.
Armand can’t open the book. Not yet at least.
He looks so handsome in his author photo.