Work Text:
“Can we talk?”
Once, not all that long ago, Greg had been convinced that the most harrowing set of three words in the English language were ‘I love you’. It’s why it had taken him so long to say it to Alex in the first place, after all. Now, he knew better. The worst set of three words was ‘can we talk’.
The worst set of four words was ‘I’m sorry, I don’t’.
Four words that Greg had played on repeat over the past several weeks, a vicious loop that he couldn’t get out of his head. Words made only incrementally better by being delivered over the phone, because he thought if he’d’ve had to see Alex’s face as he told him that, he might actually have lost it entirely.
Not that it mattered, since every interaction with Alex since had driven that point home more clearly than any words Alex could ever use.
Greg jerked a nod, turning his back on the cast celebrating the end of what they seemed to think had been another successful series, and he trudged after Alex as he led the way offstage.
To Greg’s dressing room, he realised in a numb, detached sort of way, someplace Alex hadn’t set foot in this entire series recording. Which either boded really well, or really fucking poorly.
Judging by the way Alex took a deep breath as soon as they were inside, it was going to be the latter.
“This isn’t working,” he said, his voice flat, matter of fact.
As if Greg needed to be told that. He was a comedian, after all. He knew when jokes landed and when they didn’t. And the joke that had become his entire dynamic with Alex was decidedly not landing anymore, certainly not helped by Alex flinching away whenever Greg reached out automatically to touch his arm during the show, or stripping out any of the kinky, flirty or honestly even just friendly bits that had become part and parcel to their relationship.
Their professional relationship, at least. Since Alex had made it very clear that they had no relationship outside of that.
“Right,” Greg said, for lack of anything else to say. “So where do we go from here?”
Alex’s eyes flickered to his and away again. “I– the studio thinks– It’s really not a question of where we go.”
Greg stared at him. “I don’t know what that means.”
Alex took another deep, almost steadying breath. “It means that the studio wants to bring in some guest hosts for the next series,” he said, and Greg felt his entire world stutter to a stop. Alex kept talking, but his voice sounded distant, distorted, like something out of a nightmare. “We’ll tell everyone that you’re taking a break to prepare for your tour, and we’ll come up with some in-universe explanation as well.”
“You’re replacing me.”
The words burned in Greg’s throat, or maybe that was just the bile he could taste at the thought that this, all of this, everything they had, was over.
And all because he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.
“The studio—” Alex started, but Greg cut him off, desperation cutting through the numb dread he felt stealing over him.
“Fuck off about the studio,” he growled. “This is your call. This is your fucking show!”
To his credit, Alex didn’t flinch, lifting his chin to meet Greg’s eyes. “Yes, it is,” he said quietly. “My show that– that I’m no longer comfortable doing.”
The words ‘with you’ hung in the air between them like a knife ready to sever what had once been the best and longest relationship Greg had ever had.
“You’re no longer comfortable,” Greg repeated, the words tasting like ash in his mouth, and he felt himself contract inward, his shoulders hunching, his knees bending, his body automatically trying to make himself smaller, as if that would somehow help. “With the show– with the dynamic that you created. That you’ve spent a decade fostering.”
“I thought it was a joke,” Alex told him, and that hurt worst of all. “I’m sorry, but this is the best way forward for the show.”
He said it with an air of finality that had panic clawing up Greg’s chest. “It’s not,” he blurted. “It can’t be. You and I– look, we’ll work something out. We’ll figure out a new dynamic. You don’t– you don’t have to replace me, I swear I’m not—”
Greg didn’t even realise he’d reached out to touch Alex’s arm like he’d done a thousand times before until Alex took a step back, his expression hard. “Please don’t touch me,” he said, in that clipped, professional tone that he hadn’t used on Greg in years.
Greg’s hand fell to his side, and he swallowed, hard. “Fuck, mate, I didn’t mean—”
“The studio will be in touch with your agent with the terms for buying out the remainder of your contract,” Alex said, still in that same tone, like he was talking to a stranger and not his comedy partner of the last decade. “I assure you, the buyout will be more than generous.”
Something like a laugh, hysterical to the point of becoming a sob, bubbled in Greg’s throat, and he was only just able to tamp it down enough to manage, “I don’t want your fucking money, you prick—”
Alex flinched at the word but carried doggedly onward. “And there will of course be a mutual non-disparagement clause.”
“Of course,” Greg echoed hollowly and Alex nodded officiously, clearly deeming his work done. Greg could only imagine it as a tickbox on one of Alex’s stupid fucking checklists. Ruin Greg’s life, tick.
Or maybe Greg had done that all on his own.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked as Alex opened the door, and he honestly didn’t even know if he was asking Alex, or himself, or the vast, uncaring universe.
But Alex was the one who answered, pausing with his hand on the door handle. “Because it’s– because I don’t know how to have fun with it anymore.”
If it had been any other explanation, any other excuse, Greg might’ve found it in himself to try to argue further. But to hear Alex say that, in a tired, defeated voice, to say that Greg had ruined the part of this that made Alex the person he’d fallen in love with in the first place…he had no counter for that.
“Right,” he said instead, his voice raspy.
Alex hesitated, searching his expression for one long moment, the executive producer mask falling away. “I really am sorry.”
“Yeah,” Greg said dully, watching as Alex closed the door behind him with a snap. “So am I.”