Archive of Our Own

Her phone dinged while she was eating cereal close to midnight, winding down to BBC news.

818-555-5555: Semi wild question and forgive me if it sounds more forward than I mean it to. Any chance you’d be down for a casual no pressure sleepover late Saturday night? I’ll be flying back in from New York and jetlag will have me amped. Completely understand if you have plans/prefer sleep etc. I’ll be home around 11:30pm.

Gwen: Is this Raul?

818-555-5555: OMG you have more than one wacko in your life flying back from NY who would be foolish enough to invite you over for lazing in pajamas with food and popcorn, maybe cupcakes, and either staying up all night and being goofballs or passing out together on the couch when our second wind doesn’t hit like we think it will? Also, I guess you didn't see the number I left you in your journal...

She saved his number to her contacts with a playful grin.

Raul (Cute Guy I Kissed at Lizzie's Bday Party) - 2024 Cell EST: Pajamas can of course be the baggiest, Meg Ryan-esque thing in the bottom of your dresser. I’ll be physically beat from airports, so truly no expectation of any gymnastics or wild dancing.

Gwen: Hmm yes, this sounds like something only Raúl would say, you passed the test.

Gwen: And yes, but no making fun of my alum wear pjs. I'll be toast from a late-night shoot the night before myself, so we'll probably be in a similar punch-drunk giddy state.

Raul (Cute Guy I Kissed at Lizzie's Bday Party) - 2024 Cell EST: Understood and agreed. Stroke of midnight to give me time to settle in a bit on arrival? Stay as long or as short a time as you like. I'd just like to get hang time with you as soon as I'm back in LA.

Gwen: Works for me. I'll make sure my fairy godmother keeps my car a non-pumpkin until at least midnight. Send me the addy at your leisure. See you soon 😊

As the plane landed, he dropped her a line to touch base.

Raúl: We still good for tonight?

Gwen in LA: Yeah, but be forewarned I'm supes low energy. The Fraturday yesterday really took it out of me.

Raúl: Totally get it. Had more than a few of those myself.

Gwen in LA: Appreciate the understanding. Need me to bring anything?

Raúl: Just yourself.

He grinned as he undid his seatbelt and pulled his luggage from the overhead compartment.

Raul stood at the door, flashing that easy, unhurried smile of his, the kind that reached his eyes and invited her into the warmth of his world. He stepped aside, holding the door open wide enough for Gwen to walk through.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, his voice soft but lively with energy, as though he hadn’t just come off a plane. "Make yourself comfortable. Shoes by the door or wherever, no rules about that."

The apartment was cozy and reflected his life in LA—comfortable, but not over-the-top. The walls were a pale beige with one maroon accent wall in the main room, decorated with framed black-and-white prints of old movie stills and cityscapes. A large but well-worn couch dominated the living room, facing a modest flat-screen TV with a few game controllers piled in a basket beneath it. The coffee table held a few scripts—one opened to the middle—and a small stack of notebooks, clearly work in progress. There was a visible bookshelf, not too large, but clearly curated. Books on acting technique—Meisner, Stanislavsky—were mixed in with a few novels and non-fiction titles about creativity and relationships. One book, Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships, sat next to a dog-eared copy of The Artist’s Way.

Across the room, the kitchen gleamed with steel appliances, functional and modern but not extravagant. Above the counter was a chalkboard with a quote scribbled in white, “Creativity takes courage,” underlined as though it had personal significance.

He padded over to the kitchen island and waved a hand at the shelf near the fridge, where rows of tea tins, coffee beans, and juice cartons were lined up in neat little rows. "Okay, so I’m not a drinker-drinker, but... I’ve got options. Tea, coffee... if you’re up for something a bit weirder, I’ve been blending Countrytime lemonade with ginger juice from Trader Joe’s. Weirdly refreshing."

He pulled out a couple of glasses, holding one up with a playful arch of an eyebrow. "Ginger lemonade, a little bit of sweetness with a bite. You game?"

Gwen giggled. "Wow, I've heard addiction shifts from one vice to another - but this tea collection is killer. But I'm going to approach this like a typical bi and say, 'why choose one?' Hit me with the ginger lemonade, I'm curious to taste this chemical experiment you've got going. But maybe also your favorite tea - "

She eyeballed the collection, noting that while some were straightforward others bore names that clearly indicated they were likely gifts or procured during travel. " - or do you have any Lady Grey in here?"

She slipped off her shoes and left them by the side of the couch, leaning on the kitchen counter to keep him company as he dished out the drinks of choice, curious to see what he would serve himself after a long day of flights. She glanced at the bookshelf. "A Jane Austen anthology, hmm? The Shakespeare I'd expect. Do you write as well as read? Or have you played some Austen love interest on stage or screen?"

Raul laughed, the kind of deep, genuine laugh that came from his chest. "Ah, bi pride," he grinned as he poured out the ginger lemonade mix into two glasses, the ice clinking softly as it hit the sides. He gave the pitcher a gentle swirl, watching the pale yellow liquid settle. "Why settle for just one vice when you can have them all, right?"

He turned toward the shelf, scanning the tea collection like an artist choosing their colors. "Lady Grey, huh? I think I might..." He leaned forward, carefully inspecting the labels. After a moment, he held up a tin with a satisfied nod. "Got it! One of the smoother ones. Can’t go wrong with a classic." He pulled out a mug, filling it with hot water from an electric kettle before adding the tea bag with a slow, deliberate motion, like he was savoring the ritual. "And I’ll join you, actually. I love the ginger lemonade, but after today, tea sounds like the right move. Something grounding."

He slid the glass of lemonade her way with a wink, setting the tea beside it for her to choose at will. Then, as he poured himself his own tea, he gave her a sidelong glance when she mentioned his bookshelf. "The Austen anthology? Yeah... let’s call that a guilty pleasure. I haven’t played an Austen love interest, but... hey, who knows? Maybe one day. I think I’d make a decent Mr. Darcy, don’t you?" He smirked, leaning against the counter, eyes glinting with amusement. "But honestly, I mostly read for the language. There’s something about how people spoke, how they connected, that feels lost today, you know? More subtle. Less... emoji-filled."

He took a sip of his tea, the warmth lingering on his lips before he continued, his tone becoming more thoughtful. "And yeah, I write a bit. Nothing serious, just ideas, scenes mostly. I guess I’m always playing around with character motivations... figuring out why people make the choices they do. It helps on set."

He let that sit for a second before turning the conversation back to her. "What about you? You strike me as someone who reads a lot but also doesn’t mind breaking a few of the rules." He nodded toward her, curious. "Do you stick to the classics, or are you more of a 'whatever speaks to me' reader?"

She leaned a little closer, enjoying his proximity and that contagious warmth. "You know, I like to read the classics that resonate with me, but I get tired of reading things just to read them. I did enjoy the concepts of Cloud Atlas and Infinite Jest, for instance - and that fresh appeal to new formats and ideas. But at the same time, being hemmed in on an island in some undefined time or the scandalous exploits of a tennis team couldn't keep me tuned in for all the chapters. My reading experience wound up being alinear in part because I kept skipping around and forward to find the parts that interested me the most. I do like nonfiction too, though. I read some of the bios on Natalie Wood; bought one for Ingrid Bergman too but haven't gotten around to reading it yet."

She took a long sip of the ginger lemonade and gave an approving look. "And yes - I think you'd make a charming Darcy. Though you don't seem quite as naturally quiet and introverted as he was. You read as more of an ambivert to me, very socially adept."

Raul chuckled, his eyes lighting up as she leaned closer. “Cloud Atlas and Infinite Jest, huh? Impressive. But yeah, I get that. Sometimes those sprawling, mind-bending stories are a workout, like you have to find the gems by skipping to the parts that click with you. I guess it’s kind of like life—sometimes the best parts are when you jump ahead, even if you miss a few steps along the way.”

He took another sip of tea, the steam curling up between them, carrying the soft scent of bergamot from the Lady Grey she’d chosen. “Bios on Natalie Wood and Ingrid Bergman? Classic icons, but I get it. Sometimes it’s like buying books is the hobby, not the reading part.” He grinned, the curve of his smile playful but knowing. “You’ll get around to it though, I bet.”

He watched her reaction to the lemonade, pleased when she gave him that approving look. “Glad you like it. Kind of a weird combo, right? But it works.”

When she mentioned Darcy, Raul chuckled again, but her last comment caught him a little off guard. His eyes softened, the playful glint mellowing as he considered her words. “Ambivert, huh? You’ve got me pegged.” He set his mug down, leaning his hip against the counter, arms folded loosely. “I guess I never really thought about it like that. I can be pretty extroverted when I’m in the right setting, but I do need the quiet to recharge... though I don’t know if I’d call it ‘introverted.’ I think Darcy’s more of a mystery, even to himself, for most of that story. I’d like to think I’m a bit more... self-aware?” He paused, a hint of something deeper flickering behind his eyes. “Maybe too self-aware sometimes.”

There was a quiet beat as he looked at her, his body language relaxed but with a subtle shift toward something more serious. “Speaking of that, I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation from the other night—the one where you asked me about what I want, where I’d be spending my time... what I have energy for.” He trailed off for a second, testing the waters before stepping into more uncertain territory.

“I know things are... transient for both of us, with the work we do and all the moving around. But if I’m being honest, I don’t really want to just play things by ear indefinitely. I’m not saying we need to lock everything down right away, but I’d like to be intentional about where this goes... with us. Even if we figure it out step by step.”

He reached for his tea again, not taking a sip, just holding it for a moment. “And if that means being serious but... open? I’m not against that. I just think we should talk about it. I want to be more than just a casual stopover when I’m in town.”

"It sounds like you'd like to build something - together." She slipped her hand across the counter to rest on his. "Honestly, that's refreshing to hear. I like our connection. I like your brain."

She ran the back of her hand softly against his temple. "I like getting to know you. I'm definitely the intentional type too. Maybe this is also a bit weird to say at this stage, but - both of us being self-aware, maybe painfully so - I want to be careful that neither of us... how do I say this... is perceived as power dating to help ourselves or each other. I mean, I know our professions aren't a one-to-one match, but there is overlap. And while I'm not at all one to bow down to public perception, I do like being above reproach. I want something that's real and genuine, however fast or slow that goes, whatever shape it takes. But I completely hear you on not just playing by ear, but having aims in mind. When you say open... you mean potentially non-exclusive? Or open-ended and defined but loosely, fluidly to give it room to bloom?"

Raul's gaze softened as her hand rested on his, the warmth of her touch anchoring him in the moment. He let her words sink in, savoring how she articulated the careful balance of their connection—intentional, real, but not rushed or forced. When her fingers brushed against his temple, a quiet electricity passed between them, but it wasn’t just physical. It was mental, emotional. A deeper connection than most.

He smiled at her mention of “power dating,” a soft chuckle escaping him. "I get what you’re saying, completely. This isn’t about appearances for me either. It’s about something real... and keeping things grounded in who we are, not what we do." He squeezed her hand gently. "I’ve been around enough to know that dating someone in the same industry can get... complicated. But that doesn’t mean we have to let it complicate us."

He looked down at their hands for a moment, considering her last question. "When I say ‘open,’ I guess I mean open to whatever shape this takes... but also open to the possibility that non-exclusive could work, if that’s something you need. It’s not about keeping things vague or dodging commitment, though. It’s more about being honest with each other. I don’t know where my next role’s going to take me—or for how long—but I also don’t want that to be a reason we can’t build something solid. I’d rather talk through it than assume things, you know?"

He took a breath, lifting his eyes to meet hers again, steady and sincere. "I want something that can grow, even if we’re not always in the same place at the same time. And if that means we need to check in with each other about what we both need, then I’m all for that. I don’t see it as avoiding exclusivity... more like giving us room to be honest with ourselves and with each other. What feels right for you?"

His thumb brushed over her knuckles softly, a reassuring, grounding gesture. "I guess... we’re both used to following a script, but this—what we’re doing? It doesn’t come with one. And maybe that’s a good thing."

She took a deep breath. "I do like having both an anchor and free rein. That eight-year gap you asked about? Part of it was her jealousy; it made collaborating that was a normal part of any creative process next to impossible without endless friction at home. What you and I do for a living, it requires flipping a charismatic switch sometimes. Maybe you haven't played Darcy - as yet - " she winked at him "but I'm sure you've played a love interest to someone along the way, and I would never want you to worry about kissing scenes or rehearsing things you need to do just because I'm in your world."

She dared to lean in and give him a slow pop kiss, underscoring her words. "Soooo, in that spirit, maybe I can set a tone of transparency. I'm not currently involved with anyone in my band, but - it could be good for you to know the drummer and I used to be involved. Strictly FWB, honestly I was glad when he settled down with someone else. His wife often thought I had some thing for him, but his use of recreational drugs on the side never sat well with me - I don't like that in my home, which - as an AA kind of guy, I imagine you can appreciate.” She took another sip of tea.

“I have heard people insinuate one of my main cowriters may carry a torch for me, but if he does he's never shown it to me. He is a fellow survivor and we have had some close discussions because of that - but really that was in service of our lyrics and the kinds of songs we write. I haven't been involved with anyone else on my team. I do have a married friend who has an open marriage, and he and I sometimes... keep each other company remotely when we travel, with his wife's blessing. But it's intermittent. Our connection is more mental, emotional - intellectual. I can confide some family things in him because we come from similar backgrounds - midwest to metropolis. If that was a connection that you needed me to step back from on the not-strictly-platonic side, I could."

Raul listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers, absorbing every word as she laid it all out with a kind of honesty that he appreciated—needed, even. He smiled softly at her wink and the quick kiss, a subtle warmth spreading through him that lingered even as she continued. He liked that she wasn’t holding back, that she trusted him enough to be transparent, and that she was giving him the space to process it all.

“I can definitely appreciate the no-drugs thing,” he nodded, his grip on her hand gentle but sure. “I’ve seen too many people fall into that trap, and yeah, it’s not something I want around either. As for the rest… I really appreciate you telling me all that. Transparency’s important to me too.”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully, not because he felt unsure but because he wanted to make sure they reflected exactly what he felt. “I won’t lie—hearing about past and current connections, it stirs up some stuff. But I know it’s not about me, and it’s not about control. I wouldn’t ever want you to feel like I’m setting rules or asking you to cut ties just to make me feel more secure. That’s not what this is.”

His thumb traced over her knuckles again, a small, soothing motion. “It sounds like those relationships, past and present, are part of who you are, and I don’t want to take anything from you that’s important. I think... we’ll just have to be real with each other as things evolve. If something doesn’t feel right, I’ll tell you. And if you feel like something needs to change, we’ll talk about it. That’s the only way I see this working. I don’t want jealousy to be part of us.”

He took a deep breath, his tone soft but earnest. “As for the non-platonic connection with your married friend… I won’t ask you to step back from that unless it starts to affect how we are together. For now, I trust that you’ll know if or when something needs to shift.” He smiled gently, the weight of his words hanging between them for a moment before he added, “And, if I ever play a Darcy-type, I’ll make sure you know that it’s strictly professional when I have to kiss someone else on set.”

He let out a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t a deflection. It was more a way to ease the moment as he let the weight of their conversation settle between them. “I think we’re off to a good start. No games, no pretending. Just us figuring it out as we go. And that’s kind of the best way to do it, right?”

Raul took another slow sip of tea, his gaze warm, steady, and full of quiet understanding. “We don’t have to have all the answers tonight, but I feel good about this—about us.”

She grinned. "Well, I would hope if you play Darcy you know you can run your lines—and full blocking—with me anytime." She sipped down the last of the lemonade and gathered the tea mug in her hand, taking his hand with her other hand to lead him to the couch to cuddle up, then took her seat and rested her arm on the back of the couch for him to settle and nestle into.

"Now, while I'm in no way trying to end this discussion—which I'm happy to have be an open dialogue we return to anytime, like you say—I am cognizant that you've been traveling all day, and though I'm adrenaline crashing myself from set last night, I want to make sure that even if we stay awake all night you get at least a little repose. Whether that's watching Princess Bride, playing whatever games you have on standby for those controllers, or whatever else you have the energy for tonight—up to and including falling asleep together in front of the TV—I want to make sure that my presence is adding to and not imposing upon your schedule."

Raul’s grin widened at her comment about running lines and blocking with her anytime. “I’ll hold you to that. Might need you to give me some pointers on the British accent too,” he teased, following her lead as they moved to the couch.

He settled into the spot beside her, nestling into the space her arm made for him, feeling the warmth of her presence as he let the tension of the day melt away. It was easy, being with her like this—so natural, without any of the awkwardness that could come with new connections. He draped an arm comfortably across her shoulders, pulling her closer, and let out a small content sigh.

“I appreciate you saying that,” he murmured, resting his head against hers for a moment. “Honestly, just having you here is enough. I don’t feel imposed on at all. If anything, I’ve been looking forward to this. To us finally having some time just to be... without all the noise from everything else.” He gestured vaguely toward the TV and the controllers. “And yeah, we’ve got options if you’re up for a movie or games. But... I’d also be perfectly happy just being here with you. No pressure to stay awake all night if the adrenaline runs out on us."

He glanced at her tea mug and smiled. "But, since you mentioned The Princess Bride, I have to admit... it’s a personal favorite. If you want to cuddle up and watch a classic, you’re speaking my language."

He shifted slightly, making sure they were both comfortable as he picked up the remote and turned on the TV. The screen flickered to life, and he navigated over to their options. “Or we can just see what’s on and let it surprise us. Either way, I’m glad you’re here. We can take this night—and everything else—one step at a time.”

He turned his head slightly, catching her gaze. “How about you? Any preferences? Or are you happy to just see where the night takes us?”

"Hmmm, every one of these options is tempting. I could play some console game with you and tell you that—" she breaks out her nearest approximation of a Wesley accent "— 'I know something you do not know; I am not left-handed.' But I also know that we could watch-party that or play remotely while you're away next in New York. But what I can't do while you're there, is hold you—" she wrapped her arms around him "—or kiss you—" she slowly approached him to gage his energy level, but all night he'd been warm and inviting so she wagered he wouldn't mind, so she kissed him more deeply, inviting him closer. But it wasn't wastefully physical, it was tender - meaningful, connective. Holistic.

Raul smiled against her lips, feeling the warmth of her playful energy shift into something deeper, more intentional. As she held him, kissed him, he let himself sink fully into the moment—into her. His hands found the small of her back, pulling her in just enough to close the gap between them, the kind of closeness that wasn’t hurried or desperate, but secure. It was like their earlier conversation had created the space for this—something real, unguarded, without pretense.

The kiss wasn’t just about physical connection. It was the culmination of everything they’d been talking about: trust, intention, and mutual understanding. He could feel the layers of her, the way she’d let him in, and the way he wanted to let her in too.

When they finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers, his breath steady as he smiled, his voice quiet but full of warmth. “You know... I think that’s my new favorite line of yours,” he teased, his hands still holding her close. “As much as I’d love to beat you in a game or watch The Princess Bride—and trust me, I’m looking forward to that remote match when I’m back in New York—I’m pretty happy right where I am.”

He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb, looking into her eyes, his expression softened with affection and sincerity. “I like that this doesn’t feel rushed. That we can just... be, here, together. I’m not used to this kind of ease, you know? But with you, it feels like we’re in sync.” He let out a soft laugh, as if realizing something. “Maybe that’s the best part—knowing we’ve got time, and we don’t have to figure everything out right now. I’m just glad we’re here. Together.”

With that, he settled back into the couch, his arm wrapped around her as they reclined into the softness of the moment, the TV playing quietly in the background, but for once, it wasn’t the main event. It was just them, holding onto something real, something that could grow.

She guffawed, "Oh you think you'll beat me at a game? Oh sir. You know not what you are in for. I am very good with my hands - and a game controller." She gave him a quick peck and pivoted to lean back against him like she had on the bench at the party, resting her head back on his shoulder. "Having said that, and admitting I can have a competitive nature in gameplay, I appreciate that it seems like you and I have nothing to prove to one another." She toyed with his hand at her waist, wrapped comfortably around her, interlacing their fingers. "I'm a little tempted to confide something in you about work but - I'm on the fence because you've had such a long day and I don't know if you really want to spend our time together talking shop."

Raul chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest as he held her closer, savoring the feel of her leaning back against him. “Oh, now I’m definitely looking forward to this match,” he teased. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt... for now.” He smirked, kissing the top of her head as they settled into their relaxed, comfortable rhythm.

He felt her fingers toying with his, the soft, intimate gesture grounding him even more in the moment. Her comment about having nothing to prove struck a chord. “Exactly,” he murmured, his voice low and content. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Not having to put on any armor. Just being... us. No games, except the fun kind.”

When she mentioned work, he could feel her hesitation, the way she weighed her next words carefully. He squeezed her hand gently, a silent reassurance. “Hey, I know it’s been a long day, but I’m here. I’m always up for listening to whatever’s on your mind. If it’s something you need to talk about, let’s talk about it. I don’t mind ‘talking shop’ if it’s something that matters to you. We can play games or watch a movie after, or even just crash. But if you’re on the fence... I say go for it. I’d rather you share it than hold back.”

He shifted slightly so he could look at her better, his eyes warm with curiosity and care. “Besides, I’m not just here for the easy stuff, Gwen. Whatever it is, I’m in your corner.”

She swallowed a scoffing laugh. "Well, right now you may be the only one - or one of the few." She inhaled uneasily. "Stop me anytime if this gets too... I dunno, redundant or ranty or just technical. I mean, I know music is part of your world too, but this bureaucratic stuff is a part of the music industry I hope you never have to dance with on the stage and screen side of things."

She looked in his eyes, appreciative of his presence, the way he was tuning into her.

"Where to start. So, a while ago I consented to letting a software company train a voicebank on my voice. They commissioned it, paid me for the pleasure and all in all it was smooth sailing. This was during Covid, so honestly it was nice to work on something meaningful - something where end users would use it creatively to design music, using my voice replica to sing - like an instrument or demo singer."

She took a cleansing breath and continued. "So, fast forward, and it turns out while I was working on other projects, this software became quite popular. So popular that it has a fanwiki to match, a very dedicated and talented userbase. I sort of accidentally discovered my voicebank had essentially gone viral, and quietly revealed I was the human voice provider. I won't bore you with the tech details, but as I got to know the fandom and some prime end users, opportunities arose to collaborate in a number of ways. So we took an ethereal cover I'd already recorded and released as a soloist and remixed it - changed the beats, changed the run time, and added in the AI version of my voicebank in addition to my original human vocals. Another member of the fandom community arranged it and added his own UTAU non-AI voicebank vocals, all of this consensually, all of this ethical with transparency that a vocal synth and AI was used."

She held his hand, finding her best words to explain, considering how to summarize.

"So like every other track or project I work on and commercially release in the US, I submitted it to the Recording Academy for awards consideration. I've been a voting member for 13 years, and in that time it's been rare that a year has gone by that I haven't submitted something, even if I was just a featured vocalist on someone else's soundtrack or video game sfx. On rare occasions, I might have my release get moved to a different category by the Academy if that year it fit better somewhere else in their view. This usually meant they moved me to a less advantageous and less parochial category that reduced my chances, but I know how to play ball, I rolled with the punches and I was a good sport. But this year - this year we submitted as usual in the appropriate category, with a producer who specializes in remixes as his mainstay for very big artists whose names I'm sure you'd know. But for the first time since I joined, the Academy included a question during the entry process: 'did this release use AI?'." She shook her head.

"They didn't distinguish between ethical non-generative AI and generative AI, but I was transparent anyway and said 'Yes, this track uses AI.' In a separate field, I explained the use was ethical, with my consent, my own voice programmed, nothing generative or done with prompts. Arranged by humans start to finish. I knew there may be backlash or pushback, but I tried to trust the process. They weren't on top of it enough to ask about whether it was generative, but I knew they could contact me for info."

She looked down at their intermingled hands.

"But they didn't. Not really. They summarily emailed me to tell me it had been flatly rejected. No means of appeal. Initially, they said they didn't let it through because the remix wasn't 'substantively different' enough from the original track. When I asked for clarity, kindly and professionally, saying we had been in the remix category before without issue and we had changed the runtime and beats also, not just the vocals as their first email mentioned, they doubled down and now claimed they'd also rejected it because it was a cover, and they had a right to refuse anyone for any reason, those were the terms I'd agreed to when I'd signed up. And it's so clear that the real reason they're preventing voters from seeing it on the ballot to make their own decision was purely because it uses AI, even though we used it ethically. And it's just left such a sour taste in my mouth. I've watched the Academy struggle a lot through turnovers of leadership, scandals about nominees convicted of assault, a lot of membership churn for a variety of reasons, but I stuck it out because I really truly believed I could help things change and improve. I could recommend talented and indie artists, minorities, people with merit not just popularity." She sighed in frustration.

"And the thanks I get when *I* push the envelope and show them how to ethically use technology is just a brick wall. No shirt, no shoes, no service. I can't reconcile it. It aggravates my sense of justice. And I know—and you definitely know, we've talked about this—that it's not all about the awards. That's never why we do this. It's for the art—the meaning, the making a difference, the reaching people where they are and when they need us to help them feel and think. But even though I know all this, I still feel like a part of my identity is being tugged at and undervalued. I'm sorry, this is so much to bring to you on our first date in pajamas when you've just flown back in town. Feel free to just forget I said anything, we don't have to deal with this tonight—"

Raul listened quietly, his attention completely on her, the weight of what she was saying filling the space between them. He let her words sit for a moment after she finished, not rushing to fill the silence because he knew the complexity of what she was feeling. His thumb traced gentle circles over the back of her hand, grounding her, as he thought about the right way to respond.

“Wow,” he finally said softly, his voice low and empathetic. “First off, don’t apologize. I’m glad you shared that with me, and I’m sorry you’ve been carrying all of that on your own. I can only imagine how infuriating that must be… to have built something beautiful, something innovative and ethical, only to have it knocked down because of a fear that’s not even grounded in understanding.”

He leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing in thought as he processed what she had said. “It’s not redundant at all. And it’s not too technical—it’s exactly the kind of conversation we should be having. You’re right, we’ve talked about how it’s not all about the awards, but it still matters when the gatekeepers—people who should be pushing the art form forward—are shutting out artists like you who are trying to do something new, something meaningful. That’s not just frustrating. It’s hypocritical.”

He squeezed her hand, his tone softening. “And you’re right to be aggravated by it. Your voicebank project? That’s groundbreaking. And I know you didn’t go into it just for recognition, but it’s hard not to feel undervalued when the system doesn’t even give you a fair shot. You’ve been part of this industry long enough to know how it works, but that doesn’t make it any less unfair when you’re treated like that.”

He looked into her eyes, his own expression full of sincerity and quiet strength. “You’ve fought for transparency and ethics in everything you do, and it’s clear they didn’t even take the time to understand the nuances of your project. That’s on them, not you. And I know you’re not the type to sit back and let something like this define you, but I can see how it would hurt. I can see how it would make you feel like a part of yourself is being ignored.”

Raul tilted his head slightly, still holding her gaze. “But here’s the thing—you are ahead of the curve. The Academy may not be ready for what you’re doing yet, but that doesn’t mean it’s not important. If anything, it’s more important now than ever. People will catch up. Maybe not the ones who rejected you this time, but there’s a whole community out there—the ones you’ve already reached with your voicebank—that sees you for what you are: a trailblazer.”

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “And I know it doesn’t fix it or make it any easier, but I’m here for you. All the way. I won’t forget a word of what you’ve said tonight, and I don’t think this is a conversation we need to avoid. Not now, not later.”

He shifted slightly, bringing her closer into his arms, resting his chin on her head. “We’ll figure this out. And you’ll keep creating—because that’s who you are. Awards or no awards, your work speaks for itself. And if they can’t see that right now, screw them. You’re reaching people. You’ve already made an impact.”

He paused, adding a gentle but determined note, “And I’m proud of you for standing by your ethics and your art. No matter what the Academy or anyone else says.”

She smiled, set at ease. "I was going to giggle at your saying 'Screw the Academy' and that helpful fervor, but your words—all the more when you're just getting to know me personally, even if you've known my work in-depth for a long while—that means something to me."

She hesitated, a hint of a blush then.

"You mean something to me. And not just because you're being my cheerleader in this moment. But because I can speak freely to you and intrinsically know that it doesn't leave this room, no NDA necessary, that you hear me and as a fellow artist you hear what I'm saying. And look, I'm human, I'm not saying at every turn I have always made the right choice. Ethics are a nuanced dance, and at all times we're balancing the weight of industry expectations, what our audience needs and wants, and what we need to sustain ourselves. I know I've let people down along the way, sometimes did too much or too little."

She shook her head again, trying to make sense of it. "But I was so careful at every step, and it feels like that careful energy was partly wasted. Like spinning my wheels. And god now I feel like I'm... not imposing exactly, but sort of dominating our time together with what's heavy on my mind. So please make me feel like the scales are a little more even by telling me something that's even partially troubling you, even if it seems ridiculously trivial. Obviously not saying it has to be something of equal measure just... that I want to be here for you the way you've already demonstrated you're here for me. And I can't tell you what that means to me, especially when you really have no obligation to do so. I'm so lucky our paths crossed when they did."

Raul smiled softly at her words, letting the warmth of her vulnerability wash over him. He could feel the weight of what she’d shared, not just about the Academy but about her own self-reflection and her care for their new connection. The fact that she wanted to be there for him, too, meant something deep, and he wasn’t going to brush that aside.

"You don’t need to worry about dominating anything," he said gently, squeezing her hand. "I’m grateful you trust me enough to share all that. And believe me, the feeling’s mutual. I mean it when I say I’m here for you. And I get it—ethics, choices, all that stuff is complicated. You do your best, and sometimes it feels like it’s never enough. But what matters is that you’re mindful of it. You’re human, like you said. We all are. But you’ve got a clear moral compass, even when things get murky."

He paused, his smile turning thoughtful as he considered her request. "As for me… well, you asked, so I’ll let you in on something." He leaned back a little, resting his head against the couch, his arm still loosely around her. "It might seem small in comparison, but it’s been weighing on me for a while."

He exhaled, his gaze flickering toward the ceiling as if searching for the right words. "You know how I mentioned earlier that I’m always playing around with character motivations, writing scenes in my head? Well, lately, I’ve been… stuck." He shrugged, his brow furrowed slightly. "I’ve had this idea for a script—something personal, something that’s been brewing for a long time. But every time I sit down to write it, it’s like there’s this wall in front of me. I know what I want to say, but it just doesn’t come out the way I need it to. And the more I try to push through it, the more blocked I feel. Like I’m almost afraid of where it’s going to take me, you know?"

He glanced at her, a quiet vulnerability in his eyes. "I guess I’m scared it won’t live up to what I’ve built up in my head. Or worse, that if I do write it, people won’t get it. It’s stupid, I know—I shouldn’t care about that. But I think I’ve put so much pressure on myself to make it perfect that I’ve ended up paralyzing myself. I tell myself it’s just work, just another project, but… it feels like more than that. It feels like if I don’t get this right, it’s going to stay unfinished forever."

He sighed softly, shaking his head. "See? Told you it’s nothing compared to what you’re dealing with. But it’s been gnawing at me, and I guess… I haven’t really said it out loud until now." He smiled at her, a bit sheepishly. "There you go. Scales evened out a little?"

"More than a little." She kissed him in thanks, letting her lips open to him the way he'd already opened up to her. She grinned, composing her words, resting her forehead against his. "You know what I think? I think you're a little scared of how great you are and discovering it. You know you're good, but you can't decide which version of good you want to be. Shakespeare good? Austen good? Any one of the classics I'd deign to guess you've read more than once because of your dedication."

She rose and crossed the floor, running her fingertip along the spines of a number of books, pulling one out at random, reading the title aloud.

"Lungs by Duncan Macmillan. I know this one. I saw it in the West End. Beautifully done by Claire Foy and Matt Smith at the Old Vic, I even met them after one of the performances by the stagedoor. I bet if I asked you, with zero preparation, you could recite or write a summary of the storyline, the main points, even recall numerous specific lines even though this play is essentially two intertwining monologues - no props, no set, hardly any wardrobe. Just raw words. Two people relating to each other over the years, slowly revealing themselves to one another. Delaying their happiness by going through the motions."

She chuckled to herself. "But I'm halfway summarizing it for you. And let me ask you this: Do you think Macmillan got it all perfect in the first draft? Do you think he didn't edit? Question himself about whether maybe he should include props, set, wardrobe, more characters and convert it away from a two-hander? Honey, even the Declaration of Independence was edited and went through several drafts. I visited the Library of Congress as a teen and their gift shop had a replica for $5 of the earlier draft, lines through half of it, whole sentences rephrased as this room of gents tried to decipher how best to say 'Screw the Academy' to England - no representation, no taxation. The words didn't come easy. They fretted over them. Rewrote them."

She brought the book back to the coffee table, laying it down next to the scripts he had open when she arrived.

She picked up a notebook and set it in his hands. "But this - this is where it all begins. You think I'm wedded to every first lyric I write? That I don't later sometimes turn a verse into a chorus or a chorus into a bridge? But you can't win a race you don't start running." She folded her legs underneath herself next to him. "So what's really stopping you? Do you need a witness? Do you want someone to roleplay the dialogue out with you, to hear how it sounds?"

She grabbed a pen from the table and kissed it to give him luck, handing it over to him as well, before settling back down on the couch next to him, laying a comforting hand on his knee. "Just hearing you speak, knowing as much of your mind and heart as I've already heard from our conversations and seeing your work on TV - I know there's a whole world inside that brain of yours, full of brilliant ideas and beautiful articulation. That you have a unique and valuable view of the world that should be shared. Your humanity. Your intelligence, your openness. That’s such a valuable thing, and I’m so, so lucky that you’ve chosen to share even a little of it with me. But just as you said to me earlier that you don't want to cut me off from the world, you want me to stay connected to what grounds me - your words, they ground you too."

She leaned her head against her hand, her elbow on the back of the couch. "And you know what I've learned over time? It's a bit like a faucet. But you have to keep it on, even if the first bits that come out are a little grimy to flush it out. And if you need me to sit here, table-read it with you, block it with you, or just make you tea while you write, I'm here for it."

Raul sat there, holding the notebook she had placed in his hands, her words still sinking in, like drops of water on dry earth. Her belief in him felt real, tangible, something he could wrap his mind around in a way he hadn’t been able to on his own. He ran his fingers over the cover of the notebook, her encouragement echoing in his mind.

He watched her for a moment, sitting so close, her hand on his knee, her head resting lightly on her hand. He marveled at how she seemed to see right through to the parts of him he’d kept tucked away—the ones he didn’t often share. It wasn’t just her words; it was how she looked at him, how she believed in his process, even when he didn’t quite believe in it himself.

“Lungs…” he murmured, glancing at the book she’d pulled from his shelf. “You’re right. I can probably recall half of it without even trying. That’s the thing about great writing, isn’t it? It sticks with you. Becomes part of you.”

He exhaled slowly, his grip tightening slightly around the notebook. “But you’re right about the drafts, the editing, the rewrites. I think... sometimes I forget that no one gets it right the first time. That even the best writers and creators stumble a bit before they find their footing.”

He took the pen she handed him, chuckling softly at her gesture, the kiss she’d placed on it for luck. “You know, I think I needed this. Not just the pep talk, but you. Being here. Being so real with me.” He met her eyes, the seriousness of the moment lingering, but now with a softness—appreciation, maybe even a touch of awe. “You’re reminding me that it’s okay to not have everything figured out. That the messiness of the process is part of the beauty.”

He opened the notebook to a fresh page, staring at the blank space for a moment, letting the quiet between them settle in. It was a comforting silence, filled with possibilities. He twirled the pen between his fingers, thinking about what she’d said about the faucet, about just starting, about flushing out whatever was blocking him.

Finally, he let out a breath and looked back at her. “You know, maybe you’re right. Maybe I do need a witness. Maybe I do need someone to play out the dialogue with me. Or maybe I just need to start writing and let it be a little messy for now.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, a gesture of quiet thanks. “But whatever it is, I’m glad you’re here for it. I don’t know what I did to get this lucky, but I’m not taking it for granted.”

He smiled, shifting his focus back to the notebook. “Okay. Let’s see where this goes.” And with that, he started writing, letting the pen move across the page, not worrying about perfection for the first time in a long time.

“I thought our first date would be dinner under the stars... not sleep-deprived confessions in sweats. But, hey, truth is stranger. Let me make you some more tea while you get started,” she said, patting his knee and rising to enter the kitchen.

As she checked the water level in the electric kettle and turned it back on, she looked back over her shoulder at him, proud to see him scribbling away in haste, so in the zone that he almost didn’t seem to notice she was there, which made her all the prouder that she was there to witness it.