Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The photo shoot was supposed to be simple—just a few promotional shots for the film's poster. Thirty minutes, tops.

Two hours in, and the photographer looked like he was contemplating a career change.

"Okay, gentlemen," he called out, his voice straining for patience. "I need you to look like brothers who trust each other implicitly. Who'd die for each other. Who've been through hell together and came out the other side."

Dom and Brian stood side by side with all the warmth of two strangers forced to share an elevator.

"Maybe try putting your arm around his shoulder?" the photographer suggested to Dom, gesturing helplessly.

Dom’s arm moved like it was being controlled by some puppeteer, and landed on Brian’s shoulder as if Brian himself were a live grenade.

"Bit more natural, please!" the photographer tried again, his smile getting tighter.

"This is natural," Dom muttered through his teeth.

"No, this is rigor mortis," Brian shot back without moving his lips. "Relax, would you?"

"I am relaxed."

"You feel like a wooden plank. I could build a deck with how stiff you are right now."

"Oh yeah? Well, better than feeling like a wet noodle."

"I don't feel like a wet noodle!"

"Could you both maybe try smiling?" the photographer pleaded, his voice cracking slightly.

They turned to the camera in perfect unison with identical grimaces that looked like they were being held at gunpoint.

"Those aren't smiles," the assistant muttered. "Those are hostage photos."

"Let's try a different pose," the photographer said quickly, probably trying to salvage what was left of his sanity. "Brian, maybe lean against Dom, like you're having a casual conversation. You know, like actual human beings who enjoy each other's company."

Brian shifted closer, and Dom's entire body went rigid.

"You're doing it again," Brian murmured, not looking at him.

"Doing what?"

"The plank thing."

"I'm not—" Dom realized with mounting horror that Brian was right. He was holding himself so stiffly that he'd probably give himself a cramp. He tried to move to reposition himself, to force his muscles to remember how to be normal—which caused Brian to lose his balance and practically fall into him.

Dom’s arm shot up instinctively, catching Brian before he could stumble.

For a brief, perfect moment, they were exactly where they needed to be—Brian leaning into Dom's space like it was the most natural thing in the world, Dom's arm around him steady and protective, both of them looking at each other, comfortable and real.

"Perfect!" the photographer shouted, his camera clicking like a machine gun. "Hold that! Don't move! Stay exactly like that!"

They both realized simultaneously how close they were—Brian could feel Dom's heartbeat through his shirt, Dom could smell Brian's shampoo—and sprang apart like they'd touched a live wire.

"Sorry," Brian said quickly, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket.

"Yeah, no, that was..." Dom cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at Brian. "Professional work."

"Exactly. Professional work."

The photographer looked at his camera display and let out a long, defeated sigh. "And the moment's gone. Great. Fantastic."

They spent the next twenty minutes cycling through poses while the photographer called out instructions with increasing desperation.

"Closer together—no, you look like you're about to fight. Dom, put your hand on Brian's back. Higher. Lower. Brian, adjust Dom's collar. Make it look natural. Like you do this all the time. Like you're comfortable being close to each other. For Christ’s sake, are you two capable of looking comfortable?"

The photographer's assistant leaned over and whispered, "Should we... do something?"

"Like what? Couples therapy?" the photographer muttered, sighing desperately. Then, louder: "Now pretend you're having a friendly conversation—just look like you actually like each other!"

After another few minutes of awkward repositioning, Brian noticed Dom's tie was sitting crooked.

"Your tie's a mess," he said, reaching up without thinking.

Dom went still as Brian's fingers found the knot at his throat, carefully working to straighten it. Brian was close enough that Dom couldn't look anywhere else but at him, could feel the warmth radiating off him.

"There," Brian murmured, smoothing the tie down Dom's chest with both hands. "Perfect."

His palms lingered flat against Dom's shirt, and for a heartbeat—two, three—neither of them moved. Brian's hands were still resting on Dom's chest. Dom was looking down at Brian with something in his expression that hadn't been there before.

"Thanks," Dom said, his voice coming out rougher than he'd intended.

"Anytime."

The moment stretched. The whole room seemed to be holding its breath.

"Another perfect shot," they heard the assistant whisper from somewhere behind the photographer, and the spell broke.

They became acutely, painfully aware that a dozen people were watching them with varying degrees of amusement. They pulled away from each other quickly, both suddenly very interested in different parts of the ground.

After what felt like several lifetimes, they finally managed to capture enough usable photos that the photographer released them with visible relief.

"Great work, everyone," he said weakly. "That was... something."

Half the crew had gathered near the craft services table, not even bothering to pretend they hadn't been watching the whole thing.

"It's always like that with them," one of the makeup artists observed, munching on a cookie. "Two creatures who are clearly supposed to be together but are too stupid to figure it out."

"How long do you think it'll take them?" asked one of the lighting guys.

"At this rate? Forever. They're both idiots."

"We can hear you!" Dom called out, not looking back as he grabbed his jacket.

"We know!" someone called back cheerfully.

The photos hit every entertainment blog within three hours. Within six hours, they were trending on three different social media platforms.

"DOM AND BRIAN'S CHEMISTRY BREAKS THE INTERNET"

"ARE THESE TWO THE CUTEST DUO IN HOLLYWOOD RIGHT NOW?"

"10 MOMENTS FROM TODAY'S PHOTO SHOOT THAT HAVE US SCREAMING"

Dom and Brian both very deliberately, very obviously pretended not to read the articles.

They absolutely read every single article.

Multiple times.

:::

THE END

Chapter Text

A week later, Dom and Brian found themselves at a press conference to promote the film, seated beside each other on a small stage in front of what looked like every entertainment journalist in Los Angeles.

The moderator—a perky woman with probably four espressos too many in her system—beamed at them like they were her favorite present on Christmas morning. "We thought it would be fun to do a joint interview! You know, get that real brotherly dynamic going, see how you two interact!"

Dom's smile was so forced it looked like it might actually crack his face in half. "How... wonderful."

Brian's grin was equally strained, all teeth and no warmth. "Can't wait."

They sat on opposite ends of a very small couch—clearly designed for people who liked being uncomfortably close instead of having personal space.

"So, tell us about your on-screen chemistry," the moderator began, leaning forward eagerly. "Everyone's talking about it. The photos from last week's shoot went absolutely viral."

"Well," Brian said carefully, choosing his words like he was defusing a bomb, "Dom brings a certain... intensity to the role."

"Intensity?" Dom's eyebrow twitched. "That's rich, coming from someone who—"

"Who what?" Brian's eyes flashed dangerously, and he turned to look at Dom directly for the first time since they'd sat down.

"Nothing. You're just very... passionate about your craft."

"Passionate. Right. Like how you're passionate about pointing out every tiny mistake I make—"

"I don't point out mistakes, I offer constructive feedback—"

"Screaming at me for five minutes? That’s your idea of constructive feedback?"

The moderator watched them with growing delight, her eyes darting between them like she was watching a tennis match. "You two certainly have a... dynamic relationship."

"Dynamic," Dom repeated flatly, his jaw tight.

"That's one word for it," Brian muttered.

"And you spend a lot of time together on set?"

"Too much," they said in perfect unison, then immediately glared at each other for the synchronization.

Someone in the audience laughed. Brian's ears went red.

"Any plans to work together again after this franchise?" the moderator asked.

"God, no," Dom said quickly.

"Never in a million years," Brian agreed with feeling.

"I'd rather do community theater."

"I'd rather quit acting entirely and become a—a tax accountant."

"I'd rather—"

"Okay!" The moderator laughed nervously, holding up her hands. "Let's talk about your characters' relationship instead. First question from our audience: what's it like playing brothers who have such a complicated history?"

"Well," Dom started, settling back slightly, "the family dynamic is really—"

"Complicated," Brian finished, nodding. "Full of unresolved—"

"Issues that stem from years of—"

"Miscommunication and—"

"Stubbornness on both sides that neither one of them wants to address."

They stopped, blinking at each other in surprise. For once, they'd actually agreed on something.

The moderator looked absolutely delighted. "It sounds like you really understand that dynamic on a personal level."

"Oh, we do," Brian said dryly—then seemed to realize how that sounded. "I mean, as actors, it's our job to understand the characters."

Dom cleared his throat. "Exactly."

The moderator smiled. "There's been a lot of speculation about the chemistry between your characters," she continued, reading from her notes. "Social media is going crazy over it. How do you create that kind of on-screen relationship? What's your process?"

"Well," Dom said carefully, very aware that every word was being recorded, "it's all about finding the truth in the relationship. The... constant bickering."

"The way they can't seem to agree on anything, no matter how simple," Brian added helpfully.

"But somehow still care about each other despite all of that."

"Deep down."

"Very deep down," Dom nodded.

"Practically buried at this point."

"Under layers of irritation and—"

"But there's definitely affection there," Brian said, and something in his voice softened slightly. "Real affection."

"Hidden affection," Dom corrected quickly.

"Well, obviously hidden. They'd rather die than admit they actually—"

They stopped abruptly, suddenly very aware that the entire room had gone quiet. Everyone was staring at them with fascination, and several journalists were scribbling notes furiously.

"Care about each other," Dom finished, voice a little higher than usual. "As brothers. In the film."

"Yes," Brian agreed quickly, nodding so hard he probably gave himself whiplash. "In the film."

"Because we're talking about the characters."

"Only the characters."

"Not us."

"Why would we be talking about us?" Brian said, forcing a laugh.

"We wouldn't."

Dom and Brian realized that they'd just dug themselves into an even deeper hole, and they could practically see the headlines writing themselves in real-time.

The rest of the press conference was a minefield. Every question felt like a trap, just waiting for them to say the wrong thing. By the time the moderator finally released them with a cheerful "Thank you so much, gentlemen!", they both practically sprinted for the exit.

Half the entertainment blogs already had stories up before they'd even left the building.

:::

After the press conference, they climbed into a taxi, still bickering before they'd even fully closed the door.

"This is your fault," Dom said as they settled into the backseat, not looking at Brian.

"My fault? You're the one who said we care about each other!" Brian shot back, twisting to face him.

"I was talking about the characters!"

"So was I!"

"Then why did it sound like you were talking about us?"

"I didn't, you did!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

The driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror with an amused smile playing at his lips.

"Don't," Dom warned, catching his eye.

"I wasn't going to say anything," the driver said innocently, pulling out into traffic.

"Good."

A beat.

"Although you two do remind me of my grandparents."

"Your grandparents?" Brian asked despite himself, curiosity winning out over irritation.

"Married sixty years, bickered every single day like it was an Olympic sport, couldn't stand to be apart for more than an hour." The driver smiled fondly at the memory. "My grandmother used to say my grandfather was the most infuriating man she'd ever met. Then she'd smile like he was her favorite person in the world."

"We're not your grandparents," Dom said firmly.

"Obviously not," the driver said with devastating calm, meeting Dom's eyes in the mirror. "They eventually figured out they were crazy about each other."

He turned his attention back to the road.

The rest of the ride passed in pointed silence, both men staring determinedly out opposite windows, refusing to look in each other's direction, both of them thinking about sixty-year marriages.

Brian's phone buzzed. Then Dom's. Same website, same notification:

"WATCH: TWO ACTORS ACCIDENTALLY DESCRIBE THEIR OWN RELATIONSHIP WHILE TALKING ABOUT THEIR CHARACTERS"

Neither of them checked their phone.

They already knew what it would be about.

:::

THE END

Chapter Text

The small elevator stopped between the second and third floors with a mechanical wheeze that absolutely did not inspire confidence.

"Please tell me that was normal," Brian said.

"That was not normal," Dom replied, trying the button for their floor, then the emergency button.

"Move over." Brian shouldered past him, pressing the buttons himself with increasing desperation, like maybe the elevator would respond better to him.

"I already tried that, genius."

"Well, maybe you didn't try hard enough. Or maybe you broke it with your gorilla hands."

"Gorilla hands?" Dom flexed his fingers, looking at them like he was seeing them for the first time. "I have normal hands."

"Normal for someone who bench presses trucks for fun, maybe."

"I don't bench press trucks," Dom said with exaggerated patience. "I stick to regular weights. Like cars and SUVs. Very reasonable."

"You're insane."

They stood in silence for a moment, the reality of their situation slowly sinking in.

"So we're stuck," Brian said flatly. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my afternoon."

"Could be worse."

"How? How could this possibly be worse?"

As if summoned by his words, the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely, plunging them into absolute darkness.

"You had to ask," Dom said dryly.

"This is not my fault!"

"You literally asked how it could get worse! You basically dared the universe!"

"That's not how cause and effect works!"

"Apparently it is!"

They fumbled around in the darkness, managing to bump into each other in the most awkward ways possible.

"That's my hand," Brian said. And a second later, "That's my waist!"

"Sorry," Dom muttered, pulling back. "I'm just trying to find out where the hell you are so I can sit as far away from you as possible."

"Then just use my voice to locate me!"

"Yeah, hard to miss, you never shut up—"

After several minutes of undignified shuffling and a few choice words that neither of them would want repeated, they finally managed to sit down on opposite sides of the elevator. In the darkness, every sound was magnified—their breathing, the creaking of the building settling around them, the distant noise of machinery that was apparently working everywhere except in this particular elevator shaft.

After a minute, Brian asked, "How long do you think it's going to be broken?"

"Could be minutes. Could be hours."

"Hours?" Brian's voice went up an octave. "We could be stuck here for hours?"

"Relax. Someone will notice we're missing eventually."

"When? We don't have any scenes this afternoon! Nobody's expecting us anywhere!"

"Someone will figure it out."

"When they find our decomposed corpses? When they're cleaning out the elevator shaft in three months and discover our skeletons?"

"You're being dramatic."

Brian's eyes, now somewhat adjusted to the darkness, narrowed in Dom's general direction. "You're calling me dramatic?"

"If the shoe fits..."

"I am not dramatic, I'm realistic. You're the one who threw a complete tantrum because they got your coffee order wrong yesterday! That's being dramatic."

"That wasn't a tantrum! I specifically said oat milk, that's on them for not listening."

"It's milk, Dom! The cow it came from doesn't matter!"

"You stupid or what? Oats aren't cows—that's the whole point! And I'm lactose intolerant, so yeah, it does matter unless you want to see what happens when—"

"Oh my God, I don't want to know!"

Brian tried to kick him in the dark out of sheer principle, but missed completely, overbalancing and somehow getting his legs tangled with Dom's in the process.

"Careful!" Dom exclaimed.

"I can't see anything!" Brian protested, trying to extract himself.

"Then stop trying to assault me! And move away!"

"Where? Into the fourth dimension? There's like three square feet in here! And I wasn't assaulting you; I was retaliating."

"For what? Me being right?"

"For calling me stupid!"

"That wasn't an insult; it was an observation. You're all legs and attitude and zero common sense."

"I'm not—" Brian sneezed, the sound echoing in the small space. "Damn it."

"Bless you," Dom said automatically, then seemed annoyed with himself for the courtesy.

"Thanks," Brian muttered, then sneezed again. "Why is it so cold in here? I'm freezing..."

"Why didn't you bring a jacket?"

"I didn't think I would get stuck in an elevator! I'm supposed to be home right now, in a warm place, in front of my TV, under a blanket, with a cup of tea. Instead, I'm stuck in the world's smallest freezer with—" He sneezed again, harder this time.

"Come here," Dom said with a long-suffering sigh.

"What?"

"Just—come closer. You're going to freeze to death and then I'll be stuck in here with your corpse, which sounds even worse than being stuck with you alive."

Brian tried to shift closer, somehow landed half on Dom's lap, swore creatively, kicked something (possibly Dom's shin), and they both ended up in a tangle of limbs before they eventually settled into an arrangement where Brian was curled against Dom's side, using his shoulder as a pillow, with Dom's arms wrapped around Brian's waist and their legs tangled together.

It should have been uncomfortable. The elevator floor was hard, the space was cramped, and they were pressed together closer than they'd been even during the infamous photo shoot.

But somehow it wasn't uncomfortable at all.

"This doesn't mean we're friends," Brian mumbled into Dom's shoulder. "It's just warmer this way."

"Obviously," Dom said, shifting to get more comfortable and pulling Brian closer in the process. "Shared body heat. Basic survival strategy."

"Exactly. Completely practical. I still hate you," Brian concluded, his voice already getting drowsy.

"I hate you too," Dom agreed.

"Good."

"Good."

Barely ten seconds passed.

"Could you not breathe so close to my neck? It's tickling, and it's weird," Dom said, though his voice had lost most of its edge.

"Where exactly would you like me to breathe? We're kind of limited on space here."

"Literally anywhere else."

"I'll make a note for next time I'm trapped in a sardine can with you."

Brian shivered despite himself and shuffled even closer, practically burrowing into Dom's warmth, hiding his face in the crook of Dom's neck. His breath was warm against Dom's skin, and his hair tickled Dom's jaw.

Now there was a real reason for Dom to complain—but he didn't. Instead, he tightened his grip, pulled Brian impossibly closer, and rested his cheek against Brian's hair.

To keep himself warm, obviously. Not for Brian's sake at all. Purely selfish reasons.

When, a few minutes later, Dom felt Brian's body go completely limp as he drifted off to sleep, his breathing evening out into something slow and peaceful, Dom tried very hard to suppress the protective instincts that kicked in.

Brian had just fallen asleep on him like it was the most natural think in the world.

He was almost bearable when he was asleep. Almost... endearing, if Dom was being honest with himself, which he absolutely wasn't.

He didn't examine too closely why his hand had started running through Brian's hair, or why he'd adjusted his position three times to make sure Brian was more comfortable, even at the expense of his own comfort.

After another twenty minutes, the elevator lurched back to life with a harsh grinding sound. The lights flickered on—sudden and bright—and Brian jerked awake, scrambling to the opposite side of the elevator just as the doors slid open to reveal a maintenance worker.

"You guys okay?" the worker asked, looking between them.

"That was awful," Dom said quickly, clearing his throat as he stood and straightened his clothes, trying not to notice how his arms felt empty now.

"Absolutely awful," Brian agreed, smoothing his hair down and shooting Dom a look that might have been annoyance at possibly having his hair messed up. He refused to acknowledge how warm and safe he had felt. "Worst experience of my life."

"Top five, easily," Dom added.

"Top three."

They exited the elevator with as much dignity as they could muster and went their separate ways in the parking lot without saying goodbye, because saying goodbye would acknowledge that something had happened, and they'd both silently agreed that nothing had happened.

Absolutely nothing at all.

:::

THE END

Chapter Text

Brian thought he was alone in the rehearsal room. He'd waited until everyone else had left, claiming he needed "quiet time to get into character".

The truth? What he needed was to actually read the script without squinting like an old man.

He pulled the glasses case from his bag, glanced around once more to confirm he was alone, and slipped them on.

"Finally," he muttered, the words on the page snapping sharp and clear.

He'd gotten through maybe half the page when he heard it—a badly suppressed snort of laughter.

Brian's head whipped up so fast his glasses nearly flew off. Dom. Leaning in the doorway, phone pointed right at him.

Yeah, he'd definitely just taken a picture.

"Delete that right now," Brian demanded, scrambling to his feet and setting his glasses down on the table near his papers.

"Delete what?" Dom asked, all fake innocence, peering at his screen. "This priceless snapshot of Brian O'Conner in his little reading glasses?"

"They're not—" Brian cut himself off. "Just gimme the phone."

"Come and get it."

What followed was a stupid chase around the rehearsal room—Brian lunging for the phone while Dom held it just out of reach, cracking up like a hyena.

"You look like a librarian with them!" Dom wheezed, dodging another grab.

"I look like someone who can actually read the script without giving himself a migraine!" Brian shot back, swiping again.

Dom twisted away, and Brian stumbled forward—straight into the table where he'd left his glasses. His elbow hit it perfectly, sending them flying across the room and under a massive, heavy equipment rack.

They both froze.

"Oh, crap," Dom said.

"You—" Brian jabbed a finger at him, too furious for words. "You absolute—"

"I didn't mean—"

"It's your fault!"

"You were chasing me for the phone! You hit them!"

"Because you took a picture!"

"Because you looked… ridiculous!"

Brian dropped down beside the rack, arm straining underneath it. "Can't… reach. Too far. Gotta move this thing."

Dom joined him, grunting as they shoved the rack just enough for Brian to retrieve his glasses.

Or what was left of them—one lens was completely shattered.

Brian just stood there, staring at the wreckage in his hands, jaw clenched tight but silent.

"Brian," Dom started, the laughter completely gone from his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't think—"

"No," Brian said quietly. "You never do."

He walked out, leaving Dom standing there with his phone and a sinking feeling that he'd really screwed up this time.

:::

The afternoon's filming was a disaster.

Brian kept squinting at the script between takes, moving it closer and farther from his face, trying to find the magic distance where the words would finally come into focus.

He usually learned his lines by heart. He had a good memory—if only he'd had the chance to read his script properly before the scene.

"Line?" he called for the fifth time in an hour.

The script supervisor read it out, and Brian nodded, stepping back into position. They made it through maybe three exchanges before he blanked again.

"Cut," the director sighed, trying to sound patient. "Brian, you okay?"

"Fine," Brian said tightly. "Just… line?"

He was clearly struggling, and Dom was feeling progressively worse.

"Let's take a break," the director said. "Five minutes."

Dom found Brian a minute later, sitting alone, holding the script practically glued to his nose.

"Go away," Brian said without looking up.

"I could help you run lines."

"I said go away."

"Brian—"

"What part of ‘go away' is confusing for you? The ‘go' part or the ‘away' part?"

Dom sat down anyway. "Look. I'm sorry. About the glasses. I was being a jerk."

"Being? Past tense? You're still being a jerk. You're sitting here when I told you to leave."

"I know the whole script," Dom offered, ignoring Brian's mood. "Could feed you the lines. Help you get this afternoon's scenes down."

Brian was quiet for a long moment. "Why would you do that? It was funny watching me struggle, but now that you realize I'm holding up the schedule, you suddenly care?"

Dom shifted uncomfortably. "No. It's because…" It's my fault. "We're scene partners. And this movie needs you."

"Wow. Touching."

"Look, do you want help or not?"

Brian glared at him, then sighed. "Fine. But if you make one comment about the glasses—"

"I won't."

"One single comment—"

"I said I won't!"

They spent the next few minutes running lines. Dom read Brian's cues while Brian slowly relaxed as the scenes started to stick. Dom didn't tease him once—might've been a world record.

By the time they went back on set, Brian had the scene down cold.

"Thanks," he muttered grudgingly.

"Don't mention it."

"You don't mention it."

"Your secret's safe with me, I promise."

:::

The next day, Brian showed up with new glasses.

Dom noticed immediately but kept his mouth shut, just watching as Brian put them on to check his script during the first break, when nobody else was around.

"What?" Brian snapped, catching him staring.

"Nothing."

"You're looking at me weird."

"I'm not looking at you weird. I'm just looking at you."

"That's weird!"

Dom rolled his eyes. "The glasses look good, okay? They suit you. Happy now?"

Brian blinked. "Was that… a compliment?"

"No."

"Sounded like one."

"It was an observation."

"You think I look good."

"I think the glasses look good."

"And they suit me."

Dom clicked his tongue. "I could take it back, you know. Say they make you look like a pretentious film snob who only watches black‑and‑white art movies."

Brian smirked. "Too late. You said they look good."

"I hate you."

"I hate you too."

Brian wore those glasses for the rest of the break. And if he sometimes caught Dom looking at him with something almost... fond? Well, neither of them mentioned it.

Two days later, Dom's phone lock screen mysteriously changed to that picture. Brian saw it. He decided not to say anything.

Just this once.

:::

THE END