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A mixture of excitement and anxiety is what has Connor twisting the ring around his finger. Hudson said that he would be here by now. Connor surely couldn’t walk the Golden Globes carpet alone. It’s not unusual for Hudson to be a few minutes late for an event, which Connor knows from the months they’ve spent on their press tour for Heated Rivalry. This time, though. This time feels different. Because it is. The vision of Hudson wrapped in the white sheets of his bed floats through Connor’s mind, his stomach dropping at the thought. It wasn’t something they had planned on doing, but after a late night in LA with one drink leading to another, it sort of just happened.
“Connor, are you ready to walk? We can’t wait much longer.”
Pulled from his thoughts, Connor shakes his arms to relieve the tension in his shoulders and takes a deep breath before forcing on his big, bright smile. Red carpets are a very foreign concept to him, all the yelling of his name and camera flashes. It’s intimidating, but a part of him is thankful for all the times he spent practicing for moments like this in his childhood bedroom. Posing and interviewing himself in the mirror on the back of his bedroom door.
This is everything I have ever wanted.
Surely this weird situation with Hudson couldn’t ruin this. Connor can’t let it, not after all the work he’s done to get here. Taking one last breath, Connor nods to his publicist and walks out onto the red carpet. He’s stunned to say the least. The room is nothing short of breathtaking; the grand staircase is completed with a crystal chandelier and a deep red carpet. Crowds of photographers standing behind gold-colored walls, all turning to him the second he steps onto the floor. He adjusts his black, fitted jacket and adjusts his sunglasses before heading straight into the action.
“Connor! Over here!”
“Eye’s here, Connor!”
“One more here, Connor!”
“Show us the broach! Let me see that broach!”
Connor gives the photographer his best smile and even tosses in a wink. The cameras around him flash at a nearly blinding speed as he rotates, poses, and smiles. He poses and smiles his way up the staircase, trading greetings and lighthearted jokes with photographers and press. Thankfully, once he reaches the top of the stairs, the flashes become less frequent, and the room opens up to a massive media area. Dual, red carpeted staircases decorated with pink and white flowers. Different people with microphones are scattered across the room. The interviews. This will be a breeze.
Connor works his way around the room answering questions, talking about Heated Rivalry, taking a tequila shot, and meeting random celebrities. He’s nothing short of thrilled and starstruck, so much so that the memory of his and Hudson’s late-night rendezvous slipped his mind entirely. Well, that is until...
“So we just had Hudson here, and we asked him the same question, so we’d love to know what was your favorite part of shooting seas-”
Connor’s mind drifts. You just had Hudson here? How is that possible? He isn’t even here yet. Connor’s eyes start to search the room for the white suit jacket that he himself wore last night. The jacket that Hudson took off him last night. Far across the room, he spots him, adjusting his jacket in front of the Glambot with people floating around him to assist him.
A heavy, sick feeling starts to swirl around Connor’s stomach. He wasn’t late; he got here before me and left me behind. The feeling in his stomach starts to curdle into anger, and he slips his hands into his pockets to hide the frustrated fists from all the cameras around him.
“Connor?” The E! News journalist says, pulling Connor from his thoughts.
‘Oh! Sorry, this is just such a wild experience, I can’t stop looking around at everything. It’s really mind-blowing!” A bright smile shields the thoughts swirling in his mind.
He floats around to as few interviews as possible, narrowly avoids the Glambot, and heads straight into the stageroom to find his seat. There’s no way he’d be able to keep working around that room without losing his mind. Forced to catch glimpses of Hudson laughing with interviewers, taking photos with celebrities, flipping off the Glambot, and being annoyingly charming. Also, screw him for looking so hot in his loose white top, his chest exposed, under that white blazer, complete with black slacks and Louis Vuitton's. Of course, he had to look drop-dead gorgeous while Connor seethed with anger, anxiety, and a dash of sadness.
Connor is relieved to find a plate of sushi waiting for him when he gets to their table, his stomach grumbling. Who knew a couple of insane days in LA would also mean having time for maybe a single meal a day? The first bite was beyond incredible, and he worked his way around all the different rolls, and people started to flood into the room. Though his appetite suddenly evaporated when arms wrapped around his torso from behind, arms he knows far too well.
“Isn’t this just insane!” Hudson laughs, squeezing Connor tightly before moving to sit in his assigned chair next to him.
Okay, so we’re ignoring it.
“Yeah, I can’t believe we’re here,” Connor says blandly, paired with a half-smile.
Thankfully, other people circle around the table, pulling Connor out of the conversation with Hudson, and shortly after the show began, everyone settled in to listen to Nikki Glaser roast people around the room.
“Let’s go, baby boy,” Hudson says, bumping Connor’s shoulder, pulling his attention away from the group of actors leaving the stage, beaming with joy as they pass their Golden Globe around.
“Okay, shit, yeah,” Connor mutters and stands to follow Hudson backstage.
The second they slip behind the curtain, producers appear and tell them everything they need to know. It’s easy, a short skit, announcing the winner, and then waiting to walk off the stage with them after their speech. Five minutes max. Surely Connor could get through five minutes looking into Hudson’s eyes and playing the lighthearted best friend. Shake out the shoulders, bright smile, deep breath. They take their place in the wings and watch as the announcers before them do their bit.
“Do you want to go to the Louis Vuitton afterparty with me whenever this thing ends?” Hudson drops ever so casually.
Connor boils over.
“Seriously?” He snaps in a whisper, looking around.
“What?” Hudson says, taken aback at his best friend's very out-of-character anger.
“What do you mean, 'what’? You leave this morning without saying a word, abandon me on the red carpet, act as if nothing happened, and now you want me to come to a fucking afterparty with you?” Weight falling off Connor’s chest as he releases all the thoughts ping-ponging around his mind.
Hudson’s head is on a swivel, and he takes a step closer to Connor.
“You can’t just say that shit out loud, Connor, there are fucking people everywhere, journalists.”
“Well, we could have had this conversation this morning if you hadn’t-”
“And from the new HBO series, Heated Rivalry, it’s Hudson Williams and Connor Storrie!” The announcer says, and the walls begin to open in front of them.
Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan fills the room as they shake off the tension and fall into their parts. Hudson walks out ahead of him, a bright smile on his face as Connor falls into the “anxious and shy” role they’ve planned for their bit. Thankfully, this role is easy to play with the very real anxiety coursing through his system as he watches the sway of Hudson’s hips walking downstage. Suddenly, he turns around, walking back to Connor, just as they planned, and wraps an arm around him, pretending to comfort him as they walk up to the microphone.
“Hi, sorry.” Connor says into the mic, his voice dramatically shaky, “It’s a little, uh, nerve-racking to be here at our very first Golden Globes.”
“Just take a deep breath, and picture everyone in the audience-” Hudson trails off, licking his lips and turning to look at Connor. Nodding, hinting at what he means without saying it. “You know.”
“What?” A blank stare falls on Connor’s face.
“You know,” Hudson says, looking out and smiling at the crowd who's erupting in laughter.
“Oh!” Connor laughs softly, “Yeah, I don’t know if that really works considering everyone has seen us-” He trails off. “You know.”
When Connor turns back to look at Hudson, their faces are just inches apart. It’s like he’s on autopilot, unable to stop his eyes from trailing down Hudson’s face and landing on his lips. Still glistening from when he had licked them.
“You think everyone in the audience has seen Heated Rivalry?” Hudson recites, putting Connor from his thoughts and back into the skit.
People around the room cheer and clap.
“That’s a maybe,” Connor replies, feeling Hudson’s eyes burning into him as he tries to focus on the crowd. “But their trainers have, and their moms have, their daughters have.”
“Hi, moms,” Hudson smiles, leaning in even closer to the microphone. The familiar scent of his coconut shampoo drifted in the minimal space between them.
“Hi, daughters,” Connor says, smiling lightly, and the crowd laughs.
“And the nominees for best supporting female actor in a TV series are,” Hudson says as music starts to play and the video of the nominees starts to play across the room.
Connor takes the slightest step back, in hopes of putting a little distance between them, if only for a moment. To breathe air that isn't laced with Hudson’s Jo Malone and Tonka & Tom Ford cologne. Connor pulls in a couple of non-conspicuous breaths; thankfully, his bit is that he’s nervous, which is very similar to the gut-wrenching anxiety he’s having right now, standing in Hudson’s cloud of delicious scents and sex appeal. Fucking asshole. The nominee announcement wraps up, and Hudson reaches over and intertwines their fingertips, pulling Connor back closer to the microphone. Connor drops his hand and nervously opens the envelope, playing the part.
“And the Golden Globe goes to-”
“Connor!” Hudson whispers, following him down the hallway from the stage exit and reaching out to him.
When they were clear of view, and much to Connor's dismay, they got stopped to chat with the winner and producers. Once the small debrief they had was over, Connor slipped away and made his great escape. Where was he going? No clue, just as long as Hudson wasn’t there.
“Connor! Hang on!” Hudson says, running behind him, he puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder to stop him, spinning him around to face him.
“What do you want?” Connor says, fighting with all his might to hold back the tears burning in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left-” Hudson begins before a producer walks past them towards the dressing rooms.
Connor mutters out a frustrated groan and grabs Hudson’s hand and pulls him down the hallway and into the men's bathroom, locking the door behind him.
“You do see the irony in this, right?” Hudson asks, glancing around at the two-stall restroom.
“Fuck off, we don’t have many other options, and we wouldn’t have to even be having this conversation if you didn’t fucking walk out on me and then abandon me at our first major event. Thanks for that, by the way.” Connor spits, crossing his arms in front of him.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Hudson sighs, looking directly into Connor’s eyes, “I woke up and kind of freaked out and handled everything like shit, and I needed to try and get through today without losing my mind. That wasn’t fair to you, I admit that. I should have been more considerate of your feelings.” He admits
“We could have gotten through it together, Hudson. You realize we were both freaked out over something we both did. Instead, you fucking left me without even a text. I was waiting for like half an hour at the start of the carpet because I didn’t want to do this alone, and I know you didn’t either. Instead, I got forced out onto the floor alone and found out from a fucking journalist that you had already been there. What the fuck, Hudson!”
“Okay, okay! I know, it was fucked up for me to do that. I’m fucking sorry, okay? I just-” Hudson’s voice runs soft, and his eyes fall to the floor.
“You just what?” Connor asks, trying desperately to keep the edge in his voice.
“I just- I left this morning because I was scared. I was scared you would wake up and think it was all a big mistake and regret it. I would rather not see you all day and have you be pissed at me, like you are right now, than to have you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me.”
Hudson’s voice is soft and earnest, and when he looks up, the gleam in his eyes pools into a single tear that falls on each side. Connor doesn’t even realize his own tears had also fallen until he instinctively wipes them away. It echoes in his mind, “-then to have you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me.” It twists his heart, but the stomach ache he’s been harboring all day dissipates. The anger isn’t lost, but Connor can finally breathe knowing that they have the same fear. Connor takes a deep breath, trying to hold back his overwhelming emotions.
“I’ve been sick to my stomach all day thinking that you woke up and left because you regretted it, and that you wouldn’t want me. I spent the entire day, a day that I’ve daydreamed about for my entire life, running in circles thinking about all the ways I fucked this up.” He gestures between them.
Silence falls, but their eyes are unable to take the focus off each other. Their chests rise and fall with each deep breath they take. The realization hangs heavy in the air.
“I like you, Connor.” Hudson admits, “I don’t know when it happened or how, but it did. I know how much all this means to you, and I just- I didn’t want this-” He mimics Connor's gesture between them, “-to make anything complicated if you didn’t feel the same way. I mean, we literally fake fuck for our show, you know how awkward that would have been if you rejected me? Last night- last night was pretty much everything I’ve been wanting for months, Connor.”
Connor’s lip trembles, and he begins to formulate a response, but instead shakes his head and crosses the bathroom. He takes Connor’s head in his hands and pulls their lips together. They have kissed hundreds of times, either in front of the camera or in the confines of Connor’s hotel room with liquor on their breath. This kiss feels different, is different. Hudson’s arms wrap around Connor, desperate to pull him closer as if someone could just whisk him away. Connor pushes Hudson’s back flush with the wall, running his hands through Hudson’s hair and down his shoulders. The kiss is slow and soft, no rush or urgency. No desperation. Hudson pulls back, their lips brushing against each other.
“Are you okay?” Connor whispers.
“I’m perfect. Are you okay?” Hudson whispers back, a smirk creeping onto his now red lips.
“Perfect.” Connor smiles back, pressing one more kiss to Hudson’s lips before pushing out of the boa-constrictor-like grasp Hudson has on him and stepping back, “Can we please go back out there and just make the most of what’s left of this whole thing together?”
“Please.” Hudson smiles, stepping off the wall and grabbing Connor’s hips, pulling him back into a hug.
They melt into each other for just a moment, wrapped up in the same hug they have both been finding comfort in for months, before turning to the mirror to straighten themselves out. Just as Hudson reaches for the door, Connor stops him, pulling on his hand. Hudson looks back, an eyebrow raised in question.
“I like you too. I didn’t say it before, but I do.” He says.
“Oh shit, really, I thought the five minutes we just spent pressed up against that wall was a rejection,” Hudson says with a straight face, but the whisper of a smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re such an asshole.” Connor laughs, playfully pushing Hudson’s back before he pulls the door open and they make their way to the main backstage area.
They spend the rest of the show taking photos backstage, drinking some champagne, trading knowing glances from their seats right next to each other out on the floor, and don’t go more than one foot away from each other for the rest of the evening. When the show comes to an end, and all the celebrities start filing out to their respective after-parties, Connor and Hudson have a different idea.
Up on the roof of their hotel, they look over the lights of Los Angeles. The city’s chaotic noise echoes through the air, and yet somehow, this is the most peaceful they’ve felt since they got to LA. They're both still wearing their suits; this is just a pit stop before going to various after parties and getting ridiculously drunk after all. Between them, a bottle of wine that they have been taking turns drinking from. Hudson has one arm wrapped around Connor’s back while Connor’s head lies on his shoulder.
“This is really romantic, and I love every second, but can we please go get drunk now. Jessica fucking Alba told me to come to this party. Jessica fucking Alba.”
“Thank God, I was thinking the same thing.”
They polish off the bottle of wine, call an Uber, and race down the stairs and into the elevator. Their hands never separate the whole ride there, and when they walk into this star-studded party, they never leave each other’s side despite various people pulling them either way. They drink champagne they can’t afford, eat fancy little finger foods neither of them can pronounce, and hit the dance floor to show these A-listers how it's done.
Halfway through some Charli XCX song, Hudson holds his hands up, creating a barrier around his face, and Connor does the same, connecting their hands. A tunnel between their faces, blocking out every other person in the room. For a moment, they just smile at each other, until
“I love you,” Connor says.
Words they have said countless times, though this time carrying the weight of something both platonic and romantic. They both know they aren’t in love, not yet, but they love each other nonetheless.
“I love you too.” Hudson beams.
The next morning, wrapped in each other’s arms, they scroll through countless photos of their silly, drunk escapades; Hudson posed with Jessica Alba, Connor doing a shot with Paul Mescal, the two of them sandwiched in between what seems to be an entire K-pop group. Their favorite photo, and the one that seems to exist at every possible angle, is their little hand tunnel.
“They are so funny!”
“Do not separate!”
“What the fuck are they doing lol.”
“I love how close they are! True best friends!”
You have no idea…