Chapter Text
Oliver walked into the theater determined.
The lobby had the same smell that every other off-Broadway theater in New York City shared: dust and old velvet. There were at least a dozen other people already there when he arrived sitting or pacing around the waiting area.
Oliver knew the routine at this point. He checked in, filled out the audition form and sticker name tag, then joined the others. He found a seat between a woman in a Julliard hoodie and a man who reeked of cigarette smoke. He looked around for anyone he recognized. After countless auditions throughout the city since they moved from Dellecher, he occasionally ran into the same people from previous auditions. Even in a city as large as this one, those aspiring for a Shakespeare role was still a relatively small tableau, but no one looked familiar this time.
So far, nothing had led to any roles, but Oliver knew that it was a numbers game and he wasn’t discouraged. It was comforting that at least the others were in the same boat as him. They all spent the last few months auditioning for every Othello, every Twelfth Night, every Julius Caesar they could find. All of them were waiting for something—anything—to break their way.
Finally, he was called in to the audition. It was sooner than Oliver expected. He was accustomed to waiting, at times, a couple hours before an audition. Oliver stood, smoothed the front of his shirt, and followed the stage manager through the wings. The theater was tiny—maybe sixty seats—but stepping onto the stage still made his pulse quicken. The casting directors sat in the darkened house, three silhouettes behind a folding table.
He cleared his throat. “Hi, I’m Oliver Marks.”
“Hello Oliver,” one of them said. “What will you be performing?”
“Sonnet 29.” Oliver made sure to say it with more confidence than he felt. Choosing a sonnet over a character monologue was an unconventional choice, but it was a risk James had convinced him to take.
“A sonnet will help you stand out,”he had told Oliver. “They have just as much emotion, and you won’t be the tenth the person they’ve seen do the same thing.”
So, Oliver listened. He ran several options past James, then Alexander and Pip before making his selection.
Two of the casting directors raised their eyebrows and nodded slightly, which felt good. It was rare to get any kind of reaction at these auditions, and Oliver was glad he’d listened to James.
With some of his pre-audition jitters at ease, he launched into the sonnet comfortably.
“When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heav'n with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least…”
His scorn turned wistful, shifting into something lighter as he continued,
“Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate.
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”
When he finished, the panel thanked him politely. No follow-up questions. No request for a second piece. Just a nod and a “We’ll be in touch.”
Oliver didn’t expect anything different. Most auditions ended the same way. When he left, he went straight to the diner. James spotted him as soon as he walked in. He was clearing one of the tables, a dish bin balanced against his hip. He immediately smiled.
Oliver made his way to the counter and sat down as James brought the dirty dishes to the back.
“How did it go?” James asked as soon as he came back.
“It actually went alright, I think,” Oliver said, and James smiled. “I think you made a good call recommending a sonnet. This was the first time I’ve seen an actual expression on a casting director’s face.”
“That’s great!” James said and leaned his elbows on the counter. “Tell me everything.”
Oliver did. He told James how the theater looked, how the sonnet felt, how he couldn’t tell if they were impressed or bored by the time Oliver finished. Through it all, James listened, softly attentive to every detail that left Oliver’s mouth. His knuckles brushed lightly against Oliver’s as he spoke. This was the most affection he was willing to show while he was at work.
Oliver stayed at the diner while James finished his shift, then they walked home together. The diner wasn’t far from the apartment they shared with Alexander and Filippa.
“By the way,” James said as they turned onto their block, “I’m covering Alexander’s shift tomorrow night so he can go on a date.”
“Another date?” Oliver asked. “That’s the third one this week.”
James shrugged. “He did tell us he didn’t want to be tied down in New York City.”
When they first moved to New York, Alexander announced— to everyone’s surprise— that he and Colin were broken up. He refused to elaborate, and eventually, everyone stopped asking. To this day, no one knew any of the details. Since then, Alexander frequently spent his nights out and it was normal to not see him until the next morning.
Their tiny two-bedroom apartment was buzzing when Oliver James arrived. Pip and Alexander were already waiting for them in the living room— or, more accurately, what was left of the living after putting up a curtain for Filippa’s makeshift bedroom.
“Perfect timing!” Alexander called as they walked in. “Pizza just arrived and the show is about to start!”
“Is Meredith here yet?” James asked.
“She's in the bathroom,” Filippa answered.
Tonight was the viewing party we were having for premiere of the show Meredith was cast in this summer. It was a small, very low budgeted series loosely based on Much Ado About Nothing. It was more of a series of miniature shorts than a proper TV show, but Meredith was the first one of them to score a paid acting gig in their field and they all promised that no matter what, everyone would be there to watch each other’s first show.
Meredith emerged from the bathroom and squeezed between Pip and Alexander on the couch. James and Oliver sat on the floor, legs outstretched under the coffee table, shoulders brushing.
“How was your audition, Oliver?” Pip asked as she grabbed a slice.
“Okay I think,” Oliver replied between bites. “We’ll find out I guess.”
“Which show was that for again?” Meredith asked.
“Othello,” Oliver answered. “The theater is tiny and this show would pay less than I’d spend in subway fares to get there, but it’s something.”
“Shh,” Alexander hissed, “Guys, I think it’s starting,” Alexander said and everyone turned their attention back to the TV.
“How many scenes are you in, again?” James asked Meredith.
“In the first episode, I’m just in one,” she said. “I play one of the extras at a party and I flirt with the character whose supposed to be based on Benedick.”
It was quiet as we all turned our attention to the TV.
The show was… not good. The acting among the main characters was forced and Oliver cringed at several moments as he watched, but he knew that Meredith would save the scene she was in.
They got to the party scene and everyone had their eyes peeled for Meredith, but when the show shifted from the party and moved on, Meredith sat up straight.
“Hold on,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed. “Where was the Benedick scene?”
“Maybe it’s coming later?” Alexander offered.
Meredith shook her head. “No, it was supposed to be right there, before Benedick runs into Beatrice…” she leaned back and deflated against the back of the sofa. “They must have cut it.”
For a moment, everyone was still. The only noise was from the show softly continuing in the background.
Oliver twisted around . “Meredith, I’m so sorry.”
Filippa squeezed Meredith’s arm. “You still have scenes in the other episodes don’t you?”
“A few,” she murmured. “I didn’t have that many to begin with, and this was the only one I actually had lines in.”
Meredith didn’t stay long after that. We switched the TV to something else and finished our pizza relatively silently. She wasn’t in much of a mood to socialize and went home right after dinner. When she left, Alexander stood and stretched.
“Anyone care to join me for a smoke?”
“I’m good,” Filippa declined.
Alexander looked towards James and Oliver expectantly.
James shook his head. “We quit, remember?”
Alexander scowled. “You were serious about that?”
“Yes,” James said matter-of-factually. “It’s been almost a full week now.”
Alexander glanced to Oliver skeptically. “And you agreed to this, Oliver?”
“Absolutely,” Oliver said and smiled at James. “We’re in this together.”
“Suit yourselves,” Alexander said with a shrug and slipped onto the fire escape.
Filippa continued eying the window after Alexander stepped outside. “Do you think he’s happy without Colin?”
“He seems fine,” Oliver replied, following her glance towards the window. “He didn’t seem too bothered by the breakup when he told us about it a couple months ago.”
“I wish he would tell us what happened,” Filippa said. “I’m worried that he’s just repressing his emotions instead of dealing with it.”
“It’s none of our business, Pip,” James said. “If Alexander wants to talk about it he will.”
“I guess,” she said, and stood. “I should get to bed. I open the store tomorrow morning.”
She got up and slipped behind her curtain. After sharing a silent look, James and Oliver retreated to their room as well.
“I feel bad for Meredith,” Oliver said, as they turned down the bed.
“She’ll bounce back,” James assured. “I’m sure of that.”
Oliver pulled off his socks and climbed out of his jeans. “She always does. It still sucks, you know?”
James pulled his shirt off and threw it in the hamper. “That’s show business. I do wonder if she will stick with film and television or if she’ll try to go back to performing live.”
“I can’t imagine doing anything that isn’t live,” Oliver said.
“Me neither,” James agreed as they climbed into bed.
With a goodnight kiss, they switched off the lights and settled under the covers.
Through the wall, a thud was heard from the living room, followed shortly by a crash and a string of curses by Alexander.
Filippa: “You killed my fern!”
Alexander: “It was an accident! Why would you put it right by the window anyway?”
Filippa: “Because plants need sunlight, Alexander.”
Alexander: “None of the plants I ever had needed light.”
Filippa: “Any of them live?”
Alexander: “No…”
Filippa: “You’re a monster.”
As they continued to bicker, their voices traveled through the wall. Oliver glanced over at James, who still had his eyes closed, but his lips had twisted into a smirk and his body was shaking lightly from laughter.
“Aww,” Oliver whispered sadly, “I liked Fernstaff…”