Chapter Text
It was yet another beautiful August afternoon in the City of Angels (Los Angeles, CA) for actor extraordinaire Damian Desmond. The birds were chirping; the sun was brightly shining with nary a cloud in the sky; and the temperature was a crisp 74 degrees (with 0% humidity!). Even his morning had started out strong. His assistant had miraculously managed to not mess up his - very simple he might add - coffee order (a Venti iced quad espresso with 2 blonde ristretto shots, 3.2 white mocha pumps, 2 ¼ hazelnut pumps, and a splash of oat milk), and during the two scenes he filmed, Damian not only received very few critiques, but a “Perfect!” from his über fastidious director.
Following this unusually superb morning, he now found himself enjoying the beginnings of a wonderful afternoon. He couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of the small breeze that wafted in through the windows of Emile’s trailer on set.
Taking a deep breath, Damian put down his pencil and looked up from the small stack of papers on his lap for a moment, wanting to take in and appreciate the serene scene before him. To his left, Emile was sprawled out on the plush sofa in a position that put contortionists to shame. Damian internally cringed. That couldn’t possibly be comfortable for anyone, and yet, he watched in awe (and slight horror) as the blonde’s chest rose and fell in even steady breaths. On the small section of couch that Emile wasn’t monopolizing, he noticed Ewen, who was intensely focused on… Damian squinted, whatever the fuck it was he was trying to knit. A sweater? A hat? Clearly, the craft wasn’t meant for everybody, but it’s the effort that counts, right?
He turned his gaze towards the loveseat positioned directly across from the boys, where one Becky Blackwell was scowling as she furiously swiped her thumb up and down her phone screen. She was on Twitter no doubt. Her daily screen time was easily above 10 hours – with most of it being spent on social media! He rolled his eyes as he recalled her obnoxious excuses for being a screen addict: “I can stop anytime I want, Desmond!” and “Well, one of us has to be up to date.”
Of course, Damian knew she had a point. He was no stranger to fame. Sure, being a celebrity had its perks – popularity, money, status – but to maintain said fame required being “relevant” and “in the know”. It meant he had to be caught up on all the trends and celebrity gossip, but it was just. So. Utterly. Boring. Truly, he couldn’t bring himself to give a flying fuck about what weird name the Kardashians chose for their child or whether jorts were a fashion no-no this season. Can’t we just talk about the political and economic state of the world for once?
A melodic soft giggle interrupted his train of thought. Next to Becky, sat Anya, who was deeply engrossed in the latest Spy Wars novel she was reading that week. He watched her turn the page, when suddenly her eyebrows shot up and her mouth formed a small ‘o’. Cute. He tried to suppress the small smile that was beginning to tug on his lips. Bondman must’ve just saved Princess Honey or something like that based upon the way her eyes continued to rapidly dart across the page.
God, she was beautiful.
Damian had no clue how the pink-haired weirdo (non-derogatory) sitting crisscrossed apple sauce in front of him had managed to worm her way so deeply into his heart and remain there for over a decade. Not that she’d ever find out about it. He had accepted long ago that Anya only viewed him as a close friend and a respected colleague – nothing more, nothing less. He shook his head, trying to shake off the feelings of sorrow and pity that usually came when thinking about his unrequited love, and instead opted to return his focus back onto marking tomorrow’s script. He had a reputation to maintain after all.
“Oh my god!” A shrill voice rang throughout the trailer, bursting the small bubble of tranquility the group had created. Well, there goes his wonderful afternoon!
The culprit, of course, was none other than Becky, who was still staring closely at her phone (seriously, Damian swore she was going to go blind by 30) but this time in utter disbelief.
Though the brunette’s reaction was certainly a jump scare, to say the least (Emile practically fell off the sofa when she screamed), it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Even around set, she was known for her… melodramatic tendencies. Anya, as always when it came to Becky’s little “outbursts”, took the initiative to comfort her best friend and scooted closer, gently placing her hand on her shoulder. Damian totally didn’t feel a small twinge of jealousy at their close contact. Haha. Nope, not one bit.
“Uhh, is everything okay?” Anya asked.
No dice. Becky only continued staring at her phone in shock, her mouth agape like a fish. Oh, this was serious. Intrigued, and mildly (emphasis on mildly), concerned, Damian sat more upright in his armchair.
The pink-haired girl sighed, “Hellooo? Earth to Becky?” as she shook her friend’s shoulder.
“Oh Anya!” Becky cried out, like some heartbroken soap opera character, “I always knew TMZ over exaggerated in their articles, but I never thought it’d be to this extent!”
“Wha-”
Becky shoved the phone into Anya’s face, “Just – just read the title out loud,” she choked out before squeezing her eyes shut and dramatically turning her head the other way as if she couldn’t bear to look.
Ah, Becky must be caught up in another scandal. Classic. Welp, that wasn’t his problem. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little bad for his… colleague? Co-star? Frenemy? Damian didn’t exactly know how to classify his relationship with Blackwell. It practically flip-flopped every other day. Their interactions ranged from cordial and almost pleasant (almost) to downright hostile and petty. He watched curiously as Anya took the device from the distraught brunette.
Clearing her throat nervously, she began reading the offending article out loud, “Move Over Leo! Why Every Major News Outlet Predicts Acting Prodigy Damian Desmond Is the Next Leonardo DiCaprio!”
Damian lied. Becky wasn’t a friend, a colleague, or even an acquaintance. The only thing she was was a giant pain in his ass.
“Oh, fuck off Blackwell.” He gave the now smirking wench girl the bird. He couldn’t believe he fell for it again – that was the third time this month!
“Becky!” Anya chastised as she playfully shoved her friend’s arm, “I thought something awful had actually happened!” But even Anya was trying (and failing) to suppress a giggle. However, her reaction was far kinder than his two supposed “best friends”, who had immediately begun howling with laughter. Damian didn’t even know why they were laughing so hard. It wasn’t even that funny?!
“What?!” Becky gasped theatrically, putting her hand on her chest, “This has got to be illegal – they can’t just blatantly lie to the public like that!”
Despite being an actress, she didn’t even bother to conceal her smugness. He rolled his eyes. Tch, and to think for a split second he had actually been worried for the girl.
“At the very least, they shouldn’t insult one of the greats so harshly… I mean, comparing them is downright offensive!” she snickered.
He gripped his pencil tighter and inhaled deeply through his nose, his nostrils flaring. She just doesn’t know when to give it a rest. If there’s one thing (and, rest assured, there were many) Damian disliked about Blackwell, it was her inability to know when to quit.
“Sounds to me like someone’s jealous?” Damian muttered as he harshly flipped his page. In retrospect, he really should’ve left it alone. But he couldn’t always be expected to be the bigger person now, could he?
“Pfft,” Becky shifted in her seat, smoothing her fluffy pink blanket over her legs, “Oh please Desmond, jealous of what exactly?”
“Hmmm,” he pretended to ponder for a second, tapping the end of his pencil against his chin, “Oh! Maybe because the words ‘Becky Blackwell’ and ‘Acting Prodigy’ have never and will never be used in the same sentence?”
“Oop-” he heard Emile quickly slap his hand over his mouth.
He must’ve struck a nerve because for once the brunette didn’t even have a retort or rebuttal at the ready. He watched, gleefully, as her jaw clenched and eyebrow twitched. He relished her silence, and to show her as much, he tilted his head ever so slightly and smirked. Ha – I won.
Still riding the high of his victory, he leaned back into his armchair when he suddenly found his gaze being drawn towards Anya, who had gotten up and was now heading towards the kitchen. For peanuts probably, he mused. He let his eyes trail her movements, drinking in how effortlessly adorable she was. Was it a little creepy? Yeah. But he couldn’t help it. From the way her soft pink waves bounced with every step she took, to how her eyes shone like emeralds in the sun. It would be a crime for him to not admire the way her cherub cheeks were a little rosier than usual from being under a blanket for too long.
He sighed, like the lovesick fool that he was, when it dawned on him where he was and who he was dealing with. In his periphery, Becky’s sour pout morphed into a big cheshire cat-like grin. A shiver went down his spine. Shit. He should’ve known that Becky would’ve seen him making googly eyes at her best friend. As Blackwell’s reminded him a million times, she is always watching.
“Oh, Anya dear,” she practically purred. Oh god, now what…
“Do you think Mr. Wannabe-Dicaprio over here is really a prodigy?” What exactly was Blackbell playing at?
“Mm-hmm” Anya nodded enthusiastically before grabbing a small package of peanuts and ripping them open with her teeth (was she trying to kill him!?).
“Please, do elaborate.”
“Well, first off, I think both of you are prodigies. You two are incredible at your craft and what you do,” Anya jumped up to sit onto the marble countertop, and began swinging her small, slender, but totally stubby, legs back and forth.
Becky rolled her eyes facetiously and sighed, “Just answer the question babe.”
“BUT if we’re talking about Sy-on boy specifically, then I guess he’s kinda been a ‘prodigy’ since our first chem read, really. I mean, even the directors and producers said so.”
She winked at him, giving him her signature smile and thumbs up. Damian felt his cheeks grow warm at her praise. Jesus, he was down bad.
“Now, why do you suppose that is?” Uh oh. He had a feeling that he knew where this conversation was headed, and he didn’t like it one bit.
She shoved a handful of peanuts into her mouth like she was popping pills and munched on them for a few seconds as she mulled it over.
“I-” she swallowed, “I don’t follow.” Anya stared at the brunette blankly.
Whew. That was a close one. Damian let out a sigh of relief – now the conversation could move on to a completely unrelated topic.
“Ummm, hello? Obviously, it was because he was actually brave enough to go off script?!” Emile suddenly cut in, practically beaming with pride.
Dammit Emile! Damian facepalmed, internally cursing at his friend’s, normally appreciated, loyalty.
“Also, because of how realistic his acting was – even though we were all six! I mean, his creative choices during that chem read literally shaped-”
“Emile!” Ewen whisper-shouted and elbowed his friend.
“-the future…” realizing his mistake the rest of his statement died on his lips, “Uhh, I mean who wants some lemonade? It’s fresh! I made it yesterday!”
“No, no –” Becky put her hand up, “lemonade can wait.” Clearly, she wasn’t going to let this go.
“Desmond, care to share with the rest of the class as to why you decided to go off script? That’s a pretty risky move, isn’t it? Especially for such a young actor – prodigy or not.”
Damian felt his entire body tense up. His heart rate increased as he began thinking about the ramifications of Anya finding out the real reason his acting was so ‘realistic’. Becky mouthed ‘Checkmate’ and gave him an impish smile. Argh! Stupid, pesky, meddling Blackbell. He should have NEVER drunkenly confessed to her his feelings for Anya. That was like Superman willingly giving his kryptonite to Lex Luthor, except Becky was far eviler.
“Well? We don’t have all day…”
He looked around the room. Ewen and Emile shrugged, giving him sheepish, and apologetic smiles. Anya on the other hand, who was seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil, grinned at him expectantly, as though she was excited to hear his answer.
Unfortunately for her, it was an answer she would never receive. Call him a coward or spineless, but Damian Desmond would not tolerate being embarrassed to this extent. He was an A-list actor. A Desmond. The next Dicaprio in fact!
So, he ran.
He stood up abruptly, “Um, I’m gonna to go ask Paul about my notes. Catch you guys later.” Putting his papers and pencil in his bag, he quickly made his exit. The last thing he heard was Anya chastising Becky for “going too far” before the door slammed shut behind him.
Rather than walking towards the director’s trailer like he very loudly announced to his friends seconds prior, he bee-lined straight to his trailer instead. He felt his face getting redder by the second as the memory of their (fateful) first chemistry read began resurfacing in his mind.