Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m sorry, Ulsie.
AS SOON AS he returned to his hotel room from the restaurant, Marcus called his best friend.
“I don’t know what to do.” He didn’t bother with formalities, not even a token apology for bothering Alex at such an ungodly hour—ha, ungodly—in Spain. “I need advice.”
To Alex’s credit, he only called Marcus an asshole once or twice before asking for details. Even though Alex was still filming for one last week, still suffering through that endless climactic battle sequence, and still fuming over the abrupt, surprising end to Cupid’s character arc.
Thank fuck for good friends.
Gratefully, Marcus spilled the whole story, April and Ulsie and Book!AeneasWouldNever and—all of it. How he hadn’t confessed his own fanfic alter ego to April, even when she’d told him about hers. How he was going on a second date with her soon. How he didn’t know what to say to Ulsie as Book!AeneasWouldNever, or if he could even continue corresponding with her in that context without either explaining the truth or being a shady prick.
“Maybe I should tell her who I am.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “She probably wouldn’t let it slip to anyone. When I asked her for the AO3 handle of her friend with dyslexia, she wouldn’t tell me. She seemed very protective of his—my—privacy.”
Which hadn’t surprised him, not after more than two years of close online friendship. Still, people’s online identities didn’t always match their real-life selves. He was evidence enough of that.
To win a second chance with April, he’d needed to reveal something personal about himself. Something private. And after a minute or two of thought, he had. But he’d chosen the revelation of his dyslexia for a reason. If that bit of news broke, he honestly didn’t care that much. Plenty of other actors were open about being dyslexic, and joining their ranks wouldn’t bother him.
That particular secret wasn’t as damaging as, say, the fact that he’d been aping a shallow, dim stereotype of a Hollywood actor for years. Or that he’d posted comments and written stories about his character, his show, that clearly showed just how much he hated the scripts he’d been given in recent seasons.
“I want to tell her.” He sighed and slumped over his phone. “But one inadvertent word to the wrong person, and I could lose everything.”
His reputation in the industry. His prospects of future gainful employment. His hard-fought pride at everything he’d accomplished over two decades and the respect he’d earned from others.
With Alex making occasional, sleepy grunts of affirmation in the background, Marcus rambled for a while longer. A long while longer. By the time he eventually wound down and asked point-blank whether he should tell April about Book!AeneasWouldNever, his friend was too tired to sugarcoat anything.
Alex expressed his opinion in three short words: “Dude. Your career.”
His judgment about further DMs with April as Book!AeneasWouldNever required four instead: “Don’t be a dick.”
And that was that, in the end.
So by the time April finally appeared on the Lavineas server and responded to his earlier DMs, Marcus already knew what he had to do. Had to say.
I’m sorry, Ulsie, he dictated into the microphone, and he meant it.
The prospect of a second date with April shimmered in the near distance like an oasis. Or better yet, Virgil’s description of the Elysian fields in the Aeneid, which the Gates crew had faithfully tried to bring to life for the finale. Welcoming. Blissful.
Still. Cutting off communication with her as Book!AeneasWouldNever hurt. Worse than Marcus had even imagined. Worse than that time Ian hadn’t sufficiently pulled his kick on camera and nailed Marcus right in the kidney.
But what else could he do? Ever since he’d walked her to her car after dinner and left her with his number in her phone, a squeeze of her hand, and a kiss on her cheek—
Warm. Velvety. Rose-scented. Infinitely nuzzle-able. God, he wanted her.
—he’d been considering his options, and as Alex had helpfully confirmed, he had none. Not really. Not unless he wanted to be either a fool or an asshole.
He wasn’t a fool, despite what his parents and a good chunk of the world believed. And he wasn’t enough of an asshole to keep communicating with April under another name without her knowledge.
The way he’d prodded her for inside information about himself as a sort of test, the way he’d discovered her feelings about their second date and public scrutiny under false pretenses, all that was bad enough. He wasn’t doing worse. Not to the woman he’d been corresponding with for years, and not to the woman he’d met tonight.
If the second date didn’t work out, Book!Aeneas could return early from his business trip, and their online friendship could resume, with her none the wiser. And if the second date did work out . . .
Well, without all those DMs, he’d have more time to spend with April in person.
Face-to-face. Body to body. Finally.
Although he didn’t honestly know what he’d do without the Lavineas community and his writing. It was going to be a hard, hard adjustment. Worth it, though. For her.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: You won’t have internet access? Not even on your phone?
Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m not allowed to contact anyone outside work, not on this job.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Uh
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Are you a spy, or
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Dammit.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Look, BAWN, I want you to be honest with me.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
He didn’t want to lie to her more than he already had, but—
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Did you see those pictures of me, and think
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Think what?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Think maybe you weren’t interested in talking to me anymore, because of them?
What? What the actual, ever-loving fuck was she talking about?
Book!AeneasWouldNever: NO.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Absolutely not. JFC, Ulsie!
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Okay, so if that’s not it, is this about my second date with Marcus? Because if you wanted to meet in person, at Con of the Gates or wherever, whenever, if
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: If you were interested in me that way, I could DM him. Cancel the second date.
At the confirmation that she’d grown just as attached to him as he was to her, that she valued the man he’d shown himself to be online—his real self—more than the gleaming star he’d put on display earlier that night, Marcus collapsed in on himself.
Chin to chest, he covered his face. Breathed deeply. Tried to recapture the certainty that had burned so brightly mere minutes ago.
Dude. Your career.
He couldn’t meet her in person. He couldn’t.
Which meant he was going to have to hurt her now, in ways Marcus couldn’t yet soothe, and he wanted Ian to kick him again. Harder, this time.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: I can’t. I’m so sorry.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Okay.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Okay. I guess I’ll talk to you whenever, then.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Ulsie, I
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Please take care of yourself.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Same to you.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’ll miss you.