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tea-with-evan-and-me · 2 months

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[Y'all I need to get this off my chest pls quoi. Evan eventually learning French... Enjoy!!!]

“Hi… um… bonjour – excuse me? I’m looking for… um…” Evan scanned his call sheet again. It was in French. “Sorry… I can’t read it…”

“Ah, Evan Peet-air?” the lovely French-speaking lady made his name sound like chocolate. He smiled nervously. “Yes, you come with me. I take you there, is quicker.”

“Thanks.” The woman led him to an open field, reachable only on foot for the day since it had rained pretty badly overnight, and the dirt paths had become mud pits. But, with wellies on, they made it.

“Voila. Madame Sharpe is over there, under the tent.”

“Thanks so much, I appreciate it.” Evan followed the path the woman had pointed out to her, and sure enough, huddled around a screen, was Amelia. The first round of shots looked incredible. “Um… hi, Amelia…”

“Evan! You made it! I was starting to get worried!” Amelia stood, moving to the back of the tent with him. “What happened?” He was a good half-hour late, not at all like him.

“I… everything is in French and I can’t read that.” He pulled out the itinerary he’d been given, and the call sheet. “My phone’s not working over here so I couldn’t use Google Translate, and the three people I asked what you said to ask didn’t speak English at all.”

“How did you say it?”

“Parrlay voow Onglay.”

“Close enough…” Amelia smiled up at him, but she took the call sheet and itinerary from him. “But I’ll find out why these are in French. I’ll give you mine for tomorrow, since we don't have the full studio out here. It’s miserable.”

“Belgian weather, though, right?” Evan grinned.

“Sure is!” Amelia sighed. “How are you finding it, anyway?”

“It’s nice. A little different to what I’d expected, but nice. Actually, no-one recognised me in the street earlier – and there’s no paps?!”

“Why do you think I moved here?” Amelia chuckled again. “It’s heaven on Earth and no-one gives a shit about who you are. It’s perfect!”

The scenes they were filming were mainly in the forest, where the ground was thankfully solid and they had cover from the trees if it did start raining. Evan, as was his typecasting, was playing a lover who’d turned out to be a psycho killer (qu’est-ce que c’est, fafafafafa… ) and Amelia was playing the girl who’d gotten away from him, but now was on the run. There was a bit of a magical twist, though, which would take them some time to get done. But by the end of that first day, Evan felt like he’d relaxed fully into the role, even though it was already exhausting.

As the first month wore on, Evan discovered a love for Belgium that he’d never expected to have. Not least because he’d been able to walk down the street and have virtually no-one know who he was, he really felt like he could turn off his brain and just exist. Amelia had taken him around Brussels to show him the sights, but he’d been content to sit in a random bar with a beer and a book and just… be. It had allowed him to relax so fully, he genuinely didn’t want to get back on the plane back to the States, and he still had two months left there.

His friends in the States, however, had identified another possible reason why he didn’t want to go back home: Amelia. It was obvious to the whole world that, if Evan were to have a little more courage, and Amelia were to believe someone could and would want her, that they’d be an unstoppable power couple that would rule the entire cinematic universe. After all of Evan’s failed relationships, and the trauma he’d been through with each (in their own different ways, of course), someone like Amelia would be perfect for him. His friends had tried to tell him that she was perfect because she’d also known trauma. She’d known abuse. She’d known the desire to just fade quietly into the background. She also had her own empire of fame: dance schools across Europe, several in the UK, and a few in the States all generated from her success as a dancer growing up. An Oscar tucked under her belt for a movie she hadn’t thought she was any good in. An actual billion in her bank, but she gave millions away to charities across the world so that she wouldn’t ever end up on the Forbes 30 under 30 list. She couldn’t really go anywhere in the UK or the US because everyone knew her – much like Evan. She understood what he needed. And she didn’t need him for his fame, either.

But Evan couldn’t bring himself to say much more than the basic conversations they’d shared. He’d wanted to open up to Amelia, wanted to tell her everything… but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk that his heart would be broken again. Besides, Amelia deserved someone far nicer… far better. A decent actor, maybe.

Yet he found himself often sprawled across her sofa as they read out rewritten scenes together, or sitting quietly in the same room as her while she worked, and he worked or read or something. She was happy to sit with him in silence, or scrolling TikTok together, or Instagram, or watching something… he adored her company, and she clearly enjoyed his…

It was Amelia’s lifelong best friend, Charlie, who came to the rescue. Charlie organised a dinner in Brussels with her husband Brendan, Dave (Amelia’s cameraman and content editor) and his husband Tom, and one of their dancing friends, Lotta, and her partner Michel. Charlie invited Evan, and Evan accepted, because he had nothing else to do. What neither he nor Amelia realised was that the evening was actually a moment for Dave, Tom, Lotta, Michel and Brendan to see whether Charlie was insane for thinking Amelia and Evan had something, or not.

And the result was unanimous: they had fucking chemistry.

“So,” Brendan took a seat beside Evan at the dining table. Evan liked Brendan. A chill guy. “Are you going to invite Amelia to that bagel place she’s mentioned three times tonight?”

“What – no? Should I?”

“None of us like bagels, Evan.” Brendan’s eyes betrayed his excitement. “Do it! Ask her out!”

“She won’t want me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because… she deserves someone better.”

“After tonight, I think it’s clear you are better, Evan. Try it. Ask her out.” Brendan touched his shoulder lightly.

Evan was thinking about it. God, how he was thinking about it. Of course he was in love with her. That day, they’d been doing a scene in which Amelia’s character had to lose her shit and hit Evan’s character in the chest repeatedly, in that overdramatic ‘no, no, NO!’ kind of way. But Evan had flinched back when they’d been choreographing the scene out, and Amelia had immediately stopped everything and told him they’d rewrite the scene to have her character react differently.

“Why?” Evan had asked, holding himself.

“Because I’d rather rewrite a scene in a couple of minutes than have you relive whatever you’re currently reliving every time we do a take.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s no bother, Ev. I promise. You can trust me.”

He hadn’t needed to tell her about the abuse. Hadn’t needed to explain why he didn’t like being hit, or why he had such a visceral response to women lashing out at him – even when it was scripted. She’d heard the stories. She’d put two and two together, spotted his warning signs, and taken them in her stride and fixed it for him.

Her friends were right. She was perfect.

“Alright,” Evan murmured. He smiled at Brendan tightly. “I’ll do it.”

A little while later, when they’d all gone home save for Evan and Amelia, they went for the metro.

“I’m glad you came out with us today, Evan. I think sometimes being around people who aren’t arseholes is good for you.” Amelia shuddered a little in the cool air. “Do you remember the way back to your hotel?”

“Yeah.” He looked down. A broken person. Amelia pressed her lips together.

“Tell you what,” she smiled. “I’ve got a sofa bed. You can stay with me tonight if you’d like? Then we can maybe figure that shitty couple of scenes tomorrow, over breakfast?” Evan’s face lit up a little. “Oh, and there’s this brunch place close by actually – we’ll head out, grab brunch, and you can practice your Duolingo French.”

And just like that… Evan was completely and utterly on her hook. It’s a dangerous game to play, man, said the little voice in the back of his mind. But he didn’t care. Amelia made him feel safe… and, that night, as he curled up on her sofa bed with a gorgeous view of the stars from the skylight in her rooftop apartment… he realised that he really didn’t want to leave Belgium at all.

End of Part One

oh hi!! 👋🏼 we have another story tweam. lemme read this after i leave the gym 👀

#fics

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