#like this is just. the most baffling symptoms i cannot put anything together and also my nose was briefly runny

[thekingofchungus]

caught some kind of illness. currently calling it “what the fuck”.

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Zanzibar Marketplace Job

leverage 2.12

Hardison: Two weeks in Tokyo. We'd have a great time.

Parker: What are we stealing?

Hardison: We don't steal anything. We'd be tourists.

Parker: Not following you

hardison: BE DOMESTIC WITH ME PLS

- - - - -

Waitress (puts down beer): There you go.

Eliot: Ahh. Thank you, sweetheart.

Waitress: Anytime.

(Nate kicks Eliot under the table)

Eliot: What? Really? What, I can't have a friend?

Nate: Join a softball team

me whenever eliot flirts with someone other than parker or hardison

- - - - -

Tara: You know he's drinking again.

Eliot: I'm not an idiot, Tara.

Tara: I was told this was a problem.

Eliot: The drinking is not a problem. It's a symptom

this!!!

also eliot’s hair braids are adorable

- - - - -

(Sterling walks into the bar behind Eliot, approaches table)

Nate: Eliot, I'm gonna ask you not to do anything violent.

Eliot: What? What are you talking about? I only use violence As a - as a - as an appropriate response.

Sterling: Hello, Nate.

(Eliot’s face turns murderous and he turns to punch Sterling in the face, then proceeds to throw him down on a table and continue punching him. The bartender moves to call the police, but Hardison stops him by passing him money, Parker watches enthusiastically)

Tara: And this is?

Nate: James sterling. We used to work together. Insurance.

Tara: He seems to rub Eliot the wrong way.

Nate: You think?

(Nate walks over to where Eliot is still beating Sterling, and now has him by the throat)

parker and hardison literally have heart eyes for eliot in this scene ??? ot3 ???

hardison bribing the bartender not to call the police? parker watching like she’s being turned on or something? eliot’s face right before he hears sterling’s voice? sterling hitting eliot with a stick? CHAOTIC

- - - - -

Tara: Okay. Is there any chance she took the egg?

Parker: No. Maggie's the most honest person we know. But besides that, she's okay.

parker adores maggie

- - - - -

Sterling: You live and work here?

Nate: Yeah.

Sterling: I like the old place better.

Hardison: Do not mention the old offices.

people that have no rights: sterling

- - - - -

they had a legit P I L E of passports ready ??? SO MANY

- - - - -

Tara: Okay, you cannot out-bureaucrat a former Soviet Union bureaucrat. These guys gamed the most corrupt system on earth for 50 years. Paperwork's not gonna cut it. They're used to trading favors, not forms.

- - - - -

Nate: I just need some proof.

Parker: It was an inside job. Average keypad hack time is 1 minute, 9.3 seconds. Inner door access card takes at least 30 seconds for anybody but Hardison, and then the vault was an old Mark II Remington. In and out average - 7 minutes, 40 seconds. But these thieves, they did it in 5 minutes, 12 seconds. Maggie had the best access, so the real thieves only had to get her codes and badge. Yeah, only way they could pull it off that fast.

Sterling: How long has she been sitting..

sterling being utterly BAFFLED by parker is my aesthetic

+ she’s wearing a leather jacket AND a cute red flannel,,, the bi energy is strong

- - - - -

Parker: It's your first time being a fugitive, so I made you a bag..

Maggie: Thank you, Parker. It's not that I don't appreciate getting out of jail, I just can't live my life a fugitive.

Nate: But you're not a fugitive.

Parker: Passports, money, lock picks.

Nate: You were released, not broken out.

Parker: Toothpaste, explosives. Do not mix these up.

Maggie: Thank you, Parker.

+

Parker: This looks like gum. Not gum. Diamond-edged file blade.

Nate: Yeah, yeah. That's great.

Parker: She needs this stuff.

maggie is such a Mom™ rolling with parker’s antics and we love her for that

also PARKER IS TRYING SO HARD TO BE NICE BECAUSE SHE LIKES AND CARES ABOUT MAGGIE AND WE LOVE TO SEE IT

- - - - -

Parker: So, I took your advice and did the whole touristy thing. Went to the museum, and it was amazing.

Hardison: You see?

Parker: Yeah. They have a guardian T-840 security system. I've only seen those things in books. And the motion detectors - ooh, gorgeous! Six digital receptors. Six!

Hardison: What about the paintings?

Parker: What about the paintings?

she reads about security systems in books? omg I love it

- - - - -

Parker: We meet on internet.

hi I’m sorry but the way she said it was hilarious

- - - - -

Hardison: Alexander's got a travel visa to the United Arab Emirates. He's also setting up accounts in the Caymans, Macau, and Switzerland.

Nate: Yes, countries with no extradition treaty, tax havens

- - - - -

Tara: I got this one.

Eliot: Really? What are you gonna say to him? 'cause we got no cover story. We got no background on this cat.

Tara: Okay. That's it, then. I won't say anything. Really. Not one word. Just when he turns around and looks at you, do that thing with your eyes that scares people.

Eliot: I don't... know what you're talking about.

Tara: Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Eliot: Pffff.

(Tara sits down next to Chernov and grabs his lunch, taking a bite)

Chernov: What the... Who the hell are you? Do I know you? Did Samuels send you?

(Tara moves a little, still chewing Chernov’s lunch)

Chernov: I paid them off. I took care of it.

(Tara looks over her shoulder at Eliot, who is scowling)

Chernov: Oh, god. Please. Is this about the item?

(Tara throws up her hands)

Chernov: I didn't know. No one told me.

(Tara checks her watch and stands up)

Chernov: Wait! Here. This is all I have. (hands her envelope) I'll back out. I'm sorry.

(Tara gives Chernov back his lunch)

Chernov: Sorry! (walks away)

Tara (rejoins Eliot and gives him the envelope): What we imagine is always so much better than the reality.

Eliot: Like love?

this whole scene was iconic

- - - - -

Sophie: Well, the prospective buyers are invited by their black-market contacts. They show up, they verify the merchandise, and they make a sealed bid. Hey, um, shine an ultraviolet light on that card.

(Hardison pulls a light from a bag and shines in on the card)

Eliot: Seriously? You have one just laying around?

he had one on his keychain in The Ice Man Job and boy do I love continuity

- - - - -

Tara: Parker, double reverse on three.

(Tara places envelope on tray, Parker takes envelope and passes it to Eliot)

we LIVE for smooth hand-offs

+ eliot did the flip thing with the envelope

- - - - -

Sterling: You're welcome. I don't know how you people ever manage – (flinches at feedback on com)

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Oh, I'm sorry, man. That just happens sometimes with the ear buds - You know, feedback.

[Embassy Hallway]

Sterling: As I was saying, the method - (flinches at feedback on com)

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Sorry.

[Embassy Hallway]

Sterling: This isn't gonna stop until I - (flinches at feedback on com)

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Stop talking. Shh. Please

PARKER’S SMILE AT HARDISON FUCKING WITH STERLING? AMAZING

- - - - -

parker is wearing a flannel now :)

+ the leather jacket she wears over it a little later

- - - - -

(Sterling pulls phone from his pocket)

Eliot: What are you doing?

Sterling (dialing): Calling the police. They don't get to dictate to -

Eliot (grabs phone): We're not calling the cops. Two hostages means they can kill one to make a point. (throws phone down on table) All right, listen. There's three types of calls we can get next. One - amateur. Cash and a dump site. Number two - professional. That's wire transfers and multiple-location drop-offs. (glances at Sterling) And three - targeted.

Hardison: Targeted toward us?

Eliot: No. Towards a specific ransom demand - Not cash. (looks at Faberge Egg case)

Sterling: You're not risking a $9 million artifact...

Eliot: It might be the only chance.

Sterling: ...on a hunch! Let me run this. We track the calls, find out whoever it is, have the police surround -

Eliot (walks around table to stand with team): Sterling, I'm the retrieval specialist. That's my job.

Sterling: Your friends' lives hang in the balance, and you're gonna take your cues off a punch-up artist instead of me? (closes case and takes phone from table) Call me when you need me. 'cause you will need me. (leaves with case)

eliot being the focused, determined retrieval specialist that’s hell bent on getting everyone back safe? we love to see it

+ parker, hardison, and tara having 100% faith in him standing beside him

- - - - -

Eliot: He's angry. We took his payday. (phone rings) All right, all right. (pulls phone toward him and hits button for intercom) Go.

Distorted Voice: If you follow our instructions, your friends will be returned unharmed.

Eliot: We agree. Tell us what you want.

Distorted Voice: You owe me

(Hardison uses computer to remove distortion)

Alex: $9 million.

Hardison: It's Alex. It's Alexander.

[Embassy Hallway]

Alex: I still have a buyer for the egg. Return it, and I return your friends.

[I.Y.S. Insurance Offices]

Eliot: I want proof of life now.

Alex: Agreed

it’s cool to see how Retrieval Specialist™ eliot spencer actually works

- - - - -

Nate: Yeah. Yeah, I was lying to you for your own good.

Maggie: Quick little hint for your next marriage - that excuse does not fly with any woman on earth.

Nate: Oh, go- next marriage? That's really nice to say.

Maggie (hitting Nate with spray can): You know what? I've heard that one before.

Nate: Heard what before? What are you talking about?

Sam: Are you actually having this argument now?!

Nate: She started it.

Maggie: He started it

chaotic ex spouses

- - - - -

Eliot: Listen, listen - we know who's behind this, all right? We know what they want. We have the upper hand here. We do.

COMPETENCY!!! HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HES TALKING ABOUT AND WE LOVE TO SEE IT

- - - - -

they made a taser out of two ends of a live wire and a flamethrower with a match and an aerosol I love it

- - - - -

Sam: Give me that. The thing everyone screws up when they fake their own death - no body. Well, that can work, but it leaves no suspect for the police to chase.

Alex: You won't get away with this.

Sam: No, you will. Of course, I've left an evidence trail a mile wide, Visa applications, accounts in offshore banks.

Alex: You were my friend!

Sam: I was your employee. And thanks to your screw-ups, I was an employee with no pension, no savings, no nothing. That was really, really unacceptable to me.

Nate: Well, it's a good plan. What? I- I - listen, I spent 20 years chasing, you know, guys that faked their own death. I mean, this one - it's pretty well thought-out.

Sam: Exactly. Alexander Lundy, desperate for cash, turns to violence. And his poor assistant, Sam, loyal to the last, caught in the cross fire at a ransom drop gone bad.

that’s actually really smart

- - - - -

eliot’s sly grin right before the flashback revealing how they got away with it

- - - - -

(Alex vomiting into a barrel)

Parker (handing him a cloth): It's okay. First bomb's always the hardest (cringes)

- - - - -

Eliot: Was it because they wanted us to hear Sam's performance? It's 101, man. After that, (looks hardison up and down) you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out.

Maggie: You know, people underestimate you, Eliot.

Nate: That's kind of the point

HE CONSIDERES HARDISON TO BE AKIN TO A ROCKET SCIENTIST

- - - - -

Reporter (on television): And that's not all. Today, based on his work recovering the priceless artifact, James Sterling was invited to join Interpol. He's a real-life Sherlock Holmes.

Parker: Interpol? Seriously?

Hardison: Sterling's career gets another boost off of our hard work.

Tara: We didn't even get paid.

Hardison: Nope.

Tara: I hate this guy.

Eliot (taps his beer bottle on Tara's): Now you're part of the team. (walks away)

THAT is what it takes lmfao

also eliot was wearing a flannel in that scene

[baekchelor]

𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

pairings: George Mackay x reader genre: romantic comedy rating: pg13 synopsis: on the set of his new film, golden boy George Mackay learns a basic human truth: that the heart is deceitful above all things.

❝ i  love  you  without  knowing  how,  or  when,  or  from  where.❞                                                                                                                       —pablo  neruda

THREE | HEARTACHE & FAREWELLS ◄ ᴘʀᴇᴠ

Daisy (against Geo's wishes) flies to Mumbai a little over a month into the shoot. Dharma is extending its filming period to six weeks, just as Alma predicted, so although George's left scenes are few, Daisy still gets to see him in action when —without an invitation, she arrives on set.

"I said I'd meet you at the hotel," he says as he greets her once Greta wrapped George’s last take for the day.

It's him and two other actors for this particular scene, in which Edmund reveals amidst the chaos of the Indian rebellion, he's well aware of James' feelings towards his wife.

Y/N is back at The Taj, probably still asleep. It is her free day, and George has come to learn the girl cherishes snooze above all things good. She'd rather stay in her Pj's and dreamland instead of strolling across Mumbai's beaches.

Daisy pecks George on the cheek, and a few of the staff members milling around them exchange curious glances. As far as George knows, no one but Dean and his sister, know about the friends-with-benefits situation with Daisy. And as far as he's concerned, everyone on the crew (except maybe Dev Patel. George suspects he's got a crush on Y/N too) were rooting and gossiping about Geo and Y/N's potential to become an item. So of course, they all seem taken aback with the unknown blonde wrapping her arms around George’s shoulder blades.  

"I wanted to surprise you," Daisy whispers into his ear, standing on her tiptoes.

She's smiling up at him now, a complexion like peaches and cream, and George can make out signals of uncertainty in her expression. Daisy still looks as lovely as he remembers, yet not as beautiful as his lovely one. It hits him just then, how easily Y/N's smile can melt him down —and how, at this moment, Daisy's smile only makes him feel guilty.

"We're okay, aren't we, Georgie?" There it is again: the minimal furrowing of her brow, the vulnerable pull in her mouth. "You've just been busy, haven't you?"

He smiles back as tenderly as he can to reassure her. It seems to work because her features illuminate.

"Yeah," He puts his arm around her, the protectiveness of it a habit. Might this be how Y/N feels with Henry? "Come on. Let's go to The Taj."

Daisy's booked a separate room, of course. She even checked in at a completely different floor. George knows she's here on a mission, and she's going to try to spend at least one night in the same bed as he; but for some reason, it feels wrong to have a girl in the same mattress Y/N has fallen asleep, read books and talk to him about everything and nothing.

"Let's go out to dinner tonight," Daisy is wearing her hair down today, the way George likes it best. "Tell Y/N/N to come too. With a date, if she likes." Her expression slides into something conspiratorial. "She shouldn't have any trouble finding one by seven, right?"

"I don't see why she would," George manages to say, feeling the weight of it sink into his chest.

Things haven't been strange between him and Y/N. Not at all. Not if George ignores the razor-sharp awareness that prickles over his skin every time Y/N sits a little too close, so their thighs touch, or looks at her for a moment too long, so he catches that question Y/N never asked still lingering in her gaze.

Daisy is waiting expectantly, so against his inner-self will, and in an effort to prove God-knows-what to himself, George takes his phone and types out a message:

Two hours later, Y/N replies, and George realises he didn't clarify the fact that the Daisy in the matter isn't his sister but his friend. He doesn't want to let her know he has a physical relationship with a girl via text, so he opts to break the news before they walk into the restaurant.

George wipes off his lips with the corner of a table napkin. He keys in the name of the establishment, the time of their reservation and puts his phone away. Daisy sips her white wine, lashes thick and eyes reserved for him, and the likeness George would generally feel is overpowered by unease.

Much to George's dismay, Dev Patel —the other man in the crew who's also from London and can be referred to as London Boy (yes, George is still investigating if the nickname is reserved for him and if Y/N likes Taylor Swift)— is whom she brings as a date. He's much taller than her, the height difference more pronounced since Y/N is wearing flat sandals. The dress on Daisy is similar to the cobalt mini-dress loosely falling from Y/N's shoulders. Yet Daisy only manages to look almost —almost— as beautiful in George's eyes.

When Dev and Y/N walk into the restaurant together, her hand tucked around his arm, George experiences the tell-tale clench of disappointment. However, his inner self knows better, disappointment might be one of the many symptoms, but the most prominent is jealousy.

<< So there's a new London Boy. >>

"Y/N Y/L/N!" Daisy trills. "I'm so glad to finally meet you."

"Hello... Daisy?" Y/N replies with a discreet smile. She looks over at George, wondering why this Daisy is not the one she expected to encounter, this Daisy doesn't smile in the exact same way George does, and this Daisy is one Y/N hasn't ever heard about. George wants to apologize, entwine their hands and explain the long thread of misconceptions that took place since that one call in George's suite, but he knows this is not the place nor the right time to do it.

"Dev," London Boy #2 greets, extending his palm to shake Daisy's. George is grateful. "Are you George's girlfriend?

George is not grateful anymore.

Dev's eyes shine, he directs to George, "She's gorgeous, man."

"We're not a couple, actually."

"Oh."

"Yeah, we're complicated," Daisy ripostes.

George smiles at him half-heartedly, his gaze drifting immediately to Y/N's face. The studied neutrality on it, which every movie star learns to uphold in front of a press line —only to drop the facade when they're out with friends—, is what makes every trace of that half-smile disappear completely.

"What is it?" Daisy whispers as George pulls out her seat for her. No matter the situation, he is a gentleman.

George bends, so her lips are at the level of his ear. "What is what?"

Y/N catches the movement, and their eyes meet from across the table.

Daisy puts her little hand on George's bicep. "Why do you look so..." Y/N is staring at him, "...so sad?"

George's answer is stolen when charming Dev pulls out Y/N's chair for her. George has shared enough time with Dev on set, howbeit, he didn't realise how...touchy he is when he expresses his attention. The moment he is seated and Y/N smiles next to him, he brushes his fingers over her cheek and the corner of her mouth, with careful attention. Y/N isn't looking at George anymore.

On cue, George tears his eyes away too. "I don't know what you mean," he tells Daisy breezily, pressing his lips to her temple and sliding into his seat in one smooth movement. It's a dick move, he knows, but he has never felt so jealous in his whole life; thus, he cannot get a proper hold of his emotions.

Daisy is smart, intuitive, George is sure she doesn't buy his excuse when her hand cautiously removes itself from his arm and comes to fidget in her lap.

"Georgie..." she tries again, under her breath. Dev taps Y/N on the chin, and she responds with a tiny smirk.

Fuck it. George swallows harshly. There is a bitter taste in his mouth he can't seem to get rid of, not even after his second sip of scotch. "Everything is fine, Daisy."

But Daisy won't stop eyeing him after that. Long, searching looks from behind her menu and wine glass; quick, puzzled glances she tries to play off when Dev draws her into the conversation. When she reaches for it, George permits her to wrap her little hand around him under the table, but he doesn't squeeze back.

Y/N focuses her attention on Dev, letting her feed things to her off his plate with his fork and placing her hand between his shoulder blades when he murmurs a question into her waiting ear. It might be due to the same reason as George allows Daisy to hold his hand, or it might be because she is as angry as George suspects.

Dinner runs long, even though George can't remember anything that was discussed from the arrival of the breadbasket to the departure of the dessert plates. Only the cut of Y/N's lips, the bump of her chest when she breathes, her entire face in perpetual profile.

After picking at her food and swilling way too much chardonnay for her unlined stomach to handle, Daisy gets drunk. You've got to be kidding me, crosses George's mind before he's practically forced to piggyback Daisy out of the restaurant, into Tha Taj's elevator and to his room. She hooks her chin over his shoulder.

"Have fun tomorrow," Y/N susurrates. Dev has his palm at the small of her back, and George wants to slap it away.

"I'm sorry," George starts to say, but drunk Daisy surprises him by biting down gently on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. If he were not a good boy, a good London Boy, George would have dropped Daisy off his back. He wants her gone, now, yet he understands Daisy is at an awkward position, and he hasn't helped at all. George should be honest with her, how come, though? If he hasn't been honest with himself.

As an answer, Y/N shakes her head, dismissing the matter. She forces a smile, George can tell, it's the same expression he writes on his face when he's tired and annoyed and still has to stop to take photos at an Award Show. "Good night, heartbreak prince," Y/N murmurs.

That strikes a chord. George whips his face around, baffled. First London Boy, now Heartbreak Prince. He can't remember it as clear, but his sister repeatedly plays a particular album when she bakes, it is the same record London Boy belongs too, and a certain song, phrase, quote, lyric, contains those two words Y/N just told him: Heartbreak Prince.

Greta gives George the day off. The rumour has spread that a beautiful and clingy visitor surprised him on set yesterday. George hadn't asked for special treatment, but Gerwig insists.

"Show your girl around," the director says over the phone, in the sage tone of a mother. He can't help but correct her, Daisy is not his girl, merely a friend. Greta laughs, maintaining her position, "I'll film the scenes you aren't in. Marina and Edmund (George frowns at it, he doesn't want Michael Fassbender kissing his girl. But at least it is not Dev Patel), falling in love. I had their scenes programmed in two days, I'm just going to advance it. We'll survive without you for a day, prince."

Prince?

And again, he tortures himself with his endless theories about London Boy and Heartbreak Prince. He tells Daisy he's tired, so they reclude on his suite. To show Daisy around feels like betraying Y/N, he visited every landmark on the city with her, and he doesn't want to corrupt the memories by bringing a girl who's not her.

George pours Daisy a cup of coffee. She slept in his bed last night after he'd gently unzipped her dress and slipped one of his sleeping shirts over her head. George fell asleep in a chair by the bed, watching her breathe and feeling like a terrible person. 

"Are you sure you don't want to go out? You shouldn't miss Mumbai's wonders because of me..." George comes to her side, handing her the cup, which she sets down on the nightstand. Then she holds out her arms, so he knows to crawl back into bed with her.

"I came here to be with you," she says, pulling him down until he's half on top of her. Her fingers thread through his hair on cue, but now the gesture lacks the confidence it used to have behind it. George doesn't know what makes him kiss her on the collarbone, almost like he's asking for forgiveness, but he does it once, twice, before resting his cheek against her chest.

They only have sex towards the end of the day, after George has texted his sister concerning a Taylor Swift song —he thinks is— about a Heartbreak Prince. As the other Daisy dips a teaspoon in each of the tarts and cakes available on the in-room dining menu, his sister sends him a youtube link to a song called Ms Americana & The Heartbreak Prince. George doesn't play it, it would be weird if he pulled out his AirPods with Daisy in the room. Instead, he reads the lyrics.

Scrolling through the words, he comes to terms that the nicknames might be nothing but a coincidence. He is indeed from London, and if anybody saw the way Daisy' stared at him at yesterday's dinner, they would have called him Heartbreak Prince as well. But another part of him, really wants it to be premeditated. He wants to be the London Boy, and he wants to be the boy Y/N thinks of when —if— she listens to Taylor Swift sing: you know I adore you, I’m crazier for you.

At dusk, when Daisy slides her hand up the back of his shirt, scratching lightly down his spine, George knows what she wants. She keeps her eyes open like she wants to memorise the expression on his face as he divests her of her underwear and pulls her body against his. Her mouth tastes like strawberries.

Daisy was never very vocal in bed. Whenever they get together, which is often because who's George kidding, that's basically the purpose of a no-strings-attached relationship, she muffles her moans into his shoulder or trades them for delicate gasps. The look of pure, unadulterated pleasure on her face expresses more than any sound could. Tonight, on the contrary, as he moves over her, she cries out uninhibitedly, like she doesn't care if anybody hears. Like she would just keep going even if someone came knocking on the door demanding her to shut the fuck up.

"Daisy," George forces out in the heat of it all, brows furrowed. "Am I hurting you?" And even as he says it, he hopes, so fervently, that Y/N is still out filming, not alone in her room next door, privy to their noise. It makes him sick to his stomach. The fact that he's thinking about someone else —another girl— when Daisy is wet and naked beneath him. "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"Not like this," Daisy mumbles.

The cryptic nicknames are still running through George's mind when he's led to a chair and simultaneously seen to by hair and makeup. Daisy left this morning, much to George's relief. The feeling doesn't last long. He knows he should expect it by now (They shoot ninety per cent of their scenes together, for god's sake) but that doesn't stop him from jerking in surprise at the sweet sound of Y/N's voice. It sends his stomach into knots, and he swears he can feel something fluttering around.

"Hello," is all she says as she climbs into the makeup chair opposite George's. The stylists enveloped her in a white lace ruffle gown. Her dyed black, long hair has been placed into two victory rolls at either side of her head. It makes her look like a fucking angel and there, right there, is that wretched question in her eyes.

George folds his lips to wet them. "Long time no see, Gorgeous." He ventures, because his research told him it is also a Taylor Swift song, and maybe she'll take the sign that he has discovered her little riddle —if it even exists.  

"It's only been a day," Y/N giggles. "But I know what you mean."The tinge of longing behind it does not go unnoticed. 

"I didn't know about you and Dev," George ventures, because he can't help himself. "I guess it really is off this time with Henry."

"It's been over for a while, Geo." Y/N looks over, and the heat of her innocent gaze sets every single bump on George's spine on fire. "And Dev is just–"

"Are you sleeping with him?" George butts in.

Y/N's eyes darken. She’s clearly mad, and with the right to, what the fuck is wrong with him? "No. I'm not sleeping with him and its none of your business." Her voice is sharp and hollow, and George can only think about how even though he just screwed up, he can still get the girl. That, until Y/N continues, "Only one of us has bedded someone since we got to Mumbai, and it isn't me."

George flushes, swift as a sea swell. "You heard us?"

"I didn't have to," Y/N replies dryly.

Then, just like the first day they'd met, at the read-through in London, she seems to sense that she's said too much, and her mouth —that perfect, kissable mouth, stills over the last word. She shifts in her seat.

"I'm sorry," she mutters. "That was inappropriate of me."

"I'm sorry, too," George offers in return. Everything about the apology is melancholic.

"For what?"

"Thinking you were sleeping with him." After a pause, he continues, “And telling you about it. That was really disrespectful.”

But that's a lie. George is sorry for so many other things. He apologizes because he feels like he's just cheated on someone, and worse, on someone who's not even with him. Call him coward, George doesn't want to ruin what they have. What if she isn't over Henry? What if things don't work between them and they can never go back to this?

He doesn't know how long they sit in silence; it could be three minutes, it could be thirty. The hairstylists and makeup artists have long finished their work and proceeded to the craft service table. The crew is having technical difficulties today, something about the street’s uncooperative lighting. From behind them, George can make out an intense discussion on veganism between two of their co-stars (one plays Marina's maid, and the other plays Clint, a soldier who's close friends with James). Tomorrow, the girl and two other actors who portray Marina's parents will fly back to London, having completed their scenes in Mumbai.

George and Y/N, along with the rest of the actors who interpret Marina's love interests and Clint, will stay on for another six days to complete theirs.

"When I was dating Henry," Y/N says out of the blue, her voice stumpy but clear over the din of production. George smiles at the past tense she employs. "Someone else tried to confess his feelings for me."

"Just one person?" George is not in the teasing mood, so his smirk is lukewarm. He wants to thin the heavy sensation in the air around them. "I find that hard to believe."

"So did I," Y/N continues, "because we were really close friends."

That's not what George had meant, nor what he had been expecting. He wanted her to giggle, laugh even, not to feel like she's speaking to him. Maybe she suspects George fancies her, and this is her way to prevent him from going further.

"Oh." It takes a little time for him to formulate a better response. Y/N waits, or at least, that's what it feels like. "How did it happen?"

She picks at her fingernails, "He told me at a dinner party."

“What's a dinner without a little drama," George says, referring to their dinner with Daisy and Dev, just to fill in the static.

"After dinner, the cast was supposed to head to a bar and him, Booboo, said he wanted to drive with me."

"Booboo…” The name is too singular not to recognize. "Booboo Stewart?"

"Yes," she confirms. Y/N's fingers curl in the lacey fabric of her dress. "We walked to the parking lot together. And just like that, he began to tell me."

A chill treads lightly over George's nape. "What did he say?"

"Nothing," Y/N takes a deep, deep breath and releases it, like something in it has pained her. "I shut him down so fast. " Y/N's mouth sets in a grim line. "I asked him if he enjoyed the dinner, and all in a rush changed the subject to Henry and how good our relationship was at the moment...'"

"And what did he say?" George whispers. His heart is pounding out a hazardous beat.

"He didn't say a word," she tells him. "His face just crumpled, right there in front of me, and I felt so terrible." Y/N tugs at the snug, starched silver necklace she’s wearing as if it's part of the problem. "He was pretty much my best friend among the cast, you know? So I just pretended it never happen. I wanted him to know I still considered him a friend."

George can already see where this is going.

"But after that night, things just turned so weird between us," Y/N says. She's not looking at George, it only adds to his unease. "We couldn't rescue our friendship."

"It ruined it..." George murmurs.

The girl exhales, and it's as pained as it had been earlier. Her eyes have mellow considerably, and finally, she stares right into George's blue eyes. They don't exchange words for a while, their gazes seem to hold enough meaning. George is scared, frightened really, but he still manages to ask what intrigues him.

"Why," his throat works. "Why are you telling me this story?"

"I don't know." Y/N's voice falters, and George waits for the worst. Instead, she says something George didn't expect: "I guess because, recently, I feel like I'm Booboo, trying to say something and getting cut off before I can."

"If you're Booboo," George says, with a twinge, "then who is you?"

The look on Y/N's face is bewildered; soft and yielding too, like overheated butter.

There is a fifty per cent chance —George thinks to himself—, that she won't say what he wants her to say; rather, she will name the London Boy whose hair is black and eyes are brown. That leaves a fifty per cent chance —he continues thinking—, that Y/N will say what George wants her to say. And that is his name.

It is you, George.

"All right!" Greta bellows from the centre of the car park. Y/N snaps to attention, and the spell binding them together is broken. "Lighting issue addressed. We're ready for you!"

Inside, George's organs have turned to quicksand, caving into themselves speck by speck.

"That's us," Y/N says, hopping out of her chair. "Thanks for letting me ramble over my ridiculous stories," she laughs, and it rings with nerves.

George gets up too. "I like your stories," he mutters, suddenly thinking about closure and the different definitions it would hold for him, for Daisy, for Y/N and for, now happy (he hopes), Booboo Stewart.

"Excuse me?"

George didn't realize he wanted to tell someone so severely until Dean called and asked him about his time in Mumbai, his scenes for Dharma, and if he had won the bet. "You did. I liked it. Kissing Y/N."

"Are you telling me?”

"I want her." No filter. "I think I'm infatuated with her."

"Wow." Nothing is masking Dean's shock. "Wow. All this time, I was having a blast teasing you about it, because you're not the kind of man that falls for his co-star, but...wow." He chokes out a laugh. "You won't be a bachelor anymore, huh?"

"Won't I?" George says miserably. "Nothing is going to happen, Dean."

"Have you talked to her about it?"

"No." He and Y/N only talk in riddles. "It doesn't matter, either way, because I won't ruin our friendship."

"I understand," Dean puts in. For the first time in many months, George can tell his friend is being wholly serious. "But can things really go back to the way they were now that you know?"

"Now that I know...what?" A question for a question. It's always been a bad habit of George.

Dean spells it out for him with impatience. George can imagine him rolling his eyes, sick of him, "That you have these feelings for her." He exhales. "I hate to be the one to break this out for you, but if you don't tell her how you feel and she goes back to Henry or dates someone else, do you know how will that make you feel?" Dean barrels on, not bothering to stop for breath. "Ridiculous! Full of regrets! Like you lost her when you had the opportunity to be with her, right there in front of you. Idiot."

George grips his phone a little tighter. "I won't get hurt. And I have Daisy." He's gritting his teeth, molars digging into each other as he speaks. "She's a good girl, and she loves me, might give her a chance."

The silence is back, but only for a moment. "I understand you, Geo." It feels like their stations have been reversed, and Dean is age, and George is beauty. "Daisy is everything good." It's sad the way Dean says it, pitiful, even. "But you can't stay with people just because they're good. You stay with them because they are everything."

George tries to form a rebuttal to that, the leather case of his phone squeaking in his hand from how tightly he's grasping it. But he comes up empty, and he and Dean huff into the receiver at the same time.

The final scene of Marina and James is ironically, filmed on their last day in Mumbai. It is their reunion, where a wounded James comes back from England, unaware that Clint informed Marina about the injuries he suffered while fighting the rebellion, and that at the same fire in which Colonel Edmund lost his life, James lost his sight. Marina loves him and is finally able to be with him, even if Edmund is ashamed of the way his face, and body looks.

They're filming the whole thing at the Gateway of India. George remembers it well from the time they went to Elephanta and Y/N held onto his arm as if her life depended on it. George will remember it for another reason now: the end of a brief, bewitching chapter.

Greta Gerwig pulls his two leading stars into a meeting before she starts rolling. "I want to work with you two again," she says warmly. "I knew this movie was going to be a success when you both signed on."

They smile in turn, murmuring their thanks.

The director gets down to business, looking pleased as punch. "What I need you to do for me in this last scene is making me feel the longing." She squeezes her fists together with gusto. Then she looks at them with a smile painted on her thin lips. "I want it to feel like you're the only two people left in the world. Forget about the extras, and Aakesh looking at the scene. You don't see anybody else —George quite literally—, or hear anybody else, except the person in front of you, and how much you missed them while you were separated." Greta breathes in. "You think you can do that?"

"I'll try my best, Boss," Daniella says in earnest. George nods along, watching her. He wonders if Greta Gerwig, the screenwriter and the vastness of the universe are all conspiring against him.

George repasses his lines on his head, it's supposed to be a sign to the last time James and Marina saw each other —when they made love. The lines are the same, only said different, and George knows every single sentence James will speak to the woman he loves when he hears Greta Gerwig's "Action!"

George can hear the sound of his own breathing crisp in his ears. If he cuts his eyes, just so, to the right, he can make out the rosy swell of Y/N's lip.

"Can you love me like this?" he murmurs, chest heaving. The force of his real-life emotion slams into him like a concrete wall.

"Always" Y/N —no, it's Marina, Marina— thumbs over the still open scar that cuts from his right eye to his chin. Then, so slowly it aches, she kisses him.

There's a celebration party that evening at an Italian Restaurant. It's on the eighth floor of a midrise commercial building. From the window, George observes the rows and columns of flashy lights that crowd the horizon, blinding and unapologetic.

He and Y/N stick close together, preceding conversation for a silence that teems with unsaid things.

As the night winds down, and the people around them begin to file out in a wine-induced haze, George is emboldened enough to ask, "Can I sleep in your room tonight?" He knows how close he is to reveal himself (if George hasn't done it already), how inappropriate it is to ask that to a girl, and he doesn't give a shit. "For old time's sake."

"Uhm…yeah, no problem," Y/N answers. "Whatever you want." It's so simple, yet so loaded, and it makes George curl his toes inside his sneakers.

They take turns in the shower. George's brought his sleeping clothes and his toothbrush, the way he does when he goes over to Daisy's...but George stops the thought right there because he's decided to be selfish this final night. He's not going to think about her at all, neither about Henry or Dev Patel. Not even about the potential, this night has to ruin their friendship.

In the morning, when he flies back to London, everything will go back to normal anyway.

Y/N is already in bed when George emerges from the in-suite bathroom. She props himself up on her elbows when he shuts the bathroom door. Then she smiles, and she pats the space beside her, just like a friend would. It's the same side George had slept on when they'd taken that nap together.

"Did I wake you?" George asks, feeling warm and wistful.

"I wasn’t asleep" is Y/N's reply. "But I should be. Come on."

George feels the dip of the mattress under his backside. The linens guard fragrance of the detergent, and he senses the stillness of the air between his arm and Y/N's, under the covers, where they do not touch.

The girl turns over on her side. "We had a good time, didn't we?" Her breath fans over George's cheeks, toothpaste-fresh.  

"I had a blast." George stares at one of the switched-off ceiling lights. "I had so much fun working with you. And even when we weren't working," he adds in haste. "Every second of it."

Y/N is heavy-lidded, but not in a way that suggests lethargy. "The feeling," she says, "is mutual."

One, two, three, four, breathe. George tries to resist, tries to keep his head above water, but it's as if his body is on autopilot. He turns over on his side too, so he and Y/N can see each other's faces.

He lets the words breach his lips before he can change his mind. "Did Henry ever tell you how beautiful you are?"

It's enough to disrupt the assembly line of Y/N's slow, steady blinks. George loves the way her eyelids flutter, completely surprised. He files it away for the future when he can no longer see it up close.

Y/N's lips part. "Not recently."

"Take it from another man, then," he says with conviction. "You are beautiful."  

"You’re very handsome yourself," his companion mumbles.

George's heart pulses painfully. All right, George, it seems to chide. That's enough. That should be enough to last you.

It's like Y/N has read his mind: "We should get some sleep." She presses her lips together; they're moist at the centre from where she's darted out her tongue. "Early flight tomorrow."

"You're right," the boy agrees. And at that very moment, he feels impossibly reckless.

There's a surge of something potent behind his ribcage, and then he's leaning over and pecking Y/N's bottom lip —so softly, it could almost pass as innocent.

"Good night, Gorgeous," he whispers, bravado slipping a mile and minute. He doesn't look her in the eye. He only turns his body in the opposite direction and switches off the lamp on his nightstand.

The room falls dark.

When Y/N cautiously hooks an arm over his waist and keeps it there, it liquefies George's bones.

"Sweet dreams, Geo," she whispers into his nape. Her voice is defenceless, and it seems to suggest that Y/N isn't holding him to any promises. "Thank you for Mumbai," she tells him, and it breaks George's heart.

ɴᴇxᴛ ►

A/N: The next chapter is the last one, loves. xx