They filmed through the winter with only a short break for the holidays—which David had spent in Weldstone Harbor with his parents, diligently pretending that he didn't miss Louis desperately—and into the new year.
Louis had kept his promise. They were definitely still friends, but even that was a pale imitation of what their friendship had been before. David felt like they had regressed to being work friends instead of actual friends, which made him unsure of how to behave around Louis anymore. He knew it only contributed to the distance between them, but he wasn't sure how to change it, either.
David had barely seen Rosemarie since the new year, either, though he'd seen her enough to feel a pang of dread every time Louis texted him.
Not that Louis texted him that often.
Louis wasn't being outwardly hostile or anything—he wasn't even really being cold—but David felt like he was walking on eggshells nonetheless. Like he was just another source of stress in Louis's life instead of a shoulder to lean on. Neither of them seemed to be able to figure out where the line was anymore.
It struck David as being supremely unfair, too, considering Louis was definitely more at fault for their breakup—he'd started it all by reading David's journal and then been the one to dump David anyway.
And, yet, David still sometimes wondered if he could ask Louis for another chance anyway.
It had been a bad idea from the beginning and trying again wouldn't change anything, really, but... he missed Louis. Not just as whatever unnamed thing they'd become—the thing David couldn't name which sat in his chest like a lead weight—but as a friend, too.
"All right, enough is enough," Jennifer said at lunch on the Tuesday after David had spent Valentine's Day moping in her rental—which was much bigger than David's room at the B&B, but he was beginning to think of that place as home.
"Enough what?" David asked, feigning ignorance. She'd caught him watching Louis who was speaking with Nabila across the room. David's eyes skittered away when Louis glanced their way, but he regretted it as he met Jennifer's gaze instead.
"Either go tell him you still want to be together or get over him."
David scoffed. "I'm over him."
"As opposed to a couple days ago?" Jennifer asked dryly.
"Valentine's Day is supposed to be depressing when you are single," he informed her. "I was being companionable and supportive of my best friend who is also single. It has nothing to do with Louis."
Jennifer reached forward and David flinched, though she didn't flick him on the head like he expected—probably didn't want to re-do his makeup—just grinning evilly at him instead.
"Then why didn't you spend it with Louis? I hear he, your other friend, is also single."
"Shut up," David said, examining his lunch with more philosophical than practical interest.
"Spill," she said.
"My water? No thanks, I'm drinking it," he said, though the delivery was off.
"Your guts," she said, "unless you'd like me to do it for you?" She held up a plastic knife and David stuck his tongue out at her, even as his gaze drifted back over to Louis.
"I don't know what you want from me," David said. "There's nothing more to say."
"It has been months and you are still acting all pathetic. Are you still upset with him about the journal?"
David took a bite of his tostada to stall for time, but she simply raised an expectant brow. David shrugged.
"I don't know. Maybe. Yes. But that's not the salient point."
Jennifer pursed her lips, studying him for a moment.
"Then what is?"
"We broke up, it's pretty simple. What does the journal matter?"
"I'm trying to figure out why you're still avoiding him," Jennifer said, as though he was the one being stubborn.
"I'm not avoiding him," David said, surprised. He actually felt he was pestering him more than he should.
"You are. And, while that was rude of him and I'm not against punishing boyfriends for their bad behavior," she said almost neutrally, "I can't figure out why you care so much this time. I have also read your journal and you only put up a perfunctory protest about that. So did something else happen that I'm missing?"
"Nothing happened. Besides, it's not the same," David said. And it really wasn't. "You're my friend."
"I was under the impression that Louis was your friend, too. Actually, I was under the impression that he was your boyfriend," Jennifer said. "Is that a step down? Should I be flattered?"
David swallowed hard, looking down at his plate, all appetite gone. Boyfriend. Was that what they'd been? Would Louis have called him his boyfriend?
"David?" Jennifer prompted, her tone, well, not soft but not as clipped as usual, but David couldn't get a response past the lump in his throat. "If he did something, you can tell me, you know."
David looked up, then. "What?"
Jennifer just watched him, all traces of humor gone. She looked dead serious in a way that made David want to squirm.
"Whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it, it's nothing like that."
Jennifer studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Good. So you're still in love with him, then?"
David jolted so hard that one of the tines of his fork snapped off, skittering somewhere under the table. He ducked down to pick it up. When he emerged, Jennifer was tilting her head speculatively.
He considered brushing it off again but couldn't quite bring himself to. "Is that... weird? Should I be over him?"
Jennifer shrugged. "No idea," she said, looking over at Louis and Nabila, her expression going a little soft. "I think it depends on the person."
"Are you over her?" David asked.
Jennifer glared. "We're talking about you and your boy troubles, not me," she said.
"There's not much to talk about," David reiterated.
"Then explain to me again why you broke up," she said. "Because the more I look at you two looking at each other the more I want to lock you in a broom closet until you sort things out."
David sighed. "I don't know, we just... did. He didn't exactly explain it. But you know he's going back to Weldstone Harbor eventually and he's already dealing with everything with his sister and I'm... I don't know what I'm doing, but I think that probably has something to do with it."
Jennifer's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, I feel like I missed something. Did you say he broke up with you?"
"Yes, obviously. I already told you that," David hissed.
Jennifer blinked at him, then looked over at Louis, then back at David as though trying to figure out a math problem that wasn't adding up.
He was almost flattered that she was so surprised that Louis had been the one to break up with David. Right up until her expression turned pained and she put her fingers to her temple as though she was embarrassed to be seen with him.
"Was this before or after you asked him for space?" Jennifer asked. "Because, Davie, I don't know if you are familiar with dating terms, but 'I need some time to think about things,' is generally taken as a soft breakup. Like saying 'let's grab coffee sometime,' and then never grabbing coffee."
David shook his head, frowning as he tried to recall exactly how that conversation had gone. He was definitely not the one who broke up with Louis, though.
"There was context, though," David said, a little helpless. "I never said anything about breaking up. Even if he did take it that way for some reason, all it was was the excuse he was looking for."
The one part of that conversation that was burned into his memory was Louis saying, You want to break up, with that detached expression on his face. Like he wasn't even bothered by the prospect.
"He doesn't look too happy about it—though, maybe that's just those serial killer eyebrows."
David glared at her. “Yeah, well, neither am I. If neither of us wanted to break up, we would still be together, right?”
Jennifer grimaced. “Knowing you, I’m not so sure. Did you ever actually tell him how you felt?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I'll take that as a no," Jennifer said, then looked over to Nabila and Louis again. David restrained himself for a full ten seconds before he, too, looked over. Louis was watching him, his expression almost grim.
David wanted nothing more than to go up to him and start up a nonsense conversation about whether werewolves or vampires were better then tell him that David made a better vampire anyway once Louis had listed all of the merits of his character's species over David's. Anything to get that look off his face. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.
David looked down at his plate again.
When he looked up, Louis and Nabila were leaving.
"If you still want him," Jennifer said, thoughtfully, "you should tell him so before he really does leave."
"It's too late for that."
“Sometimes a second chance falls in your lap, David,” she said, her eyes going solemn in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to David, “but usually, you have to make your own. I think he genuinely cares about you. I wouldn't have given him my blessing to pursue you if he didn't."
“You gave Louis your blessing? Why? How did that possibly come up in conversation?” David asked, the statement catching him off guard and making his cheeks burn. What was he, a 18th century maiden?
"Because he asked," Jennifer said, shrugging.
“Louis asked for your blessing? When?”
“Ages ago. And, presumably, because he thought it prudent to get on my good side before asking for your hand,” she said, smiling at his distress. “Took his sweet time wooing you, though.”
“He did not,” David spluttered. “He kissed me the first week we met!”
Jennifer looked a little surprised by that. “Really?”
“Yeah, but at that point I didn’t know what I wanted,” he said, still trying to wrap his head around this new information. “So we brushed it under the rug for a while."
“Of course you did,” Jennifer said. “But, in all this time, you've never considered that he might love you? And I don't mean platonically."
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
David's face heated until he was sure he was going to catch fire. It wasn't that he'd never considered it, but he could never be sure it wasn't just him projecting his feelings onto Louis.
"If he does, he's never said as much," David mumbled, even as something cold and dreadful settled in his gut. "He didn't even seem bothered when it ended."
Jennifer considered for a moment before letting out a low hum. "You know him better than I do, but has it occurred to you that Louis might have been holding back? Letting you set the pace?"
That sounded... plausible. Louis had gone out of his way to make sure David was comfortable as he figured it out. He'd never seemed impatient with David's pace—at least, not until the very end.
"No," David said. "Or, yes, but you didn't see his face. He didn't care, Jennifer. Call me a coward, but I don't want to confess just to have him reject me again."
"All right," she said. "It's your heart, Davie. I'm just sorry things didn't work out, I thought he'd been good for you."
David swallowed hard and nodded, looking down at his plate as he carefully dissected his tostada with his broken fork. The truth was that Louis had been good for him and good to him and good in all the ways David could hope for. That was why he couldn't let him break his heart again.
*****
After work, David was exhausted. Physically, from a long day of action sequences shot almost entirely outside and usually trudging through snow—he was beginning to regret his hubris in saying he'd do so many of them himself—and, mentally, from forcing himself not to stare at Louis.
It was a futile pursuit. He'd spent most of the day trying to decide if Louis really did feel anything for him. He'd come to the depressing conclusion that, even if David hadn't gotten over his feelings in nearly six months, Louis surely would have.
If he'd had feelings for David at some point, they must be long gone by now.
He took a scalding hot shower to thaw himself then face planted into bed with the intention of getting an early night's sleep before they had scenes scheduled nearly to midnight the next day.
As soon as he'd fallen onto the bed, though, his mind started to wander back to Louis. After rolling around on the bed for a good hour, David gave up on sleep and pulled out his phone to check his email.
The scripts for Friday had been sent out and he may as well get a head start memorizing his lines or at least read through the scene to see what happened. It was a fairly typical action sequence—inside, this time, so at least they wouldn't be filming in the snow.
He'd be facing a monstrous horned demon alongside Louis. David winced in sympathy at some of the descriptions of what the characters would go through. He suspected that Jennifer would be having a grand time with the carnage.
As he continued through the scene, though, his brow furrowed. That couldn't be right.
"What?" David asked aloud, as though the script might answer him. He read through the scene again but the words didn't change.
Don Christoph dies in Marcus Lazarus's arms, his body and immortal soul crumbling into the black ashes of the undead.
"What the fuck?"
****
"Louis!" David called the next morning as soon as he spotted him outside the makeup trailer.
Louis looked up from his phone and nodded in greeting, as though nothing strange had happened, but David knew for a fact that Louis had read the script—he always read the scripts as soon as he got them—which mean that he already knew this was coming.
David stopped a couple paces away and held up his phone. Louis frowned, looking momentarily confused until his expression changed to one of recognition and he let out a long breath.
"Ah," Louis said. "You've read it?"
"I've read it," David said slowly. "What—" he broke off, not sure what exactly he was asking.
What is this? That wasn't really the question.
Neither was, Is he really dying?
What David truly wanted to ask was, Are you leaving me? But that was silly. He already knew Louis was leaving. And he had no reason to stay for David's sake. They weren't even together. David wasn't even sure they were friends anymore.
Louis hadn't told him. Don Christoph was scheduled to die on Friday and Louis hadn't even told him.
Louis ducked his head for a moment, then met David's eyes with a guarded expression.
"Friday is my last day," he said, confirming everything that David had feared.
He felt like he'd had the wind punched out of him. David's hand dropped to his side and he searched Louis's expression for something he didn't find in it.
"You didn't tell me," David said, sure that some degree of the hurt he was feeling was showing on his face. He'd never been great at guarding his expressions, or his heart, it seemed.
"It's always been my plan to leave," Louis said, as though it was the same thing at all. "It's just a little sooner than I'd meant to."
"When did you decide?"
"I spoke to Nabila and the producers in August," he said, looking off to the side as a pair of makeup artists walked by carrying what looked like dirt in a bucket. "I agreed to stay through the mid-season finale. It seemed like a good place to write Don Christoph off the show."
David could only stare, flabbergasted.
August.
Louis had made his plans to leave in August.
That was nearly six months ago. And David hadn't heard anything about it until now.
Then the rest of it really hit him. Don Christoph was being written off the show. Killed off. Which meant no chance of a comeback or even a guest appearance. He was gone for good. Turned to ashes.
Louis had really decided to put this behind him and he wouldn't be coming back.
"You're the main character," David said weakly, as though Louis didn't know that, as though it would change anything. "The audience won't be happy."
"I'm not the only main character," Louis said, giving David a significant look. "The audience will get over it. They still have you."
"So that's it?" David asked, draining until all he could feel was an icy numbness that seemed disproportionate to a colleague leaving.
It wasn't like Louis was dying. But David felt like he might.
"It will be," Louis said. He watched David for a moment then opened his mouth as though to say something, then closed it again and shook his head.
"You should get going, you have werewolf makeup today," Louis said.
"Right," David said blankly. "Right. I should go, then."
So he did. But he wasn't the one leaving, not really. Louis was. In some ways, he'd already left.
*****
You didn't tell me.
David's hurt had spiked through Louis's limbs as though it were his own when he'd said those words and there was nothing he could say to combat it, either. He hadn't told David.
Louis hadn't been able to tell David, or hadn't been able to make himself.
At first, he'd still been sore over them breaking up and didn't think it was any of David's business. It hadn't taken long for him to come to his senses and remember that that was neither fair nor professional.
But, by then, he hadn't wanted to incentivize David to keep his distance. It hadn't worked.
Finally, Louis simply didn't know how to tell him after keeping it to himself for so long.
He hadn't even told Rosemarie yet. A superstitious part of his brain worried that she'd take it as a sign he was giving up on her if he did. Another part of him felt, guiltily, that perhaps he was.
In any case, he was well aware that he was the asshole at this point. If he hadn't known it already, the look on David's face when he'd said it was enough to convince him of it. He rubbed a hand over his chest at the thought.
Louis had been feeling anxious all day. David had gone back to avoiding him almost entirely. Louis didn't think he'd seen him smile all day—he hadn't realized how much he watched for David's smile until he'd stopped smiling at Louis. Now, Louis found himself counting the times he smiled each day as though he could somehow measure the auspiciousness of a day in David's joy. It felt like the only thing keeping him afloat, so when it was gone, Louis felt himself drowning.
And, come Friday, he might never see that smile again.
It wasn't that long distance friendships couldn't work. At the beginning of all of this, Louis had been sure that their friendship could withstand distance, but Louis was no longer sure that they were friends. That hurt just as much as losing David as a partner.
The walls of the studio seemed to be abnormally close together for the rest of the day, so when they finally finished their last shoot—it had been another fourteen-hour day—Louis was ready to go home.
He didn't bother to say goodbye to anyone, though he glanced around the parking lot for David out of habit. David was already climbing into Jennifer's car without a glance in his direction, so Lous followed suite and left without a word.
He should have apologized. David deserved the apology. He wasn't sure why he hadn't given it other than that he wasn't sure it would mean anything at this point.
Louis still didn't regret his decision to leave, though. Friday could not come soon enough. David would take over as the lead on the show and it would all work out. Louis had no doubt he'd be fantastic.
He wanted to tell him so. There was a lot he wanted to tell David. Louis pinched his brow, setting his elbow against the window.
An apology was still at the forefront. He considered calling, but decided against it. David was probably in bed already and he probably deserved an in-person apology anyway.
Maybe he'd invite him to dinner tomorrow. Rosemarie would be excited to hear about it. It might be enough to tempt David to forgive Louis's assholery.
The road up to Rosemarie's house curved up the side of the hill, the house only coming into view once he hit the circle. Louis immediately noticed something was off. Since he was a teenager, Rosemarie had always left the porch light on until he got home in the evening.
Tonight, there was no light. A knot formed in Louis's stomach as he realized that Rosemarie hadn't texted him at all that day, either. She hadn't even texted him goodnight when it had gotten late enough that she must have gone to bed.
Forcing his panic down, Louis parked the car in the driveway, too impatient to wait for the garage to open. He ducked under it when it was half way open and sprinted inside.
Her car was exactly where it had been last night, parked a little too far to the right, so she must not have gone to her book club that afternoon.
The knot tightened.
Louis sprinted up the stairs. There were no lights on, but—wait, no, Rosemarie's bedroom light was on, the soft glow visible beneath her door.
“Rosemarie,” Louis said quietly, knocking at the door. There was no answer. With a shaking hand, Louis pushed the door open.
He wasn’t sure how, but he knew she was gone the moment he stepped into the room.
For a long moment, Louis couldn’t force his legs to move any farther. He stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the lifeless form that used to be his sister.
“Rosemarie,” he repeated, voice breaking in a sob, lurching forward until his knees hit the bed. Nothing seemed real as Louis touched a shaking hand to her arm. His hand snapped away again like it had been burned.
Her skin was cold to the touch.
“No, God, please, not yet,” he said nonsensically.
He had the irrational urge to leave the room and come back in, just to make sure this wasn’t his imagination—as if that would reset the last three minutes and everything would go back to normal. She would sit up and tell him that he shouldn’t wake sick patients, then scold him for worrying. Then she'd tell him to go to bed and, in the morning she'd have him bring his script to her so she could help him practice lines just like she had since he was five-years-old and stubbornly in way over his head.
But she wouldn't. She wouldn't wake up in the morning. This wasn't a dream at all. It wasn't even a nightmare.
Louis leaned down to press his lips to her forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”
She looked beautiful, even as this frail and lifeless form. There was calm in her face instead of the pain she had endured over the least few years. Louis sat down gently beside her and ran a hand over her cheek, the other balling into a fist so hard that he felt his fingernails biting into his palm.
“I’m sorry,” Louis said. “I’m so sorry.”
A sob broke from him and Louis doubled over until his head was pressed against her still chest.
She was so cold. How long had she been like this? Had she known it was time? Had she thought to call him, or had she not wanted to disturb his work?
Why had it been today? Why had it been when he was away instead of being at her side? Why hadn't Louis known it would be today?
That morning, he had hugged her and told her he loved her and she had said she was feeling well enough that she might go meet her book club later. But instead...
Instead, she was gone.
Louis couldn’t bring himself to pull away from her. Even though she wasn’t really her anymore, just an empty form that once held the most important person in Louis's life.
Eventually, his breathing quieted down enough for him to sit up. He glanced at the phone by her bed. The numbers for her doctor, the hospital, and the funeral home were all on a list of paper beside it.
Rosemarie had even left instructions on who he needed to call and what to say to them. It was such a characteristic thing for her to do that it made him laugh despite himself. Even from beyond the grave, she was still insistent that she would take care of him.
I want this to be easy on you, she had said once.
Louis picked up the phone and dialed emergency services. The paperwork granting him power of attorney and the do-not-resuscitate document were tucked in the drawer of her bedside table along with some other papers Louis would have to go through later.
She had truly prepared everything.
Louis's heart clenched in his chest and he did his best to keep his voice steady as they walked him through the process. Louis stayed beside her as the physician confirmed her death and explained what would happen next.
The rest of it was a blur, no more real than a dream, right up until Louis watched them take her body from the house. Louis suspected that that image would stay with him for the rest of his life.
When he closed and locked the door behind them, Louis couldn’t even make it to his room before sliding to the floor and burying his head in his knees.
Guilt clutched at Louis—guilt for quitting, as though he had given up hope that she would make it to the end of the season. Guilt for not quitting sooner—for not being here with her as much as possible over the last year and a half. Guilt for not having appreciated her while she'd been alive.
It was irrational. He knew it was irrational, but the weight of it crushed him.
He should have done something more. Hell, at sixteen, he'd refused to move to Midtown with her. And, now, he'd never get the chance to live with her again.
These last days with her had been a blessing, and he’d spent the entire time wishing he weren’t here.
Part of him wanted to call... somebody, anybody. Nabila, maybe, and tell them. Just so that someone else knew. So that someone could share, if not his grief, then at least this terrible knowledge.
But if he called Nabila, she would tell him not to come in tomorrow, and right now that was the only thought that was keeping him from completely crumbling.
Tomorrow had to be normal, if only in that.
He would get through tomorrow, and he would get through Friday.
Then, Friday night Nabila wanted to take the cast out to dinner as a farewell. He might even go to that. Anything to stay out of this house. This stupid house with the unfinished bookshelves and the aching emptiness.
He glanced down at his phone. It was nearly two in the morning. Past midnight. A new day.
The first day he would ever live without Rosemarie.
His fingers hovered over his contacts list, he tapped on David’s name without really thinking about it. Rosemarie had been David's friend. He should tell him. Part of him wanted to tell him for selfish reasons, too. So that David would come over and he wouldn't be alone here. But he couldn’t bring himself to press the call button.
How did you give someone that news?
If David was here, it would make it that much more real.
But if Louis closed his eyes, it was almost like any other night. Rosemarie would be asleep upstairs and Louis would be in bed, reading his lines or maybe a good book, trying to get his head to shut off long enough to fall asleep.
Finally, Louis forced himself to stand. Almost mechanically, Louis went to his room, divested himself of his clothing, and turned the shower on as hot as it would go.
The scalding water did nothing to remove the feeling of death that clung to him.
Louis stared at his hands as water trickled off of them and down the drain, wishing the world would just stop for a little while and let him stop for a little while, too. Just until this ache went away, or until he stopped feeling altogether.