Chapter 1: 1. Break a Leg

Shiro

“I can see why you wanted company, Lance. This is pretty boring. Do all auditions take this long?”

“It depends, really, but yeah, usually something goes wrong, or the casting people require a longer cat nap, there’s traffic… take your pick. Thanks for coming with me, by the way. You’re an awesome friend.” Lance sends me a grateful smile. 

“No problem. Not like I have much to do these days,” I say, shrugging.

“Finally done with the therapy and everything?” 

“If by everything you mean the discharge paperwork, then yeah, dead and done. Or rather, not dead, much to the Navy’s disappointment, but definitely done.”

“Pisses me off, the way they treated you.”

Another shrug, this one tugging at the scar tissue of my right shoulder. Little tendrils of pain sneak through my arm, even after several months of intense physical procedures. 

“You’d think I ejected from the plane out of spite to create a problem for them, not save my life.” Idly, I rub at the aching tissue surrounding the artificial joint, hoping to relieve the tensions that had accumulated while I kept the arm motionless for a couple of hours. The necessity to stretch all the time is a novelty I’m not fond of, and I often forget, despite my best intentions. 

“My therapist is happy with the progress, even if there’s not much more they can do at the moment. So it just exercises from now on, and finding another job where it doesn’t matter that my right arm is chock-full of titanium screws or that I can’t do the only thing I was good at.” 

Lance’s face draws tight, his eyes widening a fraction. Such an outburst isn’t my usual MO, but I guess the way the Navy handled matters still rankles. I shift in the cheap plastic seat, and it cries in protest.

“Nah, you’re good at plenty. Flying planes isn’t everything. “

“It kinda was. Sorry. This isn’t about me. I promise to keep my shit to myself.”

“Yeah, no, Shiro, you can always talk to me. And Matt and Katie. You know that, right? Holding stuff inside will give you an ulcer. What does Adam say about all this?”

“Adam’s happy I get to stay at home. You know he was against me enlisting, so… he got his wish, I guess.” A sour grimace twists my face despite my attempt at stifling it, but is it too much to ask for a supportive partner? 

“He was great during the therapy,” I add to ease the guilt that swamps me after badmouthing my fiancé.

Lance only hums, suddenly entranced with his fingernails. Yeah, I get it; he’s not Adam’s biggest fan. 

“Anyway, you haven’t brought me here to listen to my whining. Tell me about the show?”

The distraction does its job as Lance launches into an explanation why his upcoming role—provided he gets it—is the best thing since sliced bread.

“But doesn’t it sound a bit, I don’t know…”

“A bit what?” he asks, voice sharp.

“A bit cheesy. Come on, flying lions? A giant robot? Is it a kid show or something?”

“Well, originally, it was an animated show in the eighties, yeah, but this adaption is supposed to have some heavy themes. PTSD representations. A found family. Stuff like that.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. Whatever pays the bills, right?”

“That too, but I wouldn’t audition if I thought it was dumb.”

“The only principled actor in Hollywood.”

“Nah, I want my undying fame and groups of deranged fans. That doesn’t come from dumb shit.” 

“The creators of Fast and Furious beg to differ. What?” I ask when I notice Lance’s dumbstruck stare. “I had a lot of time during recovery.”

“A lot of time and too much Interflix access.” 

“I had it on the background while exercising.” 

“All the time, then? You look like you’re made of bricks.”

“Want some tips? Might help you with that quest for undying fame.”

“Sounds like a lot of work. Pass. Plus, you don’t mess with perfection. And speaking of perfection, look.”

Lance shoves his cell phone in my face. It shows a photo of a lean, dark-haired man with an angular face. What makes him stand out are the eyes, large and soft beneath thick eyebrows, and such a deep shade of blue they appear almost purple.

“Okay, that’s a guy. Should I know him?”

A stunningly gorgeous guy, but I keep that thought firmly hidden deep inside my mind. For one thing, I have a fiancé, no matter how rocky our relationship is at the moment. For another, Lance doesn’t need more ammunition for teasing. The lifelong friendship has already provided way too much cannon fodder, so there is no reason to add to it.

“Come on, Shiro. You just admitted to having an Interflix addiction, and you don’t recognize Keith Kogane, the star of Weird Matters?”

“I said I was watching Interflix while doing therapy. There’s no addiction. Seeing how I missed Weird Things, Matters, whatever, should be proof enough that I’m not addicted. Is it any good?”

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“Good? It’s insanely popular. Have you been living under a rock?”

“Popular isn’t the same as good.” 

“It’s like all that’s great about television times a million. And I hear this new show is Keith’s baby. I can’t imagine what it would be to work with someone so…”

“Famous?” I supply with an arched brow.

“Stupid hot. Do you think that eye color is natural?”

“Could be lenses. He’s an actor, so he’s probably vain. And insufferable.” I bump Lance’s shoulder with mine and smile at him to soften my words. 

“Hey! We’re not all bad. Some of us are downright adorable.”

“Sure you are.” I ruffle Lance’s hair. The movement is a little clumsy, even after two consecutive surgeries and months of conditioning. Never trust a Hollywood movie about the speed of recovery. A couple of minutes and fashionable bruises on camera is a grueling, long-term process in reality. Complaints, however, will yield nothing useful, so I abandon that train of thought.

The door of the auditioning room opens and puts an end to our bickering. A tall woman with a mane of honey-brown hair pops out, tapping her clipboard.

“Lance McClain? They’re ready for you.” 

“Hello, sweetheart. No one’s ever really ready for me.” 

Lance is one of my best friends, but even so, I can’t help the groan that wrenches past my lips after hearing that. The woman—Romelle, her tag says, looks up from her clipboard and stares at Lance with eyebrows shooting so high up they basically mesh with her hairline. 

“Lance, don’t call people you’ve just met ‘sweetheart’,” I say quietly, only for his ears, but Romelle has radar hearing and zones in on me. Correction: radar hearing and laser-beam eyes. Suddenly, I become a specimen, studied and dissected under two rays of pale blue gaze, shifting under the unwanted attention. Have I messed up Lance’s chances already? 

“Are you here to audition, too?”

“Ah, no. Just keeping my friend company.”

Romelle is undeterred. “Is this your real hair?”

What kind of question is that? Oh, that’s right, the kind I’ve been getting my entire life. 

“No, I borrowed a wig from the neighbors,” I deadpan. Lance elbows me in the ribs.

“What’s gotten into you today?” he hisses in my direction. “Yeah, it’s his real hair. He has a genetic condition,” he says to Romelle.

“Oh, no.” A shadow of pity crosses her face, and I wish people would realize not every genetic condition is life-threatening.

“Yes, a genetic condition called poliosis. Totally harmless. Just a partial loss of melanin, meaning I get a patch of white hair along with the occasional rude question.” 

Unfortunately, my irony is lost on Romelle as she continues her assessment. “Your teeth look even. That’s good. Braces or natural? Doesn’t matter. Shame about the scar on your nose. It’d be extra time in make-up to cover that, although… maybe we could use it.” She scowls in concentration and stops talking to jot down something, her pen flying over the clipboard.

“Still not auditioning. Not even an actor,” I say mildly. Lance is vibrating with impatience next to me. No way I intended to steal the casting lady’s attention. 

“I don’t want to take up your time. Good luck, Lance.” I beam at my friend, who grins back. Romelle narrows her eyes but ushers Lance into the room, and I blow a relieved breath. Me, auditioning. What a ridiculous idea. While acting might sound glamorous in theory, I know from Lance it’s mostly a lot of waiting and being shuffled here and there for days on end, with a healthy dose of criticism of your physical appearance on the side. No, thank you. Despite needing a job sooner rather than later, I’m not desperate enough to become an actor. Not that I’d say that to Lance.

Idly, I fish out my phone and browse through job listings while waiting for Lance to return. If Adam’s remarks about me lazing around the house become any more pointed, we’ll be able to use them instead of needles. And with the recovery finished, nothing is stopping me… nothing except the fact I don’t have a clue what’s next. 

While most people don’t discover their passion in life, I did and promptly lost it. Nothing else can compare now. Frustrated, I shove the phone into my pocket, but thankfully, Lance returns, saving me from further wallowing in self-pity. His face is split open with a wide grin as he says goodbye to Romelle. Things must have gone well. I hope he finally gains the opportunity he dreams about because he’s a good guy, despite the over-the-top swagger.

Romelle flicks a hand toward me. 

“You. Come in,” she says.

“We’ve been over this, Romelle. I’m not here to audition.”

“Nonsense. You’re perfect for the Black Paladin.” 

My eyes flicker to Lance, who gives a half-devil-may-care-shrug, uncertain at first, but then his trademark grin reappears and replaces the hesitancy. “It’s not what I auditioned for, big guy, so no worries. Come on, give it a go. Can you imagine if we ended up working together? On a big Interflix production?”

“Yes. Vividly. In my nightmares.” What are friends for if not for keeping each other grounded? Lance flips me off. In the meantime, Romelle’s doing a lousy job hiding her snort behind the clipboard. 

“The director reins the actors in,” she says my way.

“I live for the day when I see Lance reined in.” Another snort from Romelle, but she and Lance got me thinking. Would it be that bad to try something new? Even something as wildly out of my comfort zone as acting. After all, it’s not like I’m drowning in job offers right now, and Romelle seems excited about me, which is, yeah, flattering, especially after the Navy chucking me like sour milk.

“Alright, I’ll give it a whirl.”

Romelle brightens and ushers me inside, not giving me another chance to protest.

“Break a leg!” Lance yells at my back, just in time before the doors slam shut behind me.

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