Chapter 13: 13. The Price of Popularity

Keith

The coffee place is packed, but Shiro navigates us toward an empty table near the corner, twisting his large body through the busy space easily. I try not to stare at his muscular back and perfect ass, even though he can’t really notice, not with the sunglasses on my face and the hood pulled as low as possible. It’s boiling as fuck, but a small price for flying under the radar. 

Shiro eases himself into a chair and waits for me to settle down before diving into studying the menu. 

“Thought you’d have the thing memorized,” I say, glancing around. People in LA are an interesting mix. A lot of them are indifferent to celebrities, considering us just a part of the landscape, but there are still plenty of rabid fans, curious tourists, and tabloid reporters to make my life hell. Better safe than sorry. 

“They have specials,” Shiro says, glancing up at me. “Everything alright?” 

“Why shouldn’t it be?” 

“The glasses?” 

“Oh. Well. The price of popularity.” 

Shiro’s gaze swipes around, and I follow its direction. People are busy with their coffees and sandwiches, not paying attention to us. Well, some are, but that’s primarily because of Shiro. With his tall figure and unique hair, he’s bound to draw looks. I notice he repays each one with a lopsided smile, making several people blush and smile back. He’s charisma personified, but I’m not jealous. No, instead, I’m hit by a tidal wave of longing to be as comfortable in my skin as Shiro. 

“The coast seems clear,” he says, swiveling his gaze back to me. He pairs it with a killer grin for good measure, and the longing that travels through me has more to do with his plush lips rather than my insecurities. 

“I swear I’m not like a conceited jackass,” I say. “But I know how these things work.” 

And you don’t. I barely stop myself from blurting that out, but Shiro seems to get my meaning and shrinks a fraction. 

Great. Maybe I am a conceited jackass. After all, he was just being nice. Shame regular human interaction can’t be scripted in the same way movies and interviews are. For once, I hoped not to behave like a dick, but it seems to be a lost cause. So what if we don’t become buddies with Shiro? It’s not like I make a habit of being friendly with my co-stars. Acting is a fucking job, and I’m on set to do a job, not make friends. Plus, given my attraction to the guy, it might be wise to keep my distance. Lesser chance of embarrassing myself or growing feelings.

Some part of my mental processes must reflect on my face because Shiro shifts in his chair, scratching the back of his neck, eyes back on the menu so he can avoid looking at me. Better he learns now that the rumors are true, that I’m distant, stand-offish, and taciturn. Still, my stomach clenches when I see Shiro’s discomfort, and regret about accepting the invitation goes on a joyride through my body.

 Thankfully, a server arrives to collect our orders before I can wallow in self-pity further.

True to his words, Shiro has a blueberry scone and diabetes in a cup, while I choose a large black coffee and a BLT sandwich. 

“So, um, how did you get into acting?” 

Ugh. I hate this question. It’s a reminder of my sad origins. Unless absolutely necessary, I refuse to answer it. 

“You can read about it on Wikipedia.”

Shiro winces at my response, but he rallies, proving he’s a much better person than me. Which isn’t difficult, since I currently feel like the dregs from the bottom of the Dominguez Channel. 

“Sorry, that was a dumb question. You probably get it all the time. What do you think is the closest thing to real magic?”

I have to shake my head to convince myself I heard correctly. Nope, doesn’t compute.

“What?”

“Well, the cliché didn’t work, so I thought I’d ask something unusual.” Another dazzling smile. This time, he peeks at me from underneath the white fringe falling across his forehead, waiting for my reply. Oh, fuck. How am I supposed to resist this guy? How am I supposed to work side-by-side with him and not fall in love with him? I’ve known him for all five minutes, yet dangerous emotions are already simmering in my chest. Hiring him was a mistake. This coffee was a mistake. I should get up and run away as fast as possible. Instead, I study Shiro’s warm grey eyes, noticing how his lashes flick upward, creating the illusion of winged eyeliner. 

“Writing.”

Shiro cocks his head. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, the ability to tell a story, to show people what’s in your head and make them care about it. I kind of wanted to become a screenwriter before Kolivan discovered me, but acting pays better.” 

The server comes by and sets our order on the table. She gives me an odd look, but I don’t pay her much attention. Shiro offers her one of the kind smiles he seems to have in endless supply, then turns his attention back to me.

“Have you ever written anything?” He looks at me, focused, the scone in front of him untouched. 

“Yeah.” I take a sip of my coffee and nibble at the sandwich. “Two failed scripts. Some truly atrocious poetry from when I was a teenager. And I’m… actually working on something right now, but it’s just for fun.” 

“What are you working on?”

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Shiro bites into his scone, and I forget what I wanted to say, fascinated by the way his throat works to swallow. 

“Keith?” 

“Sorry. A novel. A kind of thriller with a romantic subplot. Dumb, really. Kolivan says it’s a distraction, and I should focus on building my career instead, on transitioning from a child star into a ‘serious’ actor.” The urge to use air quotes is strong with this one, but I resist. Guess I’m growing up or something.

“Let me guess, he wouldn’t get a percentage of that.”

“Nailed it.”

“Thought so. But we all need hobbies; if writing is your way to unwind, nothing is wrong with that.”

Quietly, I nod, even though writing is more than a hobby. Still, I don’t have to spill every secret to Shiro right away. 

“What are yours? Hobbies, I mean.” 

“Working out, I suppose. Also, astronomy and baking. Which, for the record, I think it’s actual magic.” 

“What, baking?” A laugh bubbles out of me. Is he for real? Somehow, the idea of the large ex-Navy in an apron whipping up meringue is… well, it started ridiculous, except now that I think about it, I can see the appeal. 

“Yup. The way separate ingredients come together and become something delicious? Magic.” He waggles his eyebrows at me and takes another giant bite of his scone.

“You’re a goof, Shiro.” 

He deflates a little. “Yeah, that’s what my ex complained about as well.” He fiddles with his cup, not meeting my eyes. Wait. He mentioned a fiancé at the audition, but now he’s talking about an ex. Before, too, when he said his ex hadn’t wanted him to ride a bike. 

“You broke up with your fiancé?” Way to be smooth. Thank god Shiro’s difficult to offend.

“Yeah.” 

“What happened?” I expect Shiro to tell me to butt out, but he surprises me by answering. 

“We’ve been rocky since my accident, but the acting job and moving to Canada were the last straw, I guess. Still, it’s for the best. We weren’t good for each other, you know?”

How could I know, given my closeted status? I’ve never had a serious relationship. Hell, I’ve never had any relationship, serious or not, period. A couple of beards and a couple of anonymous club hook-ups. That’s it; that’s my entire dating history.

“How long were you together?”

“Five years.” 

“Wow. That’s a long time. You don’t seem too broken-hearted over it.” Guess I can add ‘judgemental prick’ to my list of wonderful character traits, though I’m not in a rush to update my IMDB page. Once again, Shiro only laughs.

“Yeah. I mostly feel terrible about not feeling terrible enough.”

“That’s, um…” Unsure what to say, I take a large gulp of coffee, forgetting it’s hot and scalding my tongue. Great. 

“That about sums it up.” Shiro’s eyes glint. “How about you, any significant others?” He phrases the question carefully, avoiding gender, and for some reason, it pisses me off.

“None of your business,” I snap. Heat rushes into my cheeks. Shiro retracts into his chair, and a tense silence follows my words. He answered my prodding, which was way more personal than his innocent question. Except that he doesn’t know he touched a nerve. He doesn’t know about my secret. He doesn’t know the press keeps hounding me about being single. The constant speculation about having a new girlfriend any time I go for a fucking cup of coffee with a friend is so tiresome, but the speculation about my sexuality is even worse.

“Everything okay here?” The server stops by for the third time. “Can I offer you a refill?” 

“No, I think we’re finished,” Shiro says tonelessly. “Just the check, please.” His jaw is stiff, none of his earlier smiles in sight. For the first moment, I glimpse a stern soldier under his friendly personality. Worse, I glimpse hurt in the way he hunches in on himself slightly, in the way he rubs his scar again. Seems like I’ve reached the peak of my assholery for the day.

“Shiro, I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re right. It’s none of my business. I forgot for a moment—never mind. Anyway, I have to run, so have a good one, Keith. Thanks for the coffee.”

 We pay and head for the exit without uttering another word. 

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