Star-Crossed ✔️

4

- 4 -

It was awkward.

I could feel the tension on my skin, making me squirm in my seat as Noah Russo sat on the couch opposite of me. Dustin was talking away, his voice being the only sound in the room. Noah was avoiding making eye contact with me, I noticed as soon as he stepped through the door, and it was only pissing me off.

He looked good, all things considered.

There was something about him that didn't suit him. His dark hair was neatly styled atop his head. He wore a crisp white polo, accessorized by a gold chain around his neck, and nice jeans. The only thing that seemed to make sense for him was what appeared to be a deliberate five o'clock shadow.

"And then I was like, 'Fuck you, I don't want your free garlic bread! I want my God damn eggplant parm!' and then they kicked me out," Dustin said, making Noah force a laugh.

It was obvious he didn't want to be here. The way he sat stiffly with his hands in his lap said enough. He hardly contributed to whatever Dustin was saying, though neither was I. I just watched curiously.

Noah spoke softly, but the words came out sharp. "So should we take a picture and get it over with?" he asked, a sigh following after.

"I guess," I said with equal enthusiasm.

We both stood up, the air stale, and looked at Dustin expectantly. He took my phone from me and stood back, but didn't move to take the picture.

"Get closer," Dustin said and I glared at him. We stepped closer together and I dared to wrap an arm around Noah's shoulders.

I felt him tense under my touch, but blamed it on the discomfort of the situation. He reciprocated by placing an arm behind my back, his hand ghosting over my hip slightly. Noah smelled like petrichor and cherries. I put on the smile I used for every picture and waited while Dustin mimicked our grins behind my phone.

Noah backed away as soon as he could. We sat back down and I looked at the photo.

I was constantly sent old photos of Noah and me when we were kids by fans hopeful of a rekindling of our friendship. There were on-set photos as well as off, all with our prepubescent toothy grins and child-like features.

Now we both looked matured and lived. The fans were sure to eat this shit up, put the photos side by side and point out the true contrast of it all. I couldn't speak for myself, but Noah looked like life had taken its toll. We were no longer the kids of our generation.

I posted the photo with some saturated caption about being happy to meet with an old friend. Noah sat across from Dustin and I looking uncomfortable.

"I gotta ask, man," I said, catching him off guard. His eyes flitted to mine before looking away altogether. "I know you hate this shit. Why'd you agree to it?"

Noah cleared his throat and shrugged ever so slightly, still refusing to meet my eyes but looking at Dustin as he spoke. "I needed the cash."

Oh.

I wasn't sure why it felt so bitter to find out that my team had offered him money to come meet with me. I suppose a part of me had wanted him to want to do this, though I hadn't a clue why. It made sense, though, that he took whatever financial opportunity came up. This was an easy one.