Rooms On Fire

Part 5 - Epilogue Option 1

This was a story I couldn't decide on an ending for, so the following two parts are separate epilogues, and tbh both are probably equally silly (: Although now that I've looked at it again after it's been a while, I think Option 2 was the ending I'd originally had planned on writing.

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It's infuriating how quickly those rumors make the rounds and there doesn't seem to be any way to stop it. It's an offhanded joke made by someone, he's not even sure where the root of that entire smear campaign lies. Because that's what it is - what it has to be - when it's virtually impossible for him to have anything to do with it. He hasn't even seen her in months. And when he last did see her, they definitely hadn't slept together for another few months. He'd remember that.

He's been tired lately, he's been drinking too much (which the media had also picked up on) and maybe he's not been hanging around with the right people. But he would remember sleeping with his ex-girlfriend, if she can be called that, and he'd know if she was pregnant.

To make this disaster of emotions complete, he has to find out like this, reading it first in bright red letters on the title of an awful gossip magazine at a gas station while he's crammed between two people waiting in line to pay. He's so close to leaving it all behind him. And he knows how this will be interpreted, when all he wants is to get out of here, as far away from his family and their direct influence and from anything else he's been depending on as possible.

He chalks the press' excessive focus of attention on him up to the fact that his first movie project is slowly taking shape, creating its first buzz. And in a positive sense, for once, not because he fucked something up majorly for the public to laugh at him again. So of course, instead, everyone is now grasping at straws to find some fresh dirt on him, to see how he could ruin this one, purely for entertainment.

This is what he's moving to LA for, that new dream that his family doesn't have their hands in, not Irina, even if the magazines are claiming it. And if she's really pregnant, there's no way it's any of his business. Things just don't add up.

He's impressive at lying to himself, but only in part, because once he does move to LA, he finds himself desperately clinging to anything and anyone familiar. They do try again, not entirely consciously, and it's a bit like watching a familiar movie for nostalgia, before it becomes clear it's definitely not working out and the greyscale isn't actually as charming as it once was.

He wouldn't admit to it openly, but he regularly pulls up a search engine to search for Stefani's name, her stage name, the agent's name and at one point, it's always the same old news coming up, until the page goes blank and a 404 error appears, letting him know that the news are no longer relevant.

His hands twitch when they reach for the phone and the message he sends her is still undelivered the next morning, when he dials the agent's number instead. Who then (rudely, in his opinion) insists that NDAs and privacy agreements also apply to him, no matter his last name. But he reluctantly confirms that he and Stefani are still working together.

So at least she must be fine and that's all that matters.

His own breakthrough with his movie almost hits him like a wave that leaves him drowning. It's stark and overwhelming before the success pitters into a new sense of normality.

But it's not near as loud as the buzz Stefani creates when she finds her footing. It becomes impossible to ignore her and it's an odd sense of pride in the pit of his stomach every time he comes across a piece of her work or her name.

He decides he's right to be happy for her and he suspects she's just naturally skilled at this. So he's not worried until one morning when he's stirring his coffee and someone on the news mentions a canceled tour and private circumstances forcing her to return home. But it's not his right or place to intrude.