Right Back After This

Season 2, Episode 16

Riz can't feel things in his body when he can't feel anything at all.

He's leaning his head against the bus window, letting the vibration of the vehicle's movement knock him around. This bus is designed to prevent that vibration, so it's only perceptible like this, but Riz demands it, in a way. They always pull out the height of luxury for the smallest of moments; with one hand, Riz is gently running his fingers over a satin pillow that must have taken weeks to make, among different lowly-paid factory workers on backwater planets like his own. With the other, he's sipping on a crystal bottle an assistant gave him, filled with something too bitter and aromatic to taste good. Shia's pouring something sugary, sparkling with bubbles, into a crystal glass. The last time they were in a car like this, Wrenley shattered one of those glasses, and it covered the ground in tiny glittering stars.

Amello's leaning beside him, absentmindedly playing with the velvet seat under his hands. Riz feels something, behind a hazy veil, when he looks at him; it's nameless on any planet.

But silence isn't interesting, so Riz spurs himself to action. "Where do you think we're going?"

Amello's brought out of some daydream himself, looking at Riz through soft orange hair. Riz brushes it out of the way, and it feels like too much- not as far as the fans are concerned, but as far as Amello is. They should've talked about the whole handjob-on-stream thing before it happened, but at least a debrief would've been nice. Not that it's Amello's fault neither happened.

Amello bites back his first response. He's smiling, the absentminded smile they all learn to do as a reflex. The camera in here is behind the driver's seat, and the window Riz was leaning against is darkened so far that you can't even really see the promenade outside- they don't want to mess with the shot lighting, the soft white glow that's illuminating Amello's pale face, making utterly sure that his fringe doesn't hide him.

Amello knows the answer. "I have no clue," he lies. Riz knows the answer too, although he couldn't tell you more than, 'it's a talk show.' He can't remember the host's name, nor if he's supposed to know. He's been in the game long enough to bluff his way through the unknown.

There's a longer second than usual, and this disconnect might be as obvious outside of this car as it is inside it. Riz looks over Amello's shoulder, almost making the mistake of glancing at the camera; he quickly turns it into brushing an invisible, nonexistant piece of lint off of Amello's shirt. The heat under the linen hurts. Amello should be the easiest person to talk to, to truly feel, but despite his closeness- despite the fact that he's allowed to be this close- he's as far away as anyone else.

"Thanks," Amello says offhandedly. Riz can see the questions dying on his lips, one by one, as each is struck through, explicitly disallowed: are you okay? Did you like what we did? Was it okay? What happened in the meeting? Are you in trouble? Are you okay?

Who are you, really?

No- Amello doesn't know to ask that. He has no clue Riz is lying to him. None the fuck at all.

Riz wishes he could suppress the yawn, but his body is, for some stupid reason, reacting to his baser needs. He supposes everyone knows he didn't get any fucking sleep- he's not at risk of them discovering that fact. He's at risk of reminding everyone that he's human.

Despite scrabbling for something to hold onto, something to say, Amello doesn't grab onto that, thank God. "I had a dream last night," he says instead.

"Oh yeah?" Riz raises an eyebrow at him. One of two things is true. Either Amello has run out of things to say, with every single thing on his mind forbidden, or this is some coded message Riz'll have to interpret, like etchings on a tree trying to tell him- what? He's too tired, hungry, lost, dazed, to make any sense of it- he has to hope it's not a threat, or a warning.