Describing Him (Ansel Elgort)

8 // Remembering something forgotten

(A/N: thanks so much for 100 reads!!!! I've posted pretty early, so enjoy please x)

"Morning," I say, opening the trailer door with car keys in one hand and a scrunched up brown paper bag in the other.

"I'm like a hundred percent certain it is no where near morning," His voice is raspy and surprisingly - sexy. I mentally laugh.

I frown at him, cocooned in his blanket on the couch with his phone in his hand.

"You're not a morning person, huh?" I say, putting my things on the table bench and sit next to his face. I kind of expected him to be fine, being an actor and all...

"Funny," I murmur to myself.

"It's not, really." Muffles an Ansel from somewhere around the couch.

I ignore him, opening up the paper bag from the bakery and remove a hot, steamy bun. It smells like heaven mixed with cinnamon.

Ansel sniffs, and sits bolt upright, blanket drooped across half of his face.

"You resemble more of a dog than a famous actor," I say, taking out another one and tossing it into his lap, heading to the couch to sit next to him.

He shakes the blanket off his head, looking slightly puzzled at his lap.

"What, don't you like cinnamon buns?" I say, accusingly.

"Margo. I love them! I was just excepting to get a bite of yours if anything, did you buy this for me?" He turns to face me, his hazel eyes intensely drilling into mine.

"Yeah! I thought; this guy let me float around his trailer bugging him all day, and I'm going to do the same today, and he probably isn't a morning person and probably hasn't even thought about breakfast, heck, I'm going to buy him a cinnamon bun." He grins, and I can see his mind working, thinking, and I wish I could cut open his head and find out what he was thinking, and how his brain works, and what he thought of me.

"You forgot the usual." He says, trying to hide a smile.

"What's the usual? Croissants?"

"No, the usual excuse."

I just frown at him, staring.

"You know- Well, I was getting one for me, anyway, so I thought..." He shrugs, backing up his thought. An awkward laugh escapes my lips - for a quiet girl, I laugh almost too much with him.

"You are a good actor," He blushes, shaking his head, a smile on his lips.

"I hope so."

Three quarters of a cinnamon bun and about five minutes of silence (I'm a slow eater. It's a death cause) later, Ansel, bored waiting for me to finish, stares at me to make me uncomfortable. My face burns bright red, and he just laughs.

"Hey!" I say, in between bites.

"Cory's hotel in New York has this pre-paid buffet every morning, and he's never been there but I've heard the food is amazing."

"Oh my God," I clasp my hand over my mouth. I can feel all of the colour draining from my face.

"You okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost,"

Ansel cuts me a glance, pouting. He looks somewhat like a puppy.

"I forgot all about New York! Oh my God, how on Earth am I going to find a hotel that isn't booked in two weeks!"

"How on earth did you forget about going to New York?

I wave my hands in the air in frustration.

"I don't know!" I yell. How on earth did I forget?

"Dude, New York is crawling with hotels. I'm positive you'll get a room."

"Not one that has security and changes your name on the guest list! I'll be in some filthy little room with people taking photos of me in this crappy accommodation and it'll be in the magazines: 'Cheap writer stays in crappy hotel' and they'll follow me to set, and-"

"Woah, calm down, you're not that famous,"

I know he meant to soothe me, but no matter how he delivered it that comment stung.

I don't know why, really, because I never thought about fame, or how famous I am. I don't consider myself famous. My book is pretty famous, and the characters are, but not famous enough that people know anything about me except I wrote a book. That's how I've always thought about it, but they way he said it - like I was a child and had been acting too adult.

I frown at him, trying not to show that what he'd said had affected me.

"It's funny. I always thought you were the kind of guy who is just so glad that he's here and completely ignores his fame."

He opens his mouth, but then shuts it again.

"I am," and then it clicks in his head. "Oh, no! No, Margo, I was only joking with you, I wasn't trying to-sorry,"

"It doesn't matter," I say, waving it off.

** ** ** ** **

Instead of watching the full run throughs like I normally do, I devoted the majority of my attention to searching up every single hotel I know of in New York. Which really, isn't many.

When one of the co-producers noticed, (it wasn't that hard, because when I'm usually here I just stare fiercely at my story, unfolding out in front of me, sobbing constantly) he went to his office and rummaged around for a bit before returning with a New York travel guide.

After Eric yells the final "Cut!", Ansel finds his way to me.