I Want Your Heaven and Your Oceans Too

All I Ask

It's well past one when everything comes to a halt. It hits him; there are no more press conferences to attend, no more interviews to sit through, the premiere has come and gone...they fly out tomorrow and just like that, Toronto will only be a distant memory.

After the car brings him back to his hotel, he goes about his nightly routine; changes into sweats, brushes his teeth, calls Irina and watches as she shows him, via FaceTime, Lea sleeping peacefully in her crib. The monotony of his tasks is soothing and he welcomes the chance to concentrate on something other than how he can still smell her perfume, in his nose, on his tie. More so, he can feel the ghost of her skin underneath his fingertips and the not so distant memory makes his throat tight.

He slides into bed. There is a dull ache beginning at the base of his neck and vaguely, he considers popping a few Advil. The spinning of his head could easily convince him he was drunk, if he allowed it to...ironic, considering he didn't touch a drop, hadn't in years.

It was her that he was drunk on, he realizes, with a soft groan, closing his eyes. The way she grasped onto his forearm. Running her hands over the muscles in his back. Those eyes, sweeping over him, burning into his own. Her laugh. Standing so close to her, drinking her in, made it nearly impossible not to become completely intoxicated.

Many nights, he'd wondered where it started. Was it seeing her float across the stage so effortlessly, at Sean's fundraiser, completely dumbstruck as she commanded the entire crowd with her energy, with her voice?

Was it when she'd come down the stairs in the Malibu house, all huge eyes and a contented smile, making his stomach clench and his breath catch, soon, making him feel completely at ease with an offer of leftovers and connecting over their similar upbringings?

Or was it the first time they sang together? Sitting at her white piano, their voices so effortlessly melding into one, as though they'd rehearsed hundreds of times.

On set, he'd been hyper-focused, so it hadn't been difficult to go about his business, free to cultivate an amazing friendship but too preoccupied with making a solid, honest piece of art to allow his mind to drift to her...the space she occupied in his arms, how incredibly soft her lips were. It was far more permissible to lose himself instead, in Jackson, to use him as a vehicle to feel all of the things that he couldn't.

Venice was the first indication. She'd been giddy and nervous about press, about the premiere, and she'd clung to him, literally and figuratively, always intertwining their fingers so that he couldn't tell where hers ended and his began. Their hands found one another's frequently enough, that he had no idea what to do when his wasn't holding hers. He'd jam both of his hands in his pockets, utterly adrift until she gently reached out again, connecting them.

In truth, whatever he'd felt there, he could at least distract himself with Irina's presence, anchoring him to reality. Christian's consistent nearness set his teeth on edge and he'd have been lying if he said he didn't heave a silent sigh of relief when he'd had to return back home on business. His hovering, the way he stuck around for interviews, seemed to make Stefani nervous and in turn, bothered him.

But it was here that he could no longer logically deny that there was something between them, something explosive, no doubt but whatever it was, was also deeply rooted in a mutual love and respect.

Still, as much as he tried to curb his thoughts and chastise himself in all the ways that made sense, there was nowhere to escape from it and he was so far from home, so immersed in the world of the film and promotions for the film that it walloped him over the head at every turn.

He sighs, sleep alluding him as his mind, as it often did, turns to her. They'd parted ways at The Four Seasons. She got into her car, he got into his and she texted him to let him know she'd gotten back to her own hotel safely, as was their routine.