fly | madderton

ELEVEN

The first day that Richard was on set was fine. Even the next day, fine. Even the next week.

And then he started to slow down.

It was all very subtle, to begin with. Letting a meal slide here, staying up half the night there. None of this worried Taron to begin with. Why would it? He was working, and the change from not doing much to working long days was a stressful one. Hell, Taron had definitely lost sleep over work, and stayed up too late reading and re-reading scripts.

It only started to worry Taron when it continued into the next week, and with each passing day Richard got quieter.

The front door clicking open pulled Taron's attention away from the TV, a broad smile breaking across his face. It was his favourite part of the day. He was busy with press for the new Kingsman film, but they tended to have a million interviews at once in the space of a few hours and then time to breathe. That meant there was a lot of time for lovingly home cooked meals to be made before Richard finally trudged home, and the occasional sweet treat.

"Hey, Dicky. Good day?"

"Yeah, it was okay." Richard nodded, hanging his jacket by the door and nudging off his shoes. "How was yours?"

"Good, thanks. Are you hungry?" Taron padded into the kitchen, checking the time on his watch. "I made us bolognese, I'll just have to cook the spaghetti, and it'll be ready-"

"I'm not too hungry.. But thanks, T. I appreciate it."

A heavy sigh slipped past Taron's lips. He started to boil the water anyway, wondering if maybe it would prompt Richard to have some.

"Did you eat at work?"

"Course I did, babe. I do a lot of physical stuff, I'm not starving myself. I'm just tired." A weak smile flickered on Richard's lips, and the wear behind his eyes supported his statement. Still, Taron wasn't satisfied.

"Well... Would you at least have a little? I won't be able to eat it all myself."

"Maybe later, yeah?" Richard offered another faint smile, before turning on his heels and heading towards his bedroom.

So much for their lovingly home cooked meal.

He could have had Taron fooled, though. For the next morning, he was back to being Richard. He was still a little deflated, but certainly nothing worrying. It made Taron feel awful for interrogating him, if he truly was just tired from a hard day's work.

But Richard came home like that every day. And not doing anything about it was nagging at Taron. Big time. Still, whenever Taron brought it up Richard seemed increasingly annoyed with him. Taron didn't quite understand why.

And he wouldn't understand, until he had a day off to accompany Richard on set.

Taron couldn't help but admire how good his husband looked. The extra layer of his ballistic vest made his torso look even more toned than Taron knew it to be, tucked under a perfectly pressed shirt.

A perfectly pressed shirt, which was partially covered in 'blood', following down from the incredible artwork of sugar blood on Richard's face. He truly looked like he'd just stepped out of a crime scene. If nothing else, this show surely had to win some awards for make up, or special effects, or whatever you'd call that.

It started with a few different shots of Richard running down a hall, yelling at the passers-by in his way. Half of the shots were taken with cameras just inches away from Richard's face, causing his husband to marvel from the sidelines. Not once did his expression crack or his voice falter, he simply remained professional and gave that spine-chilling scowl into the distance.

Getting to watch Richard work was something he'd never really had the chance to do. Richard always seemed to be about to hang around on Taron's sets, but Taron was always busy whenever Richard was filming, somehow. Or, they'd been worried about them being seen together in public too much. Sure, friends support each other, but constantly being on sets together did seem like a step too far. Nobody other than a few tabloid articles had accused them of anything yet, and Taron was hoping the rather uncomfortable scene he'd had to watch earlier that morning would shut some of those rumours down.

"And action! Walking, Tom!"

"It's over, mate. It's over."

"For me, not for you. You've got to finish the job. I'm fucked."

"Don't."

"Someone's gotta stop her. Get it done."

"Don't! Fuck! Fuck!"

The desperation and upset etched into Richard's features was incredible. It was real. He looked like he'd truly just watched a friend take his own life. Taron was in awe of how perfect and raw the emotions were.

Watching that scene for the first time was the moment he realised, and watching it play out over and over again for the different eye lines hurt like hell.

Taron wanted to talk to Richard. Scratch that, he needed to talk to Richard. Of course, he wouldn't have the chance. They'd be whisked off to do shot after shot all day. Richard was right, it was a long day. A long day of lots of heavy scenes, of guns, and of throat-tearing yelling.

And saying ma'am a lot. Like, an unnerving amount.

Taron was more than relieved to finally be in the car home when the time came. He tried to force Richard to smile before they got in, pulling the door open and saying, "Right this way, ma'am." Taron would argue he'd seen a smile flicker across Richard's features, but it was barely there. Too faint for the untrained eye.

Every failed attempt to cheer Richard up felt like yet another stab in the heart. Taron felt awful, and then felt even worse that he had the nerve to feel bad, when clearly his husband was hurting and he was doing nothing to help.

The car ride was painfully quiet. As was the walk to the lift. And the lift ride up through the building. And the walk to their flat. And the subsequent conversation when they were finally in the safety of home.

"Come on, babe. Let's talk about this."

Taron's plea was met with a shrug and an empty gaze as Richard slipped out of his shoes.

"Not now, T... There's nothing to talk about, anyway. I'm just tired. Can I go to bed?" Richard checked the door handle before turning to meet Taron's eye once more. The desperation in his face must have been evident, but Richard still didn't break.

"There's got to be something to talk about. You have barely said a word to me in the last hour..." Taron paused as he contemplated his next move. "I'll make us some dinner?"

"I'm not hungry, T.. I'm just tired."

"Rich, you haven't eaten today. Not enough. I'll make us tea, and, and-"

"For fuck's sake, Taron! I'm a grown man, and you're not my mum. Just leave me alone."

Taron was left on his own in the entryway when Richard turned on his heels and hurried off to his bedroom. He stood there for a moment in stunned silence, before deciding to give up on his quest and head to the kitchen, opting for a simple tea of instant noodles for himself. He stayed up for a little while, flicking aimlessly through the TV for close to an hour before deciding to head to bed himself. Richard had probably had a chance to cool down by now, and maybe he'd be up for a chat if he was still up.

Taron had known this was optimistic thinking, realistically. But there was still part of him that wanted to believe it. So, he tidied up after himself and wandered into the bedroom. The dim light spilling in from the hallway glinted against Richard's eyes, meeting Taron's for a split second before he was facing the other wall. Taron got changed, and carefully slipped under the covers anyway. How many times he counted the cracks in the ceiling before he fell into a restless sleep, he didn't know.

He slept in his own bed the next night.

good morning all here's your actual chapter sorry for yesterday x

ops ? ideas ? feedback ? jokes ? conspiracy theories ? reading recs ? watching recs ? idk throw at me whatever you've got i'm bored of being in lockdown >:(