fly | madderton

FOURTEEN

Taron had spent almost every day on set with Richard, and Richard had never loved him more. Every moment they got alone Taron was rubbing his shoulders, whispering how amazing he was doing, and how much he loved him.

It felt pathetic, and if anyone had witnessed it they probably would have thought it pathetic, too. But Richard loved it. He felt less alone, less isolated within the troubled mind of an ex-soldier, battling PTSD and the guilt of failing his job. Richard felt pathetic for even feeling upset. He wasn't a soldier, nor did he have any of these debilitating mental illnesses eating away at his psyche. He was just some privileged, happy white boy craving extra attention whenever he saw the chance. He hadn't seen the horrors of war, or been a part of a terror attack. No reason to be broken, no true need for the constant reassurance other than to stroke his own ego.

But when he felt Taron's thumbs push against the tension below his neck, and heard him whisper how incredible the show was turning out, he could take a step back from his own thoughts and wonder if maybe, just maybe, he could have been a little broken himself.

"You're doing amazing, Dicky. I love you," Taron whispered, meeting Richard's eyes in the mirror and offering him a wide smile before moving to sit on the couch. They made polite, friendly conversation as the make up man came in to cover Richard's face in yet more fake blood before they all were carted off to the location, and Richard was whisked away to get into costume.

Taron took his chance to mingle with the rest of the cast and crew, and hurry off to the food trailer to get himself a hot chocolate. It was mid-January, and absolutely flipping freezing. And that was coming from Taron, wrapped up in about ninety layers. Poor Richard was walking around in just a black shirt.

"Hey, sorry, it's Taron, right?"

Taron turned around, and was met with a friendly smile pasted on a face he didn't recognise.

"Uh, yeah. That's me. What's up?" Taron returned the smile, pressing both his hands to his cup.

"Do you want to come with me?"

———

"Vic, get away from here!"

"Dave, they want me here!"

"Get away! Just get expo here Louise, please get me out of this thing."

"Stay still and keep your hands where we can see them."

"My hand is on the DMS. What's the matter with you? Are you blind?"

"No, David."

Once again, Taron was in awe of the performance Richard was putting on. Covered in fake blood and a suicide vest on a cold January morning in the middle of London, yet still not once faltering.

Taron stepped forward to grab Richard's 'wife' as she herself stepped towards him, glad to hear the "She's fine," that meant he could wander off of the set and watch Richard's performance from the sidelines. He first made his way back to the costume trailer, finding his jacket and slipping it on before pulling his heavy hi-vis police jacket back on, and heading back up behind the cameras.

The woman who had come to see him was from the costume department. They needed an extra to bring in Vicky, and of course Taron was more than happy to step up to the plate. Partly because it gave him an excuse to be seen on set, and partly because those yellow jackets looked incredibly warm, and Taron felt on the verge of frostbite.

He was back behind the cameras in a flash, watching from the sidelines as Richard stood there for an eternity, isolated in the middle of a dreary looking park. He had to win something for this. If he didn't at least get nominated, Taron was calling foul play. He had put his heart and soul into perfecting this role, and it was clear as day to everyone watching. Even with the weather challenges and the cameras sliding inches from his face, Richard hardly faltered.