Work Text:
John groaned under his breath as he woke up to a shrill alarm going off before the sun rose, the only thing making him move being the familiar, soft weight on the bed beside him as he forced himself to sit up and shut the damn thing off. She didn't deserve to be awoken so rudely, after all. His back popped as he stretched and glanced out the window at the dark city streets, the bed groaning as he got up and shuffled his way over to look out to the silence. Nothing moved save for the occasional autumn leaf being lazily pushed by the wind, the window putting off enough of a chill to make him shiver slightly as he pulled his robe on to cover his bare chest. It was cold now, but it was worth it to have her resting on his chest last night.
He yawned as he rubbed his eyes and made his way out of their bedroom, quietly closing the door and making his way out to the kitchen. The last thing he wanted was to wake her up, the poor thing was oh so sleepy, and who was he to ruin the darling's night? He smiled to himself as he put down some toast and brewed himself a cup of coffee, reaching for the records out of habit before shaking his head. It was too early for that. He instead spent breakfast writing out the latest script he had been working on, a romance story for Helios. Now that he had a muse, the words flew from his pen without restraint, as if he were simply breathing as he got the ideas out in his journal.
The second he finished his coffee, he went back to slinking around the house, getting cleaned up for the day in darkness out of concern that any light coming through the cracks under the door would wake her. He only tripped over himself twice! It was only once he was completely ready and the sun was trying to peak over the horizon that he took the chance to press a kiss to the angel's forehead. She didn't even stir as he smiled down at her face. It was covered by the night, but he didn't need to see it. He all but had her vision burned in his mind, and it was perfect.
But, unfortunately, he did not have the time to dawdle, so with one more kiss blown to their bedroom window from his car, he drove off to the studio. The production was one he did not care for, but he unfortunately had neither writing nor direction power here. He just had to put on his mask and embrace the mediocre role. The script was stiff and nonsensical, the actors were obnoxious, and for some reason Praestar was more physically forward than usual. Something he was able to ignore before, as they both knew it was an act, but it got under his skin now. He was a taken man, couldn't she do this to Arthur? He was around here somewhere, John was pretty sure.
He was lamenting to himself as he slid his hand into his pocket, only to feel a piece of paper. His brows furrowed as he pulled out an orange post-it-note and smiled, recognizing the handwriting anywhere. He felt his heart warm up at the sweet note, swiftly pocketing it close to his heart. She must have snuck it in before they went to bed, she was just a sweetie like that.
It just made him all the more excited to get home, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he rushed back to their house after the shoot for the day, stepping in to the smell of warm food being cooked welcoming him and the distant sound of heels clicking made his heart race. He felt so bad he'd been missing out on being around her with this new production, and he swore that the second filming finished, he would be by her side every night. She just let out a laugh and ensured him that it was okay. Her hands were so soft as she cradled his face.
The bed was oh so welcoming as he crashed, smiling to himself as he felt her arms wrap around his chest and pull him close. He let out a low chuckle as he rolled over and reached to pull her close.
His arm hit thin air.
John gasped as he sat up, disoriented as he looked around the pitch black room, nothing but moonlight cutting through the window to help him see. He tried to rub the sleep from his eyes as he felt around the bed, where did she go? She... she.
He let out a groan as he slumped back in the bed, a cold reminder that there was no she. Not really. He tried to sort his head out as he tried to remember what was real, and what was just a dream. Some faceless woman, that was all he really remembered. He was pretty sure she spoke at some point, but he couldn't remember a voice. There was also something about a... letter? A note? He yawned as he leaned over to the night stand and flipped on a lamp, trying to get his bearings as he made himself sit up. The world was completely dead, not a soul to be seen nor heard for what felt like miles. What time was it anyways?
He swallowed thickly as his dry throat burned, John forcing his legs to work as he shuffled down the hall with blurry eyes out to the kitchen, grabbing a mug and filling it with water that he greedily chugged as he tried to decipher the clock.
Three in the morning.
Why the hell did he wake up at three in the morning, he didn't even have work today?
He just let out a heavy sigh as he dropped into his recliner and zoned out, thinking back on the dream last night with a heavier heart than before. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make out the face that he knew was absolutely beautiful, and it infuriated him.
There was nothing there but a massive shadow, a whisper of a memory that he apparently didn't have. He simply stared off, listening to the clock tick as he felt the coldness of the water-filled mug in his hands and tried to ignore the ache in his chest. It was silly, being so choked up over a dream. He's had dozens, hundreds of them, why was this one eating at him? He scoffed at the sentiment as he set the mug down on a side table and got up.
He needed a smoke.
He made his way to his office and didn't so much as turn on a light as he grabbed his cigar box and popped it open, trying to ignore the shake of his hands as he went to pull one out. But he didn't feel the familiar paper roll of a cigar, instead he hit the smooth paper of stationary.
"What the hell-"
He flipped on the table lamp and flinched at the bright orange envelopes burning his eyes. That's right. He tossed out his cigars because Ardeat mentioned she couldn't stand it in one of her letters.
Why did he do that? She didn't ask him to quit, no one asked him to do anything. He was John, god damn Juniper, no one could demand anything of him...
His heart hurt at the bitter thought as he dropped the box on his desk and let out a frustrated sigh. What was wrong with him? Why was he so angry over this? Ardeat didn't even request he stop smoking, she made a passing comment.
He took another deep breath as he set his hand on top of the cigar box, the shaking only getting worse... Was he a bad person? Well. Obviously yes. You don't get this far into Holly Wood with skill and a kind disposition, he was no better than Rodney Rodgers in some ways. He definitely cut under Winters with a few promises of good booze to a director or two. Did he even have the right to be upset?
Part of him said yes. He didn't lose the right to be pissed just because he was famous, no one would blame anyone else for being short tempered. But, in truth, a much louder part of him said no. You're selfish. You fuck people over just like every other bastard in Holly Wood, and now you're taking out your anger on a doll that did nothing but mention a preference. People like you don't get to be upset. You don't even deserve to be happy. You're going to die miserable, drunk, and alone, just like all your idols.
His throat swelled as he tried to blink back tears. Holly Wood... wasn't what he imagined, not really. Yeah, everyone went on to talk about how lonely it is at the top... but no one ever believed it until you got there.
He didn't talk to his parents anymore, but they weren't exactly a joy to talk to. He had no connections to his extended family, and the few friends he had before he made it big had long since tried to sell him out to paparazzi. He's got dozens of adoring fans, people screamed his name in the streets, but... He didn't have anyone to call in the dead of night. He had no one to go get a casual drink with, no one to air out his complaints with, no one to just. Talk to.
He'd tried to become better friends with Vivian Praestar, and she was an absolute darling about it, but two nights out and suddenly every head line was about their secret relationship. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't he spend time with anyone without it being something for some vulture with a camera to run to the presses with?
His hands shook as he tried to reach for a cigar again, only to remember the box was empty.
"God damn it!"
He knocked the box off of his desk and held his head in his hands as he shook, struggling to even his breaths as his eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall. He felt like he was losing his mind, he was half-wondering if he should run to a corner store and buy a pack to calm his nerves.
Yes. Yes, that's a good idea actually, he just had to throw on a coat, some shoes, and a something to cover his face. The corner store is always open, right?
He got up from his desk, grabbing his jacket off of his swivel seat that he abandoned it on yesterday and turning to head for the door, only for his heart to drop.
The letters... they were everywhere. Scattered across the floor, some bent under the box, one even landed in the fireplace. Thank god it was unlit.
He scrambled on the ground more akin to an animal than a man as he frantically scooped up the letters and held them close to his chest, sobbing apologies to the empty room as he cradled the one piece of proof he had that this wasn't all for nothing. That he wasn't worthless. He swallowed thickly as he hastily put the letters back into the cigar box, trying to straighten out the bends on the ones that got crumpled and trying to wipe most of the ash off of the one that fell in the fire place. But as he went to set it down, he hesitated, looking at the letter with a small frown.
He was torturing himself, he knew he was, but he couldn't stop himself as he opened the unsealed letter and read it over, curious what memory he almost lost.
'Dear Mr Juniper,
I hope this letter finds you well! I just wanted to let you know that your performance in Blood in our Streets was... captivating. I can't put words to it, but I couldn't get my eyes off of you, even though you had no lines and not even a name. Even now, I feel a bit silly writing out a letter amongst what I can only assume are likely dozens of others, but I just had to tell you that I appreciate you.
I sincerely hope you stay in film. I quite like seeing your face on screen.
I wish you luck, keep doing what you're doing, Mister Juniper
-S. E. Ardeat'
His shaking only grew worse as he realized it wasn't any letter he almost lost in his fit of rage. It was the first. He let out a sob of horror as he hugged the letter tight, pressing it to his pounding heart as his chest heaved with sobs.
"I'm so sorry, Ardeat. So, so sorry."
She couldn't hear him. She didn't even know he almost destroyed the very thing that kept him in this industry longer than anything else. And yet, the guilt wracked his whole body and ate at his heart as all the thoughts from before rolled back that much louder.
Terrible. Cruel. Mean. You'd just be a piece of work that would make life worse for her. For anyone. You deserve to be alone, you don't even deserve the attention she has given you.
Maybe he didn't... but it was the one thing that kept him going. He didn't care if it made him selfish, he couldn't afford to lose this. To lose her. He set the last letter in the box and set it back on the desk, keeping his hand over the lid as he felt the weight of the mistake he just made weigh down his heart as his ribs ached.
He may deserve to be alone... but she doesn't need to know that.