Page 55 of Best Supporting Actor

On the first Sunday morning after Tag moved in, Jay found himself lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling as the glorious bells of York Minster rang the hour at ten o’clock.

From the other side of the room came the steady sound of Tag’s sleeping breaths, and Jay knew, if he looked over, that he’d see him stretched out on his stomach, one arm curled up over his head, face turned and half smooshed into the pillow. The t-shirt he slept in would probably have ridden up to expose the small of his back, possibly the waistband of his underwear. And his black hair would be tousled against the white pillow, his lips parted—warm, and soft, and infinitely kissable.

Jay knew all this without looking because that’s what he saw every morning now. Not that he made a point oflookingat Tag as he padded past the sofa-bed. It was just that he tended to wake up first, and it was a small apartment. He couldn’t avoid seeing Tag when he went to the bathroom to grab a shower. And if his gaze had occasionally lingered over the lean curve of Tag’s back and the swell of his arse beneath the covers, well… He was only human.

Human and horny, apparently.

That was just too bad, though, because pursuing anything with Tag was out of the question. Even if Tag hadn’t made his feelings crystal clear after their night together months ago, Jay had a strict rule about relationships with co-stars. The rule being absolutely never, not under any circumstances. He’d been badly burned by Seb and would never put himself in that position again.

At best, he and Tag could be friends.

Funny to think how impossible any friendship with Tag had seemed at the start of rehearsals. But things had shifted between them, especially in the week since Tag had moved into the apartment. Tag’s prickles had softened, and the time they were now spending together outside rehearsals was surprisingly fun. Tag was an entertaining and easy companion, and they had a lot in common. Not just their profession but their tastes—in theatre, films, television. Even the stuff they disagreed on was fun to talk about with Tag. He was sarcastic and mischievous, his amber eyes glinting with good humour as they debated the respective merits of Miles Davis and Britney Spears.

There was certainly no shortage of stuff to talk and laugh about over their snatched breakfasts of toast and coffee, or during the walk to and from the Salter Street Centre, or on the two occasions they’d cooked dinner together in the apartment’s tiny kitchen. Tag had been working on the other nights, though he’d promised to take fewer shifts, now that he was living with Jay and some of the financial pressure on him had eased.

Jay languidly stretched and thought about the day ahead. For almost the first time since they’d come to York, they had a whole day to themselves, with no rehearsal. And thank God, because the week had been a slog. It would have been hard even without Tag’s housing situation knocking him off balance for a couple of days. They’d been working through the last of the knots in the script, and tensions had been high, with everyone increasingly aware of opening night speeding towards them like a freight train.

Thankfully, yesterday, Henry had pronounced himself satisfied with the exploratory stage of the process, and tomorrow, they were moving the rehearsals to the venue where they’d be opening in just a few weeks.

The prospect of appearing before a live audience had Jay’s gut pitching nauseatingly, and he shoved the thought aside to be dealt with later. For now, he had a whole day ahead of him with no plans.

No plans… and Tag asleep on his sofa-bed. Would Tag want to spend today with him, Jay wondered? He felt both excited and anxious about the possibility. But maybe Tag would prefer some time to himself? That thought was oddly deflating, not to mention ridiculous, given Jay’s own rules.

Nevertheless… He turned his head towards Tag—and was startled to find Tag’s whisky-gold eyes open and watching him. They both looked quickly away.

There was a rustling of bed covers from Tag’s side of the room, and then he said, “Sorry, I couldn’t tell if you were awake. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I’m awake,” Jay said, “just enjoying not having to get up.” That was true, but he’d also not wanted to wake Tag, who’d been working last night and must have got in late because it had been almost one when Jay went to bed, and he hadn’t heard Tag come home.

Tag huffed a laugh. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s been a long week.” After a silence, he added, “Look, you probably want some time to yourself this weekend, so I can make myself scarce if—”

Jay threw a pillow at him, smiling at Tag’s surprised yelp. “Will you stop it?” he said. They’d had this discussion at least once a day all week. “I like having you here. I’m enjoying the company to be honest.” Sitting up, he scratched a hand through his hair and looked over at Tag again. “But, I mean, if you’d rather look for somewhere else…?”

Tag was sitting up now as well, the bed covers pooled in his lap. He looked soft and appealingly sleep-rumpled in a way Jay thought the chippy side of Tag might not appreciate. And he was regarding Jay with an expression it was difficult to parse. “No,” he said eventually, his gaze flickering down and away, “it’s nice here. But you have to let me pay my way.”

This was another conversation they’d had a few times now. “I told you,” Jay said, getting out of bed, “we can settle up when you get your rent money back from that woman.”

Tag sighed. “Yeah, well, that’ll be sometime never.”

“I’m pretty sure Geoff will sort her out,” Jay said. He’d called his lawyer, Geoff Hall, the day after Tag had moved in and asked him to send a scary letter to Mrs ‘Juicy’. When he’d told Tag what he’d done, he’d added a little white lie, namely, that it wasn’t costing Jay anything. Luckily, Tag seemed to believe him, which was good because Geoff’s bill would undoubtedly be more than the money Tag got back. And Jaywashopeful he’d get it back—Geoff was nothing if not effective. Look at the way he’d taken down Charlie Alexander last year.

“We’ll see,” Tag said and sighed. He sounded like he’d given up the money already.

Briskly, Jay clapped his hands and said, “Let's both just focus on the play for now. It’s just over three weeks until opening night, God help us. And if we’re not off-book tomorrow, Henry will string us up.”

Tag cocked his head, frowning. He sat cross-legged on the sofa-bed, looking up at Jay through dishevelled hair. “You’re already off-book,” he said. After a pause, he asked, “Are you worried about it?”

“No,” Jay said quickly. Too quickly, probably—The lady doth protest too much.“No, I’m usually okay with my lines.”

Tag’s frown deepened. “What then? You’re worried about something. Is it opening night?”

Shit. He couldn’t talk about this, and certainly not with Tag. If Tag suspected that Jay was…unreliable, it would be a disaster for both of them. Affecting a nonchalant shrug, he said, “Well, everyone’s nervous about opening night, aren’t they?”

“True,” Tag agreed, although he didn’t look like he’d bought Jay’s misdirection. “It’s exciting too, though?”

“Yeah,” Jay said, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it is.”

Much like being pushed out of a plane with no parachute.