Page 111 of Total Creative Control
The guy stood up, clearing his throat nervously. “Hi! We’re all pretty excited about the new US version of the show.” A muttering in the room suggested that might not beentirelythe case. “My question is: what’s the timeline on that? And have you done any casting?”
A strange expression flickered over Lewis’s face. It was probably too quick for anyone else to have noticed—already he’d dragged a polite mask over it—but Aaron saw it, and he eyed Lewis carefully as he gave his answer.
“It’s not a done deal yet. We’re still in talks with Telopix. It might happen, but only if I’m happy that it won’t compromise my vision for the show.”
What?
Lewis glanced Aaron’s way briefly, and their gazes met and held while the audience buzzed over that unexpected answer.
“Paula,” Michelle said. “You look like you’ve got a question.”
Aaron looked up at that, alarmed. Michelle was pointing at a woman with dyed black hair and distinctly vampirish make-up in the front row, who was straining her arm up towards the ceiling like a schoolkid desperate to give an answer. And yes, that was Paula Lester, aka The Skylándalorian, the biggest of Big Name Fans. She was an influential writer and reader in the Skylán community, a massive shipper, and an even bigger shit-stirrer who had started more wars in her time than Genghis Khan.
Breathlessly, she said, “I’ve been a Skylán shipper since ‘Only Blue Skies From Now On’? The episode where they first met? In season three?” At this point, Aaron remembered that Paula was also one of those people who ended every sentence with a questioning intonation—a verbal tic that was one of Lewis’s pet peeves. It was pretty much guaranteed to provoke a cutting remark from him. Or worse.
“I reckon most of us in this room are Skylán shippers?” Paula went on. “And we’ve all seen the clues you’ve buried in the show? That Skye and Faolán are actually in love?”
God, this was getting worse—it always pissed Lewis off when people accused him of intentionally writing implicit Skylán romance into the show. Aaron waited anxiously, sure he’d see Lewis’s jaw tightening or his lips pressing into a hard, irritated line. But weirdly, it didn’t happen. For once, Lewis seemed to be listening.
“So, my question?” Paula said, “Is will you ever take their love story out of the subtext? Like, will you actually put it on screen?” She gave a stagey pause. “Or is it just queerbaiting?”
This time Lewis actually reached for the mic, tugging it out of Michelle’s hand and pacing forward, to the front of the stage.
Oh fuck.
Aaron braced himself. Lewis was about to start ranting about how people only saw what they wanted to see and how they shouldn’t assume that what they took from the show was what the writer intended. How it was his show, his characters, and entitled fans had no fucking right making demands.
If he did, Paula would slate him across every social media platform andLeechesforum in the free world and—
“That’s a really good question, Paula.”
Aaron glanced at Lewis sharply.
“The thing is,” Lewis went on, his attention still on Paula, “youmight’ve seen that Skye and Faolán are in love, and maybe a lot of other people have seen it too. But”—he paused, his gaze darting back to Aaron—“but Skye hasn’t seen it. Not yet.”
Aaron’s heart lurched in his chest, and the audience was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.
“Skye doesn’t understand why he keeps rescuing Faolán,” Lewis went on, his focus still on Aaron. “Or why he gets so pissed off when Faolán goes off on one of his solo investigations. He doesn’t even see how close he’s let Faolán get to him. Skye thinks he’s a lone wolf... when he’s actually part of a mated pair.”
And right then, Aaron knew that Lewis wasn’t just talking about Skye. Slowly, pulse lumbering, he stood up, his gaze locked with Lewis’s.
“Skye’s a stupid bastard,” Lewis went on, voice cracking. “He doesn’t deserve someone like Faolán, but—”
Abruptly, he shoved the mic at Michelle without even looking at her and crossed the stage to Aaron. For an instant, they eyed each other, and then Lewis took Aaron’s shoulders and turned him until they were angled away from the crowd.
“I’m so sorry,” he said urgently, his words pitched too low for anyone else to hear. “I’ve been a fucking idiot.”
“Have you?” Aaron managed through numb lips.
Lewis nodded. “I couldn’t see it, even though it was staring me in the face. Even though I wrote about it every fucking week in the show.”
“See what?”
Lewis’s expression softened, caught somewhere between alarm and hope. “That I love you.”
His words rang between them, as startling and resonant as a struck bell. Into the silence Aaron gave a choked sob, helpless against an overwhelming rush of relief and joy, and Lewis wrapped his arms around him, drawing him into a fierce embrace.
“I do, I do,” he crooned in Aaron’s ear. “God, I do. I love you. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”