justprompts: Duplicity
You know actors. They're always acting.
Most people didn't have the faintest idea how true that was.
Lee had kind of known, when he first wanted to be one. A family friend was in the business, and she'd had a long talk with him, at his mother's request, when he made his wish known. He didn't understand half the things she told him, then, but he understood this. Or thought he did.
He fully knew, now. When an actor had an audience, he lived in a different world. Even when he didn't mean to pretend, he was still an entertainer. Even when he was doing exactly what he wanted, or when he was shocked and terrified dumb, or even when he was throwing up after a nightmare in the middle of the night. If there was an audience, he was an actor.
Most of the time, that wasn't simply okay with him. He embraced it; he enjoyed it and reveled in it. He knew what he was doing with it, too, and why, and he knew he wasn't purposefully harming anybody. He always gave for what he got; that came naturally to him.
It was when others, other actors, did things which were unwise or plain out bad that the usual low-key awareness flared. To the point where the disgust with them could and did turn into disgust with himself. Knowledge that he could charm people into believing he was one kind of a person until the wear and tear of everyday life rubbed the mask to the point where disappointment crept in on them and made them want to remove him from their lives. Or to the point where a consistency of his actions would repel them from him even as the appearance still attracted.
He wouldn't do it. He thought, at least, that he wasn't the kind of person that would crap that badly on a relationship.
But what if it was?
When that struck in the rare occasions when he was alone, he might curl up on himself and try to fight it away. Or reach for a drink. Or blaze out of his apartment and hop on his bike and ride until his legs were stiff. Or any combination of those, in a sequence. Yes, he knew some of that was dangerous.
Considering haunted houses and demons, it didn't even come close to the most dangerous fucking shit he'd done. Of his own choice, too.
More or less.
It was actually easier these days, though. There were people who had seen him not only at his shiniest and brightest and best; there were those who had seen him break down, seen him at his lowest, and still thought him worth sticking around with.
Amy's shamelessness made him banter back even more enthusiastically than before. Sharing an evening's conversation over beer, or an evening out hiking and/or enjoying, uh, New England leaves, laughing themselves senseless, meant a touch to an existence that had nothing to do with his everyday life, and that whatever he was didn't push that away was heartening.
And when Tony couldn't contain a flinch when Lee smiled at him just a little too bright, cameras-taking-pictures at him, he couldn't even tell him how much that reaction warmed his heart.
Because there were people who could see through it all. And let him know they knew, and stand by him anyway. Because they also knew he'd stand by them, too.
And one of them, special, magical, still cared for him, loved hi, despite the glittery act, despite seeing him with the last shreds of it ripped away and how tightly he clung to it the rest of the time.
It meant that he hadn't lost the person underneath to merely maintaining an act.
He flattered himself it made his act even better.
Most people didn't have the faintest idea how true that was.
Lee had kind of known, when he first wanted to be one. A family friend was in the business, and she'd had a long talk with him, at his mother's request, when he made his wish known. He didn't understand half the things she told him, then, but he understood this. Or thought he did.
He fully knew, now. When an actor had an audience, he lived in a different world. Even when he didn't mean to pretend, he was still an entertainer. Even when he was doing exactly what he wanted, or when he was shocked and terrified dumb, or even when he was throwing up after a nightmare in the middle of the night. If there was an audience, he was an actor.
Most of the time, that wasn't simply okay with him. He embraced it; he enjoyed it and reveled in it. He knew what he was doing with it, too, and why, and he knew he wasn't purposefully harming anybody. He always gave for what he got; that came naturally to him.
It was when others, other actors, did things which were unwise or plain out bad that the usual low-key awareness flared. To the point where the disgust with them could and did turn into disgust with himself. Knowledge that he could charm people into believing he was one kind of a person until the wear and tear of everyday life rubbed the mask to the point where disappointment crept in on them and made them want to remove him from their lives. Or to the point where a consistency of his actions would repel them from him even as the appearance still attracted.
He wouldn't do it. He thought, at least, that he wasn't the kind of person that would crap that badly on a relationship.
But what if it was?
When that struck in the rare occasions when he was alone, he might curl up on himself and try to fight it away. Or reach for a drink. Or blaze out of his apartment and hop on his bike and ride until his legs were stiff. Or any combination of those, in a sequence. Yes, he knew some of that was dangerous.
Considering haunted houses and demons, it didn't even come close to the most dangerous fucking shit he'd done. Of his own choice, too.
More or less.
It was actually easier these days, though. There were people who had seen him not only at his shiniest and brightest and best; there were those who had seen him break down, seen him at his lowest, and still thought him worth sticking around with.
Amy's shamelessness made him banter back even more enthusiastically than before. Sharing an evening's conversation over beer, or an evening out hiking and/or enjoying, uh, New England leaves, laughing themselves senseless, meant a touch to an existence that had nothing to do with his everyday life, and that whatever he was didn't push that away was heartening.
And when Tony couldn't contain a flinch when Lee smiled at him just a little too bright, cameras-taking-pictures at him, he couldn't even tell him how much that reaction warmed his heart.
Because there were people who could see through it all. And let him know they knew, and stand by him anyway. Because they also knew he'd stand by them, too.
And one of them, special, magical, still cared for him, loved hi, despite the glittery act, despite seeing him with the last shreds of it ripped away and how tightly he clung to it the rest of the time.
It meant that he hadn't lost the person underneath to merely maintaining an act.
He flattered himself it made his act even better.