R A N D O M || OS

50. (Actor) Barry Keoghan - in agreement

https://greenorangevioletgrass.tumblr.com/

pairing: barry keoghan x actress!reader

summary: you and barry go through a series of interviews to promote your latest movie. little did they know, there's more to the story than what meets the eye...

word count: 5,323

warnings: language, drinking, mention of death, allusions to anxiety, so much banter omg, so much fluff, a tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, smut [dirty talk, fingering (f), unprotected sex, creampie, some good ol' vanilla shit 👌]

-----

"Guys, congratulations on Til Kingdom Come. I got to see it at an early screening, it was amazing."

Sat in a Manhattan hotel-suite-turned-press-room, you and Barry smile warmly at the interviewer in front of you, graciously saying your thanks.

"So, let's talk about the movie and what it's about," the interviewer beams.

"Yeah! So Ben and Anna..." you motion at yourself and the man next to you, "two childhood friends who grew up in a small village. They both felt stuck and as kids, they made a promise to go away together. Marry each other if they're still single by the time they're 25..."

The two of you chuckle wryly, like it's your own childish vow you made.

"Didn't happen obviously. Things happened and they drifted apart," Barry chimes in. "So now here they are, 25 years old, getting reacquainted with each other and pondering about how little they knew then."

"And how little they know now."

You knock at the door. No answer, though you're almost completely sure he's in there. You consider leaving him alone, give him some space —God knows he needs it.

But you hear a soft thud and a quiet 'fuck!' on the other side, so you turn the doorknob and peek into his room. "Ben?"

He's sitting on the floor against the bed, and you can see the top of his head turning at the sound of your voice.

"Hey. Wanna join me?" he calls over his shoulder, raising a beer bottle in his hand.

You sit next to him, legs stretched out like his, accepting the bottle he offers without a word. You don't drink it. You just... look at your best friend for a while. His head leaning back against the mattress. Staring out the window absently. One hand balled up into a fist; the other peeling the wet label of the beer bottle.

It's a jarring mirror image of your old life. You've lost count how many times the two of you have sat in this position your whole life. Over heartbreak. Love. Hope. Uncertainties. The future.

But it's been a long time since then. This spot, this room, this friendship has turned cold and unfamiliar. And so has Ben. And you're hoping for him to say something– anything because nothing that comes into your mind sounds remotely right.

"You look great," he pipes up quietly, head lolling to the side. "How's New York?"

"Busy." you nod a little, and it feels so stilted. "How's home?"

"Quiet," he retorts without missing a beat. There's a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Well..." you turn to face him, studying his disheveled hair and tired eyes and wrinkled black suit, "You look like shit."

He chuckles, low and deep in his chest, and you almost sigh in relief. There's the cheeky boy you knew and loved growing up. Maybe this thing isn't entirely lost after all.