But fame of that nature, for a performer who had been plugging
away at the margins for years, felt disorienting, and a little ephemeral.
“Guys, is this crazy?” he
asked his agents about the possibility of moving on. “What if nobody wants me,
and I don’t make any money anymore?”
“It all seems fleeting,” he said, somewhat
sheepishly but with extreme geniality, of his current renown. “It feels that
the reason people want me is not built on anything.”
In the audience were a few dozen theater
students and working actors, all of whom had applied to the program to better
learn the skills that Mr. Diggs has been cultivating his whole life. After a
break, they reconvened to spiritedly go over projects they’d been working on.
Mr. Diggs moved across the room, giving notes, offering support, watching the
walls he’d been kicking down for years crumble in a hundred different
Prompt, Emma and Killian take Dave's truck to NY to pick up a few things from Emma's apt before she gives it up for good. Angst, fluff, smut, authors choice.
Author’s Note: Sorry this took forever to fill this prompt! Loved the idea for it though so I just wrote it in one fell swoop (plus, I’ve had to drive my dad’s work truck around these past couple of weeks!)
The hum of the engine beats a steady rhythm into Emma’s brain as she clutches at the steering wheel of her father’s truck. She’s unused to driving something so much larger than the yellow bug and she feels as though she’s captaining a ship. Occasionally, she allows herself a peek at Killian beside her; he seems preoccupied with the passing scenery but she can sense his tension. Emma knows he has every right to be worried, but traveling back to Manhattan to collect a few things from her apartment was a necessity - no matter how excited Henry might be about swordfights again, he still loved his Playstation - and she was secretly excited to show Killian her favorite parts of New York.
“Killian?” She breaks the silence in the truck with his name; the rarity in which they say each other’s first names gives saying it even more of a thrill, as though it was a game only they knew how to play.
He turns from the window, the azure of his eyes piercing her heart - the intensity with which he looks at her can still stop her breath. “Aye, love?”
Emma still isn’t much use when it comes to wording her feelings. That’s Killian’s forte, not hers. She’s better at expressing how she feels through action. She knows she needs to get the words out, if only to qualm his fears but they die in her throat.
“Only an hour more to go, I think.” She smiles and hopes he understands, because that’s what he does best. But this time it seems that his fear of her running back to New York again have clouded his judgement, for he simply nods in acknowledgement and turns back to the scenery.
Maybe one day, she thinks, I’ll know how to say the right thing.