The cool thing to do was to complain about the interviews and be glad when they were over, but while Colin rolled his eyes at the right times and let out a sigh of relief when it was over, he actually thought the nonstop interviews for two days were fun. Even if Bradley whined about missing the cricket match due to being in make-up for an hour each morning. Even if Colin couldn't eat the delicious smelling frittata at the hotel spread after that one incident with too much garlic and indigestion and the E! reporter that Bradley never let him forget.
No, the LA interviews were a manic, adrenalin-filled 48 hours, joking in their seats waiting for the proper lighting, mocking each other's responses after wrapping up a segment, and generally getting to unleash his authentic excitement about what they were doing, where it was going, and how much bloody fun it was to do it together. The only problem with it at all, really, was how there were a million people everywhere: make-up, film crews, agents, paparazzi. The odds of being alone with Bradley were slim to none.
What Colin really hated was the next 48 hours back in London. The burst of wanting to grab Bradley when England beat Germany at the Oval. Of knowing Bradley was electric over it at a pub somewhere, or perhaps at the match with his mates. The lonely feel to breakfast alone, no one flicking sprigs of parsley at him over tea, no one mocking him for preferring herbal. (Was it Colin's fault he had a weak stomach?)
He couldn't fight the grin over that one, over the countless times Bradley had teased him about the tea and his inferior constitution. That last morning at the Mondrian on Sunset, Bradley's lip was caught in his teeth as he tried not to crack up while telling the server Colin was too delicate for anything stronger than chamomile. Their eyes locked and Colin's chest grew warm over bloody tea for Christ's sake.
No, the interviews were all right. It was the let down afterward that Colin hated.
He rolled out of bed at noon and put on his pants before wandering down to the kitchen to see what acceptable breakfast food might be available. If he moved around slowly enough maybe he'd enjoy not having to rush from place to place.
He was just settling against the counter, staring blankly into the shelves when Lady Gaga's Let's Dance rang on his mobile for 5 seconds. A text, then.
He reached for the phone and opened.
From: BJames Time: 12:04 pm Middlsx Cntry Crckt Clb @ Lord's. You, me, bland British food, a couple of pints, and amateur cricket (no paprzi!) 3:00, y/y?
A shiver ran it's way across Colin's skin. He jumped up and down, only twice, and then raced back upstairs to shower. Perhaps being back in London would be okay, after all.
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2010-10-06 03:28 pm (UTC)The cool thing to do was to complain about the interviews and be glad when they were over, but while Colin rolled his eyes at the right times and let out a sigh of relief when it was over, he actually thought the nonstop interviews for two days were fun. Even if Bradley whined about missing the cricket match due to being in make-up for an hour each morning. Even if Colin couldn't eat the delicious smelling frittata at the hotel spread after that one incident with too much garlic and indigestion and the E! reporter that Bradley never let him forget.
No, the LA interviews were a manic, adrenalin-filled 48 hours, joking in their seats waiting for the proper lighting, mocking each other's responses after wrapping up a segment, and generally getting to unleash his authentic excitement about what they were doing, where it was going, and how much bloody fun it was to do it together. The only problem with it at all, really, was how there were a million people everywhere: make-up, film crews, agents, paparazzi. The odds of being alone with Bradley were slim to none.
What Colin really hated was the next 48 hours back in London. The burst of wanting to grab Bradley when England beat Germany at the Oval. Of knowing Bradley was electric over it at a pub somewhere, or perhaps at the match with his mates. The lonely feel to breakfast alone, no one flicking sprigs of parsley at him over tea, no one mocking him for preferring herbal. (Was it Colin's fault he had a weak stomach?)
He couldn't fight the grin over that one, over the countless times Bradley had teased him about the tea and his inferior constitution. That last morning at the Mondrian on Sunset, Bradley's lip was caught in his teeth as he tried not to crack up while telling the server Colin was too delicate for anything stronger than chamomile. Their eyes locked and Colin's chest grew warm over bloody tea for Christ's sake.
No, the interviews were all right. It was the let down afterward that Colin hated.
He rolled out of bed at noon and put on his pants before wandering down to the kitchen to see what acceptable breakfast food might be available. If he moved around slowly enough maybe he'd enjoy not having to rush from place to place.
He was just settling against the counter, staring blankly into the shelves when Lady Gaga's Let's Dance rang on his mobile for 5 seconds. A text, then.
He reached for the phone and opened.
From: BJames
Time: 12:04 pm
Middlsx Cntry Crckt Clb @ Lord's. You, me, bland British food, a couple of pints, and amateur cricket (no paprzi!) 3:00, y/y?
A shiver ran it's way across Colin's skin. He jumped up and down, only twice, and then raced back upstairs to shower. Perhaps being back in London would be okay, after all.