Date: Sun, 15 Jul 2018 12:23:14 -0700
From: christopher <breakingthroughstory@gmail.com>
Subject: Breaking Through 29

A very big thank you to all of the readers who have taken the time to send
kind messages for the story. I very much appreciate it. Please send any
feedback, complaints, and correspondence to breakingthroughstory@gmail.com.

The usual disclaimers apply. This is fiction.

Please donate to Nifty. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html.

There may be a delay before the next chapter. Apologies in advance!

Chapter 29

It always ended up like this: Chris and Sebastian stayed on the edge of the
party while Armie mingled, his mega-watt smile practically lighting up the
entire room. It was a comfortable routine and Chris was grateful that
Sebastian either didn't like small talk or didn't mind being a
babysitter. But it made sense for Armie to be the center of attention this
time. He'd just wrapped his latest project, which marked directorial debut
for a major feature film -- at least that's how the marketing team was
billing it. The HBO project, which definitely opened doors for this one,
was a tiny project compared to this month-long endeavor. Armie may have had
plenty of experience in front of the camera, but he was out to prove that
he could be a force behind it, too.

Even though he was halfway across the room, Chris could tell just how happy
Armie was. The smile was genuine, the energy was exceedingly positive, and
everyone was showering him with nothing but love. As far as parties went,
this was informal and intimate. There was a lot more work to be done, but
for the actors and crew, it was time to celebrate. Armie and the army of
people that worked post-production would handle the rest of it.

"Are you still avoiding her?" Sebastian asked.

"She showed up to a family counseling session," Chris said. "It's a work in
progress."

"It's nice to know your life isn't all perfect. Gives some hope to the rest
of us." Chris shot him a look and Sebastian held his hands up in mock
surrender. "Bad joke. Got it."

"It could be worse. She could turn into a dragon. She could lock me in an
attic."

"You've already got the prince, Cinderella."

"She can't take him away," Chris said, catching Armie's gaze. He got a sly
wink in return and Chris would be embarrassed at the way it made his heart
flutter if he didn't like it so much.

Sebastian took a slow sip of his drink and Chris stood up straight,
smoothing his jacket over his chest. He wasn't sure if this was going to be
an all-night situation or if things would wind down soon. Either way, he
could catch a ride home with Sebastian if Armie wanted to bask in the glow
a little longer.

As Chris worked his way through the crowd, Aaron Taylor Johnson, who
co-starred in the movie, bumped into him, sending a tiny deluge of
Champagne onto his shoes.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Chris said. "Congratulations. Everything looks
great."

Aaron smiled, "Good material."

"I'll pass that along," Chris said. "I'm sure she'll appreciate it." Armie
had called on the same writer that wrote the short story for his HBO
project. She had a lot to choose from, but Chris and Armie made easy work
out of it. Most of the stories weren't developed enough to be more than a
quick read. But her only other long read, which focused on a family dealing
with their mom's dementia, seemed primed for a bigger audience.

It was the sort of quiet, powerful movie that tackled a topic that everyone
had seen in real life. Armie's idea was to keep it so that the whole movie
was shot inside the family home, containing the entire plot to a set space
and letting the actors play off the idea of being trapped or confined. It
was hard to sell, but Armie was stuck on it. After a passionate pitch, he
got some investors interested. The promise of showing at a film festival
sealed the deal, because Armie basically swore he'd be able to find a
distributor as long as he could get everything made. Charm and charisma
went a long way in the movie business and Armie had plenty of both.

"I'm sure I'll see you around. Toronto? Palm Springs?" Chris added.

"All of the above," Aaron said. "It was good to get to know you this whole
time. Thanks for all the books."

"Don't worry about it," Chris said. "We've got a lot of them."

"Sorry again about your shoe," Aaron said, offering a weak smile. "It's
just so crowded."

Chris brushed it off and made his way to his husband, who was holding a
clapperboard and posing for selfies with various members of the cast and
crew. "That's a wrap," Armie said, exaggerating for effect and giving Chris
a big, toothy grin. "I think it's time this party wraps up."

"It's still an hour until last call," Chris said. "You sure you don't want
to stay?"

"I want to soak it all in, but I want to do it with you," Armie said before
leaning over and kissing Chris, pressing their foreheads together as their
lips came apart. "Let's get out of here."

Armie said a few goodbyes, the crew insisted that he keep the clapperboard
as a souvenir, and Chris wrangled Sebastian from the crowd and into the
car. By now, the freeways were traffic-free and as they drove south, Chris
saw the Hollywood sign lit up in the rear-view mirror.

"Thanks for driving," Sebastian said from the back seat, his eyes already
heavy with sleep.

"Do you want to spend the night at our place?" Armie asked, reaching for
Chris' hand over the center console.

"I live two blocks from you," Sebastian said. "I can walk if you don't want
to drop me off."

"I can drop you off," Chris said.

The drive was quicker than any of them expected. True to form, Chris walked
Sebastian to his front door after he offered Armie one last round of
congratulations. The two friends shared a hug before saying their goodbyes
for the night and it took just a few more minutes for Chris and Armie to
pull into their own driveway.

"Come here," Armie said, offering his hand. Chris took it and followed
Armie around the house, going out towards the canals. Armie kissed him as
soon as they got onto the main path, everything illuminated by
moonlight. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Chris squeezed Armie's shoulders and felt himself being pushed against the
rail, the cool metal sending a chill up his back, even through the material
of his button-up. He left a few soft kisses on Armie's throat and nuzzled
his neck.

"You're amazing," Chris said, his voice quiet. It was well past midnight by
now, but the world around them seemed so alive. The crickets were chirping,
their sharp melody joining the sound of the water gently splashing against
the concrete sides of the canal. Chris could hear his own heartbeat in his
ears as Armie held them together even closer, every groove and curve
fitting so that there was maximum contact. He shivered when he felt Armie's
fingertips slotting into the sliver of skin exposed at his lower back as
his shirt rode up. Their lips came together, tongues running against each
other, Armie leaning down ever so slightly and Chris up on his tiptoes to
get the angle just right. It was unhurried, but there was always an
underlying sense of urgency, because even after all this time, it was hard
for Chris to control himself when Armie was this close.

"When we met, I didn't know you'd bring this out. Being with you makes me
want to be better," Armie said, his eyes half-closed, his lips brushing
against Chris' as he spoke. Armie's hand inched down this time, dipping
into Chris' jeans and eliciting a soft whimper from the depths of Chris'
throat. "Did you do what I asked?"

Chris nodded, his breath getting quicker and his legs quivering the tiniest
bit. The corners of Armie's mouth curled up and he pulled away just long
enough to unbutton his own shirt, sliding it down his arms and letting it
fall to the ground. Chris was panting, fumbling with his belt as the chorus
of crickets and ocean waves seemed to amplify around him. His sweater
joined Armie's shirt and he felt Armie's hands at his waist, turning him
around. Chris' hands gripped the railing, his knuckles white as Armie
pushed his jeans down. Armie hand slid down the middle of Chris' back and
his fingers met the silicone plug, a low groan escaping Chris' mouth. It
wasn't huge, it was actually on the small size, just enough to keep him
open and ready, not to stimulate him too much, especially at something like
a premiere.

"Fuck, baby," Armie whispered. The words shot right up Chris' spine. It was
so rare for Armie to call him that, it hit some part of his brain and he
felt it from his toes to his ears. He arched his back and bit his lower
lip. Armie was pushing on the plug gently, turning it, slowly working it in
and out. It was sending Chris into sensory overload and he couldn't keep
his groans and grunts in his throat. They fell out and, by now, Chris
didn't care that they were outside. Armie's lips were on his neck and one
hand was coming around to stroke his dick, to feel his abs, running over
his chest to get any contact. Chris whimpered when Armie carefully pulled
the plug out. The empty, open feeling was fleeting, because Armie pushed
right in, sheathing his whole length after one push, sliding through Chris'
slick hole right to the hilt.

"Armie," Chris groaned, his head dropping forward and his back arching. He
could feel Armie against his back, his hand all over him, his cock pushed
in deep and already sliding in and out at a frantic pace. Chris pushed
back, his groans low and deep in his throat. The stretch was still there,
the deep burn that always came with Armie fucking him, but the entry was
easier thanks to the plug. He kept his hole as tight as he could, clamping
down hard, pulling groans from Armie as he moved.

Armie's hand came up Chris' chest to grip at his throat, squeezing as he
kissed and bit at Chris' shoulder. He slammed his hips forward, skin
smacking skin loud, the sound of sex filling the night air. Armie kicked
Chris' feet further apart, giving him more room to push forward. Chris felt
slick and warm around him and even though Armie's head was spinning at the
combination of the cool air and their warm bodies, he knew that it was
probably best to make this quick. Anyone could walk by. Armie kept fucking,
grinding his cock in deep with every thrust and pulling out almost
entirely, feeling Chris' ring grip right below the head of his cock. He bit
down on Chris' shoulder and reached around to stroke him, getting a slew of
profanities from Chris' lips.

"Armie, Armie," he groaned, his voice straining and his body tensing every
time Armie's cock raked over his prostate. He'd been on edge for hours, the
plug making itself known every time he sat down, every time he moved,
almost, and when Armie replaced it with the warm stretch of his cock, Chris
knew he wouldn't last. Armie's hand gave him a few more steady strokes and
he came undone, shooting as he doubled over the rail, pushing his ass back
and grateful that he had something to steady himself against as his body
shook and his eyes saw nothing but white.

Chris felt Armie shudder behind him, felt his sweaty chest fall against his
back. A hard thrust later, Armie was cumming, his load shooting deep in
Chris' ass and his forehead pressed against the back of Chris' head. "God,
Chris," he said, voice breathy.

'We need to get inside,' Chris thought, the rational part of his brain
coming to the forefront. But every other part of his brain was still in a
haze. He felt Armie behind him, his breathing slowing down again and his
face nuzzling against Chris' neck and shoulders. One last kiss, one more
lingering touch down his chest and Armie pulled away, grabbing Chris' hand
with one of his own and reaching down to pick up their discarded clothes
with the other. His brain may have been in a haze, too, but it was
functioning enough to get them both into the house.

Chris' eyes were blank and unfocused, his hands folded in his lap as he
listened to the scratching of Dr. Dao's pen on her notepad. Dru had left
and Armie followed her out the door, telling Chris that he'd be right back
and giving him a soft, tender kiss on the cheek. Chris always felt this way
after seeing his mother-in-law, the same frightening numbness that made his
whole body stiff. Family counseling was supposed to help Chris' anxiety,
but he swore it only made things worse. He did have to admit that Dru was
doing her best and even though some of the things she said during their
sessions made Chris cringe, he was grateful to have a place where he could
listen to her talk about him and Armie without having her society-woman
veneer on.

"Tell me what you're feeling right now," Dr. Dao said, noticing Chris'
rigid posture.

"Sometimes, I forget what it was like to have a mom," Chris said. "But I
know this isn't what you're supposed to feel. But what's the point of even
trying?"

"That's something you have to consider," she said. "If it's not important
to you, these appointments shouldn't continue. But it goes both ways. If
she's not taking what you say into consideration, there's not going to be
progress."

Armie slipped back into the room, sitting back down exactly where he was,
crossing his legs the same way, and pulling Chris' hand into his own, just
like it had been before. "Anything else?" he said.

"Just one thing," Dr. Dao said. "I need you both to know that this whole
journey doesn't necessarily end in a happy ending. If that happens, it
doesn't mean that either one of you has failed. Remember that."

Chris was quiet, which was nothing new. After just about every appointment,
he had a homework assignment, which involved journaling. His usual routine
involved driving to his regular coffee shop to work on it. Sometimes, Armie
sat with him. Other times, he'd ask to be alone. This time, Armie had
emails to get to and a script to read, so Chris was happy to have him. Two
cappuccinos, one half-eaten chocolate croissant, and Chris' phone sat on
the table while he wrote, his brain dump filling page after page, his
handwriting perfect and precise even though he seemed to be writing at
light speed.

"She invited us to dinner," Armie said, his eyes flicking up to catch
Chris' reaction.

"I'll have to get my loafers polished," Chris deadpanned, his pen only
slowing down for a second.

"I can try to get us out of it."

"You don't have to," Chris said. "It's fine." He flipped the page and wrote
a few more lines before sitting up and finishing the rest of his coffee.

"Done?"

Chris nodded. "For now. I'm in a work in progress. Mental health is a
process. That's what Dr. Dao says."

"So is blending a family," Armie said. "We'll work on that tonight."

"Are you going to finish that croissant?"

"It's all yours."

Armie wrapped his arm around Chris' shoulders and kissed his ear. "It'll be
fine. If anything gets to be too much, tell me. We'll leave."

One stop at the grocery store and they were home. As Armie stocked the
fridge, Chris sat out on the patio, his knees drawn to his chest as he went
over everything he'd written down earlier. The exercise was to clear his
mind of the static that clouded the more important thoughts in his
head. Armie watched from inside the house, the hazy sunshine spilling all
over Chris as he flipped through the pages, his highlighter flying over the
paper, touching down every so often. Armie never looked at the journals,
not that Chris kept them a secret. He didn't want to interfere. If and when
Chris talked about it, he'd be around to listen.

"There was a person in Pennsylvania," Chris said, turning to look at
Armie. "I met him during the show. He was completely illiterate. He
couldn't read a single word, but he had the entire Bible memorized. He had
every word of it committed to memory. When I talked to him, he said that
even though he couldn't read it, he carried the Bible with him everywhere
because it was the word of God."

Armie came out and sat down next to Chris, who had shut his journal and set
it down. "He was so thankful when he was learning to read because he said
it was like coming into God's light. He had heard about so many things and
he was so excited to read about them himself. If I had never gone to that
lunch with your mom and heard her say those things, I would be in the
dark. The guy had to learn how to read. Your mom needs to learn that she
can't see me as a...I don't know...a speed bump? An inconvenience?"

"We rushed into everything," Armie said. "I thought she'd rush along with
us. Honestly, I thought she'd be better about it. She's good at putting on
a fake smile."

"Where's my Xanax?"

"You don't have any."

Chris sighed. "I'm going to change." He pulled Armie along with him as he
headed upstairs.

"You look fine," Armie said. He settled down at the foot of the bed,
leaning back on his hands as Chris went into the walk-in. "I really
appreciate this," he added. "I know you're trying. And I know you're not
just doing it because Dr. Dao told you to. She didn't. This is all you."

"We all seek approval," Armie heard from the closet, along with rustling
and the familiar sound of Chris rifling through the clear plastic boxes he
kept his shoes in. "Remember that book 'Are You My Mother?'"

"Are you serious?" Armie asked, his eyebrow raised as Chris stepped out of
the closet. He was wearing dark blue jeans that hugged him just right, a
plain white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. "You're going to 'Rebel
Without a Cause' my mom?"

"It's more 'Grease.' The jacket's not red."

"Sorry. I was looking at...other things. 'Grease.' Yeah."

"Everyone has their own armor," Chris said, kneeling on the bed between
Armie's spread legs. He leaned in for a kiss, feeling Armie's hands slide
up under his jacket, rubbing his back through the thin material of the
T-shirt.

"You were wearing this jacket the first time I met you," Armie said.

"I was?" Chris said, pulling back. He didn't get very far. Armie's hand so
his back kept him in place.

Armie nodded. "At the Chateau. That audition. I was feeling like shit. I
saw you in this jacket and you intimidated the shit out of me."

"Me?" Chris chuckled, pressing his forehead back to Armie's. "I'm not
intimidating. I don't know if I could even try to be intimidating."

"You've never been on the other side of an audition."

"What time are we meeting your mom?"

"We've got time," Armie said, kissing Chris' again.

Dinner was fine. So was the second time Dru invited them over. Then, she
suggested that it should happen every Sunday night. That was too much,
Armie insisted. So, they compromised. Every other Sunday, Chris and Armie
would come over for dinner, bring dessert with them, and everyone would
earn a gold star from Dr. Dao. It worked. By the fourth time, Chris didn't
feel his pulse race or his body go rigid every time Dru spoke to him. It
was important to Armie that everyone get along and since Armie meant the
world to his mother, she was doing her best, not just going through the
motions. It wasn't quite enjoyable yet, but Chris could see it getting to
be less of a chore. If anything, it kept him abreast of exactly what was
going on with the money that he and Armie had earned for the foundation. As
long as the book donations and literacy initiatives that he'd worked so
hard to establish kept moving along, the foundation could keep using him to
promote itself.

"Book tours don't really happen anymore," Chris said, sitting back in his
chair. He'd just polished off a slice of chocolate cake and wondered if it
was too early to get a second. "People buy books online. I only really
promote my books on the radio or on TV. The UCLA panels are pretty rare."

"That's a shame," Dru said.

"Times change. We've all got to adapt."

"He's already number one in Amazon pre-orders for his new book," Armie
added.

"That's very exciting," Dru said. Chris read her carefully, trying to see
if that comment was sincere or not. He stopped himself, however. That was
the wrong way to approach a compliment.

"There's a lot to be excited about," Armie said. "The movie's almost done
and we're going to shop it around at the festivals. Then, I think we're
going to head to the island for a little bit and, hopefully, recharge and
just chill out. We're both sort-of feeling burnt out and Chris already has
an idea for his next book so I'm trying to keep him from falling into that
hole for as long as I can."

"I'm going to get some water, can I get anyone anything from the kitchen?"
Chris asked, standing up.

"I'm fine, dear," Dru said, smiling.

"I'll take some water, too," Armie said, handing Chris his glass.

"I can't tell you how happy these dinners make me," Dru said, putting her
dessert fork down daintily.

"They're nice," Armie said.

In the kitchen, Chris opened the fridge, looking for the Pellegrino that he
knew Dru kept on the bottom shelf. He pulled a bottle out, cracking it open
and topping off Armie's water glass and filling his own. His phone buzzed
from his pocket and he set down the bottle, making sure not put it down too
hard to avoid a bang on the marble counter. It was an email from David.

"Armie," Chris said, his voice shaking. "We need to go."

"What happened? Is everything okay?" Armie had practically sprinted into
the kitchen to see Chris gripping the edge of the counter.

"I'm fine," Chris said, wiping errant ears from his eyes. "David just told
me that my professor died. Sam. I don't think you ever met him. We have to
go to Palo Alto. The funeral is on Monday."

"Yeah. Anything," Armie said, breathing a sigh of relief and pulling Chris
into a tight hug. Armie had never met the professor, had never even heard
Chris mention him, but he did know that Chris kept in contact with a lot of
his teachers -- his mentors, really -- via email. He'd get coffee with them
if they were in town, but he never really made an effort to see them on his
own accord. He regretted that right now.

"He was old. He was old when I was in school, so...I guess it was time,"
Chris said, steadying himself. "I don't think he ever even retired. He
taught until...today, I guess."

"Hey," Armie said. "We'll go. Whatever you need."

"I'll clean up," Dru said from the doorway. "You boys do what you need to."

"Sorry," Chris said. "I didn't mean to cut this dinner short."

"It's fine, we were winding down," Dru said. "I'll take care of
everything."

"Thank you," Chris said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even looked at my
phone. This professor was the one that helped me with my first book, we
workshopped it together. He was more than just a mentor. He encouraged me."

"That's very special. Please, go. Make your arrangements. I'll see you two
when you get back."

"Thanks, mom," Armie said, leaning in to give her a kiss on each
cheek. "We'll see you soon."

The flight up to San Jose was uneventful. Armie held Chris' hand as he
stared out the window, both of them uncharacteristically quiet during the
hour-long flight. Armie listened as Chris explained his professor's passion
for experimentation and expression. The most important thing, Chris said,
was that Sam told all of his students to stick to their guns. Chris was
still working on that, but he remembered how that notion stuck with him
while he was trying to get a publisher. Sam had believed in him so much
that he'd personally sent notes to few to get Chris' book to the right
eyes. None of his connections panned out, but Chris still appreciated it.

"Are your old classmates going to be there?" Armie asked as they arrived at
their hotel room.

"I'm not sure. We don't really talk," Chris said. "Or, they don't talk to
me. I didn't do much to keep in touch. Still don't."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"They're all published," Chris said. "I googled them earlier. Lots of
books."

"Will they all think I'm stupid?"

"Are you serious?"

"Just a thought."

Chris pushed his suitcase into the closet after hanging up his and Armie's
black suits. He sat down on the bed and looked over at Armie, who was
gazing out of the window. "It's weird that the Four Seasons has a view of
an Ikea."

"This hotel looks like an office building," Chris said. "But there's a
rooftop pool."

"Maybe later," Armie said. "I don't think I..."

"I packed your trunks."

Armie sat down next to Chris, who immediately rested his head on Armie's
shoulder. "You okay?"

"It's tough. Even though we didn't talk a lot, when we did, it always meant
a lot to me."

"You want to get something to eat?"

"Yeah, let me show you how everything I remember is gone."

Chris drove, which was unusual. Armie generally liked driving and Chris
made no qualms about how much he hated it. But given the circumstances, he
wanted to be behind the wheel, even though the very short drive from East
Palo Alto to University Drive was just a few minutes long. Armie had never
been to this part of California before and he noted that it seemed to be a
world away from San Francisco, which he was familiar with. And even though
Chris explained it was a college town, it was decidedly different from
Santa Barbara, another area that revolved around a school. Here, things
seemed way more established, like the buildings had been around forever,
even though Armie could see that most of the old buildings along the main
drag had been converted into trendy restaurants and recognizable stores. He
was surprised that the campus was adjacent to a shopping mall, that the 101
freeway bisected the city, and that most of the students walking around
were decked out in designer clothes.

"It's really different," Chris said as they settled into a booth at a
Middle Eastern restaurant. He'd gone there during his years at school,
though he insisted to Armie that the prices had gone up and the whole place
got a remodel.

"Did you like school?" Armie asked.

"I loved it, for the most part. I remember the good parts, mostly. I'm sure
I was stressed out and worried about being a struggling writer the whole
time, but I remember liking it."

"Do you care that I'm a dropout?"

"Why is this coming up now? I don't care."

"This is the first time we've been around your crowd, Chris," Armie
said. "I'm nervous."

"You're nervous? You realize that literally everyone falls in love with
you? You're one of the most handsome people walking the Earth. I've seen
people hang on your every word."

Armie blushed, shaking his head, "That's all part of the business. This is
real life."

Chris reached for Armie's hand and kissed his knuckles. "You're crazy. I
love you so much. Trust me, you don't have anything to worry about. Plus,
I'm you've talked to some of these people before."

Armie didn't say anything. "Let's not make this about you, okay? A man
died."

"I'm sorry," Armie said, letting out a nervous chuckle. "I don't know
what's going on. I'm really sorry."

Chris talked and Armie listened. College was a long time ago, but being in
Palo Alto brought all the memories back. All the struggles in math classes,
a few questionable class choices here and there, and then graduation, which
was happy for everyone except him. Sure, he was glad to be done with
school, but he also wished he was one of the kids with their parents -- or
in his case, grandparents -- in the stands. He was alone. In Stanford
Stadium, which held 50,000 people, he never felt more alone. Sam and his
wife invited him to dinner, though. It was something he never forgot.

"You're like, oh, I'm used to it. I'm a lone wolf," Chris said. "But then
everyone's with their families and taking pictures and I'm by myself. I
didn't have even one person I could have invited."

"That's heartbreaking," Armie said, rubbing Chris' leg. "I know you went
through that. But hearing you talk about it is different."

"I don't talk about it," Chris said, reaching for his water glass. "I wrote
about it. I got that out of my system."

"That's not what you have to do."

"But it's what I did."

"Are you going to keep talking about it?"

"Maybe," Chris says. "But don't count on it."

The pool is quiet and the water is almost still. Against the dark, inky
sky, the bright blue light shining from the water is electric, almost too
vivid to be real. Chris ignored it entirely, heading into the hot tub,
instead. Armie was just a few paces behind, his steps almost silent. Chris
let out a long sigh as the warmth enveloped him, the hot water loosening
his tense muscles. It felt like he'd been a knot of emotion since he got
the phone call and the combination of warm water and strong jets seemed to
be exactly what he needed. Before he knew it, he was sitting in Armie's
lap, their foreheads pressed together and the smell of chlorine filling the
air around the both of them.

"Thanks for remembering my trunks," Armie said, smiling, happy to have
something to get their minds off of the somber occasion at hand.

"I know what I'm doing sometimes," Chris said, feeling Armie's shoulders,
sliding his hands down to grip Armie's biceps.

Armie kissed Chris softly, smiling when they pulled apart, his hands coming
to rest on Chris' lower back. He could do this forever, he thought. As long
as they were this close, Armie couldn't think of anything better. And just
as the thought entered his mind, Chris reached up over his shoulder and hit
a button somewhere, filling the tub with bubbles. Armie's smile
grew. Things could get just a little better.

"I wish that we could have been here under different circumstances," Chris
said. "I actually really liked college. There's a lot of stuff on campus
I'd want you to see. The Rodin sculpture garden. The Lane Reading Room. It
has these huge windows. I spent a lot of time there."

"We've got time for that. It's an hour flight," Armie said, his lips
brushing against Chris' neck, his ear, his jaw. "We'll come back."

Chris heard a sound coming from the other end of the pool and he pushed
himself off of Armie with lightning-quick reflexes. The sound of a family
boomed through the still night air and Chris ran his fingers through his
hair, pushing it off his forehead as he looked around for a clock. It
wasn't as late as the night let on. Armie gave a friendly wave to the
couple as they tossed a pile of towels and goggles onto one of the lounge
chairs that lined the perimeter of the pool, the two kids splashing into
the water in a raucous fit of giggles.

"Good evening," Armie said. Chris could see right through the smile. All he
wanted was a good old-fashioned make-out session. It was selfish, since the
family was just taking advantage of the hotel's amenities, but Chris
couldn't help but feel a little cheated. The moment was gone.0

"I'm going back up to the room," Chris said, standing up.

"No, stay," Armie said, pulling him back down. "Relax. We both need it."

Chris let the warm water envelop him again as he rested his head on Armie's
shoulder. He turned his eyes up, looking past Armie's blue eyes to focus on
the deep purple of the sky overhead. It was too bright for any real
stargazing, but as he held Armie's hand under the water, things felt
perfectly aligned.

The next day, Armie accompanied Chris to a lunch with Sam's wife,
Deanna. It wasn't as somber as an actual funeral, but Armie wouldn't say
that anyone was in good spirits. The small group of people that Chris
introduced him to included other professors and a few classmates. Armie
stayed on the periphery, but Chris seemed a little uneasy, too. The whole
time, he didn't stay more than a few steps away from Armie. Nobody else
would have noticed, but Armie could feel the nervous energy coming off of
him, could see the way Chris' eyes stayed ultra-alert, making sure that he
was taking stock of everything happening around him.

"We all knew Chris would be a big deal." It was another writer from Chris'
graduating class. "But I don't think anyone could have guessed he'd be so
successful."

"I don't think he expected it," Armie said. Chris was either in the
bathroom or getting water, Armie forgot which. Maybe both? Wherever he
went, he left Armie alone, leaning against a doorjamb and watching as
everyone got reacquainted with each other, catching up in a way only old
friends could.

"We were the group class that Sam had," he added. "It was like a family."

That perked up Armie's ears. "He doesn't talk about his time at Stanford
very much. Was it bad?"

"He went through some things. I don't know what it's like now, but he'd get
sort of lost in his work and just shut everything out."

"Some things don't change," Armie said. Chris came back, a full glass of
water in each hand.

"Charlie was always Sam's favorite," Chris said, handing Armie his water.

"A lot of good that did me," he said. "I don't know how you put out so many
books. I ran out of ideas after my second."

"Charlie was the first one of us to get an actual contract," Chris said,
his hand reaching for Armie's. "We were all jealous. But that was a long
time ago. We've all grown up. We were all supposed to be the next big thing
and now...we're, I don't know, old news?"

"Jealousy is an ugly trait," Charlie said. "We all ended up putting out
books and that's an achievement. Without each other, we wouldn't have done
it, that's for sure. Without Sam pushing us, without you freaking us all
out."

"Why did I freak you out? I was always scared you'd all rip my pieces
apart. And you did. Nobody here held anything back. We all made each other
upset all the time."

"Still fresh wounds after all these years? You've got so many awards I
don't know where to even start sarcastically talking about them," Charlie
said. "You're doing fine. Better than fine."

Armie's hand moved to Chris' back. "Sam never believed in that whole
'there's no such thing as bad publicity' thing. He didn't like that I was
kept showing up in 'People' and 'Us Weekly.' But he also told me that
making books into movies was something writers only dream of. I'll never
forget how proud he seemed when I told him about it the first time."

"I'm Charlie Williams," Charlie said, offering his hand to Armie. "I didn't
get an introduction, but that's understandable under these circumstances."

"Armie Hammer. Chris' husband."

"I knew that part," Charlie said.

"Armie thought we'd all be standing around talking about Chekov's pistol or
something," Chris said. "Thanks for showing him that we're all just normal
people."

"Like you ever believed in that," Charlie added. "I thought we'd all be
fawning over your big movie-star husband, but nobody seems to be in the
mood for that."

"It gets old fast," Chris said.

"Maybe for you," Armie said, smiling. "I don't mind."

"Madison has been staring at him the entire time," Charlie said. "Not even
trying to be subtle. She always was jealous of you. You just keep giving
her ammunition."

"Enough with the gun references," Chris said. "Did you see how much
downtown changed? Everything's gone. It's all Cheesecake Factory and
Lululemon now."

"I saw it happen. I come back all the time."

"And you didn't do anything to stop it?" Armie asked.

"We're all going to walk over to campus," Madison said from the other
room. "They're putting a plaque on the bench outside the Humanities
building."

"There will probably be more people there," Chris said to Armie. "You okay
with that?"

"Lead the way," Armie said. "I'm here for you."

Armie thought they were all friends, but seeing them talk to each other
and, in some cases, avoid each other, made it clear that they were
friendly. It had been a long time since college and Armie could feel the
underlying tension that existed between a few of Chris' colleagues. There
was some jealousy, that was clear, but it was mixed with a touch of
admiration, too. Chris didn't seem fazed by that part of the
situation. Instead, Armie sensed that he was more concerned with the actual
task at hand: his mentor had passed away. He seemed nonplussed by the
activity happening around him, which didn't surprise Armie at all.

The walk to campus was quiet, but Armie introduced himself to a few more of
Chris' classmates. The graduating class was small, just a dozen students in
the creative writing department, so it wasn't overwhelming just yet. Some
had gone into academia. Some were still writing fiction. Armie heard a few
say under their breath that Chris had sold out after he'd adapted his book
for Hollywood. It was nothing new. He'd heard Chris talk about it
before. But hearing it firsthand filled him with a rage he'd never felt
before. It took everything to keep his opinions inside, but he knew what
Chris thought already. It wasn't worth making a scene. Peoples' opinions
were already made. It wasn't Armie's job to change their minds when it came
to Chris and his work.

The bench's dedication was a more crowded affair. There were other faculty
members, way more students, and even some press. Chris and Armie assumed
that the younger ones were from the school newspaper, but they were
standing beside a few people who looked like real journalists. Chris pulled
back at Armie's hand, letting everyone else walk a few paces ahead. He
could wait. Everyone else could pay their respects first.

"We used to meet up at this bench to swap our work," Chris explained. "We'd
all critique each other's writing. We always met up here once a week to
pass out our printouts. It feels like 100 years ago."

Armie didn't say anything. He was reveling in the opportunity to get this
intimate glimpse into Chris' past. He'd been more open and forthcoming
during this trip than ever before. Walking the same streets as a younger
version of the man he loved, seeing where he basically came of age, where
he honed his craft, where he undoubtedly laughed and cried, it was all
hitting Armie deep in his heart. It was special, to say the very least. To
hear Chris talk about it was one thing, to see it for himself was something
else entirely.

"Can I ask you for a comment? I'm with the 'Chronicle.'" A reporter asked,
coming up to the two of them and knocking Armie back to reality.

"No, I'm sorry," Chris said, his conviction strong. "But maybe Charlie or
Madison can get you what you need. I don't think I could give you anything
worth publishing."

Armie felt Chris pull him towards the crowd, closer to the bench. Armie
watched as he closed his eyes, bowed his head the tiniest bit, and took a
slow, deliberate breath. Chris' arm wrapped around his waist and they moved
into a comfortable, well-practiced configuration, Chris' head on Armie's
shoulder, Armie's arm around him, every curve and contour slotting together
perfectly. Chris wiped a single tear from his eye and straightened
himself. The moment lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like an
eternity. It was hard to face the finality of everything, but this wasn't
the first time Chris had lost someone important. He could add another name
to the list.

"I'm with the 'Daily,'" a meek voice said as Chris and Armie walked
away. "Can I ask you a few questions? It's for the school newspaper."

"Yeah," Chris said. "Anything."

"Can you just talk about what Professor Wilkinson meant to you?" The
hesitation in his voice was clear. Chris glanced over to where the reporter
was interviewing Charlie and Madison, both of them probably offering up the
same anecdotes that he was recalling right now.

"Sam. We called him Sam, not Dr. Wilkinson or Professor Wilkinson. He let
us write and be as creative as possible, without ever saying we were going
too far. But he taught us to reign ourselves in without compromising what
we wanted to express, which always stayed with me," Chris said. "We were
collaborative with each other in the class and I think everyone could see
that we were lucky to be in such a special place at such a special time."

"Thank you," he said. "Armie, would you mind if I...get a photo?"

"Not a problem," Armie said, smiling. Chris snapped a photo of the two of
them with the same phone that the reported had just used to record his
quote. Before he could even check out his handiwork, Armie and Chris were
alone again, the reporter off to file his story as quickly as possible. The
"Stanford Daily" waited for nobody.

"Always make time for the future," Chris said. Armie could almost sense a
bit of reverence in his tone. "Sam taught us that."

Feedback: breakingthroughstory@gmail.com