Phantom (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mcr_) wrote, |
He ran a hand through his hair, the motion tense, frustrated, but not with her. “I’m not gonna lie to you. I love acting. I don’t want to give it up. It makes me feel alive in a way I didn’t even know I needed after the Navy.” He looked at her then really looked, like if he could hold her together with just his stare, he would. “But I don’t need Hollywood. I don’t need this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the palm trees and city skyline just barely visible in the distance.
“I don’t want you miserable here. I don’t want the kids growing up thinking this... hustle, bullshit, fake smile life is what they’re supposed to chase.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, closer to her now, the space between them practically buzzing with the tension of everything unsaid. “What if we find something in between?” he asked, voice a little rough around the edges. “What if we move to New York?” He saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes, but he pushed through it. “I can still act. I can still work. Theater, smaller films, voiceover work—hell, I don’t care. It’s not about being famous. It’s about doing the thing I love and being able to come home to you. To them. Without feeling like I’m losing pieces of myself every time we step outside.”
He squeezed her ankle gently again. “We could have a backyard. A real neighborhood. You could sing if you wanted to. Hell, I miss hearing you sing.” He shrugged lightly, but his eyes never wavered from hers. “I’m not trying to slap a Band-Aid on this, baby. I’m trying to build something better with you. Something we don’t hate waking up to every day.”
His voice softened even more. “I’m willing to meet you halfway. Hell, I’ll meet you more than halfway if it means we figure this out together.”