I’m excited—that’s an understatement. I can’t breathe with the butterflies growing, multiplying in my belly, taking up space and space and space… Then I try to rationalize my behaviour, try to keep myself focused and grounded, which would have been way easier if Maddie or Raleigh were here.
He’s just an actor, a human just like everybody else, playing a role that he’s getting paid to do. Don’t screw this up for yourself. Keep it cool, and you’ll get a sweet-looking picture out of it that can become your phone background.
Right.
Oh no, , here we go!
I can see him now, even if there’s maybe ten people still ahead of me. There he is, Chrisander Gage—I mean, no, Ayden Stone.
Is it normal to be that beautiful in real life? Does he have makeup on or something to make him look so flawless, or am I looking through my own special kind of fangirl-tinted glasses? I exhale a shaky breath, gulp down whatever saliva that I have left in my suddenly dry mouth.
He’s dressed normally, not wearing Chrisander’s regular outfit that he wears on the show. Pity. But he still looks exceptionally beautiful even in dark jeans that fit and a black Henley that molds and shapes to his broad chest, bulging shoulders, and biceps that look bigger than my head.
Now I really can’t seem to catch my breath.
You’re starstruck, Aria. That’s the word you’re looking for. Completely and utterly starstruck.
I’m Ayden Stone-struck.
I watch as the pair of even younger girls just in front of me in line move on either side of Ayden Stone with admiration and happiness in their eyes and wrap and arm around his waist and squeeze in to look like they’ve been best friends forever and the picture has zero awkwardness. I watch the pair of girls thank Ayden Stone profusely, watch them gush over how much of a fan they are of his work while someone from a few people in the back of line yells at them to hurry up. This happens over and over while more people step up to take their pictures with him, fangirls and fanboys smiling wide for the camera.
And then it’s my turn, and I choke, stomach bungee-jumping down to my toes.
I stumble forwards, some sort of emergency mechanism in my body making me move. I can't feel my feet underneath me, and everything that makes up my body below the waist has gone all wiggly. I’m not sure how I’m walking at all, or if I’m doing some weird gliding thing even though I’m still going in the direction I want, still getting closer and closer to the man of my dreams.
Stop it, he’s just an actor—who plays the awesome Chrisander Gage. Get a grip, Aria!
I don’t want to blow this chance, truly I don’t. Who knows when I’ll be able to save for another plane ticket, hotel and a three-day pass to the con again next year and have another chance? Who knows if Leviathan will be coming back here next year, or if the show gets canceled?
No, I have to keep a straight face, I have to keep my cool, even though the blood is rushing in my ears, and I can feel my pulse jumping at the base of my throat. My hands have gone all clammy, and I wonder for a split second if I should shake Ayden Stone’s hand, and then immediately wonder what he’ll think when he finds out I’m a sweaty mess.
I think I’m having some sort of fight-or-flight response just by being in such close proximity to the man of my dreams, to a man I already love, but it’s complicated. Which is also the unfortunate and perfect explanation for my love life if I’ve heard of one.
Ayden Stone’s eyes are the stuff of fan fiction, the kind you can describe to your heart’s content and still not get the precise colour of them, or the way that they’re shaped, and how they sit in his face and change the game from pretty boy to handsome man that you’d willingly take off your panties for, and then beg him to give you his babies.
“Uh, hi. I’m Ayden,” Ayden Stone says—to me.
Is this really happening to me? Is this real life?
I feel my face break into a big, mega-watt smile. God, I’m so happy to be here, those butterflies in my belly multiplying even if I’m freaking out a little, and my throat’s dry enough to rival the desert, and I’m alternately sweating and flushed, but my fingers feel like ice. I’m sure if I was holding something in my hands, I would’ve dropped whatever it was, only able to focus on him.
Chrisander Gage—no, Ayden Stone—is that beautiful and that charming in real life, in person, standing right in front of me looking at me a little worriedly, a little bemused that I (probably) would’ve dropped a baby from my arms because I was struck by the beauty of his face, and his whole being in general.
I’m in so much trouble. How are you ever supposed to date and find a real man for yourself if no one will ever compare to this?
I sigh, then gasp because I found myself muttering my whole last thought out loud, and now I’m burning red and I’m pretty sure I’m a beacon of embarrassment that the astronauts floating in the International Space Station can see via satellite.
I swallow hard and think if I make a run for it now, no one will be the wiser and I can try to erase this whole thing from my memory by downing a bottle of my favorite Moscato in one go.
Stop it. Who cares? You’re never gonna see this guy again. Just get your picture and have your dream come true. Check this off your bucket list. Make this solo trip worth every penny.
Okay, okay. Don’t look at Chrisander in the eye. No, Ayden Stone in the eye. It’s like looking at a solar eclipse dead-on, you’re just going to cause some serious health problems to yourself if you do.
“Nice to meet you,” I mumble and take my position next to Ayden Stone—the actor, not the character—as if I don’t know his exact height, weight, and what kind of dog he has (German shepherd and border collie mix named Raven). I know a whole bunch of things about this person in my quest to learn, to know everything there was to know about the character because fictional characters don’t exist in real life, and actors and characters only share the same face and body and usually not much else. I wanted to know everything, because if I knew everything about him, then maybe he’d end up being real—in my head at least. Which is also a sad state of affairs, but my dumb heart wants what it wants, and the dumb thing doesn’t know the difference between a fictional character and a real person, and that is yet another reason why I am single, single, single.
I’m not sure at what moment it all starts to feel empty, the void left behind after a bubble pops—my obsession with Chrisander Gage, my love for the show, my love for the character and knowing that this is as close to him as I’ll ever get. Just me, standing next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist distractedly, not having heated debates over character motivation and how could he do that to Amy and to Mage, his best friend (and possibly the other love interest in the show because Chrisander is an implied bisexual but classist, the jerk), all while trying to save his ass and those he loves while making some bad decisions—but sometimes the only decisions he could possibly make.
All of this just suddenly feels like a major letdown, and after mumbling a thank you, and giving Ayden Stone—not Chrisander Gage—a fleeting smile, I leave the booth and head towards the printers where I can pick up my picture. All of it just feels like a stupid thing I was excited about, useless, unnecessary, leaving behind a hollowness in my chest.
Hopefully, I don’t look as awful as I feel right now in the picture that almost cost a mint.
I came all the way here for Chrisander Gage, and I only got to meet Ayden Stone. This sucks. Being a fangirl sucks.
Reality bites.
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