Teal.

Julian watched the small white flurries of snow fall past his window on the bleak January morning. His warm coffee cup emitted steam in front of him as he continued to neglect its contents, running his fingers repeatedly over the dent in his table; the one that had been there for two months. It had been made on the day he had seen the tabloids at the hands of his agent, the one that showed Claire with himself and John Delaynes supposedly within hours of each other. It was also the day he stopped accepting her phone calls; despite the twenty three consecutive dials she had made.

Initially there had been want of an explanation, perhaps an apology, and perhaps reconciliation. But there was a voice that nagged at him as he went to pick up the phone after the second call, it said just one thing, let it go. As he had thought it over realizations about what had happened started to roll in; he certainly wouldn’t ever be able to look at her the same again, or trust her. If it continued the relationship would be constantly pinnacled on a sensation of lingering doubt and uncertainty. How could anyone be happy in a relationship like that? He knew good and well, he certainly couldn’t. Despite the ill-fated omen she had brought, the American girl certainly had given him good common-sense advice.

Ah, the girl. His agent of course had asked him about her, the girl he was photographed speaking to within minutes of being shot next to Claire. He had given him the truth; he didn’t know who she was, aside from an absurd American who claimed she went by Teal. Naturally his agent had pried for more, not believing that to be all there was, but really, what else had Julian known to even possibly tell him? Well, he did drop the tidbit about her claiming to be a writer, but there was no way to know how much truth that held, same as her name. Marcus had finally let it drop after that, giving Julian a very bland, useless pep-talk about how there were plenty of other girls, and yes, work was going to be awkward once they started filming again, but he’d just have to try his best to deal. Honestly, what other choice was there?

Julian shook his head as he stood, leaving the hot coffee behind as he walked over to his desk, the script Marcus had sent him three weeks back, and a novel it was based off of. He stared down at the stack of papers and the book, both unread and untouched. He had less than a week at that point to decide if he wanted to audition for the part of the lead protagonist or not, but it honestly didn’t seem to matter much. Changing Alex, by T.J. Emerson, he’d looked at those words so many times, yet never so much as thought of picking either up. Marcus continually asked though if he’d read them, considered how to approach the part of the male lead. As always, Julian had told him he was working on it.

A sharp thump came from the floor above, causing him to clear his throat in irritation. Not like he’d be able to concentrate on the script anyhow given the ruckus that had been going on since this morning. He rubbed his eyes as another bang resonated through his ceiling; as difficult as it was, he knew it was just a move-in. The former tenant, a pleasant Mr. Eric Briggs had vacated the premises two and a half months earlier; apparently his ex-wife had given him another chance, and an opportunity to come home. The new resident had just begun moving in that morning, two hours ago. Given the sudden sweep of snowy weather the noise was possibly understandable. Perhaps there was a need to get everything out of the weather before it worsened. It seemed reasonable; actually he almost felt bad for the moving crew and the new tenant.

His attention focused back on the white flakes beyond the glass wall; yes, they had picked up all right. He felt a shadow of a smile as he looked out at the gray clouds over the London skyline; he actually enjoyed this kind of weather. It didn’t take long for him to gather his coat and scarf before sweeping out the door into the January cold. He pulled at the collar of his coat a little as he took the stairs, stopping one flight down to catch the lift as a moving crew hauled a forest green couch up the narrow space. On the ground floor the doors opened to the one sight he hadn’t wanted to see; an inquisitive Marcus eying him with a surprised grin. Julian didn’t stop.

“Don’t care, going for a walk. If you have something to say, come along,” Julian called over his shoulder.

“Oi, it’s cold out there!” Marcus replied testily.

“I know. Better to fend off the nagging agents.”

“This nagging agent is only here because you’ve yet to confirm your attendance at the audition and my superiors are all over my ass about it, Julian,” Marcus called. “This could be your big break, come on!”

Julian shook his head as the other man finally caught up to his pace. How many times had he heard that over the past few weeks? Big break; a high class A rated Hollywood movie. Most actors would have jumped at the chance; Julian only wondered one thing though; what would be the cost? Hollywood liked to change people, conform them to their standards. That wasn’t something he wanted, at all.

“Well then, you want the truth? I haven’t so much as touched the book or the script, Marcus. Tell your superiors that.” Julian smiled, stopping on the sidewalk to face his sometimes friend. The other’s face was frozen in a mask of horror, neatly trimmed eyebrows scrunched together as his dark brown irises seemed to slip out of focus. Julian put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a rough shake. “Oh come now, old chap. Surely you’ll come up with something clever to tell them.”

Marcus said nothing for a minute, stepping back as he ran his fingers hastily through a non-existent head of hair. He heaved a deep sigh as he paced back and forth, muttering things to himself. A few passerbys shot him strange looks; Julian merely watched, amused by the strange outburst. Marcus had never given such a reaction before.

Marcus threw his hands up in the air. “That’s it. My career as an agent is over. That’s it, man, you’ve ruined me.”

“Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?” Julian replied apprehensively.

“Oh if only I was,” Marcus laughed, rubbing the back of his bald head nervously. “I told them I’d get you to the audition, because I had to. Oh they are not going to take this well at all.”

Julian stepped forward, grasping Marcus’s shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “How on Earth is your career hinged on whether or not I go to this audition? It’s not like it’s a Nobel Prize winning novel or something.”

“Fine, you want to know how you’re about to put your best mate out on the streets? They requested you, specifically for the part, Julian. That book you haven’t so much touched? One of the most wildly popular romance novels written in the past two decades. Of course they want to put it on the silver screen, but there was a stipulation for the screenplay, a request by the publicist that if unmet meant it could be pulled from production indefinitely if they felt so. You had to audition for the male protagonist. That was all they asked; not that you immediately got the part, but that you auditioned. And now I can’t even get you to do that. Not only is the pressure of the agency on my shoulders but the entire bloody film production at this point. I will never get another job if you don’t at least go, mate.” Marcus’s words silenced him. The actor stepped back, eyeing his companion with an intense amount of disbelief.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” he said slowly. Julian Giles knew one thing for certain; outside British television and cinema he wasn’t very widely known. Of course the show did have a fair few American and European followers, but not enough to skyrocket his recognition to a point needed for such a demand.

Marcus shook his head, stepping forward. “Why in the bloody hell would I joke about something like this? This is my career!”

“So tell me why, then,” Julian demanded in a low voice, turning to head back in the direction of his apartment. The agent—per usual—was at his side. Another silence set in as the snow began to fall in bigger flakes, quicker, and harder. Julian shook his head, dislodging a few that had stuck in his hair that hung within his line of sight as he waited for an answer. One that finally came.

“We don’t know.”

“Well that helps your case now doesn’t it?”

“No one knows, Julian. Not even the bloody production knows. All anyone knows is that the entire operation hinges on you. I didn’t think it would be this hard, I thought you would jump at the chance! Hell, anyone else would,” Marcus said.

“Fine,” Julian stated. “I’ll think about it.”

“Bloody hell, man, are you kidding me? You can’t even give me this one thing, can you? It’s my job!”

They were at the entrance to the apartments, moving truck still seated out front, when Julian turned.

“I haven’t read the script, Marcus. I won’t decide anything until I’ve read the script; I at least have the right to that much, don’t I?”

It was unusual for Julian to show such an irritated, intimidating side, one that made those around him stop in their tracks and fall to silence. But he let it out then, in the cold January air and the presence of his agent. It was enough to put Marcus Ordon into silence, Julian’s hard green eyes a tough thing to even consider opposing. Marcus replied with a stiff nod, stepping back as he cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. Behind Julian the lobby door opened, a short trail of movers flowed out.

“Fine. But you’ve got two days, and no more. You hear me?” the agent threatened.

“See you then, Marcus.” Julian nodded, sending his agent on his way. It was his turn to sigh as he watched him walk away, dropping his head forward as he massaged his temples. Things that once mattered no longer did, he realized as Claire’s face crossed his mind; and things that shouldn’t matter in the least for some reason were taking surprising precedence. Like his audition for the movie, consequential not only to his career, but also Marcus’s, and even the fate of the movie. It seemed as though the world had begun to turn quite fast in the past two months, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Ah, hello there.” a voice behind him called. It sounded chipper, amused, and most of all not… British. He turned curiously, to find a girl standing there, watching him with a half smile. No, he realized, not a girl, the girl. The American girl from over two months ago, hair a mess of long auburn curls, big gray-green eyes meeting his without hesitation, seeming to hold a trace of laughter. She let out a short shiver, bundled in a large gray peacoat and scarf. “I’m new to the building, just moved in this morning actually. I believe I’m on the floor above you. Care to come up and join me for a cup of tea, Julian Giles?”