Chapter Text
When the black car finally passed through the entrance gate and up the arched driveway overlooking his estate, Vil exhaled a weary sigh of relief. He felt all but worn to a thread.
Three weeks of non-stop appearances and interviews for the overseas premiere of his latest film had taken their toll, and not for the first time since celebrating his last birthday milestone at 47, he found himself wishing he still possessed the same reserve of energy that had once launched a much younger version of himself to international stardom. For the time being, he felt like he needed at a minimum three days to decompress from just the thought of another camera flash or an outstretched microphone in his face.
“Would you like me to carry your luggage inside?” the driver asked as he opened the rear door to let him out, removing his suitcase and carry-on from the trunk and setting them down on the curb of the pavement leading up to the entryway.
“That won’t be necessary. I can take it from here,” Vil responded.
Although he was tired the older man had about two decades on him and probably was, too. It was already late and Vil assumed he still had to return his car to the agency before he could call it a night and head home.
Already past the age of retirement, the actor didn’t doubt he would’ve preferred to live out his “golden years” doting on his grandkids and whatever else he enjoyed had the option been on the table. Life, however, didn’t always treat everyone fairly or equally.
Vil reached into his bag to retrieve his wallet, then passed him a tip.
“I appreciate it, Claude.”
Claude accepted the gesture and thanked him with a curt nod before he made his way around the vehicle again and climbed back into the front seat. He sat at the steering wheel until Vil pushed his way through the front door before he restarted the engine and began to loop around the cul-de-sac back toward the gate.
Inside, the foyer was softly lit as if someone had been expecting his arrival, and as he set his luggage down he noticed the kitchen light at the opposite end of the parlor was still on.
“Rook? Is that you?” He called out.
Immediately the man in question poked his head around the corner and greeted him.
“Welcome home, Vil!” he beamed.
Both the exuberance in his voice and his smile seemed somehow brighter than the warm glow that enveloped his frame.
The actor felt something in him relax at just his presence.
Rook clapped twice. On cue, the bulbs overhead bloomed to life, adequately illuminating the space between them.
“How was your trip?” Rook strode over to take his coat.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” Vil replied as he shrugged it off and passed it to him. “I trust you’ve been keeping everything in order since I’ve been gone?”
“Of course! And forgive me for the intrusion- I was almost on my way out,” Rook explained with another easy smile.
“A little bird told me you’d be back today so I wanted to come by and restock the fridge. I also brought up a bottle of wine from the cellar just incase you were in the mood for a little something to help you unwind.”
Sure enough, when Vil turned his attention to the dining room table there was a bottle of red chilling in a bucket accompanied by a long-stemmed wine glass paired beside it.
“My, how thoughtful of you. In that case, it’d be inconsiderate of me not to offer to you some before you head home.”
“I’m sure you must be tired. I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” the other man attempted to refuse for politeness’s sake.
“Nonsense, I insist. Surely one glass wouldn’t hurt.”
“As long as it wouldn’t be putting you out, I’d be more than happy to accompany you,” Rook replied. He returned to the kitchen to fetch an extra glass.
Upon examining the label, Vil noted it was a reasonably modest but quality 2010 vintage merlot, with notes of blackberry, cassis, and vanilla tobacco. He hardly ever drank- especially not this late- preferring to avoid the extra calories. Though compared to other wines, merlot only averaged around 120 per glass.
Just one wouldn’t hurt, he repeated to himself. Vil supposed he’d earned the right to indulge a little before he settled in for the night. Rook, as usual, had excellent taste.
He told the younger man as much as they sat at the dining room table, Vil languidly swirling the red liquid to let it aerate between sips.
He was content to let Rook carry the conversation to fill the silence, only vaguely following along while he relayed some new tidbit of neighborhood gossip that had apparently been making the rounds in his absence with chipper amusement.
Although he’d never been terribly interested his neighbors’ comings and goings, he appreciated the other man’s observant eye and ability to keep the mood light. But more than that- perhaps even more than he’d care to admit- it felt nice having someone there to greet him instead of an empty house, even if Rook was technically just another person on his payroll like his other help.
Vil had purchased his one story, four-bedroom mansion estate shortly after winning his second Macademy Award for best actor, ticking off one of the bigger goals that had been sitting at the top of his list. Located in one of the most well-known residential communities, the property was among a select few that shared their own private zip code, though still reasonably “modest” and close to the city. Back then he’d assumed that in time he’d eventually find someone decent to settle down with, maybe even raise a little family.
Things hadn’t really panned out that way, however.
Despite the odd number of lovers he’d taken throughout his career, none of those relationships had ever solidified into anything he could see working out for the long-term. By a certain age, Vil had eventually made peace with the unlikelihood of ever having anyone to share the spacious abode with. It didn’t mean he didn’t still feel lonely from time to time.
Perhaps feeling sorry for him, his manager had once floated the idea of getting a dog. The actor had turned his nose up at the suggestion. For one, it seemed unfair to the poor thing considering how much time he was away. Besides, what good would it do for the creature to become more attached to a dog-sitter than himself? He’d never been very keen on playing second fiddle.
As he continued to nurse his wine and listen to Rook talk, he was struck by the realization that the other man was probably one of the only real constants in his life now, despite their difference in age.
How long had it been since Vil had hired him on? Six months? Somehow it felt much longer. The actor was glad he had managed to catch him before he’d left.
Rook lingered for awhile longer after their glasses had been emptied, then rose and thanked him for the wine. Vil felt that perhaps he should’ve been the one thanking him instead.
As the other man made to leave, he took it upon himself to carry Vil’s belongings upstairs. Though Vil had asserted he was more than capable of the task (even if he might have put it off until the next day), the younger man had insisted. In the end, his exhaustion had won out over his pride.
With Rook gone the house fell quiet again. All of sudden the fatigue he’d been trying to stave off hit him like a ton of bricks. There was a running list of things that still needed to be done in his head but Vil would deal with it in the morning. He was too zapped to wrap his mind around anything beyond forcing himself to shower and power through his usual skincare routine.
Finally. He breathed out a sigh of relief once he was finally able to crawl into bed and sprawl across the mattress.
After a few moments he pulled the comforter up to his chin and dimmed the lights, staring up at the ceiling in the darkened room. He was comfortable and his sheets were warm, but for some reason he couldn’t shake an indistinct but nagging chill- or the phantom sensation of it- that had settled in his bones.
Goodnight.
Lacking anyone to exchange simple pleasantries with now, his mind replayed the way Rook had wished him one before he’d left.
“Goodnight,” Vil repeated to himself. He let out another sigh and turned to his side.
Once again he found himself rethinking the whole dog thing- grumbling that maybe his manager had been right.