Ned couldn’t believe he’d done that. He’d made out with a guy on set.

Okay, so he was the hottest guy Ned had ever laid eyes on, never mind gotten to actually kiss, but still. On set. While Jack was looking for him to help keep all of the film scenes organized. Honestly, it was unprofessional, and Ned should be feeling a whole lot more ashamed of himself than he was. He was feeling ashamed, really flustered and embarrassed and he should be apologizing to Jack even though he hadn’t missed out on much. But he’d been about to miss out on much more, been about to let James all but pin him to the ground and do whatever wicked thing he wanted…

Ned shook his head. No. He was not going to think about how unbelievably hot James had been, he was going to think about work and other respectable things. He still had stuff to get done, and he couldn’t do it when he was dwelling on James.

Damn him for being such a distraction. The moment he’d realized that Ned was single, it was like he’d made it his official mission to drive Ned crazy. Showing up early in that goddamn shirt and those ass-hugging jeans, lifting things and helping people out and showing off his tan skin and firm muscles. Then taking his water bottle and looming over him and looking at him like he wanted to devour him—what was he supposed to do? It was all that he could do not to melt.

He couldn’t believe he actually massaged the guy. In front of everyone. What was he, a complete unprofessional? Anyone could have seen—Jack would have been amused more than anything else but he didn’t want the rest of the cast and crew gossiping about him. It had just been too much to resist. James had been too tense and stiff in the scene, and he needed to relax. It was just a slightly unorthodox way of going about it. And he loved how James’ shoulders had felt underneath his hands, and he’d had to work hard not to skim his hands down James’s back and then down his front, turning it from something only slightly inappropriate for a workspace into something completely inappropriate for any space.

And then he’d gone and made out with the guy! In the wardrobe tent!

Ned wanted to bang his head against the wall. He’d actually done that, once, while not entirely sober, and it had given him a splitting headache so he wasn’t about to try it again but he really, really wanted to out of sheer frustration with himself. He was responsible, dammit. He wasn’t the kind of person who went around making out with actors and almost letting said actors fuck him (or blow him or give him a hand job or…okay gotta derail that train of thought) in the damn wardrobe tent while on set.

Why the wardrobe tent, honestly, out of all the places that he could have done it…

He sighed, straightened out his shirt as if it mattered, and double checked that everything was finished on set today. All of the equipment was put away…Jack was in his car, muttering to himself…Tanya was yelling something at some of the crew, intimidating them into being efficient or something like that…

Right, all was well then, he just needed to head over to Jack’s office to complete some paperwork. That was, honestly, what most of his job came down to, handling paperwork. Either that or making sure Jack’s ideas were scribbled down on paper so he didn’t forget them.

Ned drove Jack over to their apartment and then headed to the office himself. Jack was completely in the clouds, writing down notes and sketching out the next few scenes, so he didn’t mention anything to Ned about his massage or his disappearing act earlier in the day. Hopefully Jack hadn’t noticed anything at all. After dropping him off and reminding him to eat something that wasn’t an energy drink, Ned drove over to the office.

He remembered when they’d first gotten the office. They didn’t use it for much besides brainstorming sessions or appointments, so when they were filming, Jack was hardly ever in there. It was more Ned’s office than Jack’s, anyway. Ned had thought up the filing system, and knew all of the passwords by heart, and so on. But they’d felt so professional, legitimate, finally, like now that they had an office they had really made it in the industry.

Maybe it was childish, but Ned still got a little thrill whenever he entered the office building and took the elevator up to their floor. They didn’t own the entire floor, of course, just a suite, with a receptionist’s desk and everything. Ned played receptionist when the need arose, Jack wasn’t actually in the office enough to need someone else full-time, and Ned knew all the things that a receptionist would know, anyway. But the office was official, professional, and it was theirs.

Ned unlocked the door to get in and opened it, flicking on the lights—only to nearly drop all of his files on the floor.

There on the receptionist’s desk was a small, subdued bouquet of flowers. Nothing bright or gaudy, just some tulips, and with them, a note.

If this was Jack pulling some kind of prank, Ned was going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.

Ned set his things down and picked up the note. It was written in careful, neat handwriting, like someone had taken their time to make sure that it looked nice.

Saturday, six o’clock, the Getty Museum.

It was signed,

Sincerely, James

Ned wasn’t sure what to think. The guy had actually gotten him flowers? If that wasn’t simultaneously the most romantic and dorky thing Ned had ever seen, he didn’t know what was.

James must have talked to Jack about this, the bastard. Jack was the only other one with the key to this place. Jack had acted completely oblivious. Maybe Ned had to give his friend more credit for his acting skills than he’d thought.

He looked down at the note again. The Getty Museum? It was a beautiful spot, known not just for its art but for its gorgeous building and gardens. It was up in the hills overlooking Los Angeles, and entry was free.

It was also closed at night, so why six p.m.?

When Ned looked it up, he saw why. There was a special night exhibit that evening—and you needed to buy tickets to get in. Ned bit his lip, trying to hold in his smile even though nobody was around to see it. He liked this date idea, very different from the usual dinner and a movie. And the flowers…totally sappy, but also very much appreciated.

Ned left the files and took the flowers home, deciding to put them in a vase and then put said vase with flowers in the shower for Jack to find, the little shit…after he’d taken a picture of them first. For posterity. After all, he’d never gotten flowers before.