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Dream Days At The Hotel Existence

Zhailei (amidalashari)

Rachel (noplacespecial)


Mark Salling/Dianna Agron




"Don't you have your own room?"

She slips her arm through his, and leans in a little closer.

The lights flash.


"What's on TV?" he asks, flopping down on the bed, and Dianna only hesitates a moment before joining him.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" she asks, but she hands him the remote, anyway, only half watching as the television flickers to life.

Mark shrugs, and the movement messes up the previously perfect bedsheets. He doesn't look up as he flips through the channels.

"There's probably a guide around here somewhere," she says, but before she can go looking, he gives up, and sets the television to mute.

She thinks about laying down beside him.

"Don't you have your own room?" she asks, and he just smiles.


She wonders if he ever gets sick of the questions, the innuendo, I bet you never joined glee club in high school.

"Actually, I was a pretty laid back guy," and she thinks he should consider having it tattooed on his forehead.

At least no-one ever assumes she's pregnant.


She drops her pen halfway through signing autographs, and even over the crowd, she can hear it skittering across the floor.

Mark bends down to pick it up at the same time she does, and he presses it into her hand. She barely feels the contact; her fingers are cramped, aching, and she's seriously thinking about trying to be ambidextrous.

"Thanks," she says, and smiles for the camera.


"Maybe we should leave the hotel room," she says. It isn't quite a suggestion.

Mark doesn't look like he ever thought it was.

Her head almost hits the pillow.


She sits next to Lea on the bus, and Mark kicks the back of her seat. She has to climb on the seat to turn around and glare at him, and Lea laughs.

"What are you, twelve?" and he smirks at her, like pretending to be in high school isn't enough, he has to aim even lower.

The second time he does it, Lea hands her a pen.

(It feels really good to throw it.)


"It's really exciting," she says, and means it every time.

She looks at Mark, her arm hovering somewhere near his shoulder, and smiles.


She never expected them to make it this big. It's not a cliché, it's just - true.


She turns the television on, and off, and on, and she feels bad about wasting electricity, even if she's at a hotel.

Her fingers hover near the remote.

She calls Lea's room.


She can't help smiling; when they're surrounded by cameras, before a performance, when they're just signing autographs or interviewing for yet another morning show.

Sometimes, she can't help looking at Mark, at the way he's smiling, too. She catches clips of the interviews, later, and grimaces every time she isn't looking at the camera when she should be.

She'll get better at this.


"We could order room service."

She shakes her head. She's not hungry; it's just late, and she feels like she hasn't eaten a proper meal in a week.

"Vending machine?"

She wonders how every hotel makes its beds so perfectly.


"It's amazing," she says. "It's so exciting."


"Party in my room," Cory announces, and Dianna laughs and shakes her head, but she's there, anyway.

She sees Mark first, in the corner, and he turns when she enters, smiles, and he's already holding out a drink by the time she gets over there.

"It's just soda," he says, and she laughs, because she's old enough to drink, but it's still light outside, and there are unspoken rules about that kind of thing.

(There's a bar in the corner, its contents pulled wholesale from the mini fridge by the bed, and she thinks maybe not everybody got the memo.)

Cory's hovering by a sound system she knows doesn't belong to the hotel, and for a moment, she's almost afraid to look closer, afraid -

"Who's up for karaoke?" he asks, Lea laughing by his side, and Dianna takes a drink (not soda) when Mark offers it.


She tries to count her drinks, but after a rendition of 'Endless Love' that shouldn't be good and one of 'Lean On Me' that isn't, she thinks it's probably an exercise in futility.

"One more," she says, and she means it.

(Every time.)


"I think," she says, and then she's laughing, leaning against Mark, and she thinks -

Nothing, apparently.

"I need some air," and it isn't what she was going to say, but it probably isn't a bad idea, either.


They make it halfway to the balcony, her arm tangled in his, shoulders bumping as they walk, before she stops, leans against the wall for balance and smiles up at him.

"I'm not drunk," she says, and he grins, like he doesn't believe her.

(She's still holding his hand.)

"I'm not," she insists, and it's almost the truth. And she leans forward, stands up straight, and what was almost a kiss turns into laughter against his chin.

"You so are," he says, and it isn't funny, any more.


(Falling for your co-star? Totally a cliché.)


Her head is fuzzy the next morning, but not so fuzzy that she can't remember; she almost wishes it was, early call time or not.

She stands under the shower long after she's clean, feels the spray running down her back, and she's not quite sure what she's trying to achieve.

She can never get the water pressure right.


"Sleeping beauty," he says. It's not even like she's late, not really, but it breaks the ice.

"The beauty part is doubtful," she says. (She didn't even want to attempt eyeliner.)

"Never," so quiet she almost doesn't hear -

His hand brushes against her back, and she remembers not kissing him, isn't sure which part she regrets.


"I think," she says to Lea, "I did something stupid."

"You didn't see Cory singing Belinda Carlisle," Lea counters, and Dianna loves her for not asking why.


"I think," she says, and one day, she's going to finish that sentence.

Mark's hand on her waist stalls her.

She thinks nothing.


"I brought room service," he says -

(Two days of watching television by herself; she likes routine.)

"Isn't the point of room service to stay in your room?" she asks, and he picks up the remote.


She turns the television off at the set a minute later; it's late, and the walls are thin.

She waits for a crack about other ways to pass the time.


I think. This time, it stays in her head.

Mark takes her hand, pulls her towards him.

(She doesn't not kiss him.)


"Immature," she says, Lea rolling her eyes while the boys crack themselves up.

Mark's hand brushes hers behind his back, and she blushes.

What are you, twelve?


Another question, leaning back on couches that only look soft, watching Mark instead of the camera. She still hasn't got better at that.

"It's exciting," she says. "I'm so grateful."

Every time.


She slips her arm through his, and leans in a little closer.

The lights flash.


 Left By:
anr (anr)

2009-12-27 01:25:16

Fantastic writing and story. Really adored these characterisations.

 Left By:
Rachel (noplacespecial)

2009-12-27 18:07:44

OH MY GOD. this is ALL KINDS OF ADORABLE!!!!! EXACTLY what i was imagining. these two are just two gigantic bags of puppies, and i love everything about this fic - from the writing style right down to:She turns the television on, and off, and on, and she feels bad about wasting electricity, even if she's at a hotel. ....which just strikes me as SO dianna. seriously, thank you sosoSO much for this story!!!

 Left By:
Guest (mrs salling)

2010-02-28 23:08:12

this was beautiful. i LOVE LOVE LOVE it. i really like the line: "You didn't see Cory singing Belinda Carlisle," Lea counters, and Dianna loves her for not asking why. because i have an enormous girl crush on lea michele and wow this whole thing just made me sigh all happy and girly and fangirl!