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VANITY FAIR @VanityFair
Watch #HeatedRivalry stars Hudson Williams and Connor Storrie take a Lie Detector Test before the show’s third season premieres.
Hudson’s standing at the curb outside the bar, long after everyone else has paired and peeled off, their laughter and well wishes fading into the New York night. He checks his phone again, some pathetic hope flickering inside his chest but there are no new messages. Not even an Instagram notification. All that’s left to greet him is the time—11:58 PM. Two minutes to midnight. NYC is three hours ahead of Los Angeles. Connor knows that. Surely, he knows that. And if he knows that then he also knows that Hudson has been twenty-five for almost a full day now, and that there’s a very small, narrowing window left to make… something. Anything. His phone shuts itself down, and he almost flinches at his face reflected back at him by the dark screen—lit up and expectant, entirely ridiculous. He can almost hear Shane’s voice in his head, calling it all a fucking clown show. How appropriate.
He doesn’t even know why he’s waiting, really. It’s fucking stupid. He knows it won’t come. Has known it since he woke up with a hangover from last night's Gold House events. Still, he watched the hours tick by all day, stubborn hope a lit flame in his chest, even as he also told himself that he didn’t care for some stupid fucking birthday greeting. And when AM became PM and 7 became 8 became 9 became 10, he told that hope to die down because if Connor wanted to say something, he would have already.
It’s so fucking stubborn, though. Even had him scrolling through months’ worth of conversations, like maybe if he does that a notification from him might materialize out of pity.
But that didn’t happen, and it continues not to happen now, with only one minute left before the 13th becomes the 14th. Fuck, he thinks. Then thinks it again. And again. He’s trying very hard not to be sad about it, or angry, or humiliated, but Hudson is ultimately only human, and standing at the edge of a sidewalk on the last few seconds of his birthday, waiting for a single text feels like some kind of punishment, somehow. He just doesn’t know what he did, exactly, to deserve it. Fall in love with an emotionally distant co-star, probably. Or audition for that stupid fucking show in the first place.
Midnight finally hits while he’s wallowing in self-pity. The bar door behind him swings open, letting out a short burst of music and laughter before slamming shut again. 12:01, and his phone is still empty in his hand. Hudson doesn’t know why he’s still even bothering.
MO: Alright, Hudson, you’re hooked up first. Sensors are on your fingers, chest, and arm. Are you comfortable?
HW: Yeah, about as comfortable as a man can be when he’s voluntarily agreeing to public humiliation.
CS: Hey, they told us not to do it.
HW: No, fuck it. I signed the contract. Sorry, bleep that out if you want.
MO: Okay, let’s begin. Hudson, is your real name Hudson?
HW: That’s the question?
MO: From me, yes. Can you try lying?
HW: Okay. No, my name is not Hudson Williams. My name is… Sophie Nelisse, from the hit TV Show—
MO: Okay, okay. I think we got it. That’s a lie.
HW: So you’re telling me that really works? Fuck. Sorry, you can bleep that out again.
CS: Oh my God, what did we get ourselves into.
It’s all calming and repetitive, folding his clothes and shoving them inside his duffel bag even though he doesn’t really have to because he’ll be back the next morning to film again, anyway, but Hudson has always needed to do something to pass the time before he’s officially off the clock. He zips the bag when he’s done, pauses, then unzips it again to tuck in the script from his table so he’d have something to do in his apartment as well. Later. For when the thoughts get too loud and his mind starts playing games on him that make him want to pick the phone up and—
There’s a knock on the frame of the open door that jolts him out of his musings. Hudson turns and sees Connor, leaning against it like he’s been standing there for a while. Hands in his jacket pockets, hair ruffled and no longer in costume as Ilya.
“You disappearing without saying bye?”
Hudson shrugs lightly. “Didn’t think I needed to do that when you’re gonna see me tomorrow.”
Connor steps inside, as if Hudson replying was invitation enough. It wasn’t, but what can Hudson do? Tell him to leave? “Hey, do you wanna go out tonight?”
“What?”
“Going out. You should come.”
Hudson leans down to pick up his toiletry bag, buying himself a second. “I’ve got an early morning.” This is a lie. He knows that Connor knows that he doesn’t need to film anything until late afternoon tomorrow because the scenes they’re filming involve them both. But Connor doesn’t call him out on it.
“It’s not going to be anything too crazy,” Connor says instead. “Just a drink. And it’s not just going to be the two of us.”
Fuck. Hudson straightens. “I didn’t assume it would be.”
Connor’s laughter is short, mildly defensive when he lets it out. “I just,” he sighs. “I mean, if that’s what’s making you hesitate, you can invite whoever. Bring a friend. Bring Sophie. I…”
Hudson’s hand tightens around the strap of his duffel. He wants to leave. He wants to go home and cry. He wants to never see Connor ever again for the rest of his life because it’s always going to be like this. “It’s not that,” he replies, trying to keep his voice even. “I’m just so tired.”
“Huddy, you’ve been tired for like three weeks now. Come on.”
Please don’t call me that, he wants to beg. But Hudson doesn’t answer. Doesn’t say anything. Pretends he’s checking his dresser for anything he might have left behind.
“It doesn’t have to be weird,” Connor tries again, voice still just as soft. “We can just… it can just be normal. Friends.”
Friends. There’s that fucking word again. Hudson’s tried so hard to push him away and he wants to be friends? Still? How does he not get that Hudson doesn’t want to be friends with him? That he loves—loved him too much to be friends with him? That he’s locked his longing up so deep he’s afraid of spending time with Connor. That—
“It’s not weird,” Hudson replies before he can say anything else. “I just don’t feel like going out tonight.”
Connor nods once, then. “Right. Of course.” He looks like he wants to say something else. Opens his mouth slightly at an inhale, but then he shuts it immediately. Swallows the words down, or, at least that’s what Hudson assumes. The energy drains out of him in visible waves. Hudson, all too suddenly, feels like the worst person in the world. Then hates himself for feeling that way.
“See you tomorrow,” Hudson offers, like it might help. He knows it doesn’t when Connor’s shoulders drop further. Hudson steps past him, walks out so that he doesn’t see it anymore. Connor is close enough that he could feel the warmth of him, but not close enough to touch.
“Yeah. Sure. See you.”
CS: Hudd—Hudson, are you nervous to be doing this interview?
HW: That’s the question you’re going with?
CS: It’s on the card!
HW: No. Somewhat. I don’t know. I think it’ll be fun. I’m also like, scared shitless, because I know when this gets released my fans, our fans would clip every stupid thing I say and it’ll go viral again or something. Sorry, can I just curse, I feel like I keep cursing.
Producer, off camera: It’s fine, we’ll bleep them all out
HW: Okay, thank you. No, I’m not nervous.
MO: That’s a lie.
HW: No it’s not!
CS: I think I’m gonna have so much fun with this. Okay, next question, ‘cause that one didn’t really matter, are you proud of the final season of Heated Rivalry?
HW: Yes. I think… maybe I’m being a little bit biased here, but it’s probably our best work. Everyone took a bigger risk, especially emotionally, and I don’t… I really don’t think that we hid from anything this time.
MO: That’s true, he’s telling the truth.
HW: That felt like a funny question. Was anyone expecting it to be a lie?
CS: Me
HW: Why?
CS: Oh, no, actually I think I may have misunderstood the question. Or the answer. You said it’s our best work!
HW: Is it not?
CS: I don’t know… I kind of have this fondness for season one.
HW: Oh, well. What’s the next question.
CS: Did you—do I have to ask this?
HW: What? Is it bad?
CS: Did you ever get annoyed with Connor—me, I am Connor—on set?
HW: No.
CS: Is that the truth?
MO: … It’s a lie
CS: Oh, okay.
HW: No, no—wait—
CS: You don’t have to defend yours—
HW: Annoyed is a really strong word! It’s more like… it’s always challenging to act with you, in a scene. I don’t know—people who’ll be watching this, I am not annoyed at Connor Storrie. He just has this very specific way of approaching any scene he’s in—
CS: It’s called doing our jobs, oh my—
HW: —and sometimes that means doing ten versions of the same moment because he isn’t particularly sure that he liked the—
CS: It’s called exploring the moment, Hudson!
HW: It’s called ‘fuck, we’ve been shooting this scene for three hours and I kinda wanna pee or sleep or go home’.
CS: So you were annoyed.
HW: Okay. Fine. Briefly and in isolated incidents. But it wasn’t… personal.
CS: Okay, is that one true?
MO: … Yes, that response is true.
CS: Fair enough. I’ll take that.
“I mean, I really thought I was done with him, you know?”
“I know, I know.”
He looks pathetic, he’s sure, but shame has long left the room. Sophie's done filming her scenes for Rose, but she's in Vancouver for a press stop and some interviews. Hudson, conveniently, had free time, so he invited her over to his apartment for dinner and a drink. Which led to another one. And then another one. Until she’s now sitting on his couch with Hudson splayed limply over the cushions, his head nestled over Sophie’s lap while she ran her fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp in a soothing pattern that, honestly, serves to distract well from the misery he’s feeling.
“But then he keeps showing up and I just… Fuck. Sophie.”
Sophie’s fingers slow, then resume. “What’s been going on?”
“I don’t know. He keeps—he’s always asking to hang out. Or he’d suddenly be in Vancouver and I’d fucking—and he’s texting again, can you fucking imagine that? At least that’s easier. I’d reply, barely, I have to add, and he won’t see my face. Inviting me out. Asking me if I want to go somewhere. Like it’s all fucking normal and okay.” Like Hudson hasn’t spent the better part of a year and a half cauterizing the open wound that is his love for Connor, but this part he's keeping quiet. He's sparing Sophie the unnecessary details; she already knows too much. "He can't take a hint."
Truthfully, he's more frustrated over the fact that he's not as past things as he wanted and expected himself to be. After season two wrapped, after walking out of that balcony without so much as glancing back, he’d told himself that a little distance from Connor would fix everything. A new routine, getting into new projects, making sure most of his free time is spent outside of Vancouver so that Connor wouldn’t get any ideas and visit him. He’d gone on dates, even. Several dates. Some producer’s assistant he met while filming Yaga who liked jazz and had an affinity for Hudson’s long hair. A photographer from Vogue who had a mean streak and who kissed him harshly against the bathroom door of a bar in Calgary he no longer remembers the name of. A lawyer Ksenia had insisted that Hudson would absolutely vibe with because they had the same sense of humor. Hudson had shown up for all of them—his best self, his best smile. He’d tried very hard to let himself feel something. But it all just fell flat.
“I don’t even know what I’m mad about anymore,” he grunts, half a lie. “He’s not even—I mean, we were friends first. He’s my friend. He thinks we’re friends. But… fuck. I don’t think I can be that to him anymore. I don’t think we can be, for a long while.”
“I don’t think you have to be mad at anything in particular for it to hurt,” Sophie hums thoughtfully, taking a sip of her wine.
“I just want to be normal about him, you know?”
“You are normal.” she rolls her eyes. “You loved someone. Things didn’t line up. That’s like, the most normal fucking experience ever.”
“Does it ever get easier?” Hudson asks before he can stop himself. He shifts his gaze from Sophie’s hair to the ceiling. Stares at it for a while and tries not to think about how the last time that Connor was in this apartment, they fell asleep listening to Bon Jovi while Hudson complained about the ceiling’s bad paint job. All this time later and he still hasn’t repainted.
“It already has.”
“No it hasn’t.”
“Hudson, come on,” she grabs his jaw to force him to look at her. “Connor used to ruin your entire week. Now he ruins, what, an evening? Sucks that he ruined our evening but, you know. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Hudson considers that. It’s true, in a certain sense. There was a time when his every waking thought was of Connor. All the things he'd be doing out of Hudson's sight. Now, the ache that comes with thinking about him feels less dull. Less of a freefall. Still, Hudson is greedy. He wants it all to stop now and forever. When he swallows the feeling, he just feels empty. Sophie taps his temple gently.
“The next thing you have to do now is get better, obviously.”
“By doing what?”
“By saying yes to the dates you’re being asked on, duh,” she replies, rolling her eyes as she speaks. “Letting other people in instead of—do you really still think about him? Really?”
“Why wouldn't I?” Hudson mumbles. “I work with him. We're still filming. I've been doing this miserable thing where when Ilya would kiss Shane I'd wonder if Connor's kissing me as himself and not as Ilya.”
“Ew. You're genuinely fucked, I hope you know that.”
“You’re no help at all,” Hudson says, sitting up.
“I’m serious though. Go on a date. A serious one. Like, actually try for once. Don’t just… I don’t know what you’ve been doing but you can’t just go on a two month stint and then stop. Get serious.”
“Okay.”
“Good,” she smiles, then finishes the rest of her wine. “And if you need options, I know a lot of guys.”
“Sure.”
“No, really. And they’ll all greet you at important milestones of your life within a reasonable timeframe.”
Hudson winces. “That’s rude.”
“Hudson, you’re gone for a man who didn’t say happy birthday to you, and you still posted him for Valentine’s day.”
“That was three years ago!”
Sophie snorts, but doesn’t say anything anymore. She refills her glass, and then Hudson’s. He watches the liquid settle and thinks about how much it all sucks, really. There's no better word for it. All those years ago, did he ever think it would end like this with Connor? Him in this apartment they once shared, now scrubbed clean with no trace of the other man existing anymore. All caps returned and accounted for. The humiliating recalibration, teaching his body not to reach for someone he has never had any right to touch. It all hurts. He wishes it would stop. He wishes Connor just loved him back. He wishes, and wishes, and wishes—
“Hey. You okay?”
Hudson blinks. “Yeah. I am. I will be.” A promise. A threat on his own life.
CS: Did you ever feel competitive with me over our performance as Shane and Ilya?
HW: No, not really. Or, I think I did, but it’s not the toxic competition kind of way. I never looked at you and thought that I can do better or that you’re doing better. It was more along the lines of… you bringing something to the table and me wanting to match it. Shane and Ilya—wait, sorry, can we check first if I lied or not?
CS: Are you not sure if you lied or not?!
HW: I don’t want to mess up the reading!
MO: You were telling the truth.
HW: Yes! Okay. Shane and Ilya are, fundamentally, two very different people. How they deal with themselves and with other people are vastly different, almost on opposite ends of an emotional spectrum. Ilya’s more open, but he also goes through a lot internally. Shane is very closed off, but he also goes through a lot internally. Ilya is more expressive with his feelings, Shane has this tendency to keep it all in. I mean, he doesn’t even really cry. So… the competition? It’s just… me and Connor pushing each other to be better. So that Shane and Ilya could be better.
CS: I… wow.
MO: He’s telling the truth.
CS: That’s—see, this rivalry isn’t so heated anymore. It’s healthy. Healthy rivalry.
HW: Oh, shut up.
CS: Next question. Oh.
HW: Is this bad too?
CS: Uh—do you want to answer this? [Looking off camera] Should he be answering this?
HW: Why, what is it?
CS: [Showing Hudson the card]
HW: Oh, Jesus. Yeah, that’s fine. Ask it.
CS: Hudson, a couple of weeks ago you were photographed leaving a hotel in San Diego, hand in hand, with a… stranger? Or a friend? The photos went viral. Were you on a date?
HW: … No.
MO: … That’s true.
CS: Okay. Were you aware that the photos would cause speculation about your personal life?
HW: Yes. I mean… isn’t that what happens all the time, anyway? It’s not like I wanted to—I mean, it wasn’t intentional. I wouldn’t—
CS: Is that true?
HW: Oh my God, is this still part of the question? I thought you were just asking a follow—
MO: It’s inconclusive.
CS: Inconclusive?
HW: But not a lie!
CS: Next. Okay, this is still related, I think. Have you ever allowed a rumor to persist because they benefited you personally?
HW: I swear to God these lie detector questions weren’t so personal before for other celebrities.
CS: No, they were worse. Answer the question, Huddy.
HW: Ugh. Yes, at times. Not this instance specifically, but generally if people are talking about you and there’s no harm done, it’s harder to shut it all down without amplifying it and making it a bigger deal than necessary. So, sometimes, I just let it happen. Let people talk.
CS: Did the photos upset you?
HW: A little. Yeah.
MO: That’s true.
CS: Why?
HW: Because it turned a normal evening with someone into something that’s suddenly spiraling out of control in… I don’t know, social media platforms I don’t even go to anymore. And suddenly strangers are filling in details about who he was, what we were doing, where we were going. It’s invasive. But what can we do now? You honestly seem more upset about it than I am.
CS: I’m not.
HW: I know. That was a joke.
Hudson does stare at Connor, sometimes. One of his worse habits that continued to carry over with every season of Heated Rivalry filmed. He does it when he knows no one is looking, and when he knows it won’t hurt as much—braced hard enough that his heart won’t split open. He lets himself imagine the stupid, impossible life together that he once daydreamed so oftenly about. Connor in his kitchen squinting at a recipe he won’t be following anyway because he’ll insist his mom made it better and that’s just how they do it in Texas. Connor on his couch with a bright yellow Sharpie highlighter between his teeth, marking a script and complaining about it while Hudson pretends not to smile at him over the rim of his coffee mug. Their names printed side by side on the same lease, the same mailbox, a marriage certificate, sometimes, when he's feeling extra delusional about things. Shared flights home and to vacations for the holidays. Hudson thinks about what it would have been like if Connor took his hand and followed him that night in Feltre. How Hudson would have given him everything, openly and completely. Even the things Connor would have never thought to ask for. But it’s all too little, too late. Everything over before it could even begin.
HW: Finally. God, that felt like torture.
CS: This technically counts as torture, I think. In some places in the world.
HW: Well, at least I’m done.
MO: Connor, your turn. Comfortable?
CS: No. I already don’t like how this is going.
HW: Ha! Good luck.
MO: First question from me, is your name Connor Storrie? Try and lie.
CS: My name is not Connor Storrie. My name is Jacob Tierney, and I’m making ten more seasons of Heated Rivalry.
HW: Oh my God.
MO: Okay, I detected the lie. Hudson, you can ask questions now.
HW: Oh, this is a good one. Connor Storrie, did you ever think that Hudson took his role as Shane too seriously.
CS: Of course not.
HW: Is he telling the truth?
MO: … That’s a lie.
HW: Wow…
CS: I want to qualify that and say it's all very subjective.Your Shane is very good, just that there are some days where I have to go, ‘Okay, Hudson, you can blink. It’s okay.’
HW: That’s who Shane is!
CS: It’s too intense sometimes! It works on specific scenes, but then we go to a different one and I have to be like, relax.
MO: So you did think he took the role too seriously?
CS: Occasionally. I say this in a loving way.
HW: Oh, you don’t have to say it like that.
MO: The response was true, though.
HW: Good to know.
CS: What’s the next question?
HW: Oh, this one is even better than the last one.
CS: Oh God.
HW: Some years back, during the lull between filming the first and second season, rumors began to spread that you were going to leave Heated Rivalry. Did you ever consider leaving the show before it ended?
CS: Really?
HW: Really.
CS: No.
MO: That’s true.
CS: We were in it, all the way. I never—where did that even come from?
HW: Where do you think?
CS: See, this is why I’m off social media now.
HW: I think you’ve been off social media for a long while now.
Hudson’s sitting cross-legged at the edge of his seat, script balanced on his knee, highlighter tucked behind his ear, mouthing his lines and figuring out how to deliver them properly because he’d really like to go home early tonight, thanks, he’d be having friends over and they decided to be assholes and have him cook. Connor’s pacing in front of him, a headache and a half that he's trying to ignore, his own script folded in half as he reads it with his brows furrowed. “I just don’t think Ilya would say this,” he says for the third time.
“Then don’t say it,” Hudson hums absently, circling a word in his script and underlining for emphasis.
“That’s not helping.”
“I’m serious. Just don’t. When has Jacob ever stopped you from improvising a line on the spot?”
Connor walks closer anyway, like he isn’t hearing a damn thing Hudson is saying. He taps his line on the page. Hudson is squinting when he reads it. “This line,” Connor starts. “‘I don’t need you to believe in me’ just feels off. Why would Ilya ever say that to Shane?”
Hudson shrugs. “Again, just change it.”
“This is our scene. You’d be fine with it?”
“I don’t really care,” Hudson says, flipping a page. “If it doesn’t feel right, fix it. We’ll figure it out as we go.”
Connor’s mouth twitches like he’s pleased by that. Whatever that means. “Fine,” he sighs. “What if he says… I don’t know,” he puts Ilya’s accent on. “‘Believe what you want, Shane. I’ll win anyway.’”
Hudson blinks, then grimaces. “No.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause that’s fucking worse than the original line you’re complaining about.”
“So what would you have him say then?”
Hudson thinks for a second, worrying the corner of his lip with his teeth. “I’m not sure. Maybe something like, ‘You don’t have to, Shane’, or… Yeah, I don’t really know. Something with less bravado, definitely.”
Connor groans. Hudson goes back to ignoring him, going over the scene they’d be filming in an hour one more time. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it playing out in his head: Shane standing by the doorway of their bedroom in the cottage, watching Ilya tossing and turning in his sleep. Shane, padding over to his boyfriend, gently waking him up. Shane—
“Okay, how about this,” Connor says as he crouches down in front of Hudson. “What about, ‘I don’t need you to believe in me, Shane. I just need you to watch.’”
Hudson considers it for a moment, trying to think of what Shane would reply, then he frowns. Shakes his head. “That’s even worse. Ugh, you’re bad at this. What happened to you over the week?”
“You’re so difficult, I hope you know that.”
“Please be serious. That can’t be the best you can come up with. Are you fucking with me?”
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Connor snorts. “I’m wasting our precious time here to fuck with you.”
Hudson laughs at that, the sound bursting free from his chest so light and easy before he can really stop it. He hasn’t laughed like this around Connor in—God, Hudson doesn’t even know how long. It's not the polite chuckle he has to let out whenever Connor makes a joke so it won’t feel weird that he isn’t reacting, but the real thing. Real, genuine joy. It startles him how good it feels. How it pulls him back to Ottawa, those first few days before filming the first season when it was just them sharing a bed and sharing a life, bad coffee and long nature walks and friendship dates and figuring each other out without an audience, without stakes. Why'd he ever give that up?
The answer arrives almost as quickly as he asks when Connor reaches forward and brushes a stray piece of Hudson’s hair back from his forehead. Reason comes rushing back in. This is why.
The air turns sour immediately, in a way so tangible Hudson can feel the bitterness in his mouth at every inhale. His skin feels pulled tight, stretched over. It feels all too much like someone’s poured ice cold water over him, dousing whatever warmth he felt just moments before. Connor seems to realize what he’s done a second too late, but by that point Hudson is already standing up.
“Sorry,” he tries, but Hudson doesn’t want to hear it.
“It’s fine,” he replies, bending over to gather his things and to avoid Connor’s eyes. “I just… I have to—”
Connor nods before he can finish making up an excuse, not looking convinced at all but at the same time not wanting to fight Hudson. Maybe he’s learning. Maybe he knows Hudson’s heart is just not in it anymore. Maybe he'll give up and understand soon, after all this. “Right. Okay.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah,” Connor breathes. His face falls, minutely, before it turns blank again. Like maybe he knew what would happen but hoped it wouldn’t. Well that’s too damn fucking bad. Hudson walks off before he can change his mind.
HW: This one’s good.
CS: You’ve said that about the past five questions.
HW: This one’s really good. Did you ever avoid a difficult conversation with Hudson—with me? Whether on set or outside of it.
CS: … No.
HW: Really?
MO: … That one’s a lie.
HW: Oh, yeah, I figured.
CS: Doesn’t mean I never planned to have it! There’s a difference between… okay, my sister used to say this to me a lot, but there’s a difference between avoiding something forever and waiting until you think you can handle it, or you both can handle it without making everything worse. Sometimes a conversation needs to happen, but you also know if you have it in the wrong headspace, it’s all just going to explode. So sometimes it’s easier to say ‘Yeah, I’ll bring it up to Hudson next week’ or ‘After the shoot, I’ll tell him.’
HW: Makes sense. Sure.
CS: No, really!
HW: Yeah, I get it.
CS: A lot of it is… self-preservation, I would say? Hudson and I have worked on Heated Rivalry for years now. I’m 29, he’s 28, we’ve been in this since we were 25 and 24. When you’re in each other’s space that much, you start to calculate risks: If I say this thing and it lands badly, we still have six weeks of filming left. We still have scenes that require us to be so close to each other. So, yeah, sometimes I just swallow it all and circle back.
Producer, off camera: And do you circle back?
CS: Not always.
MO: The polygraph says that’s true.
HW: Is it a me thing or a you thing?
CS: On me, I think. It’s easier to play the long game and imagine the conversations in my head than to actually sit down and start talking about it. Especially when… I mean, I always care about the outcome. The more it matters to me, the scarier it is to say it out loud.
HW: … Okay. Okay. Next question. Sorry, that got derailed a bit.
CS: It’s okay.
HW: Did filming the show ever blur the line between work and personal life?
CS: Yeah, of course.
HW: Is that true?
MO: … That’s true.
HW: How so?
CS: When you spend that much time building something intimate, it doesn’t just turn off when the director—and this is speaking for all other projects I’ve been in—nothing ends immediately when the director calls cut. A lot of the time you have to really, actively separate what’s work and what’s personal.
HW: And nobody really prepares you for that, right?
CS: Right!
HW: I remember… one of the first few scenes I had as Shane, back when we were filming season two. It was just so hard. When you’re a new actor with not much ties yet in the industry or just not having that many friends who has had the same experiences as you, no one tells you what filming does to your brain when your job is to simulate someone else’s life for ten, twelve hours a day. Especially as Shane who has this… very intimate relationship with Ilya. After a while your body kind of stops clocking that it’s pretend. It just knows that you’re emotionally exposed.
CS: Exactly. You’d go home and you’re still carrying whatever scene you just shot.
HW: I don’t even have to go home. Oh my God, season one, the tuna melt. When Shane had to walk away I felt sick all the time. It really—I mean, if the scene was heavy, you feel heavy. If it was tender, you’re softer. Someone would talk to me immediately after a shoot and I’d have to reorient myself and determine if I was reacting as me, as Hudson, or if I was still Shane.
Producer, off camera: How did any of you cope?
HW: Talking to Connor used to help a lot.
Producer, off camera: Used to?
HW: I mean… we do still. Talk. But sometimes, I think… When you decompress together, because no one really understands the specifics of what you go through when filming together, it can be good but it can also be unhealthy. Suddenly a dynamic exists outside the set, too. And it becomes convenient because it’s quite safe, but also dangerous because then you can start using the job as an excuse to not examine what’s actually personal. So now you’re fucked: both professionally and personally.
CS: I… Yeah, I guess. Yes to all that.
“You lied,” Connor says, head tilted up like the chandelier is the most interesting thing he’s seen all day. Hudson turns and Connor’s blue eyes are glinting under the yellow light, though he’s not sure whether the sheen is a trick or if he’s trying not to cry. That doesn’t even sound right to Hudson, really. Why would Connor do that? “You said, earlier, that you still talked to me. You don’t, really. Not anymore.”
Oh. That's why. Hudson turns away, stares at the polished floor, at their reflections warped in the gleaming marble. Then, “No. I guess I don’t.” It sounds smaller out loud than it did in his head.
Their car pulls up outside the studio lobby, eventually, and they slide into the backseat like two strangers sharing a ride, Hudson pressed as tightly as he could to one side and Connor to the other; a deliberate geography of distance. New York passes by them outside in bright streaks of light. He thinks about the last time they were here together, how close they were then. He passes the time by counting every stoplight he sees, each one serving as a stand-in for the daisy he’s plucking the petals off of inside his head. Connor loves me, he loves me not. I love him, I love him not. I’ll forget him now, I’ll never move on. By the time they reach the hotel, Hudson has lost count and doesn’t remember which petal he’s landed. But it doesn’t matter. Connor’s already gone before he could even slip out of the car door.
Producer, off camera: What are you two going to miss the most about Heated Rivalry? Hudson can answer first, then Connor.
HW: Oh, God. It’s a cliche to say everything, but I really am gonna miss everything. I’m grateful for the show and everything it’s done for my life. I’m going to miss it so much. Everyone. The routine, honestly. I always think about Sophie saying that the Heated Rivalry set was one of the best, most welcoming sets she’s ever been in. It’s the same for me. The set felt so much like its own ecosystem. I’ll miss walking into hair and makeup half-asleep and knowing that Stacey was there ready to sprinkle freckles across my cheeks. I’ll miss Shane, most of all. My tightly wound robotic boy. Shane was exhausting, but he was worth it. It’s weird to say goodbye to that. It’s like saying goodbye to a part of myself.
MO: Yeah, pretty consistent throughout.
HW: I don’t see any reason for me to lie!
CS: I was honestly hoping for it to be a lie just for the drama that will come out of it.
HW: Horrifying.
Producer, off camera: Connor?
CS: I’ll miss Hudson.
HW: Fuck off.
CS: It’s true!
MO: Yes, it’s true.
Producer, off camera: Hudson, would you miss Connor too?
HW: I… I mean, yeah. I will. Of course. Connor’s been a big part of my life, my career. I think—I… Yeah. I will.
CS: Should I ask if that’s true?
HW: You probably shouldn’t.
“You know, I used to have this crush on you.”
The words come out of him probably lighter than they’re supposed to be, which is a surprise because Hudson has spent probably most of his mid to late twenties dreading ever saying them. He can feel Connor tense up beside him, the closest they’ve ever been outside of the set in years, standing side by side, feet planted on the sand and so close to the waves. Hudson doesn’t turn to look. He tells himself it’s easier if he doesn’t look. He watches the water, instead, how it turns into white foam and then nothing when it reaches the shore.
“That feels so childish. A crush. I was mostly in love with you, to be honest,” he adds, feels the need to clarify. “I tried really hard not to be. When I finally realized it, at least. I was setting up all these boundaries with you. Pulling away. Gave myself dumb fucking pep-talks about keeping it professional with you. But you were very inconvenient, man. Always finding a way to be with me somehow.”
“Hudson—”
Oh, how typical of him. How predictable. The first word he says to Hudson all night and it’s his name. Figures. “It’s funny,” Hudson rushes, not wanting to hear what Connor has to say about it. If Connor gets a word in, Hudson will never be able to find the courage to admit any of these ever again. “Or, not funny. I don’t know, I guess. I try to convince myself it’s all a big joke, sometimes. But it doesn’t—it won’t—I guess since we’re done with the show then it won’t matter anymore, right? I don’t have to try so hard anymore.”
Connor doesn’t try to say anything anymore. Hudson finds that he doesn’t really need him to. Nothing that he might say would make any difference anyway. “I kind of wish I could smoke right now. Not because I want—okay, maybe a little bit—but because this feels like the exact kind of moment I used to smoke a cigarette for, you know? I need something to do with my hands,” that isn’t to reach out to you, goes unsaid. Somehow, in some way, Hudson feels that Connor heard the words anyway. “But I’ve been clean for a while now.”
Three years clean, if he’s being exact. Sometimes, Hudson still can’t believe that he’s gone and put himself through all this suffering. Maybe if he was faster, got over it quickly, he’d have spared them both the hurt. “I’m saying this so that… I don’t know. I don’t want it to live in my head anymore. I tried to hide it, but I don't think I was very good. Honestly, I was very surprised you never knew. Never picked up on it. But somehow we still did the work. Now that the work’s done, well,” Hudson trails off. He finally looks at Connor, then, just for a second, because he still can’t really look at him without feeling as though the rest of the world is falling apart around him. Still so beautiful. Still so out of reach. Everything but his. Hudson's a slow learner, but he learns. “I’m glad this can all be done, too.”
The noise of the party behind them continues to swell and recede, so much like the tide, so much like his thoughts. “Take care, Connor," he says at last, turning his back.
No answer, still. Hudson nods to himself, breathes, and then lets go.