Chapter 2

Dmitri’s laughter rang through the phone when Caleb told him the news.

“You will be **so**terrible at this,” Dmitri told Caleb, ever the supportive boyfriend. “Fans will ask for a birthday message, and you will record five takes because you think the first one sounds too weird, and the second one you will stumble over your words, and the third one—”

“Okay, all right,” Caleb interrupted, not terribly keen to know what horribly embarrassing things Dmitri imagined he could do while trying to record a simple birthday message. Unfortunately for his flimsy veneer of anger, he was laughing even as he protested, because Dmitri’s mirth was contagious and despite himself, Caleb’s chest felt warm at how well his boyfriend knew him, even the high-strung, obsessive part of him. Maybe especially that part, because Dmitri knew all the worst things about him and loved him anyway. “Anyway, I don’t have to answer every request. I can skip it if it’s something embarrassing.”

Dmitri dissolved into laughter again. “Then you will skip **every**request!” he protested, and even on the relatively small screen of his phone, Caleb could see the way Dmitri’s eyes sparkled. Caleb knew that people sometimes posted the private videos they received on StarGreet; he could suddenly imagine Dmitri finding and watching every one and sending him a critique of his performance. Weirdly enough, that thought actually eased some of his anxiety.

“I’m glad my shame is so enjoyable for you,” Caleb said dryly, sure he was blushing.

“No, no, sweetheart,” Dmitri started to backtrack, maybe afraid that he was actually upsetting Caleb. It was sometimes difficult to tell these things over the phone, even now that they had the advantage of video. “Let me help. Let’s see...you can pretend you are playing that children’s game, what is it called? Truth or...action?” Dmitri repeated the word in Vostokyan, but it wasn’t one Caleb had managed to commit to memory yet. Still, it was clear enough from context.

“Truth or dare?” Caleb suggested.

“Yes, that one. If someone asks you to sing—”

Suddenly, Caleb imagined that scenario. “Oh god,” he said, burying his face in his hand.

“—just pretend you are a child, and it is a game of truth or dare.”

Caleb wasn’t sure if it was annoying or funny that Dmitri had been more helpful before he’d actually tried to make supportive suggestions.

“I always chose ‘truth’ when I played truth or dare,” Caleb confessed. “Dares...they were way too embarrassing. Even watching **other people’s dares**...the secondhand embarrassment was almost too much.”

Dmitri’s expression turned sympathetic, though Caleb could see that he was holding in laughter at the same time. “Oh, moy pomidor...how do you survive in a locker room if you are so easily embarrassed?”

Caleb rolled his eyes, but...fair question, honestly. “Why tomato?” he asked instead of attempting to answer Dmitri’s question.

“Because you are so red right now,” Dmitri told him, giving in to his laughter.

As it turned out, joining StarGreet wasn’t nearly as terrible as Caleb had anticipated. He had indeed had to turn down some singing requests (and those people should thank him, honestly, for saving their ears). But it was, as expected, mostly birthday and anniversary messages, which were easy enough, if a bit repetitive. He’d also been asked to record a gender reveal and a short message for the annual meeting at a local Port-Royal company. One woman had asked him to tell her boyfriend that he was going to do a great job on a test, and giving a thirty-second pep-talk actually came second nature to Caleb after years of captaining a hockey team. (Caleb wondered if the guy had passed his test, but he had resigned himself to not getting closure on that one).

So it was actually...fine. Better than posting more on Lumin, actually, because Caleb didn’t have to share anything else about his personal life. It was always a little embarrassing when people posted the videos publicly, and Caleb always cringed when one of his teammates pulled one up in the locker room. He wasn’t sure how recording a short video was different than giving an interview or a speech, both of which he’d always been more than comfortable with. He did occasionally watch one of his interviews and wish he’d articulated himself a bit better, but he didn’t feel the sort of visceral embarrassment he felt when watching back one of the StarGreet videos.

Perhaps it was because most of his interviews were entirely impersonal, about the results of a hockey game or an event for the Svetlana Foundation, something that involved him but wasn’t entirely **about**him. Even the documentary that had ostensibly been about his rivalry with Dmitri had been about their careers and not about them personally.