TITLE: Hero Worship (1/1)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
WEBSITE: https://www.angelfire.com/scary/randominsanity/RandomInsanity.html
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom (sort of)
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: The truth is in his eyes
FEEDBACK: It's the highlights on his hairdo, the extra arms on Vishnu
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER: This story is solely a product of my twisted imagination
ARCHIVE: BTF, LBES, my site; all others please ask, but I'll surely
say yes
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Told from Viggo's POV. This was one of those
bunnies that sank its teeth into me and would not let go until I wrote
it, so I whipped it up in 23 minutes (meaning that it probably sucks)
DATE WRITTEN: June 20th, 2003
Everyone thinks it's hero worship. Whenever Orlando says something about how he wants to be me as an actor and a person, they think it's merely a sign that a young actor idolizes a man who was his mentor on-set. Maybe that *is* where it all started, but it goes far deeper than that now. And no one has a clue.
The truth is in his eyes. It was there when he kissed me at Cannes, it was there when we embraced at 'The Two Towers' premiere, and it's there whenever the two of us are in the same place. It's always there. Love. Unrequited love.
He thinks that I don't know how he feels about me, but I'm not blind. Orlando is a wonderful actor when he's on a set, but he can't disguise his feelings in the real world. And every time I see those brown eyes looking at me, his heart laid bare for me to see, I feel like such a bastard for not loving him. I wish I could love him, I wish I could make him happy. But you can't make yourself fall in love with someone.
I cringed when I read his quote in that article: "I can't believe how much this is going to make me sound like I'm in love with the guy." He laughed it off, probably wearing his trademark grin, hoping that no one would give his words a second thought. Meanwhile, I continue to play the role of the oblivious friend, because that's the easy way out.
Orlando deserves someone wonderful, someone who will love him and treat him with all the care in the world. I'm not that someone. Still, as I arrive in New Zealand for reshoots and he gives me a boisterous hug, I look into those eyes and wish that I could be who he needs me to be.
Later that night, he tells me what a great job I did on the reshoots and how much he admires me. My poetry, my paintings, my acting. I playfully cuff him on the head and call him 'prissy elf', but make sure that my teasing doesn't cross the line into flirting territory; the last thing I want to do is lead him on. Our friends all grin at us as we banter, watching Orlando's latest display of hero worship. They have no clue how it really is.
It's not worship. And I'm not a hero.
