High School Story Prime Fan

Not a single cloud dared to ruin the blue sky of that warm October afternoon in Culver City. The sun outside cast a shimmering golden hue over cars, but Claire had to content herself with the white overhead lights of the depressive studio warehouse she visited. Stuck on a field trip with her classmates, Claire thought it was ironic a drama titled "Love is Everywhere" was shot in such a sterile environment. She sure didn't feel any love anywhere when she had to stand under a vent blasting freezing air to listen to a tour guide stumble over words for well over five minutes.

The man's voice droned on and on and Claire decided to wander off after failing to make conversation with Addison. She was "too busy" with the guide's monologue to hear Claire's proposal of checking out the warehouse by themselves. Her loss. Claire was able to provide a much more enriching experience, with exclusive insider information she had acquired by… networking. She didn't need to be lectured by a guy who wore cargo shorts. Ew! Claire already knew everything there was to know about that movie, and about film sets, and shooting schedules, and about people, and about life.

Exploring the extensive warehouse while unnoticed proved to be an easier task than Claire had anticipated. She roamed between pre-built sets of a backyard, a kitchen and a living room; opened doors and flicked fake light switches; tripped over power cords, too distracted with the tall ceiling and the metal structures hanging over her head to pay attention to her heels. Soon, the chatter of her classmates and their footsteps was nothing more than distant noise.

Claire mulled over the injustice of having her phone taken from her. It wasn't like that warehouse was that interesting, anyway. Why would she take pictures of those ugly, uninspired sets? No, she would've been too busy texting Crash about their dinner date later that day to even think about doing that. She wanted that field trip to be over already so she could meet him back at campus for a night down in West Hollywood.

Too busy dreaming about the drinks she planned to order, Claire almost didn't notice she had reached the prop storage. An ugly giggle escaped her lips. Wonderful! She wasted no time in scurrying towards a tall shelf rack, anxious at the prospect of finding valuable props left behind and forgotten to time. That boring trip had to have a silver lining; and maybe Claire would even come across a shoe or some jewelry lined in silver.

One of the valuable lessons life had taught Claire was to aim for the top; anything worth pursuing was always above the rest. With that in mind, she got on a wooden stool lying around and, after making sure her balance was adequate, got on her tiptoes. The dust and the dirt welcomed her once she was eye-level with the second to last shelf. Her only response was to scratch her nose and to start investigating every cardboard box she could reach. When nothing found was of her interest, she stretched up until she could make out the frame of a display case.

Her gasp echoed in the empty warehouse. The bugs in Claire's stomach munched her flesh in excitement. She couldn't believe it, she really couldn't! Her fingertips reached out, the stool wobbling beneath her when she got in one foot. Claire would not give up until she had that case in her hands, safe from dust and mold and-

"Got it!"

The wooden stool gave out. Her joy was replaced by horror and she could only close her eyes. The scene was set: an electric jab in the base of her spine, rippling through her body, coursing down her legs, rattling her insects; the glass case crushed and the shards slitting her hands, her forearms, her chest. A soft whimper flew out of her lips. Claire waited and waited for her back to hit the concrete floor. It didn't.

When Claire blinked her eyes open, she wished she had never done so. A hot flush spread over her face and neck, her features twisting in mortification as she found herself cradled in Professor Thomas Hunt's arms. Her mites and her fleas, still discomfited from her fall, crawled under her skin as they took notice of Hunt's frown and the few strands sticking up from his tousled hair.

"Oh!" Claire panted. She then offered him a timid smile, "hi."

"What are you doing here, Claribel?!"

"Um- like… right now?"

The sheepishness in her voice seemed grating to Hunt. "No. At this part of the warehouse. Everyone is outside already."

"Oh- I was… um, looking around."

"You were not supposed to look around, Claribel. You were supposed to stick to your classmates, watch the tour, and leave the studio with everyone else", he scowled, still breathless. "But expecting you to follow instructions is too much, isn't it?"

Claire huffed. "Omigosh- there's no need for you to go all aggro on me! It's not like- it's not like I killed a guy or something, I just wanted to see things!"

Professor Hunt sized her up for a moment. The little crease between his eyebrows deepened as his attention lingered on her face, his expression stuck in slight consternation. At last, Hunt registered he still had his arm around her; his fingers flew from the little strip of skin at her waist where they laid, appalled, and he dropped her on her feet. Hunt's shoes shuffled away from her while his hands went to his back as he assumed his usual gait. Unnerved, Claire diverted her gaze to some plastic storage boxes in the corner.

The uncomfortable silence was broken by Hunt: "Did you get hurt?"

With her chin high, Claire replied, "no."

"What do you have over there?"

Hunt nodded to the display case she still clutched against her chest. Claire hesitated but showed it to him. Nine butterflies were arranged against white styrofoam; two of them shined in iridescent blue, while the other ones contrasted in shades of yellow and orange. They all had symmetrical black spots on their forewings, starting at their sternums and reaching the costal edge. Three of them had golden spots at the cells of their undersides. Claire tapped a manicured nail against the glass case, "the blue ones are fake, but they can pass very well."

"You were trying to steal a butterfly case?"

Her cheeks heated up. "I was not stealing. I just- I just saw it and I wanted to take a look it! And- it's not only a butterfly case! Can't you read? It's from The Collector. Gosh, you'd think a film professor would know these things!"

Hunt wasn't phased by her words. Instead, he took the case from her hands with care and brought it closer to his eyes. He had to squint in the ill-lit warehouse, patting his breast pocket for something. "How do you know they're not real?"

"Isn't it clear?", she scoffed. "They have their abdomens but are still iridescent."

He hummed, shifting his gaze to her. "What's the correlation?"

His tone made Claire reconsider. She bit the insides of her mouth before explaining, "they're supposed to be morpho butterflies, and with those you have to remove their little appendages before pinning them. Otherwise the grease from their guts, like, destroys their wings."

"That's interesting. I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. I suppose the set designer wasn't aware of that detail either…" Hunt said, brushing his thumb over an encased butterfly. "I'm afraid I can't let you have this though."

"I was not stealing it!" Claire squeaked as she watched Hunt return the display case to the shelf rack. "I told you I was just looking at it! I wasn't going to- do anything!

"It is very hard to believe you when when you are always doing something, Claribel. I have come to expect to always find you in some sort of disastrous situation." He checked his wristwatch, not letting Claire reply as he continued: "Now please, let's get out of here. They're closing the set for the day and you've already made everyone waste a lot of time."

"But-"

"And let me be very clear, Claribel- we will have a conversation about this and about your behavior once we're back at campus."

Professor Hunt turned on his heels, not interested in her protest, and strode towards the giant studio doors across the warehouse. With a scoff, Claire scurried after him.

"Um- why!?" She pushed her hair off her face, trying to keep up with his pace. "I literally did nothing. Like, you can't say what I did. Because I did nothing- what is there to talk about!?"

"In case you have forgotten, the objective of this field trip was to get you and your classmates acquainted with a film set so you'd have material for your final project this term." Hunt didn't bother to look at her. "Since you have not taken part in the guided tour, and instead were attempting to misappropriate-"

"I was not stealing anything!"

"-I can only wonder how you expect to turn in anything at all. I must remind you this will affect your grade point average, too."

A pained whine escaped Claire. She always knew Professor Hunt to be unfair towards her, as he had some sort of vendetta against her and everything she ever did. He disliked her, yes, and she did not care for his personal feelings as he also displeased her immensely; it was only so offensive to her because he made no effort to maintain an illusion of impartiality. He was always, always, always looking for ways to spoil everything and anything for her. Of course he wouldn't miss an opportunity Claire had handed to him herself.

Finally, they reached the exit doors.

"Oh, come on, Professor, please-" she tugged on his sleeve. Hunt's eyes moved to her touch, but he kept walking. "Don't be like that- I didn't do anything so bad."

"You still did something, and there are still consequences for your actions."

Her hands trailed up his arm. "Well-! But I didn't, like, harm anyone, and like you said, I'm the one who's not-"

She couldn't finish her sentence. Claire bumped against Hunt, who had failed at opening the studio doors. Her face twisted in bewilderment as he tried the handle a couple more times. It didn't budge.

"Do you not know how to open a door? You have to push it. Forward."

"I'm trying, Claribel, but I'm sure you're capable of deductive reasoning." Hunt frowned, "it's locked."

"What!?" she yelped. "No, it can't be locked!"

To try the handle herself, Claire shoved Hunt out of the way. She pushed the door back and forth, to no avail. The loud metal creak echoed throughout the warehouse, the large, empty space amplifying it.

Hunt groaned, covering his ears: "Can you stop that? If something is locked, you can't brute force it."

"No- no! You don't get it! I didn't even want to be here- I didn't even want to come to this stupid field trip, but you said it was mandatory-"

"It was mandatory because it's part of a project worth a third of your final grade-"

"-which is ridiculous! There was no need for a mandatory field trip in the middle of the term-! What is this?! High school?!-"

"-it's a film program. Classes can't be all theoretical, administration won't-"

"-and now, since you had the brilliant idea of bringing us here, I'm going to get late for my date with Crash, and I-" She scoffed, waving in his general direction, "I can't be stuck here- with- with you!"

"For once we share a perspective, Claribel." Hunt measured her, a frown clouding his features. "I don't want to spend a minute longer with you. Not here, not anywhere else. Let's find an emergency exit."

They returned to walking. Claire's throat itched in anger, but she was doing her best to control herself and her emotions. She couldn't believe how unpleasant this man was. Unpleasant, rude, inconsiderate, nauseating, detestable, unbearable, cruel, mean, insufferable; she didn't even need a thesaurus to describe him.

"I can't believe this," he muttered under his breath, his fists clenched. "I can't believe you, Claribel."

"Me?! What do I even have to do with this?! You can't blame me for this!"

"I can, in fact, because it's always you and your tendency of going against… normal sensibilities."

"What do you even mean by that?!"

Hunt turned to face her. "I mean you never do what you're told, you're reckless, and you refuse to collaborate."

"I-"

"It was simple, Claribel. I told you to be in your best behavior, stick to your classmates, and just be normal- but you never take anything seriously. You have a character defect that makes you incapable of thinking outside of your person."

"A character defect!?" she gasped. "You are so arrogant you think you can just- Pass judgment on everyone around you! And no one forced you to come after me!"

"And what was the alternative? Leave you behind in this warehouse? Alone, at night?" Hunt joined his eyebrows, bewildered. "It might shock you to learn this, but other people usually consider those around them. I got here with 22 students, I can't leave with 21."

The mites in Claire's stomach made their way up her throat, so she decided to look away, chin high. "Don't act as if you're oh so considerate, Prof. You're saying it yourself- you're only worried about hearing from admin."

Hunt studied her. From his jaw, Claire could tell he had his teeth pressed together. He closed his eyes, shook his head and took a deep breath. "Let's just try to find an exit, okay?"

Once again, Hunt didn't wait for her answer before striding back deeper into the warehouse. Claire swerved from cables and boxes as she followed him, huffing. How unlucky could Claire be? Out of all people to catch her, it had to be Mr. Thomas Hunt. For a second, or maybe it was three or four, she wished she had hit the ground when she lost her balance… she would've ended with broken bones, yes, but excruciating pain could be fixed with pills or a visit to the doctor.

Thomas Hunt was an affliction that could not be dealt with. Claire had tried, and for some reason, none of her tactics ever worked. She had attempted being the best student he had ever had: on the stage, she nailed her lines; in class, she pretended his lectures were riveting. She did the assigned reading, then the supplementary material, then compared notes, then participated in every class debate, and asked for extra credit. She had even visited him during office hours, only so he could see how serious she was about her major, and how serious she was about being an actress!

And Claire really was; but Professor Hunt always found something wrong with the way she postured on stage, or how she read a line with too much drama, or how she was too uninspired with her interpretation of the text. When Claire raised her hand in class, half of her colleagues groaned, while the other half celebrated they were about to lose ten minutes of Hunt's lecture. He deducted points from her papers over slips no other professor would care, and he had a radar for catching Claire in less than ideal situations. It was ridiculous!

Somewhere along the way, Claire figured the issue with Thomas Hunt was much deeper and more complex than she could ever hope to tame; he would never change his opinion on her, no matter what she accomplished or what she demonstrated, because Professor Hunt was just a very sad man. Everyone had to be miserable like him. He was blind to colors other than blue. It wasn't representative of her character, as Claire was convinced of her delightful disposition and of her many talents. He was just troubled and had chosen to target Claire for not sharing his shortcomings. He was too haughty to admit he had been wrong about someone-

Hunt halted. She managed to avoid him this time and watched as he looked around and scoffed, "unbelievable."

"What?"

"Use your eyes. Do you see any doors here, Claribel?" Hunt waved to barren walls of the warehouse. "This is clearly a fire code violation. I'll be drafting a strongly-worded e-mail as soon as we get out of here."

Dweeb. Claire twirled a curl of her hair. "Can I help?"

"I'd rather not."

"I saw an office space when I was… walking around, earlier. It didn't look like a set," she said. "I mean, I don't think it was a set- there was a lady there, and she asked me about my hair, and she didn't seem to be in costume."

"Let's get walking."

The steady rhythm of their heels echoed in the empty studio warehouse. Claire was getting tired of following Hunt from one side to the other, but did not feel like wasting words with him. Ignoring him, her attention was caught by various garment racks.

Not a minute later, Claire perused through the various costumes available to her. She pulled a turquoise, sequined mini dress from the rack, holding it in front of her own body. Not her size. Claire tried on some white opera gloves, the sating shining under the lamps. The tube skirts were cute, but not short enough. She liked a pair of shorts, but they were too distressed to her tastes.

A loud gasp escaped her when she faced the most gorgeous dress she had ever seen in her life: a red, midi-length ball gown, with blackwork embroidery over its skirt and bodice. With a quick glance to wherever Hunt had wandered off to, Claire snatched the dress and scuttled towards the dressing area; this was the chance of a lifetime and she couldn't wait to tell Addison how silly she had been to stay behind. That's what she got for not paying attention to Claire!

With quick gestures, Claire unzipped her jean skirt and threw her red top somewhere. She stepped into the dress and pulled it up, studying herself for a moment. The strapless bustier looked nice on her, but it still needed to be fitted-

"Claribel?" Hunt's voice traveled from the other side of the thin set walls. "Where are you?"

"Over here." Claire bit her tongue as she tried to reach for the bodice's laces. "I'm decent."

There were a few seconds of silence before Hunt's shoes tapped against the concrete floor. His visage appeared in the mirror, a few feet away from Claire. His eyebrows shot up when he took in Claire and her struggle, his gaze immediately running down her back to focus on the round, voluminous skirt of the dress. "What are you doing?"

"Trying on a dress, obviously," Claire frowned at him through the mirror. "Come help me."

Hunt blinked twice, too interested on the dress' embroidery. "I'm- Excuse me?"

Claire turned to face him, holding the bodice against her chest. His eyes went to her hands. "Come help me with my dress. I can't lace it."

"I'm not helping you with anything, Claribel. You shouldn't even be- these costumes are going to be used in this film and you'll ruin them," he scowled. "Take it off."

Claire lifted her eyebrows at his tone, taken aback. She giggled, with a purr: "You'll have to wine me and dine me first if you want me to take it off, Prof."

A flush of pink tainted the tip of Hunt's ears and the bridge of his nose. He forced his entire body away from her, eyes to the floor, while the rest of his face contorted in a grimace. "Don't be ridiculous. You know that's not what I meant. If you damage this dress in any capacity, I'll be the one held responsible for it."

"I highly doubt I'm capable of such achievement- I'm just trying it on for like, five minutes."

"Don't underestimate yourself, Claribel. You're able of accomplishing a lot in five minutes- I'd be surprised if nothing happened," he replied, inspecting the ceiling. "Besides, we should be looking for an exit. I remember you mentioning you had plans, so I assumed you were in the same haste to get out of here as I am."

"Yeah, I am, but… oh, please-! No one's gonna know about it. I just want to see myself in a pretty dress, and then we'll go see the office thing," she pouted. "That's a compromise! I can make those too."

The hand Hunt lifted when checking his wristwatch was clenched in a fist. The crease in his forehead appeared once more, but he let out a long defeated sigh after some silence. In a slow, unsteady turn, he walked in her direction. Claire smiled, giving him her back.

"You know, Claribel," started Hunt as he untangled the laces on the bodice. Claire tilted her head, watching him through the mirror. "You don't make a compromise on your own. You don't choose the terms and present them to the other person and expect them to accept it. It's supposed to be a mutual agreement."

She gave him a look over her shoulder. "Well, is this not mutual?"

"No."

"Seems pretty mutual to me."

No answer came. His fingers brushed against the small of her back when he pulled on the lace threads. Claire preoccupied herself with her own reflection. She curled more strands of her hair. She fixed the necklace on the hollow of her throat. She pulled on the ends of the gloves she wore; but her gaze insisted on traveling back to the little crease between Hunt's eyebrows, and her entire will was focused on not flinching whenever his knuckles made contact with her skin.

"Addison promised to design my first red carpet dress."

Hunt hummed. "Did she?"

"Yes. I told her I want it in red, it looks nice on me- I like how I look in red," she blurted, straightening the fabric of the skirt. "But it has to be a real red carpet of a real movie- not like those weird ones I attended. She said she wants it to be special."

"Not even New Year's Eve? That was a… moderate production."

"Are you serious? A bunch of paparazzi asked me to leave pictures because I was, like, disturbing the leads. Whatever that means."

"I heard talk of Clash at Sunset premiering at Sundance," Hunt remarked. "It qualified as a late submission, didn't it?"

"It did. But we still have to wait until December to know if we made the list - I think we have good chances," she said. "It'd be amazing if we were part of the competition program, but just getting to premiere at Sundance would be a dream."

"It is a very good opportunity. It can make your career." Hunt considered his next words for a moment. "I had my first movie premiere at Sundance. In 1996."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"What was it like?"

"It was out-of-competition. They gave me a terrible time slot- 3PM. The good thing about Sundance is that you're never going to get no audience. The issue was that it was snowing heavily," Hunt told her. He grimaced, "and to get to the theater you had to… hike up your pants so they wouldn't get… wet from the slurry."

He pressed his eyes together, then shook his head with a sigh.

"It was a very gratifying experience, though. It screened a few other times throughout the week and I sold it on the fourth day," continued Hunt, looking down. "It brought me a lot of attention. I wouldn't have written Ruin if it had been any different."

"What was it like seeing your movie in a festival?"

The firm pull at her back told her Hunt was tying the knot on her bodice. She gasped, soundless. "Good. Happy. It's hard to describe seeing the result of months of work in such a concrete way. The editing wasn't finalized yet, so it wasn't exactly what I wanted it to be… but it was my first movie."

And wasn't that enough? Claire nodded, her head almost somewhere else.

"I have… I'm happy with Clash at Sunset, you know? It was fun to shoot it, despite… complications." Claire fidgeted with her gloves, not daring to look up. "And… well, I have a decent amount of screen time and I get to… show people what I can do. Really, this time- I think this role is not like the other ones I played."

"It's not."

His eyes met hers through the mirror. It unsettled her; what did he mean by that? Well, Professor Thomas Hunt would never waste an opportunity to devalue and discredit Claire… so she assumed he had said it in a sarcastic manner and she hadn't caught it. Claire knew Hunt's temperament, and she was sure, certain, definite in her evaluation-

"There's your dress, Claribel."

His hands left her back where they still tugged on the satin laces and trailed her girdle, stopping at the fabric of her skirt. He held it between his fingers, as if examining it. "It is a nice color."

The two words missing from his remark didn't impede it from becoming a compliment. Claire's crawly bugs explored her insides, lodging themselves somewhere inside her ribcage, and she ignored the itchiness at her cheeks. Instead, she checked herself in the mirror, the skirt accompanying her movement as she twisted and turned and tried hard to make the burning in her stomach go away.

"I… think this is missing a petticoat- this skirt is supposed to be more structured."

Hunt tilted his head, his arms behind his back. For a while, he only watched Claire preen in the gown. Then, he said, "you can tell Miss Sinclair about it when she's designing your dress, but we still need to find a way out, Claribel."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Fine. Leave."

His gaze delayed on her reflection as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and spun in place, the skirt flowing with her. It took a frown from her for him to snap out of it and hurry out of the dressing room. With him gone, Claire started to change back into her clothes.

"I've gone to Sundance once."

"Have you?"

"Yeah," she pushed the dress down her chest. "When I was sixteen. My friend's dad was- well, is, he's not dead- oh- um- his… stepfather worked as a composer, and he had scored a short film that made it to Sundance. And he was going, so we tagged along."

"What… did you watch?"

"The short film, which I remember nothing of except this really, really weird scene with a fish and, like, a girl? And, like, I think the girl was the fish, and she was literally so ugly- and I don't mean that in a mean way, they just put her in this really strong eye makeup that made her off-putting. Like, it was intentional… I think."

His voice was amused. "I have no idea what movie you could possibly be describing, Claribel."

"Yeah, it was weird- but my friend's dad's score? Gnarly. It fit the fish-girl perfectly," she said, putting her top back on. "But the only other movie we watched was Little Miss Sunshine. We only stayed for like, two days."

Claire fixed a few strands of her hair before hanging the red dress with care and returning it to the costume rack around the corner.

"It was the only tickets we were able to get. My friend's dad had to, like, go deal with something that came up and my friend and I decided to explore town."

When she reappeared, Hunt had his arms crossed over his chest. His ears were still rouge and he didn't look at Claire before gesturing for her to follow him. She didn't mind:

"And, um- we overheard a guy saying there were still some tickets available for that afternoon and we bolted down the avenue and he- my friend- he almost slipped on the icy road but he got us the tickets like, minutes before the premiere. It was so cool."

Claire giggled.

"And obviously, I really liked the movie, but just being there and being with him, and getting to see all those people so excited about movies and…" she sighed. "It was really fun. And I told him then, one day it's going to be you and I."

"And your friend?"

"He's… in film. Too."

"That's good." Hunt thought about her words. "Seems like you two had a clear picture of your future."

Her smile faltered. "Yeah. I guess."

Years of navigating interactions with academic types taught Claire the frown on Hunt's face meant he wasn't satisfied with her answer, so before he had the chance of asking her to elaborate further she blurted out: "Oh- look!"

The clicks of her heels got muffled once she reached the white wool rug of a living room set. She patted the throw pillows on the couches, fidgeted with the fake flowers atop a cabinet, and flipped through the fake books over the coffee table.

"Tasteful decoration," she remarked, then looked around, "it's like my mom was in charge of the interior design."

Hunt stopped by the edges of the set, his hands on his hips. "Claribel, stop abstracting. We need to find a way out of here while there's still people on the lot."

"I'm not abstracting. I hadn't seen this before."

"You've seen it now, so let's keep going." Hunt checked his wristwatch. "It's getting late."

Before Claire could reply, her gaze traveled to a black television set in the middle of the fake living room; the stand it rested on was made of cedar wood, and its shelves were full with various VHS tapes. A little "ooooh" of fascination came from Claire, and soon she was knelt down and going through the collection. "These are real!"

"Claribel, you made a compromise with me," Hunt frowned. "I've done my part, but you're deliberately stalling. I would like to get out of here, get to my house, and write you up for insubordination."

Claire dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "I'm not stalling. I want to leave this place as much as you do."

He scoffed. "Forgive me if I don't believe in your anxiety to leave. It's been very hard to take you seriously."

"Omigosh- okay, okay! I'm- Oh-! It's The Night of the Hunter!" she pulled a tape from the shelf. "You've talked about this one in class. I had never seen a VHS of it."

"What? How come?"

"I don't know. It was the only one missing from my MGM Classics collection."

Engrossed in analyzing the box art in her hands, Claire almost didn't register the moment Hunt knelt by her side. Her breath condensed in a small, misty cloud front of her when she moved to make space for him in front of the television set.

"These set pieces are always interesting. Most of the time they'll only be visible for seconds on screen, if they even are," he said, trailing his index finger over the VHS' spines. "So there's no effort in making it coherent. I'm impressed these are even real tapes. They're probably damaged."

The television didn't turn on when Claire pressed its button, but she was already more interested in the pair of glasses Hunt removed from his breast pocket. He put them on and started perusing the tapes; some ants trekked from Claire's stomach down her legs.

"Here's Notorious… The suspense is terrific, but what I really enjoy is the lack of solemnity." Hunt hummed, "there's this beautiful tracking shot close to the end of the movie, in the mansion- the camera starts high and tracks all the way down to Ingrid Bergman's hand. I still remember watching it for the first time. So impressive."

"Ingrid Bergman is superb in everything she's ever been in. There's Casablanca, obviously, but the first time I watched Gaslight I had to leave the room and… ugh," Claire grimaced. "When she's stuck in that house, and you can feel her distress and her sense of- of helplessness. Gosh."

"It's similar to Sleep, My Love. Have you seen it?" he asked her, then continued when she shook her head: "It's with Claudette Colbert. It's… all over the place, very melodramatic. But these two movies are part of larger trend of noir films from the forties. A sheltered woman was often threatened and trapped, in a house, by her husband."

"Oh, like Rebecca... Or The Two Mrs. Carrolls?"

Hunt scowled in disgust. "Terrible movie. It lacks any subtlety, it's extremely derivative of Gaslight and Suspicion to the point of shamelessness, and it's probably Bogart's worst performance in his career. Embarrassing. Over-acted. Unimpressive."

"Worse than The Oklahoma Kid?"

"Yes. He's just bad in that one. In The Two Mrs. Carrolls he's clearly miscast, aware he's miscast, and uncomfortable about the role he's playing. It's mediocre."

Claire smiled. "What, you didn't like Bogart jumping from behind the curtain like Dracula?"

"I did not, no," his lips curled up. "I also found the scene of him offering the police officers a glass of milk ridiculous."

"You know what was stupid? Omigosh, they wanted me to believe that guy was a good artist, and then they kept showing the ugliest portraits I had ever seen in my life," she huffed. "They managed to make Barbara Stanwyck look weird!"

"Stanwyck was also miscast. It's a shame, because she could be good at dramatic roles." Hunt furrowed his eyebrows, "though Godfrey is also at fault for his uninspired direction."

"I liked Christmas in Connecticut."

"It's a Christmas movie."

"What about it?"

"There's not much to say."

"Are you prejudiced against holiday movies?"

"Yes."

Claire giggled, returning the tape she still held to the shelf. "Oh, come on- you're telling me you don't like The Shop Around the Corner? The Bishop's Wife? White Christmas?"

"I dislike Christmas, so I'm not fond of movies about it."

"The Apartment!?"

Hunt pressed his lips together "…that's not a Christmas movie."

"Yes, it is!" she gave his arm two light slaps, turning to face him. "It's set at Christmastime!"

"That doesn't make it a holiday movie. The movie is about infidelity. It's bleak and cynical."

"It's part of it, don't you think? Like, it was a choice to set a movie like that during the holidays, which… people usually associate with more positive sentiments."

"Would you consider Sunset Boulevard a New Year's movie, then?"

"Yes! It's also a gothic."

Hunt frowned. "A gothic?"

"Yes. It's perfect. It's a Tinseltown gothic- It's narrated by a ghost, and it is about a ghost- Norma, but also the movies, as they once were," she rambled, "it's set mostly in a big manor and they shoot it like German Expressionism horror- long shadows, disrepair, a sense of confusion. The house- well, the past is reanimated inside it. Everything is crumbling down, from the mansion, to Norma, to Joe, to the tennis court, to Hollywood- oh, when she stands in front of the projector? Queen Kelly being superimposed in her face?"

Claire caught her breath, then sighed.

"Um- you know. And it's… New Year's. Um- sorry, I just like this movie a lot."

"I can see that."

The warehouse and its buzzing noises looming in the distance displeased Claire dearly. For a few seconds, though, as Hunt's gaze brushed against her cheeks, her nose, her chin, she did not care much for it. The little crease between his eyebrows was still there, soft, subtle, understated; almost as if Hunt himself weren't aware of it's refusal to go away, his consternation at their circumstances so deep he became oblivious to what he let himself divulge.

Claire swallowed hard. "We should get out of here."

"Yes. We should."

When Hunt got up and offered his hands to Claire, she hesitated… but accepted them. She wobbled on her heels, but his firm grasp didn't let her lose her balance. Hunt's thumb grazed over her gloved knuckles and he looked down with a frown. "Why are you still with these?"

"I was cold."

By his lack of reaction, Claire was certain he would start another argument with her, or at least reprimand her for not "fully complying with their agreement". She even had thought of a retort, something about him picking on her and being heartless for no reason. Weren't the goosebumps on her arms proof enough of her suffering!?

After a sigh, Hunt shrugged off his jacket and offered it to Claire. It took her a moment to process his gesture before she could accept it, gingerly. Her fingertips traced the collar, the lapel, the notch.

"Thanks. Won't you get cold?"

He seemed surprised. "Don't worry. We'll leave soon enough."

With that, Hunt walked off. Claire slipped on his tweed jacket as she trailed behind him; her entire face tingled, abashed. Those bugs behind her ribcage gnawed on every tissue she had when his cologne, imbued on the collar, reached her nose. He smelled… nice. The jacket hanged off her body in a way Claire could only imagine was unappealing, but it was the most comfortable garment she had worn in a while.

Quicker than she had expected, they reached the office space Claire had mentioned earlier. Hunt tried the doors of some of the rooms while she tried to identify anything through the large windows.

"That's wonderful," Hunt muttered, pulling a door back and forth. "This is just wonderful."

Claire leaned her forehead against the window, frowning. "Crash is probably thinking I stood him up and that I hate him and I want him dead because he got my latte order wrong, but I already told him I wasn't mad at him for that- but I know he'll think that's why I didn't show up, and he can't even get in touch with me because you made leave my phone in that stupid bin."

"None of this would be happening if you had listened to my instructions like the rest of your classmates," Hunt berated her. "Now we're stuck here for the night. Congratulations, Claribel."

She closed her eyes, letting out a little whine. "What do we do?"

"Let's find something to eat. There must be a catering car forgotten somewhere around here."

In some other life, in another universe, she was enjoying a terrific night with Crash, and maybe they went to a club and only went home at four in the morning; instead, Claire was once again stuck in a predicament with the one person in the world she wished didn't even know about her existence. She hit her forehead twice, hard, against the darkened windows.

Wandering off towards the pre-built sets, she stopped at one decorated as a kitchen, with shelves, pots, and pans. Claire wondered if the appliances were functional, so she pressed every button she saw, from the microwave from to the blender. Nothing came to life. Some magnets held up post-cards and generic drawings on the refrigerator. There were fake fruits in a basket and Claire punctured an apple with her nail before crossing the arched door frames to the attached dining room set.

Claire inspected the round mahogany diner table with two chairs, each facing a dining set. A floral arrangement served as the centerpiece, with small candles complimenting the decoration.

"I found these," Hunt's voice came from behind her, startling her a little. He placed a platter on top of the table. Two sad-looking bagels welcomed Claire, but she did not accept their greeting. "They're a little stale, but they'll do."

"I don't want to eat this."

Hunt frowned. "What? Why? There's nothing else here, Claribel."

"I'm not hungry."

"It's 7PM and we've been here all day. Here, have this one," he placed one of the bagels in Claire's plate, "this one is not as dry. You are good at fantasizing, you can probably pretend this is a three-course meal."

Claire rolled her eyes, but started picking on the bagel when they were both seated. She didn't let the silence settle:

"Do you like… this dining room?"

"No. I don't understand what this house is supposed to look like. The sets all feel disjointed and the decoration between rooms don't match." Hunt gestured, "there's a fireplace here and in the living room."

"Maybe they live in a very cold place."

"I dislike the carpet. Those fake flowers are frightful. The curtains are hideous."

"What? I liked them. They're frilly."

"You should never buy curtains, then."

"I hate that the walls are, like, empty. This doesn't look lived in- they could've, like, put some fake pictures here," Claire mused. "And everything here looks sooooo...- An old person decorated this. You can smell the mothballs. Isn't the movie about a mom and a daughter?"

"I thought you had already left when the guide started going over the plot."

"I had. I- ooooh, wait! Oh, wait!" she straightened herself up in her seat, leaning in his direction. Claire made a moue, "can I tell you insider information about this movie? And then it can serve as atonement for my misbehaving? And then you won't write me up, or touch my grades, or anything like that? Preeeeetty pleeease?"

Hunt considered her for a moment, before letting out a snort. "Okay, Claribel. I'll humor you."

Claire smiled. "Yay! Okay! So, like- this movie tells the story of this lady whose husband died, like, years ago, and she has a teenage daughter, and they just don't get along very well. Not anymore, anyway."

"Are you giving me a plot synopsis?"

"Omigosh, wait- I'm getting there. Right, so, she decides she has to reconnect with her daughter and the movie revolves around that." Claire flipped her hair over her shoulder, "however, it has come to my attention the lead actresses, like, totally hate each other. I'm talking like, they had to stop shooting on some days!"

Hunt seemed amused. "That's the insider information you have? Gossip?"

"That's the best insider information there is, Prof!" she squeaked. "One of the extras is saying they'll have to promote the movie separately. It's that bad. Like, they can't even be in the same space together."

"Unfortunate. The producer who arranged the field trip for me seemed pleased with this story. He even mentioned the up-coming awards season."

"Well, it's funny he said that…" Claire lowered her chin, feigning innocence, "I was going to keep it to myself-"

"Were you? That's surprising."

"-but I've also heard there have been a bunch of rewrites. The writer is on set almost every day of shooting."

Hunt crossed his arms, leaning against his chair. "All very enlightening, Claribel. May I ask you who's your source?"

"It's very reliable."

He nodded. "I'm sure."

"It is!" she giggled. "Okay, I'll tell you. They were also shooting some scenes for another movie here, and Crash is doing stunt work- omigosh, don't make this face!"

"I'm not making any face."

"Yes, you are! You're… grimacing!" Claire gestured to his pained expression. She let out another giggle, "you know, Professor, you're supposed to stay impartial towards your students."

"I am. Very."

"You don't look very impartial right now."

He hummed. "I harbor no ill feelings towards Mr. Spencer. I simply do not consider him to be the most sound person surrounding you, Claribel."

"Oh, he's really nice. You're just mean."

"I'm not mean, I'm-"

The warehouse was engulfed in darkness before Hunt could finish his sentence. A soft gasp escaped from Claire's lips. Their breathing and the outside noises echoed throughout the studio.

"They must've turned the power off for the night," Hunt's strong voice came from her front. "Light the candles. There's a box of matches in the breast pocket."

It took Claire a few seconds to react, but she eventually unbuttoned his suit jacket and searched through his pockets. Her fingers brushed against a tiny box and soon she was lighting up the candles on the dining table. A gush of cold wind blew through the warehouse.

Claire cupped her hands over a candle to maintain its flame. "Do you light your cigarettes with matches?"

"Yes."

"Literally why? Just get a lighter."

"I had one. I dropped it and it started leaking, but I didn't notice. It ruined a jacket, so I decided to save myself from future inconveniences."

"Okay."

"What?"

"What? Nothing."

The yellow light emanating from the candles cast harsh shadows on Hunt's face. She pinched her bagel. "I regret complaining about the options at the restaurant."

"I don't remember you complaining."

"I did it mentally. I didn't want to talk to you after you called me confusing."

"I've never said that."

"Well, you implied."

Hunt crossed his arms. "I don't tend to imply what I mean, Claribel. If I want you to know something, I'll tell you. I called you selfish and spoiled and intolerable-"

"Okay, I got it."

"-I didn't call you confusing. I don't find you confusing."

"Yeah, but you've got me all wrong." Claire twisted her lips. "I wasn't doing it out of malice, the date auction. I just… freaked out a little when I didn't see Chris there. And then you kept saying things- You're always saying things, and I just, like, I don't know. Everything was going wrong and I couldn't deal with it."

"I figured that. It doesn't negate the fact you put me in a highly inappropriate situation, though. You're my student," he said. Hunt's eyebrows knit together as he studied Claire. "I'm your professor."

"Yes."

He didn't say anything further after that, and neither did she. Claire kept poking her bagel with her nail. Sometimes, with a lot of effort, she ate a bite or two. Another surge of wind ruffled Claire's hair and sent shivers over her legs.

"It's getting colder."

"Yes, it is. Do you remember seeing anything warm while you were snooping in the wardrobe?"

She rolled her eyes. "As a matter of fact, yes. There were some winter garments there."

"Let's go, then. We still have some hours until someone comes rescue us."

They got up, each carrying a candle, and ventured into the darkness. To Claire, that warehouse was already creepy enough during the day, so having to walk with no direction and without seeing anything scared her a little; she tried staying close to Hunt, but he'd step away every time their arms brushed against each other.

As they looked for the wardrobe, they found something better: a set decorated like a quaint but cozy bedroom. The king-sized bed was equipped with pillows and a blanket. A wardrobe was in the corner. The striped wallpaper was barely visible in the low-light, but Claire still found it distasteful.

Claire left her candle at the beside table before flopping down on the bed, sinking on the mattress. She watched as Hunt grabbed some of the pillows, throwing them on the floor: "What are you doing?"

"Making my bed."

Claire joined her eyebrows."What? Why? There's a bed here already."

"You take it. I'll sleep on the floor."

She sat up, watching him kneel on the carpeted floor and try to make himself comfortable. When he crossed his arms, she piped up, "you'll freeze!"

"I'll survive."

"Have your jacket back at least, then."

Hunt blinked, taken aback. "Claribel, just go to sleep."

Claire frowned, but lay back in bed, getting under the covers. If she were honest, that was the softest mattress she had been in years. The dormitory at Hollywood University had, quite frankly, terrible living conditions; the room she had rented before moving into campus barely fit a twin bed; and Chris had the most terrible, disgusting firm mattress she had ever had the displeasure to sleep in. She couldn't believe a fake bed in a fake bedroom could be so cozy. For a moment, if she closed her eyes, she could even pretend she was back at Santa Barbara street, 2232, in her plush, four-poster frame, queen bed.

The thought made Claire squirm, and tiny ants made their way up her throat to bite the back of her mouth. She shook her head and sat up again, eyeing Hunt on the floor; he still had his arms crossed, and the lighting from the candles didn't help much, but she was sure he was staring at the ceiling, eyes open. A very weird man, in her opinion, but Claire dangled her legs off the bed, wrapped in the blanket. The action made Hunt divert his attention to her.

"What are you doing?"

She got on the floor next to him, pushing him to the side. Hunt frowned, but scooted to make space for her. "I don't feel good about having the blanket all to myself- we can share until we're warm enough."

Hunt gave her no answer for a moment. He leaned on his left arm and looked down at Claire, his chestnut brown eyes searching her face; the wrinkle between his eyebrows had deepened, or maybe it was just the effect of the darkness that enveloped him.

"Fine."

He pulled the blanket over himself and over Claire's shoulder before lying back again. The warmth irradiating from his body was suffocating; the fabric of his dress shirt irritated Claire's skin even over the tweed jacket she wore. His tweed jacket. The thought disturbed her further.

"Um- Have you ever slept on a set before?"

"Yes," he answered her. "Many times. When I first started out, shooting would sometimes go well into the night, and then we were supposed to recommence early in the morning. It was more practical to just sleep on set."

"During my first undergrad, I was in my university's theater group and sometimes we would take naps between rehearsals," Claire told him. She smiled, "not the same thing, but this reminds me of… lying on the floorboards, feeling so exhausted, but so fulfilled."

Hunt hummed. "I remember the day I finished my first movie. My lead actors and the crew went home but I stayed back. I was tired, but I was happy."

"Were you smiling?"

"Yes. Only because the set was empty."

Claire giggled and slapped his shoulder, softly. She watched his profile as she waited for him to continue:

"It wasn't an easy production. It was basically self-financed and we had a tight schedule. Then I had to rush post-production because of Sundance, and then I had to… talk to everyone in that festival if I wanted to sell the movie, but it was worth it. Anything's worth it when you're doing what you love."

His words lingered. Claire's lips curled in a small, bittersweet smile. "Yeah."

A moment of silence transpired.

"Why are you here, Claribel?"

She joined her eyebrows, confused. "What do you mean?"

"In Hollywood. Majoring in Performance Arts," Hunt clarified. "This is not your first undergraduate degree. Why did you change your path?"

Claire didn't answer him at first, which prompted him to face her as well; she focused on the bump on the bridge of his nose, as the visual contact proved to be too distracting for her. The tie on his neck was undone.

"I didn't. Not really. It was just… a slight recalculation of route." Her words came out quiet. "It's been my dream since I was nine. Maybe before that."

"What happened?"

"My- … father wanted me to do… something else with my life. Follow in his footsteps- he was a- he's a psychiatrist." She then smiled, with a whiff of laughter. "He didn't have a son. He had me. It was perfect… we were. So I went into Biology, pre-med track, you know."

Hunt lifted an eyebrow. "Medical school, Claribel?"

"Oh, don't act so shocked. I would've been good!" she rolled her eyes. "I got an internship offer in the East Coast and all- you should read my thesis."

He considered her. "It's been your dream, you said?"

Claire nodded. "Yes. I started ballet at three, I was auditioning for movies at eight, I… had a lot of classes. My mom- she's always wanted to be an actress but, like, she sucked."

Hunt snorted. "Not even your own mother is safe from you?"

"No, like- you don't get it, like… she was just… not good. Trust me, she read scripts with me, when I had auditions, and… yeah. She became a nurse," Claire told him, "then a housewife. But she made me love movies."

"Were all her VHS tapes damaged?"

Claire blinked, not understanding at first, but she smiled when she did. "No, just the Macbeth one. But the first movie she showed me was The Princess Bride- like, we'd recite every word."

"Every word?"

"Yes. I knew she loved it. I wanted to love it too."

Hunt lowered his eyes, and he was lost in thought for a while. Claire shifted on her side.

"I used to make my sister and my cousins act out the screenplays I wrote. I remember my mother laughing with my aunts in the kitchen, saying soon she'd be going to my first premiere," he told her, still in thought. "It made me feel important. It also gave me a clear goal. I had to succeed, for myself and for her."

"Were they any good? Your screenplays."

"Nothing a fifteen-year-old writes is very good. But my mother… she believed a lot in me. She was nice."

"Is she dead?"

Hunt joined his eyebrows. "You have no discretion, Claribel."

"Oh….! Was this a faux pas?"

"Yes, but it's fine." His lips curled up, amused. "Yes, she's dead. She's been dead for… a long time."

"Did she watch your first movie?"

"No. She died two years before I graduated from film school. I was 20." Hunt pondered for a second. "It was very difficult, losing her. But it was less sad than I thought it would be."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought it would be sobering not having her by my side when I reached certain milestones. It wasn't. It was just… life."

Claire studied his features before asking, "what was your favorite thing about her?"

"She had quite the sense of humor."

"You didn't inherit that, I think."

Hunt frowned. "She could be strict too. I feared her more than I feared my father, but she was my best friend. She was just pleasant to be around."

Claire smiled. "She sounds lovely."

They fell into silence. Hunt's eyes were downcast as Claire mulled over his words. Just life.

"My dad disinherited me."

"You've told me that."

Claire squinted her eyes. "No, I didn't tell you. I told Orson."

He turned on his side as well. "Tell me then. Thomas."

She pressed her lips together and let out a sigh:

"I didn't want to go to medical school. I… wanted to act. I wanted to be an actress. There was no other choice for me, and it was silly to pretend I could be anything else."

"It sounds dramatic, but… I realized that acting wasn't just something I could disregard in favor of, like, a more conventional life when it was my life." Claire shook her head. "It has been since forever. How could I- how could I negate something that was so intrinsic to me? How could I negate me?"

"So I told him and… he didn't like it. He told me I should- it would be best if I thought better about it. But I had nothing to think about. So he put an end to our relationship."

Hunt joined his eyebrows. "That's terrible, Claribel."

"I guess… but it didn't matter. It doesn't matter. I moved to Los Angeles and never once thought about going back. This is where I'm meant to be. And I'll make it work."

There was a prolonged silence between them as Hunt took her in, his eyes scrutinizing her features. For once, she did not feel judged or criticized; his expression was neutral, but Claire could tell her words had landed in a different manner to him than they usually did. It was when he frowned, though, that Claire's curiosity was provoked.

No, "a frown" wasn't a precise description of the look in his face. Being in such close proximity to him allowed Claire to notice his dark, thick eyebrows, and she had always been of the opinion he had a nice nose, and his high cheekbones added to his angles; most importantly, it allowed her to notice how all these features scrunched up in such a subtle way it was almost imperceptible. But something was there. It wasn't pain, nor was it disgust, but maybe it was dread.

"For what it's worth, Claribel, you're a very promising actress."

"Is this your professional opinion, Professor?"

Hunt considered her. "It's my personal opinion."

Nothing he could have said would've made Claire's mites and fleas and ants and beetles, and her worms and butterflies, more titillated. From the warmth of his body, still so close to hers, to his prolonged eye contact, everything about Professor Thomas Hunt in that moment made Claribel panic; a terrible, horrible, awful situation it was to have him go off-script in the way he did. Claire considered herself adept at improvisation, but Hunt wasn't a man to improvise. She had come to learn what to expect from him. Back to script!

"But… what's your professional opinion?"

His answer didn't come quick. Hunt seemed baffled at himself. "Well- it's… similar. You still have a lot to improve, but you're better than average."

"Like- a little? A lot? The average actor is just mediocre."

"I said it at your academic hearing. I saw a lot of potential in you, despite your… misdemeanor. You had showed yourself to be a very talented student."

"You're kinda talking in circles."

"And you're being pushy," Hunt frowned. "Accept my words. What do you want me to say? 'You're the best actress I've ever seen?'"

She smiled. "That'd be nice…"

"You're not."

At first, Claire was so shocked she could only blink. She soon let out a loud howl of laughter. Hunt watched her, his own lips lifting up in a smile. Claire covered her mouth, her cheeks burning; her stifled giggles echoed throughout the warehouse until they became silence.

The tingling in her face shifted from mirth to discomfiture the longer Hunt's eyes searched her face; like earlier, he delayed his gaze over her cheeks, and her chin, and a little above it too. His mind seemed to be with her, but elsewhere as well. He looked personable like this, she thought. His gray hair wasn't limited to his temples, she noticed, and some white strands appeared here and there. His lashes were short, and his hooded, brown eyes had a slight gold tint to them, thanks to the candles.

It was when the little crease returned to Hunt's forehead that Claire blinked out of her revere. He pressed his lips together before facing up and going back to his analysis of the warehouse ceiling. Claire's attention lingered on his profile; at how his chest lifted up and down with his breathing, in a rhythm faster than hers; at his hands crossed over his stomach and how his fingers clutched at each other, in a way that seemed painful; and at his throat moving when he swallowed hard, once, twice, thrice.

Claire wouldn't be able to say how long it was until her eyelids were too heavy to stay open, but at some point the image of Hunt in front of her was gone and her mind preoccupied itself with other, less interesting pictures. As fast as she fell into slumber, she was taken out of it by footsteps echoing in the distance, then closer, then closer.

The vast expanse of the studio set warehouse greeted Claire when she blinked into consciousness. She was still in the ground, though she wasn't as cold as the previous night, wrapped up in the fluffy blanket. More than that, she could still feel the button of Hunt's suit jacket pressing against her stomach, but she could not find his lying by her side.

The thought of being left alone in that place made her stomach churn. She sat up fast enough to have dark spots clouding her vision. Her beetles crawled under her sternum. She took a deep breath before rasping out, "Professor?"

"I'm here."

Claire snapped her head back, searching for the source of his voice. She found him leaning against a dressed, his arms crossed.

"Hi."

"Hello," Hunt replied. "Good morning."

"I thought you had left."

"No," he said, a little confused. "I've been up for a while. I figured someone would have to be awake when the crew arrived."

Claire took in his words, her brain getting used to being awake. He had combed his hair and straightened his tie, but the eyebags under his eyes made him look exhausted still. It took Claire a few minutes to get up from the makeshift bed, and it took her a few more minutes to undo the knots in her curls until she gave up on the activity. She stood next to Hunt for a little while, but the silence perturbed her deeply. When he gave no impression of talking any time soon, too deep in thought, she gave a light kick to the front of his dress shoes and sank in the mattress.

Not soon after, but not soon enough for Claire's taste, a loud, rustling sound announced to the two of them someone was at the warehouse door. It startled Claire, but Hunt had no reaction except to gesture for her to follow him. Once more, and for the last time that day, Claire scurried after Hunt towards the exit doors.

the reference i used is Chisa from XG i saw her hair from the new comeback and instantly thought of rebecca

My first HWU line-up for comparison #WeLoveComparing. From left to right: Bianca, Hunt, Claire, Addison, Ethan, Chris, Holly, Lisa, Sebastian, and Crash.

Close-ups: