𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍

Candice had always been a bit of a kindred spirit and she’s glad to hear the same irrepressible energy is still there, still very much alive. “Please give Candy my love. I’d… love to catch up with her sometime. I’ve missed her too. And you.” She hadn’t wanted to stay away, despite how abrupt her removal had been. But her father had insisted on a clean slate, and she’d been too busy reeling for the repercussions of her own actions, choking on blame— that she relented. She still carries so many different shades of guilt, despite her best attempts at burying it. It haunts her. There’s a part of her that hesitates to tell him this, it feels a lot like trauma dumping, just unloading all this information into what is likely meant to be a light, easy drink or two. But she’s never lied to Simon and she’s reluctant to start now, not when he seemed a little confused about her silence (rightly so). There are few people for whom she would bother to explain, and he is one of them. 

She hates telling people this story, is well aware that they look at her differently when they know, like they see right past her perfectly styled clothes, and the sharp line of her eye liner. It’s a vulnerability she rarely risks. She watches him process her words in real time, watches the emotions dance across his face. He clenches his jaw so tightly there’s a part of her afraid he might break it— but whatever rage he feels, she knows from the moment he speaks it’s not directed at her. Relief sweeps through her, so rapidly and so completely that she exhales audibly. “You couldn’t have recognised it. I barely— I thought I was in love with him. I kept his secret, I just—I behaved selfishly. My family was protecting me from him yes, but also from the scandal.” She doesn’t react to the murderous intent in his voice then, had heard it from her father- -felt it now, that she was older, and no longer a child who’s affection had been twisted into a mess of a thing. She simply reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, before finishing off her champagne. “Thank you for listening.” She gives him another smile, softer— quieter, and then shifts the conversation. She doesn’t want to stay there, and she’s grateful he doesn’t pry. Some things are best left in the past, where they belong. 

“Candice is still a girl after my own heart. You caught me right before I took out my feelings in an Hermes store. I… need to stop impulse buying bags. Still sounds like I have you for the rest of the day— Let’s have fun.” She beams at him, a wide brilliant smile at the possibility of the day spent in his company. She laughs softly at the mention of a stroll, and he is right— the so Kate’s she was wearing now abhorred any more walking than absolutely necessary. “Well if you insist on walking, I’ll just buy new shoes. Though flats don’t really go with this outfit. Is..buying an entire new outfit outrageous…or spontaneous?” She laughs softly, knowing that the idea was ridiculous but also, that its absurdity wouldn’t stop her anyway. “Anime store? Absolutely.” She nods once at the loose plan— eager to indulge in some of her nerdier pursuits with someone who genuinely enjoyed them too. “I’d love to come, just send me the details… I’ll be there.” She gives him another soft smile, laced with a hint of nostalgia. “You’ve already been put through the shopping ringer so I’d had to drag you into yet another store but— I’d love to get some new shoes and then we could just get lost in the city. It could be fun— I can show you all my new favourite haunts.”

To his subtle surprise, however, she reemerged clad in garments of an entirely comfortable and relaxed nature, a choice that effectively pacified any stray, complicated curiosities that might have tried to trudge upward from the more unexamined corners of his subconscious mind-------- those private, guarded spaces that he steadfastly refused to acknowledge as he idly sipped his ice water and offered her an enthusiastic thumbs-up from his chair. He was more than happy to oblige her preference for casual attire, especially since the beautifully tailored fabrics still managed to hug her silhouette with a natural, complementary fit that made him silently reflect on how she really ought to consider reviving her old interest in the modeling industry, holding the firm belief that a fashion house like Dior would absolutely leap at the chance to feature her in a global campaign. He found himself momentarily bewildered by the uncharacteristic influx of secret admiration regarding her physical beauty, knowing himself to be far too grounded to indulge in shallow superficiality, but more than anything, a sudden pang of conscience reminded him that viewing Tweety in any sort of suggestive light felt entirely inappropriate, particularly on the heels of the devastating vulnerabilities she had just shared with him regarding her past. There was absolutely nothing tarnished about her character because of the reprehensible actions of a predatory older instructor, but Simon was fiercely determined never to resemble those entitled boys from his university days who viewed girls as objects that owed them some form of transactional compliance; Zahira did not owe him a single damn thing, and he was so profoundly overjoyed to have her back in his life that he refused to jeopardize their fragile, newfound peace with an uncalculated look or word, knowing he would never forgive himself if he drove her away a second time.

Once she had completed her transformations and he had smoothly taken possession of the shopping bags containing the clothes she had worn into the boutique, he informed her that he had already coordinated with his private driver to ensure their transport was idling nearby, giving them total freedom to chart a course toward any neighborhood in Manhattan that struck their fancy. They elected to plunge directly into the heart of Midtown, initiating a leisurely stroll that swiftly exposed them to the vibrant, hyper-accelerated rhythm of the New York grid, where the roaring of yellow taxis, rushing crowds, and towering skyscrapers provided a thrilling backdrop to their easy, comfortable banter. A refreshing detour through the winding pathways of Central Park with a pair of fresh fruit smoothies smoothly transitioned into an hour of casual browsing within a magnificent, glass-domed gallery nearby, a journey that eventually escalated into a series of lively stops at various intimate cocktail lounges along their route until, a few hours later, Simon found himself thoroughly and beautifully buzzed. The alcohol took away his usual reserve, causing him to chatter with a delightfully goofy, unfiltered enthusiasm as he boldly draped his long arm over Tweety's shoulder, playfully pulling her close to compress her against his side simply because the contact felt wonderfully warm and he found himself craving her absolute, undivided attention. Suddenly, he ground to a halt with a dramatic gasp as his gaze locked onto the neon-lit storefront of a hidden multi-level comic book shop tucked between two towering brick buildings, his finger instantly snapping outward to indicate the destination as he exclaimed, "Look, right there. We have to go in." With their next coordinates decisively chosen, they stepped into the nostalgically scented interior, Simon granting her shoulder one final, enthusiastic little squeeze before sprinting forward like an absolute maniac through the narrow aisles, his eyes scanning the colorful walls as he systematically inspected the rare action figures before diving headfirst into the meticulously organized stacks of vintage comic books. He carefully extracted a rare Batman issue that had somehow eluded his extensive personal collection, his jaw dropping as he spun around on his heel to display the prize to Tweety with wide, boyish eyes, asking, "Look at this! It's the limited edition one. Do you know how awesome this is?" He was absolutely going to purchase it, and the sheer joy of the moment made him feel as though he could do a backflip right there on the linoleum floor before scooping Tweety up into a triumphant embrace; in fact, the idea struck his elevated senses as a completely brilliant plan, prompting him to temporarily set the comic aside so he could gently place his broad hands around the small of her slender waist and lift her entirely off her feet into the space above him, looking up at her face with a radiant expression. "This is seriously the best day ever," he declared, the words escaping his lips with an unfiltered honesty that shook with the sincerest affection he possessed. He slowly lowered her back down until her soles met the floor, yet his hands lingered upon her waist as he found himself trapped within the deep, beautiful expression of her eyes, his focus drifting helplessly toward her lips as he wondered with a flush of heat if they had always been quite so full and utterly mesmerizing. He stared a moment longer, his grip tightening imperceptibly against her side as the rest of the world blurred away around them, until a dry, impatient voice shattered the spell from the adjacent aisle.

"Hey, buddy, you're completely blocking the entire graphic novel shelf," a fellow patron interrupted, shifting his stack of books with an annoyed sigh.

"Oh, sorry about that," Simon chuckled warmly, his cheeks instantly flushing a bright red as he scrambled backward to clear the area, quickly reclaiming the limited edition Batman comic with a self-conscious grin as he guided Tweety toward the safety of the checkout counter. "What're you getting?"

the problem, unfortunately. . . was jihoon. not in the way he meant it, but in the way he always seemed to be. antonio had worked with attractive people before. he’d kissed costars before. he’d played love interests before. none of that was new. jihoon wasn’t even making him nervous. if anything, he was the exact opposite. he was familiar, comfortable, and predictable. antonio knew the look on his face before he made a joke. he knew which restaurants he secretly hated and which songs he’d pretend not to know before singing every lyric anyway. he knew the sound of his laugh, the cadence of his voice when he was tired, the specific expression he made whenever he thought he’d won an argument. somewhere along the way, jihoon had become so deeply woven into the fabric of his life that separating ’ jihoon ’ from ’ best friend ’ felt nearly impossible. ❝ i think that’s what’s wrong with this whole thing. ❞ he admitted, tossing the script onto the table. ❝ everybody else sees two characters falling in love. meanwhile i’ve got years of evidence that you’re an idiot. ❞

Jihoon let out a rough snort, the sound rich with a self-deprecating amusement that he couldn't quite mask. He would love nothing more than to fire back with a grand defense of his own romantic capabilities, to prove he wasn't just some clueless idiot when it came to matters of the heart, but the glaring failure of his last relationship stood as a pretty damning contradiction to that claim. The brutal reality of the entertainment industry-------- where prioritizing a rising career, enduring impossible scheduling conflicts, and navigating the inevitable green-eyed monster of jealousy were standard practice---------- could easily tear even the deepest love apart at the seams. Time and time again, Jihoon had been the one to let his ex down, allowing his fierce professional ambition to completely overshadow the quiet needs of a real romance. So, fine, perhaps he wasn't exactly Prince Charming in real life, even if he possessed the exact symmetrical, striking facial features that made him look the part on a billboard. Yet, when he looked past his own shortcomings and thought about the overwhelming public reception to Rowoon and Marcus on screen, he felt a genuine jolt of pride. The audience reaction had been boisterous, passionate, and incredibly supportive, moving across all sorts of different sexual orientations to celebrate the genuine chemistry the two men were bringing to the screen. It was exactly because of this profound viewer investment that Jihoon knew he couldn't just coast on his looks or mindlessly go through the motions to get this pivotal kiss done. He had been absent from the romance genre for far too long, and a part of him was admittedly still sour from his own broken heart, but he constantly reminded himself that this was for the fans, specifically for the sheer, ecstatic joy he wanted to ignite when his character finally surrendered to his buried affections.

With a defeated huff, he finally relented, silently admitting that the roadblock might actually be his own doing. In the great detail of the script, Rowoon was supposed to be the driving force of the entire sequence, the confident man who actively provokes a true, undeniable physical passion, but that intensity simply wasn't translating when the two people in the room were entirely platonic friends who lacked even a single spark of genuine desire. "You're the one who's acting like a total board anyway," he argued back with stubborn, near-pout that entirely betrayed his stature as a fully grown, mature leading man. "It's honestly like trying to seduce a boring brick wall. Way to make an already weird situation ten times more awkward." He knew there had to be technical tricks that veteran actors and actresses employed to get through these exact moments, methods to manufacture a convincing heat when the cameras started rolling, but sitting here in the quiet of his leased estate, those industry secrets felt entirely out of reach. He tossed his script onto the cushion beside him, running a hand through his hair as frustration began to overtake his initial amusement. "I don't know how else to put it, it's just not... sexy. Rowoon and Marcus are supposed to have this combustible chemistry and pull, and right now, you're giving me the energy of stale bread. We have got to change up our approach or we're going to tank this entire episode."