I just watched the penultimate episode of The Sandman and I am not well, I loved Morpheus as the anthropomorphic representation of dreaming, I loved how he was learning more about humanity and growing along with his adventures. It totally destroyed me to see him succumb to the Furies out of his guilt for killing Orpheus. He will always be Dream of the Endless to me.
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Listen while reading: Cherry season - Pleasant situations
Two actors meet on a film set, become scene partners, and slowly discover that their chemistry isn't only part of the script.
The first thing you noticed was the noise.
Cameras were being moved across the set, lights hung above the stage, and people hurried past you with scripts and coffee cups in their hands.
You stood near the entrance, clutching your own script a little too tightly.
This was your first real film.
Not an acting class. Not a small student project. A real production.
And suddenly, you weren't sure if all those years of practicing in front of a mirror had prepared you for this.
You took a slow breath and looked down at the pages in your hands.
“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “You can do this.”
Then you looked up.
And that's when you saw him.
Tom Sturridge stood a few metres away, reading through his script. His hair fell loosely across his forehead, and one hand rested casually in the pocket of his dark jacket.
You had seen his face before, of course.
On screens. In photographs. In interviews.
But seeing him standing there, only a few metres away, was somehow different.
As if sensing your stare, Tom lifted his eyes from the script.
Your eyes met.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then he smiled.
He couldn't contain his excitement as he took steps toward you.
A different scenario
A different partner
It was still new—very new.
He was standing just a few steps away. He held the script in his hand, crumpled between his fingers.
Some of his tousled hair fell across his forehead, and the contours of his face were visible. You lifted your head, and the moment your eyes met his, something flickered in his gaze.
“I suppose you must be my partner.” He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
For a moment, you simply stared at him, caught off guard. He was clearly waiting for an answer.
You blinked and quickly nodded, finally snapping back to reality.
“Oh, right. Sorry. I just… wasn’t expecting you to suddenly talk to me.”
Tom smiled.
“It's alright. Everyone does that when they first see me.” His tone was light, almost teasing. “I just act as if I've known them forever.”
A crooked grin appeared at the corner of his lips, his eyes still fixed on yours.
The director moved on to another scene, and the two of you remained where you were, watching quietly as the cameras began to roll again.
You stood beside Tom, close enough to notice the warmth of him, yet with just enough space between you to keep it from feeling intentional.
You folded your arms across your chest, your attention fixed on the scene unfolding in front of you.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Then you felt Tom shift slightly beside you.
“We'll be up next in a few minutes. You do know what the scene is about, don't you?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow.
You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips.
“I'm not that stupid, you know. I came prepared.”
A laugh escaped Tom.
“Ah, most of my scene partners tend to forget their lines—or what they're supposed to do—halfway through a scene.”
Before you could come up with a reply, the director's voice rang across the set.
“Action!”
Tom's expression shifted almost instantly, the teasing smile disappearing as he turned toward the cameras.
You blinked, caught slightly off guard by how quickly he slipped into character.
Then you took a breath and followed him.
The scene was set inside an old London apartment building, the kind with narrow corridors, dark wooden floors, and faded cream walls that had clearly seen better days.
A row of identical doors lined the hallway, each marked with a small brass number. Warm light spilled from the wall lamps, casting soft shadows across the floor.
You stood in front of one of the doors, your script tucked beneath your arm as you glanced down at the small piece of paper in your hand.
Apartment 204.
You looked up at the number on the door.
204.
Perfect.
You reached for the doorbell.
The bell rang.
You waited.
Nothing.
You glanced down at the address again, then back at the door.
Maybe he wasn't home.
You raised your hand to knock, but before your knuckles could touch the wood, the door suddenly opened.
You froze.
Tom stood on the other side.
He was taller than you had expected, his dark clothes slightly rumpled as though you'd caught him in the middle of something. His hair fell loosely across his forehead, and his expression held a faint trace of curiosity.
For a second, you simply stared at him.
Then you remembered your line.
“Sorry,” you said, taking a small step back. “Wrong door.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“You sure?”
You glanced over your shoulder at the number on the door.
Then back at him.
“Pretty sure.”
A faint, amused smile appeared on his lips.
“Right.”
You gave him an awkward little smile before turning away.
Behind you, the door slowly clicked shut.
“Cut!”
The sudden voice of the director broke the silence.
You let out a quiet breath, only then realizing you'd been holding it.
Tom stepped out of character almost immediately, looking over at you with an amused expression.
“Not bad for your first scene.”
You turned toward him.
“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“I'm still deciding.”
The next setup took place inside Tom's character's apartment.
While the crew adjusted the lights and moved the cameras into position, you remained a few steps away, quietly watching from behind the monitor.
Tom stood in the middle of the room, already in character.
The apartment was dimly lit, warm light spilling through the curtains and falling across the wooden floor. A few books were scattered across the coffee table, and the faint glow of a lamp illuminated the corner of the room.
Tom moved through the scene with an ease that caught your attention.
He picked up a book from the table, glanced at it briefly, then set it down again. His expression changed almost imperceptibly as he looked toward the window.
You found yourself watching him a little longer than you meant to.
There was something strangely different about seeing him like this.
Not the man who had teased you between takes.
Not the actor you'd seen on a screen.
Just Tom, completely absorbed in someone else's world.
“Action.”
His entire expression shifted.
And you couldn't look away.
Tom was sitting on the worn-out sofa; his shirt was slightly unbuttoned, revealing a smattering of hair on his bare, pale chest. He was staring ahead, lost in thought, his expression distant and unreadable.
A bottle sat on the table beside him; as part of the scene, he picked it up briefly.
You were watching silently on the monitor, observing the shift in his entire demeanor. The sardonic smile you had seen earlier was gone. In its place was a quieter, almost sorrowful figure.
For a moment, you forgot you were watching an actor.
He seemed completely immersed in the character.
Your eyes lingered for a moment on the small strands of hair on her bare chest.
You swallowed.
You immediately averted your gaze from them.
You quickly forced yourself to focus on the monitor again, pretending to be far more interested in the scene than you actually were.
The director called for another take.
Tom lowered the bottle and leaned back against the sofa, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the camera. For a moment, his expression softened, as though the character had remembered something painful.
You watched quietly.
Then, almost as if he could feel your gaze, Tom's eyes shifted toward the monitor.
You froze.
He couldn't possibly see you from there.
Could he?
“Cut!”
The director's voice broke the silence.
Tom immediately looked away, returning to his usual expression as the crew moved around him.
You let out a quiet breath.
Maybe you had been imagining it.
Tom got up from the sofa and put on a loose-fitting T-shirt covered in strange, unusual script. The moment he put it on, the hair on his chest vanished; it was visible only on his arms.
Noticing him walking toward you, you immediately straightened up, trying to look as though you had been completely focused on the screen the whole time.
“Wow. Nice acting. I have to admit, I’m impressed.”
Tom chuckled softly, wearing that signature, self-satisfied look of his.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Your turn.”
The assistant director's voice pulled your attention away from the monitor.
You blinked, then glanced toward the set.
“Me?”
He nodded.
“The next setup is yours.”
You took a breath and adjusted your costume before stepping onto the set.
The apartment suddenly felt different from this side of the camera. A moment ago, you'd been watching everything from a distance. Now, the lights were pointed directly at you, the camera was waiting, and a dozen people seemed to be watching your every movement.
You glanced toward Tom.
He was standing beside the monitor, watching quietly.
“Ready?” the director asked.
You nodded.
“Action.”
You stepped into character.
Your expression changed, your shoulders relaxing as you crossed the room and stopped beside the window. You looked outside, following the direction the scene required, then slowly turned toward the sofa.
For a few seconds, the room was completely silent.
“Cut.”
You exhaled and let your character fall away.
The director smiled.
“Good. Let's do one more.”
You nodded, feeling a little more confident this time.
When the second take ended, you looked toward Tom.
He was already smiling.
“What?” you asked.
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“That doesn't look like nothing.”
“I was just watching.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Judging?”
“Admiring.”
The word caught you off guard.
Before you could answer, the director called out again.
“Both of you! We're ready for the next setup.”
This time, you stepped outside.
It was already dark, the streets around the set almost completely empty. The crew had transformed the area for the scene, placing lights along the pavement and preparing the rain machines around the street.
A few of the director's assistants moved between the equipment, checking the hoses and making sure everything was ready.
You stood beneath the glow of one of the production lights, watching as the first drops began to fall.
It wasn't real rain.
But under the lights, it looked almost indistinguishable from the real thing.
You pulled your coat a little tighter around yourself and glanced toward the other side of the street.
Tom was already there, waiting for his cue.
The director raised a hand.
“Places!”
Everyone went quiet.
You took a breath.
Then—
“Action!”
You stepped onto the street, your shoes splashing lightly against the wet pavement as the rain continued to fall around you.
Your character was supposed to be looking for someone.
You walked a few steps, glancing from one side of the street to the other.
Then you stopped.
Tom's character was standing beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
He looked at you as though he hadn't expected to see you there.
“You?”
You frowned slightly.
“Do I know you?”
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
“You're the girl from the wrong apartment.”
You rolled your eyes, staying in character.
“And you're the man who couldn't mind his own business.”
Tom's lips curved into a faint smile.
“Fair enough.”
He took another step toward you, closing some of the distance between you.
Rain continued to fall around you, soaking through your coat as you looked at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
You hesitated.
“I was looking for someone.”
“Were you?”
His tone carried that same teasing edge.
You narrowed your eyes.
“Are you always this annoying?”
“Only when I have a reason.”
“And what's your reason?”
Tom's character studied you for a moment.
“You.”
The teasing disappeared from his expression.
For a second, you forgot your next line.
The director didn't interrupt.
The cameras kept rolling.
You slowly looked away, pretending to be distracted by the rain.
“You don't even know me.”
“Maybe I don't need to.”
Your eyes returned to his.
The rain fell harder now, droplets catching the light above you. Tom stepped closer, close enough that you could hear his voice clearly despite the sound of the rain.
“You keep appearing wherever I go.”
A faint smile tugged at your lips.
“Maybe you're the one following me.”
He laughed quietly.
“Maybe.”
You shook your head and started walking past him.
Tom turned, watching you.
“Wait.”
You stopped.
Slowly, you looked back over your shoulder.
He didn't say anything at first.
He simply looked at you.
The moment stretched.
Then Tom finally spoke, his voice quieter than before.
“What's your name?”
You smiled faintly.
“Didn't think you'd ever ask.”
You turned back toward him.
“My name is—”
“Cut!”
The director's voice finally echoed across the street.
The rain machines shut off.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Tom broke character, glancing at you with an amused smile.
“I was actually curious.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“About my character's name?”
He paused.
“No. Your real name.”
You blinked.
For a moment, you weren't sure if he was joking.
“Why?”
Tom shrugged, his hands slipping into the pockets of his coat.
“Because we've been working together all day and I realized I never actually asked.”
You smiled faintly.
“That's a little late.”
“I know.”
He looked at you for a moment before adding,
“So?”
You finally told him.
"Y\n."
He repeated your name quietly, as if testing how it sounded.
“Nice to finally meet you.”
You laughed softly.
“Finally?”
“Feels like we've already had three conversations.”
“Two of them were in character.”
“Still counts.”
You shook your head, smiling as you looked away.
Behind you, the crew began preparing the next setup. Someone called for the rain machines to be checked again.
Tom glanced toward the set, then back at you.
“Ready for another take?”
You nodded.
“Always.”
That familiar, crooked smile returned to his face.
“Good.”
He stepped past you, then paused.
“Try not to forget your lines this time.”
You stared after him.
“I hate you already.”
Tom laughed as he walked back toward his mark.
“You'll get used to me.”
You filmed one more scene before the director finally called it a night.
By then, the energy you'd had that morning was long gone. Your feet ached, your hair was still slightly damp from the rain scene, and your mind felt too tired to process everything that had happened.
When you finally arrived home, you kicked off your shoes by the door and dropped your bag onto the nearest chair.
Silence.
After hours of cameras, voices, lights, and people constantly moving around you, the quiet almost felt strange.
You let out a long breath and sank onto the sofa, closing your eyes.
Your first day on set was over.
And somehow, the one thing you couldn't stop thinking about wasn't the cameras.
It was Tom.
His crooked smile.
The way he'd said your name.
And that last sentence before he'd walked away.
You'll get used to me.
You opened your eyes and stared at the ceiling.
“Great,” you muttered to yourself.
You were already thinking about him.
You tried to fall asleep.
The soft glow of London's streetlights slipped through the curtains, casting pale streaks of light across your face. Outside, the occasional sound of a passing car drifted through the quiet streets, fading into the distance moments later.
You turned onto your side and pulled the blanket a little higher.
But sleep wouldn't come.
Every time you closed your eyes, fragments of the day returned.
The cameras.
The rain.
Tom's voice.
And the way he'd looked at you when he asked for your real name.
You sighed and stared into the darkness.
“It was just a first day,” you whispered to yourself.
Just a first day.
So why did it already feel like something had changed?
The apartment was quiet.
Tom sat on the edge of his bed, his script resting open beside him. He had been staring at the same page for several minutes without actually reading a word.
His mind kept returning to the set.
The new actress.
You.
He remembered the way you'd looked at him when he opened the apartment door, clearly caught off guard. Then the rain scene—the way you'd stayed in character even when the cold water soaked through your coat.
And, for some reason, he remembered your laugh.
Tom leaned back against the headboard and let out a quiet breath.
It was only the first day.
He barely knew you.
Yet somehow, you had managed to become the most memorable part of it.
His eyes drifted toward the script again.
Tomorrow, they'd be working together.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
“Interesting,” he murmured to himself.
He picked up the script again, turning a few pages forward.
Tomorrow's scenes were marked with his name beside yours.
Tom paused.
There was something oddly amusing about it.
He'd worked with plenty of actors before. Some were difficult, some overly nervous, some who barely spoke between takes.
You were different.
You had been nervous, he could tell.
But you hadn't let it stop you.
And that little exchange in the rain kept replaying in his mind.
Not the dialogue.
The moment after it.
The way you'd looked at him before the director called cut.
Tom closed the script and placed it on the bedside table.
He glanced at the clock.
Far too late.
He should sleep.
Instead, he found himself wondering what you'd be like tomorrow when there wasn't a camera between you.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“Get a grip,” he muttered.
He switched off the lamp and settled beneath the covers.
But even in the darkness, the thought remained.
Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
The alarm went off far earlier than you would have liked.
You groaned, reaching blindly for your phone and silencing it before burying your face into the pillow.
For a few seconds, you considered going back to sleep.
Then you remembered.
The set.
You sat up.
“Right…”
After getting ready, you grabbed your bag and headed out.
London was already awake. Cars moved steadily along the streets, people hurried past with coffee in their hands, and the morning air carried a faint chill.
When you finally arrived at the set, the familiar chaos had already begun.
Crew members moved equipment around while assistants hurried between rooms with scripts.
You stepped inside and glanced around.
Then you saw him.
Tom was standing near the coffee table, talking to one of the crew members.
As if sensing your presence, he turned.
His eyes found yours almost immediately.
A small smile appeared on his face.
“Morning.”
You smiled back.
“Morning.”
He looked you over briefly before raising an eyebrow.
“You survived your first day.”
“Barely.”
He laughed.
“Good. I was worried I'd scared you off.”
“You wish.”
Tom's smile widened.
“I probably do.”
Tom took a sip from the coffee in his hand, watching you over the rim of the cup.
“You look tired.”
You dropped your bag onto the nearby chair and rubbed your eyes.
“That's because I am.”
He let out a quiet laugh.
“First week?”
“First day.”
“Ah.”
Tom nodded thoughtfully, as if that explained everything. He reached for the second coffee sitting on the table and held it out toward you.
“I got this for you.”
You looked at the cup, then at him.
“You got me coffee?”
“Don't make it sentimental.”
A small smile tugged at your lips as you took it from him.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
You took a cautious sip and glanced toward the set.
“So, what's our first scene?”
Tom leaned against the edge of the table, crossing one ankle over the other.
“Something easy.”
“That doesn't sound convincing.”
“It isn't.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
Tom smiled innocently.
Before you could reply, an assistant hurried past carrying a stack of papers.
“Tom, they're looking for you in wardrobe.”
Tom nodded, then pushed himself away from the table.
“I'll see you on set.”
He took two steps before turning back.
“And don't forget your lines.”
You rolled your eyes.
“You're never going to let that go, are you?”
“Probably not.”
He disappeared down the corridor, leaving you staring after him for a second longer than you intended.
You shook your head and looked down at the coffee in your hands.
A smile slowly found its way onto your face. You rolled your eyes.
You set the coffee down beside your script and pulled the pages toward you.
The morning schedule was already filled with notes and highlighted lines. You sat in front of the mirror for a while, quietly going over your dialogue, occasionally mouthing a sentence before turning the page.
Around you, the set slowly came to life.
Someone adjusted the lights above the stage. Another crew member carried a rack of costumes past you. From somewhere behind the curtains came the sound of laughter, followed by the director calling for everyone to get ready.
You stood and walked toward the wardrobe area.
After a few minutes of searching through the rack, you found the costume marked with your character's name.
You held it against yourself, studying it in the mirror.
“Not bad,” you murmured.
A makeup artist soon called you over, and you took a seat.
As she worked, you watched the set through the mirror.
People were moving everywhere.
Scripts changed hands. Cameras were being positioned. Someone tested the microphones.
You slowly began to realize that this chaos was going to become your normal.
When you were finally ready, you stepped back onto the set with your script tucked beneath your arm.
The assistant director looked up.
“Ready?”
You nodded.
This time, you didn't feel quite as nervous.
You knew where to stand.
You knew where the cameras were.
And, more importantly, you knew you belonged here.
You took your place beside the mark on the floor and waited for the next scene to begin.
The director stepped onto the set, script in hand.
“Alright, everyone. Let's get this one right. Places, please.”
You moved into position, smoothing down the front of your costume before taking a breath.
The camera crew made a few final adjustments.
“Sound?”
“Rolling.”
“Camera?”
“Rolling.”
The director looked between you and the other side of the set.
“Action.”
You stepped into character.
The scene began quietly. Your character crossed the room, setting a small bag down on the table before glancing toward the window.
You waited.
A few seconds passed.
Then the door opened.
Tom walked in.
His expression was different from the one you'd seen that morning. No teasing smile, no casual look in his eyes. He was completely inside the character again.
Your eyes met.
“You're home late.”
His character closed the door behind him.
“Had somewhere to be.”
You turned away, pretending to organize the things on the table.
“You could've called.”
“I didn't think you'd care.”
Your hands paused.
You slowly looked back at him.
“Maybe I would have.”
Silence.
Neither of you spoke.
The camera moved slightly closer.
Tom took a step forward.
“Would you?”
You held his gaze.
“I don't know.”
For a moment, the room seemed completely still.
Then the director called—
“Cut!”
You released a breath and stepped out of character.
The director nodded approvingly.
“Good. Very good. Let's do it once more, but this time, don't rush that silence. Let it sit.”
You nodded.
Tom glanced over at you from across the room.
“Looks like we're doing it again.”
You smiled.
“Try not to forget your lines.”
He gave you a look of mock offense.
“Very funny.”
Tom turned toward the door, his hand reaching for the handle.
“Dean, don't go.”
He stopped.
Slowly, he turned back to you.
You took a hesitant step forward.
“Why?”
You swallowed, your eyes searching his face.
“Because I don't want you to.”
For a moment, Dean said nothing.
He let his hand fall from the door and took a step toward you.
Then another.
The distance between you disappeared almost without either of you noticing.
“You're making this difficult,” he murmured.
You looked up at him.
“Maybe I don't want it to be easy.”
His expression softened.
For a few seconds, neither of you moved.
The silence stretched between you, filled only by the faint sound of rain against the windows.
Dean lowered his voice.
“Then tell me to stay.”
You held his gaze.
“Stay.”
He didn't answer.
He simply remained there, standing close enough that neither of you could pretend the moment meant nothing.
"Cut!"
The camera stopped moving as the director looked at the monitor.
Watching the footage, he said, "Let's do this again. Tom, stand a little closer to Y\n."
As Tom—who had been holding his breath—moved closer to you, the sound of his breathing was almost audible.
The director looked at the monitor.
"Good. Don't rush the moment. Savor the silence."
You stayed right where you were.
Tom's eyes met yours.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, the director raised his hand.
"And… action."
You relived the same scene. This time, it was different.
The moment arrived.
"Don't go," you said, your eyes welling up.
You stepped closer. Tom's character, Dean, looked at your lips; you looked at his.
Your heart began to race. You swallowed hard. Your palms grew sweaty.
Finally, you did it.
You kissed him. You felt the softness of his lips against yours.
The scene continued professionally.
The kiss deepened. Tom cupped your cheek.
"Cut!" he called out in a deep voice.
You both immediately pulled away from each other.
"Perfect, this is exactly what I was looking for. You both did an excellent job."
You nodded, still catching your breath.
Across from you, Tom gave you a small, almost amused smile.
“Not bad for your second day.”
You smiled, rolling your eyes.
“Don't make fun of me. You're talking as if I just started acting today.”
Tom let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“I never said that.”
“You didn't have to.”
He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile appearing on his lips.
“Alright. I'll be careful with my compliments next time.”
You folded your arms.
“Good.”
Tom's gaze lingered on you for a moment before he glanced toward the set.
“Still, you did well.”
You tried to hide your smile.
“Was that another compliment?”
“Maybe.”
“Then I'll allow it.”
He laughed again, and for a moment, the noise of the set seemed to fade into the background.
A few minutes later, an assistant approached you with a clipboard.
“There's a photoshoot scheduled before lunch. You and Tom are needed on set.”
You nodded and followed her toward the photography area.
A large backdrop had been set up against the wall, surrounded by bright studio lights. A camera stood on a tripod in front of it while the photographer adjusted the settings.
Tom was already there.
He was talking to one of the stylists when he noticed you approaching.
“Looks like we're partners again.”
You smiled.
“Apparently we are.”
The stylist made a few adjustments to both of your outfits before stepping away.
“Alright,” the photographer said. “Let's start simple. Stand beside each other and look toward the camera.”
You took your place next to Tom.
The first flash went off.
“Good. A little closer.”
You shifted slightly toward him.
Another flash.
“Closer.”
You glanced at Tom.
He looked back at you, a faint smile appearing on his lips.
“You heard her.”
“I heard her.”
You stepped a little closer.
The photographer lowered the camera for a moment.
“Perfect. Now forget the camera. Just talk to each other.”
You blinked.
“Talk?”
“Whatever feels natural.”
Tom turned toward you.
“Well, this is awkward.”
You laughed.
The camera clicked.
The photographer immediately smiled.
“That's it. Don't move.”
Another flash.
And another.
For the first time, you forgot the camera was even there.
The photographer checked the last few shots on the camera before looking up again.
“Great. Now let's try something different.”
A stylist quickly adjusted the collar of your outfit before stepping away.
“Tom, stand behind her.”
You moved into position, and Tom stepped behind you.
“Closer,” the photographer instructed.
Tom took a small step forward.
You could feel him just behind you, but you kept your eyes on the camera.
“Look over your shoulder at him.”
You turned your head.
Tom was already looking at you.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
The camera clicked.
“Perfect.”
Another flash.
“Now, Tom, look at her like you just realized something.”
Tom's lips twitched.
“Like what?”
The photographer laughed.
“Anything. Surprise me.”
Tom turned toward you again.
His expression softened.
You tried not to smile.
The camera clicked several times in quick succession.
“Don't move!”
You held the pose, but Tom leaned slightly closer and whispered,
“I'm beginning to think this photographer enjoys making us uncomfortable.”
You bit back a laugh.
“Maybe you just make it too easy.”
His smile widened.
The camera flashed again.
The photographer lowered it slowly.
“That's the shot.”
You and Tom looked at each other.
Neither of you moved immediately.
Then the photographer smiled at the monitor.
“Honestly, you two have ridiculous chemistry.”
You and Tom exchanged a quick, surprised glance before looking back at the photographer.
“Chemistry?” you repeated, almost laughing.
The photographer nodded, completely serious.
“Yeah. It's effortless. You two don't even have to try.”
You looked at Tom again.
He raised his eyebrows, clearly just as caught off guard as you were.
“Well…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “That's unexpected.”
You gave a small laugh.
“Very unexpected.”
The photographer turned the camera toward you, showing you a few of the shots.
“Look at this one.”
You stepped closer to the screen.
The photograph showed the two of you looking at each other, caught in a moment neither of you had planned.
You stared at it for a second.
“Okay…”
Tom leaned slightly toward the screen.
“That's actually good.”
You glanced at him.
“Don't sound so surprised.”
“I wasn't talking about myself.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Of course you weren't.”
He smiled.
The photographer laughed behind the camera.
“I think I just found the cover photo.”
The photographer lowered the camera and looked between the two of you.
“Alright, that's enough for today. We'll send the selected shots to production.”
You stepped away from the backdrop, adjusting your sleeve as the stylist came over to fix a small detail in your outfit.
Tom moved toward the side of the set, picking up his jacket.
As you reached for your bag, the photographer called after you.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
You turned.
“Don't lose that chemistry. It's rare.”
You gave an awkward little smile.
“Thank you.”
Tom glanced at you from across the room.
“Apparently we're good at this.”
You slipped your bag over your shoulder.
“Apparently.”
He walked past you, then slowed down.
“So… cover photo?”
You looked at him.
“Don't get too excited.”
“Too late.”
You laughed and followed him out of the studio.
Behind you, the photographer looked down at the camera screen again.
The photograph of the two of you was still displayed there.
And somehow, it looked less like a publicity shot and more like the beginning of something.
Later that evening, you arrived home and dropped your bag beside the door.
After changing into something comfortable, you sank onto the sofa and picked up your phone.
You opened the production website and began scrolling through the latest updates.
Then you stopped.
A poster filled the screen.
You stared at it for a few seconds before slowly scrolling through the other promotional images.
Another photo appeared.
Then another.
You paused on the one from the photoshoot.
Your eyes lingered on it.
Without realizing it, a small smile appeared on your lips.
You locked your phone, but a moment later, you unlocked it again and returned to the same photograph.
You scrolled through the rest of the page, stopping briefly at each new poster.
Your thumb slowed when another photograph of the two of you appeared.
You zoomed in slightly.
After a moment, you zoomed back out and stared at the screen.
You locked your phone and placed it beside you.
A few seconds passed.
You reached for it again.
The same photograph appeared on the screen.
You smiled to yourself before finally setting the phone down for good.
You leaned back into the sofa and pulled the blanket over yourself.
Your eyes slowly drifted shut.
The next morning, you arrived at the set earlier than usual.
The building was already buzzing with activity.
Crew members carried equipment through the corridors while assistants hurried from one room to another, scripts tucked beneath their arms.
You placed your bag down and grabbed a coffee before heading toward the makeup area.
As you passed the monitor, you caught a glimpse of yesterday's photographs still open on the screen.
You paused for half a second.
Then you continued walking.
A makeup artist greeted you and motioned toward the chair.
You sat down, setting your coffee beside you while she began preparing you for the day's scenes.
You glanced at the schedule in your hand.
Several scenes.
A long day.
You took another sip of coffee and exhaled quietly.
A few minutes later, you stood, collected your script, and headed toward the set.
The first camera was already being positioned.
You adjusted the pages in your hands and walked toward your mark.
The director looked up.
“Morning. Ready?”
You nodded.
You were about to answer when someone walked past behind you.
You turned instinctively.
Tom.
He was already dressed for the scene, script folded in one hand as he spoke quietly with a crew member.
You looked away and continued toward your mark.
The day had barely begun.
The director raised his hand.
“Alright, everyone. Places.”
You took your position in the apartment set, setting the script aside.
Tom stood near the window, his back turned toward you.
The room fell quiet.
“Rolling.”
The camera began to move.
“Action.”
You crossed the room and picked up the book lying on the table.
“You left this here.”
Tom turned slowly.
“I know.”
You held it out to him.
“You weren't going to come back for it?”
He walked over and took the book from your hand.
“I thought I'd have a reason to.”
You frowned slightly.
“What does that mean?”
Tom glanced down at the book, turning it over in his hands.
“It means I wasn't sure I wanted to leave.”
You watched him for a moment before walking past him.
“You're always saying things like that.”
He turned his head, following you with his eyes.
“Like what?”
“Things that don't mean anything.”
You reached the doorway.
Tom took a step after you.
“Maybe they mean more than you think.”
You stopped.
Slowly, you looked back at him.
The camera moved closer.
Neither of you spoke.
The director watched the monitor without interrupting.
You lowered your gaze, then quietly stepped back into the room.
Tom's expression softened.
The silence lasted several seconds.
Then—
“Cut.”
The crew immediately began moving again.
You exhaled and stepped away from the mark.
The director nodded.
“Good. Keep that tension for the next take.”
You picked up your script from the table.
Tom glanced at you.
“That was intense.”
You smiled.
“Your character started it.”
He gave a quiet laugh.
“Fair enough.”
Tom rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the crew as they began resetting the set.
“Maybe we should grab a coffee sometime. At an actual café, not here.”
He gave a small, tired smile.
“My head's killing me.”
You looked at him for a moment before glancing down at your script.
“Are you asking me out for coffee?”
Tom raised an eyebrow.
“I said coffee.”
You smiled.
“I heard you.”
You stepped outside with Tom, leaving the noise of the set behind.
The two of you walked side by side along the pavement, your footsteps falling into an easy rhythm.
You slipped your hands into your coat pockets as a cool breeze passed through the street.
Tom adjusted the collar of his jacket and glanced briefly at the road ahead.
You crossed the street together, slowing near the corner as a car passed.
The sounds of traffic, distant conversations, and footsteps filled the air around you.
Neither of you hurried.
You continued down the street, occasionally glancing at the shop windows as you walked.
The café was tucked between two narrow London buildings, its tall windows glowing warmly against the grey afternoon.
You pushed the door open and stepped inside.
A small bell chimed above you.
Warm air greeted you immediately, carrying the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries. Soft music played quietly somewhere in the background, almost blending into the low murmur of conversations.
You stepped aside as Tom entered behind you.
The café was fairly busy, but there were still a few empty tables near the windows.
You looked around, taking in the wooden tables, mismatched chairs, small lamps hanging above the counter, and the shelves filled with books and plants.
Tom glanced toward the window and pointed toward an empty table.
You nodded and followed him.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, while you took the seat opposite him.
A waiter passed by carrying two cups, and you briefly moved your bag onto the floor beside your chair to make room.
Tom leaned back, letting his shoulders relax for the first time since leaving the set.
You rested your elbows lightly on the table and looked around.
Outside, people hurried along the pavement beneath umbrellas. A red double-decker bus passed beyond the window, its reflection briefly sliding across the glass.
Tom picked up the menu and opened it.
You reached for the other one.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
You simply sat there, away from the cameras, lights, scripts, and constant noise of the set.
Tom turned a page.
You did the same.
A few seconds later, you both looked up at the exact same time.
Your eyes met.
You smiled.
He smiled back.
Then you both looked down at the menus again.
Tom closed the menu and placed it on the table.
“So, what are you having?”
You glanced down at the menu again.
“I don't know yet.”
Tom leaned back in his chair.
“You've been staring at it for five minutes.”
You looked up at him.
“I'm thinking.”
A small smile appeared on his face.
“Dangerous.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You're very annoying when you're tired.”
He let out a quiet laugh.
“I'm like this when I'm not tired too.”
You shook your head, trying not to smile.
“I've noticed.”
The waiter approached the table, and you both looked up.
After ordering, you settled back into your chair.
Tom rested his forearms on the table.
“So… how are you finding London?”
You looked toward the window for a moment before turning back to him.
“Still getting used to it.”
“That's fair.”
He glanced outside.
“It takes a while.”
You nodded slowly.
“Do you ever get used to it?”
Tom smiled.
“Not completely.”
You wrapped both hands around your cup as the warmth seeped into your fingers.
“How long have you been here?”
Tom thought for a moment, glancing toward the window.
“Long enough to know where not to go when it rains.”
You laughed softly.
“That's useful advice.”
He smiled.
“I'll give you the full tour eventually.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Eventually?”
Tom took a sip of his coffee.
“If you survive working with me first.”
You shook your head.
“I think I'm doing pretty well so far.”
“You are.”
The answer came so quickly that you paused.
Tom seemed to realize it too. He lowered his cup onto the table and leaned back slightly.
“You're settling in faster than most people would.”
You looked down at your coffee, a small smile forming.
“I was worried I wouldn't.”
“Why?”
You traced your thumb along the edge of the cup.
“New city. New people. First big role…”
You shrugged lightly.
“It's a lot.”
Tom nodded, his expression becoming more thoughtful.
“Yeah. It is.”
For a moment, the teasing disappeared from his face.
“But you don't seem like someone who gives up easily.”
You looked at him.
“You barely know me.”
A faint smile returned to his lips.
“I'm working on that.”
You both laughed, the conversation becoming easier with every passing minute.
You took another sip of your coffee and turned toward the window.
Outside, cars moved steadily along the street, their headlights reflecting faintly against the glass.
Tom followed your gaze and leaned back in his chair, watching the traffic with you.
For a while, neither of you said anything.
You took another sip, then glanced down at the table.
That's when you noticed the phone beside Tom's coffee.
You stared at it for a second.
Then you slowly looked at him.
A grin appeared on your face.
“Is that a Nokia?”
Tom looked down at his phone.
Then back at you.
“Yes.”
You tried to hold back your laughter.
“You actually use a Nokia?”
He picked it up from the table and turned it over in his hand.
“What's wrong with a Nokia?”
You laughed, shaking your head.
“Nothing. I just didn't expect you to be carrying one.”
Tom raised an eyebrow.
“It works.”
You looked at the tiny screen again.
“I'm sure it does.”
He laughed and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“You're judging me over my phone now?”
You took another sip of coffee, still smiling.
“A little.”
Tom shook his head, laughing under his breath as you both turned back toward the window.
For a moment, you simply watched the cars pass by, your coffees slowly cooling on the table.
You both stepped out of the café, the warmth of the room disappearing behind you as the cool evening air met your skin.
You barely made it a few steps before the first drops of rain landed on your face.
You looked up.
Within seconds, the rain grew heavier.
You laughed and stepped directly into it, letting the rain soak through your hair.
Tom stopped beneath the café's awning and stared at you.
You turned around, walking backward for a few steps as you smiled at him.
“Are you coming?”
He looked up at the sky, then back at you.
“Absolutely not.”
You laughed.
“It's just rain.”
Tom pulled his jacket closer around himself.
“That's exactly what people say before they end up freezing.”
You shook your head and continued walking through the rain.
After a moment, you turned back.
Tom was still standing beneath the awning.
You laughed again and waved him over.
He sighed, glanced at the sky one last time, and reluctantly stepped outside.
The rain immediately hit his hair and shoulders.
He grimaced.
You burst out laughing.
Tom looked at you, completely unimpressed.
“You're enjoying this far too much.”
You held out your hands, letting the rain fall into your palms.
“I love the rain.”
Tom wiped a few drops from his forehead.
“I've noticed.”
You walked beside him, smiling as the two of you continued down the wet pavement.
Cars passed along the road, their tires sending small splashes across the street.
You laughed when Tom quickly stepped away from one particularly large puddle.
He glanced at you.
“Don't.”
You covered your mouth, trying to stop laughing.
“I didn't say anything.”
He shook his head, but a reluctant smile appeared on his face.
You kept walking beside him beneath the rain.
Tom glanced up at the sky as the rain grew heavier.
He laughed and shook his head.
“Okay. I can't take this anymore.”
He quickly gestured toward the entrance of the nearest apartment building.
You both hurried inside, laughing as you tried to escape the rain.
Once beneath the shelter, you leaned against the wall, catching your breath.
Tom stood a short distance away, brushing the rain from his hair.
You both laughed again.
Then, gradually, the laughter faded.
The sounds of the rain filled the entrance.
You looked at each other.
Tom's expression became quieter, his gaze lingering for a moment before he looked away.
You lowered your eyes, suddenly aware of the silence between you.
Neither of you said anything.
For a few seconds, you simply stood there listening to the rain outside.
Your gaze drifted to Tom's thin lips. You leaned in and planted a kiss.
He kissed you back. Of course he did. It was the best kiss he’d had in years.
⚠️ Trash post / intrusive thoughts from a writer in crisis. Sorry for being annoying. 😭
A few days ago, I came up with another idea.
Yes. Another one. 💀
Because apparently my brain has decided that living in peace will simply never be an option for me. 😅😇
I’m one of those people who constantly has millions of stories running through their head at the same time. Some stay stronger than others. Some dissolve somewhere between dreams, probably in the hands of you-know-who… and when I wake up, they’re just gone. 🌙✨
I will not be making further comments on the matter because my formal complaint has already been filed in the Dreaming. I am currently awaiting an administrative response. 📝🖤
Anyway.
The point is that I’ve been writing a new idea for days while simultaneously trying to finish all the previous ones, which is, yes, probably some kind of narrative karma. 😭
But I can’t stop thinking about posting it. Because sharing it —even if nobody reads it— is my way of getting it out of my system before it consumes me alive.
So I’m probably going to share what is, in my opinion, one of the most brilliantly devastating things I’ve ever written. Well… maybe there have been others throughout all my years as an emotionally unstable pseudo-writer, but the problem is that now I cannot stop imagining Tom saying certain lines with that whispered British cadence that honestly leaves me in psychological shock. 🫠🖤
And so you can fully understand the level of emotional damage I’m currently dealing with, I present evidence:
POV Tom:
"I feel the tremor in your voice vibrating against the palm of my hand, which is still cradling your jaw. The warm trail of your tears dampens my fingers. Seeing you cry like this, surrendered in my arms, torn between the love you have for me and the absolute need to save yourself, breaks something inside me in a way there’s no cure for.
I close my eyes for a second, swallowing down the knot of agony tightening my throat, and rest my forehead against yours. Our breaths mingle together. The lavender scent lingering on your hands, the warmth of your skin… all of it feels like a refuge I’m about to be exiled from forever.
"—I promise you,” I whisper, and the words tear through my chest, but I say them with absolute conviction, looking straight into your eyes so you won’t have the slightest doubt. “I swear on our children’s lives, Y/N. Tomorrow morning I’ll close these suitcases and walk out that door. I’m not going to use this to confuse you. I’m not going to use this to beg you or chain you to a marriage that left you gasping for air. Tomorrow, I give you your life back.”
I let go of your wrist gently, lowering my hand to wrap around your waist and pull you the last millimeter closer. I can feel your frantic heartbeat slamming against my chest. With the thumb of the hand still holding your face, I slowly wipe the tears from your cheeks.
"—But tonight…” my voice breaks, turning into a rough murmur just inches from your mouth. “Tonight let me be the man who wrote those letters. Let me say goodbye to my wife. Let me give you the season finale our story deserves.”
I don’t wait any longer, because the surrender in your eyes and the way your hands don’t push me away are the only answer I need. I close the distance and press my lips against yours.
There’s no rush. No brutal desperation, only painful and absolute reverence. It’s a slow, deep kiss, heavy with a grief so immense it tastes like salt to both of us. My lips move against yours with a devotion that arrives twenty years too late, memorizing the texture, the warmth, the exact way we always fit together in the dark, even when everything else in the daylight was broken. My hands trace the line of your back, pulling you closer, feeling every shiver running through your body. I kiss you as I slowly guide you backward, forcing us into blind, clumsy steps across the room until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, right beside the half-packed suitcase. I pull away from your lips only for a second to kiss your damp cheek, your jaw, and that spot on your neck where your pulse beats wildly.
"I love you,” I whisper shakily against your skin, letting my own walls finally collapse and allowing the tears I held back all weekend to finally fall. “I love you, I love you…”
It isn’t just to ask for your forgiveness. It’s so you’ll carry it tattooed into your memory. So that tomorrow, when you watch my car disappear down the driveway, you’ll know I loved you with everything I was, and that letting you go is the greatest and most painful act of love I have ever done in my entire fucking life.”
AND YES. THAT IS EXACTLY WHY I AM NOT PSYCHOLOGICALLY OKAY. 💀🖤
So anyway, this is the end of this trash post.
Although another one is coming. A longer one. 😭
Because once again I have suffered the ultimate curse of being fandom-dependent and I am currently going through an entirely fictional yet completely real emotional grieving process in my head… which basically means getting way too attached to fictional characters and then having the universe —also known as the writer, showrunner, screenwriter, or whatever evil entity is responsible for writing that character’s life— decide to psychologically destroy you for sport. 🫠
Yes!!!! 😶🌫️ 😶 They killed the main character.😱
And I was just sitting there like: WTF. 😭💔
So if you see a flood of videos, edits, scenes, texts, or creative delusions from me over the next few days… that’s simply my way of surviving the psychological damage inflicted on me by someone else’s story. 🎬🖤
My creative brain is currently operating at full power trying to process the grief my fangirl heart is carrying. ✨❤️🩹❤️🩹💔
End of statement. 🖤
P.S.: If you want the emotional damage to hurt even more while reading this, I’m leaving below the song I’d personally listen to while writing it. 🎧😭
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Okay, I have watched Sandman S2 part 1 a couple times now, and Dream is so Sleep Token coded... but not only that... maybe it is my headcanon, but I believe Sleep is Dream as per the Sleep Token lore. Or at least the Nightmare aspect of him. Though I would say that in the perspective of S2 of Sandman, Vessel's POV is Dream's. Both headcanons work, Sandman lore Vessel is Dream, Sleep Token lore Sleep is Dream in his Nightmare aspect.
Please, please, please, I am dying for fan artists out there to draw, paint, all of the above with Dream as Sleep with Vessel as himself. But also for the Sandman fans I see Hob Gadling as Vessel too... so maybe some fan artists could do Hob as Vessel with Dream as Sleep? And then if ya'll wanna go super niche, the Like Minds fandom with Nigel Colbie as Dream/Sleep and Alex Forbes as Vessel... like the fan art ideas are endless... lolz, Endless... I would draw it except I am not that good of a visual artist.
Also, fan fiction writers? Please please. Sleep Token × Sandman crossover? Or Sleep Token x Like Minds? I'd read it.
