#unscripted series

“No…”, you murmured, wrapping your arms around your trembling frame, your hands restless on your skin, your head shaking lightly, your vision blurred with unspilled tears. “No, that would mean–” You didn’t finish the sentence, as if you were afraid of what you were about to say, so you simply closed your eyes and stood still, not daring to move nor speak.

You were rehearsing the scene opening the second act, which took place in a completely empty stage. You’d begin your monologue under a spotlight, standing right in the middle of it, and then you’d slowly make your way to the proscenium, until you’d reach the edge, the last word being pronounced just as you were about to step into the void.

It was a decisive point for your character, a moment of transition, almost as if there were not one, but two ‘Anaïses’, who were the same and yet completely different from each other.

In hindsight, her story was told in a peculiar way, with a substantial difference between the first and second act. While the first part was romantic and delicate and all about her falling in love, there was a complete shift of tone ad themes in the second one, metaphorically resembling a violent slap across the face for the audience.

Even the time period Thecla had chosen underlined that difference, the story beginning in 1899 and ending in 1900, with the intermission being set at the exact turn of the century.

Such duality permeated the entire play, from its structure, to scenes and dialogues mirroring each other, to the choice of having only two actors in it.

It all started with Anaïs, a young orphan, adopted by a rich Lady who intended to mould her into the perfect bride for her eldest niece. Fresh out of finishing school, the girl returned to the ancient castle where she spent her childhood… only to discover that her betrothed died in a tragic accident right the day before her arrival, the heartache aggravating the poor old Lady’s already fragile health conditions.

In addition to all of this, the woman would die during the first act, leaving Anaïs lost and without a parenting figure for the second time in her life. Under those circumstances, she would grow closer with Rowan, the Lady’s youngest niece… who also happened to be her childhood sweetheart. The first portion of the story would focus on them, facing grief side by side, learning to love each other as adults, and the act would end on the 31stDecember, with the two lovebirds happily married and ready to face the new year as a couple.

A perfect conclusion for a perfect fairy tale.

However, during the second part, the audience would uncover the sick twisted truth with Anaïs – through Anaïs –, following her exact same journey.

Rowan’s castle of cards would slowly start to fall apart, his mind game getting completely exposed in the last scene, when she would confront him about his actions. A pact with the devil to murder his brother and aunt, so that he could have her to himself for eternity. So that she could never leave him. Literally. Because immortality and eternal youth were not definitive: the mere act of setting foot outside the estate without the other would result to an immediate death.

She was bound to him.

The striking contrast between the events and the narration was vital to the director, so the apparently lightest, most reassuring scenes followed her manipulation, whereas the shadiest, more unsettling ones were actually telling the tale of her fight for freedom. A freedom that would cost her life.

And it would all begin on their wedding night, triggered by a terrifying nightmare. A nightmare that wouldn’t wake her up, but would instead fade into something lighter: a hypnopompic state empty enough to be filled with all her questions. The exact moment where your monologue would take place.

So, the point of the whole scene was to represent the first spark of suspicion for Anaïs and that was the reason why you considered it the most important part in the entire act, if not the entire play. Because, while still being under Rowan’s control and unaware of everything, the seed of doubt was planted in the girl’s mind, starting to change her from the inside.

And you loved the way Thecla had decided to stage it.

At first, your character was in the dark of a non-place, surrounded by all of her lover’s lies. Then, the spotlight shining on you and your walk towards the end of the stage was her trying to decipher her dream, starting to put some pieces together, the fourth wall acting as the last layer, the last invisible door she had to walk through to see the truth.

A shiver ran down your spine. “No”, you repeated, your right hand slipping to the pair of imaginary rings – the engagement one and the wedding one – on your finger, playing with them nervously. “No, it cannot be…”

The time was not ripe yet, and the simple sound of Rowan calling her name would be enough for her to fall back in his arms, tangled in his web of manipulation and deception. And that was when you were supposed to step back, returning to the centre of the stage and standing there until the lights would go off to move onto the next scene, which would take place in the bedroom, where Rowan would wake Anaïs up.

And then, with your head hung and your eyes never leaving your fidgeting hands, you waited. And waited. And waited…

Why isn’t he–

“Tom?” It was Thecla’s voice.

When no answer came after that, you raised your head, your confused gaze scanning the stalls. You found what you were looking for in no time.

Sitting in the third row, arms crossed over the backrest of the seat in front of him and chin resting on them, Tom had his eyes riveted on the stage, gawping in pure amazement and looking completely enthralled.

Enchanted.

And it was in that exact moment, when you locked gazes with him that you realized it: he wasn’t just staring at the stage, no.

He was staring at you.

You felt your mouth run dry, unable to look away as your whole face started to heat up.

Why the hell was he looking at you like that?

“Tom!”, Thecla called again, louder this time. She didn’t shout, but it was enough to for the poor boy to get back on planet Earth, causing him to advert his eyes from yours, thus allowing you to breathe again.

“Your line!”

“Shit!” Tom stood up and frantically rushed away from his seat, trying to get back on stage. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, I–” He yelped in pain. “Fucking hell!”

A string of muttered profanities followed up, as the task proved to be harder than expected. Usually so athletic and agile, he now looked like one of those goofy Alaskan Malamute puppies in the videos you received from Cindy on a daily basis, as he kept tripping on everything he could find on his way, eliciting a few laughs.

“I’m an idiot!”

You didn’t feel like laughing, instead finding the view to be quite endearing. Puckering your lips, you forced yourself not to smile like an idiot.

“What were you doing there?”, Thecla asked with a chuckle.

“You said we would take a break after this scene”, Tom explained quickly, making it to the apron. “And, since Rowan has nothing to do…” He paid no attention to the side stairs – maybe not to waste any more precious time –, effortlessly climbing onto the stage with a jump that made him appear weightless.

And hot.

Not so goofy anymore, huh?

“I took it as a chance to…” Your flustered co-star stood up right next to you, a hand over his chest as he finally caught his breath. “To be part of the audience, I guess?”, he added sheepishly, an apologetic look on his face. “I was planning to say the line from here, but then I just got caught up in the scene and, I’m sorry, it’s just…” He went quiet, lips pressing into a thin line as his gaze landed on you, like he was looking for something.

Whether it was approval or permission, you couldn’t tell. But you still gave him a soft smile and small nod, encouraging him to go on, and that seemed to do the trick.

“This is one of my favourite parts in the show and I really wanted to see y/n performing it”, Tom continued, those chocolate eyes never leaving yours, the intensity lightening them up once again causing your breath to itch in your throat.

Stop looking at him like a dead fish, y/n.

You didn’t, and he ended up being the one who looked away first, resuming to talk like nothing happened.

Because nothing happened, y/n. Nothing.

“But I’m always there in the backstage, so…”

“That’s okay, Tom”, Thecla raised a hand, interrupting him with a reassuring expression. “I get it.”

“It won’t happen again, I swear”, he said with a serious tone, only to be met with complete silence. “… Thecla?”

“Hold on, now that I think of it, you kinda just gave me an idea…” She was scratching her chin, a vacant look in her eyes and the tickling in her brain filling the silence.

You all did as she asked and waited for her to speak again.

“Okay, hear me out.” Standing up from her sit in the front-row, she came on stage too, choosing the safer path and taking the stairs. “We could move the scene to the bedroom, and have Rowan sleeping during the monologue.”

It took you nothing to understand what was going on inside her head. And, apparently, it was the same for Tom, because he didn’t skip a beat and moved to the exact spot where the bed was supposed to be situated.

“The stage is no longer empty, but everything is still dark, so that nothing of the bedroom can be seen and it will still give the idea of a non-place”, Thecla explained, then directed her attention to you. “y/n, you still do everything you just did. But when Rowan calls for you, you take just one step back.”

You obeyed and she nodded. “Yes. And then you stand there and wait. The lights go on, we’re in the next scene and the room comes out of the darkness. We see that Rowan is in bed.” Her arms and hands moved in a hypnotizing way as she paced back and forth, illustrating the scene.

Then a finger was pointed towards you. “But you’re not. You’re standing in front of the window–”

“Because I’ve been sleepwalking”, you finished for her. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. The invisible barrier in her dreams would transition to the glass of a physical one as Anaïs’s body would instinctively try to get away from Rowan in the only way possible: death. But her mind, still unaware that she had no other option, was holding her back.

“Yes, so the only difference will be that, as the lights go on, you’ll be closing your eyes”, Thecla confirmed, the glimmer of pride in her gaze speaking louder than words. “He calls for you a second time, asking you to get away from the window – because we won’t use a real window, so you have to let the audience know that there is one – and you shiver, because you’re unconsciously afraid of him now, but you don’t move and stay asleep. So, he comes to you.”

She motioned for Tom to come closer, and waited until he was standing by your side to continue. “You see that she doesn’t respond, but don’t think much of it and blame her shaking on the cold: while this is a confusing moment for her, for you, it’s pure bliss”, she told him, passion dripping from her every word. “You got what you wanted and you couldn’t be any happier.”

“Got it.”

“Great”, she replied with a pleased clap of her hands. “Now, hug her from behind.”

Oh.

You had done several table readings, and were now rehearsing on stage to figure out whether a scene would actually work or not and how, but you were yet to bring actions and details into a lot of parts, including the most intimate ones.

Especially the most intimate ones.

At the moment, you were focusing more on the movements and on the composition. You and Tom would kiss when it was required, but it was always nothing more than a quick peck – sometimes embarrassingly missing the aim and laughing it off or playfully bumping foreheads together –, and even on the physical aspect everything was still very light and shallow.

Well, apparently things were about to change today.

After a brief moment of silence, Tom followed Thecla’s instructions, positioning himself right behind you. While doing so, he spared you a quick glance, to which you responded with an encouraging wink.

You knew that something like this was going to happen: this wasn’t your first rodeo at playing a romantic interest: you were prepared. But the thing that took you by surprise was that Tom didn’t hold back like the two of you normally would, nor did he give you one of those normal ‘fake hugs’ your former colleagues had gotten you used to. No, he wrapped his arms around your hips and torso, resting his chin on your shoulder and pulling you so close that your back was practically attached to his front.

You tried to think nothing of it, concentrating all your efforts on ignoring the warm tickle spreading all over your skin under his touch, on maintaining a regular breathing, on reminding yourself that, despite his debut, he was a cinema bloke now: he came from a different world, a more realistic one. Obviously, there was no space left for fake hugs when you had a camera shoved straight in your face. It was normal.

“Yeah, just like that”, Thecla eyed the both of you up and down. “And that’s what definitely wakes her up. Then you can say something sweet and give her a kiss on…” She stopped, pondering the options. “Tom, temple or neck?”

Tom hummed, the low sound vibrating in your ears and resonating in your mind. “I feel like Rowan would go the extra mile and do both”, he said, absentmindedly tightening his hold on you. “This”, he murmured before placing a delicate kiss to your temple. “… for affection.” You didn’t even have the time to process his action, as he delved in again, this time aiming for your neck. “And this…” His lips brushed against your skin, his soft breath tickling you lightly. “To make sure he stakes his claim on her.”

You gulped silently, hoping the crazy rhythm of your pulse went completely unnoticed.

“Claim? It’s just the two of them”, Thecla commented, a line forming between her brows. “They barely had any contact with other people ever since Anaïs came back, and they’re beginning their life as a married couple after a private wedding…”

You didn’t need to look at him to know that he was smirking. “But it’s Rowan we’re talking about, after all.”

Thecla’s frown vanished in an instant. “I see you’ve done your homework, I was testing you”, she nodded with a matching smile. “So, it’s actually you who’s guiding her back to reality – because, y/n”, she turned her attention to you. “You start to react and act normally with these actions –, even though you’re not aware you’re doing it”, she described, adding the final details. “And the next scene starts right now. What do you guys think?”

“I like it. It’s much more powerful.” Releasing you from his embrace, Tom came back to your side, his eyes still fixated on you with an expecting look. “What about you, y/n?”

“I agree”, you replied with a smile that he instantly returned. “The manipulation and the fact that Anaïs is still dreaming are even clearer.”

“Plus, the transition from one scene to the other will be more fluid”, he added, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“And you’ll get to see y/n performing one of your favourite scenes”, Thecla cut in with a playfully mocking tone. “She won’t be facing you, but it’s still better than nothing, right?”

“Right”, Tom agreed. “I like how my fanboying ended up changing an entire scene”, he tried to joke in an attempt to dissimulate his embarrassment.

“You mean improving an entire scene”, Thecla corrected him, gesturing at him with her rolled up copy of the script. “That’s some serious hidden screenwriting talent there. I’ll keep an eye on you, boy.”

“I’m literally twenty-five.”

She raised her hands. “My apologies, grandma.”

You giggled and Tom rolled her eyes at the both of you, realizing he was outnumbered.

“Alright everyone, we’re taking a break: see you all in thirty minutes!” Thecla announced, using what she used to call her ‘Big Director Voice’ and clapping her hands.

But just as you began to walk away, you were stopped by a hand placed on your arm. “Great job, y/n”, she told you, giving you a light squeeze to let you know how proud of you she was.

You bowed your head, both in understanding and gratitude. “Thanks”, you murmured, before heading back to your dressing room.

A few minutes later, you were rummaging through your bag, looking for your lunch, when you heard a gentle knock on your door.

Looking up, you found Tom standing there awkwardly, his own lunch box and water bottle clutched in his hands. “Hey, y/n…”

“Hey, Mr. Screenwriter”, you smirked, winking at him and secretly relishing the coy smile and the lovely shade of pink spreading on his cheeks. Secretly and a bit too much for your taste…

Fuck, he’s cute.

“Yeah, about that…”, he muttered under his breath, but didn’t seem to have the courage to continue. You didn’t know where all that unusual shyness came from, but it was obvious that something was bothering him.

“Do you wanna have a seat?”, you offered. “Join me for lunch?”

“If you don’t mind…”

You shushed him with a glare, tilting your head towards the chair right next to yours. Tom immediately understood what you meant and silently proceeded to come in and sit down, setting his stuff on the make-up table and waiting until you found your food and did the same.

You pulled your legs up and crossed them, smiling to reassure him and to tell him that you were ready to listen to whatever he had to say.

Lowering his eyes on his fidgeting hands, Tom sucked in a sharp breath. “Were the kisses too much?”, he asked you bluntly, looking back at you. “I feel like I should’ve asked you first.”

You blinked a few times, the question catching you completely off-guard. “Not… not at all.” You shook your head, trying to overcome the surprise. “I mean, you were right: it is what Rowan would do”, you added to motivate your answer. “Besides, we’re playing a couple: and yeah, we’ve kissed before, but I think we’re gonna have to loosen up a bit more…” Your voice vanished to silence as you realized what you just said. “… it sounded better in my head.”

“I get what you mean.” The corners of his mouth quirked slightly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I also wanted to apologize.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “Apologize?”, you repeated, as if you wanted to make sure you heard correctly. “For what?”

“For ruining your monologue”, Tom revealed quietly, nervously playing with the ring on his little finger. “… and stealing the spotlight, back then.” He looked like a child waiting to be yelled at and scolded. None of that came from you, though, who simply stared at him with a bewildered expression.

“You’ve been amazing, but the only thing we were talking about was how to change the scene.” He licked his lips, looking down for a moment before raising his head again, a mixture of embarrassment and genuine regret animating his features. “And all you got was a simple ‘Great job’…”

This time, you didn’t even try to conceal your shock. “A simple ‘Great job’?”, you almost yelled, eyes going round and eyebrows shooting up to your hairline. You were aware of how dumb you probably looked, repeating his words like you’d never heard them before. But at the moment, you really couldn’t care less.

“Yeah”, he confirmed with a decisive nod. “And you deserved so much more.”

“I…” The reply died in your throat, burned to ashes by his words, by the strength in his gaze. A strength that hit you in the stomach like a single perfectly aimed blow, almost leaving you gasping for air.

“Tom… it’s fine”, was the only answer you managed to formulate with a small voice.

“No, it’s not–”

“Yes, it is”, you rushed to interrupt him, raising your hands and silently asking him to listen to you. “I mean it, I…”

God, this is gonna sound so stupid…

But still, you braced yourself and carried on. “I don’t do well with praise and attention”, you finally admitted. “Like, it’s okay until I’m acting, but the moment I stop I just…” You paused, not really knowing how to explain it in better words. You let out a sigh, running a hand over your face. “It makes no sense, I know.”

“No no.” Tom shook his head with a serious look. “It does make sense, actually.”

That was new. Unusual. So unusual it rose a strange suspicion in you. Talking about this was usually a taboo for you, since it usually lead to the same result: automatically being classified as a hypocrite.

It happened with your co-stars and colleagues. It happened with your friends, with the only exception of Cindy, who not only had never called you that, but actually came to your defence every single time she would hear that word.

And it had happened with your dad, back when you told him you wanted to do this professionally. You still remembered the way he had yelled at you: it was engraved in your memory, a scar that would never fade from your skin.

“Actors love the attention! You can’t accept a single compliment without crying! And now you’re telling me you want to act?!”

“I-I actually enjoy it… I can see it in my future–”

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“What do you mean, dad?”

“So this is the real act.”

“… what?”

“All this ‘Nooo, I’m too shy! I hate it when people look at me!’. And now you wanna be an actress. Such a fucking hypocrite…”

You forced yourself to snap out of it. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t like compliments”, you blabbered in an attempt to justify yourself before he could say anything. Whether you were trying to do it with Tom or your father, you didn’t know. “But I–”

“You feel like you don’t deserve them”, he completed the sentence for you, not a single track of mockery or disdain in his tone.

You weren’t used to it: being taken seriously on that matter. It still partially felt like some kind of a sick joke.

“… yeah.”

“Got it”, Tom nodded, sounding like he meant that: like he wasn’t saying it just because. Like he truly understood what you were telling him.

Realizing that the cruel remark you were preparing yourself for wasn’t gonna see the light of day, you were left speechless. And Tom seemed to catch up on that as well, remaining silent and giving you the time to process the situation.

“Well, despite what you may think, my words were true, y/n”, he carefully spoke after a while, reaching out to touch your arm, but deciding otherwise and immediately lowering his hand. “That scene was incredible. You are incredible. I have no idea how you do it, but you keep getting better and better, like, that’s just…”

“Is that a nice way to tell me I sucked when we began rehearsing?”, you joked, clinging onto sarcasm to stop the tears that were threatening to form in your eyes. They weren’t bad tears. Quite the opposite, really, but you didn’t want to weird the poor guy out.

“W-what?!” Tom jumped in his seat, eyes widened and voice going up an entire octave. “No! No, I meant–”, he began to apologize, but suddenly came to a halt when he saw your smirk. “Bitch”, he spat, feigning offence.

“Well, Lady l/n”, he continued, lifting his chin, his voice sounding snobbish and measured, reminding you more of a mocking of his actual accent. “Will you do me the greatest honour of forgetting about your Imposter Syndrome for a brief moment, thus accepting my undying admiration for you?”

You fanned yourself aggressively. “Oh, you’re flattering me, my Lord”, you squeaked. “But, when being asked so charmingly, how could I ever refuse?”

“So do not, dearest. Just say yes.” Tom offered you his hand, the gesture dramatic and exaggerated, and you moved to take it with a matching attitude. Just before you could touch him, you stopped, letting a few seconds go by.

“Baby”, you corrected him, and lowered your palm on his.

That simple word was enough to throw Tom into confusion. “… what?”

“It’s ‘baby.’ Baby, just say yes”, you clarified with a serious look.

“Wait…” He narrowed his eyes at you, studying your face for clues. “Was that–?”

“From Love Story?”, you asked nonchalantly. “Yes. Taylor’s included in price.”

He dropped your hand, bringing his own to his chest. “You ruined my big dramatic moment!”, he sighed, drying waterfalls of non-existent tears on his cheeks.

“I guess we’re even now”, you replied, but as soon as you said that, all the guilt came back to his face with the power of an avalanche. “I’m kidding!”, you exclaimed, smacking his arm playfully. “You can breathe, mate, I’m kidding.”

That seemed to lighten his mood, but neither of you talked for a while, instead taking the opportunity to start eating.

You wouldn’t have called it an unnatural silence, though. It felt nice, just sitting next to him like that, your arms brushing casually against each other, your gazes meeting through the reflection of the mirror every now and then. Definitely something you could get used to. However, there was still something you needed to say.

“All jokes aside…”, you began when you were halfway through your meals. “Thank you for everything you said, Tom. It really means a lot to me.” You kept your voice to a whisper, sparing him a quick glance through the mirror, only to immediately lower your eyes when you discovered that his reflection was already looking at you.

“The World, actually”, you murmured at a barely audible volume.

“The World, no less?”, Tom let out a giggle, giving you a shoulder nudge. “Now you’re flattering me.”

“Hey, I’m being serious here!” You countered, returning the light shove, maybe using a bit more strength than he had. Of course, he didn’t even flinch – not that you were expecting anything different.

Returning serious, you put down your fork and pushed your plate aside. “You’re a fantastic actor”, you went on, this time raising your voice a bit more and finally facing him. “Not only having someone with your talent as my partner, but even hearing you say something nice about my acting skills is… a total dream come true.”

A small part of you felt a bit stupid because of your choice of words: they were sappy, and by no doubt one of the most cliché things ever. On the other hand, you kind preferred it that way, no matter how naïve they could make you sound. To you, the most important thing was to get through to your interlocutor, to let them know what you truly meant. And if that translated to using simple words, then so be it.

Thankfully, the boy sitting next to you seemed to be of the exact same opinion, appearing truly touched by what you said.

Or maybe he was just too kind to make fun of you for that.

“y/n…” Tom paused. He had already stopped eating, but pushed his own food aside as well to fully turn his body towards you. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

The kind, genuine smile didn’t remain on his face for long, as it slowly started to morph into a different one. At first, you couldn’t quite place it, but the light tint of read appearing on his ears told you everything you needed to know.

“… but at the same time you’re making me feel awful for never having seen one of your plays before.”

“Shut up!”, you groaned, rolling your eyes at him. “It’s not the same thing.”

“You must think I’m a terrible co-worker”, he insisted, trying to play it off as a joke. “Which I probably am. Unprofessional and self-centred.”

“Oh, stop it, will you?” You were joking, and you were positive that Tom got it, but – probably due to the embarrassment – he still didn’t reply, gave you a small nod and then lowered his head, focusing entirely on playing with a loose string of his ripped jeans.

You bit your lip. “I shouldn’t be telling you this”, you began hesitantly. “… but I’ve had my fair share of bad co-workers, and there’s no way you’re ever gonna feature amongst them, trust me.” Tom shot you a questioning look and you nodded lightly to reinforce the message. “Some of them knew who I was before they met me and still behaved like jerks.”

“Who?”, he frowned.

You shrugged. “You tell the sin, but not the sinner.”

“I got time for a sinner.”

You gawked at him, not knowing how to respond to that.

The sudden change on his face, the low deep voice, the heavy Southern American accent, even the shift in his posture… he really pulled Arvin out of his pocket just like that.

Having seen the film a few times – maybe a few times more than you liked to admit – you had gotten used to that character… or at least you thought you had, because seeing him, hearing him, and overall experiencing him in person was a whole different story.

You cleared your throat to mask your loud gulp and immediately hurried to change the subject. “Did you just misquote your own film?”

Yeah, the film. Talk about the film.

“The things you make me do, baby doll…”, Tom replied with a breathy chuckle that almost made him look like he was blowing the smoke of his – no, Arvin’s – signature’s cigarette –, narrowing his eyes at you… and you could’ve sworn you just saw him wink.

Well, he wasn’t supposed to do that. Because you definitely weren’t ready for Arvin Eugene Russell to be sitting next to you in your dressing room while acting all flirty.

“Come on, I’m simply curious”, Tom tried again, switching back to his usual voice, finally letting you breathe.

It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy his English accent as well, in fact you liked it even more than his Southern American one… but, thanks to all the actual exposition, you could handle it in a much better way.

“… curious about the sound their noses are gonna make when making contact with my fist, in case I ever happen to meet them”, he specified in a half-whisper.

As terrible as it sounded, you were grateful for what he said, since it helped you get your mind off things you weren’t supposed to be thinking.

“Now I’m even more motivated not to tell you”, you stated, grabbing your lunch box once again. Instead of facing the table like you did before, you sat cross-legged, simply placing it in your lap.

Tom gave you a lopsided grin. “Fine. I’ll ask Cindy.”

“Good luck with that”, you commented without batting an eyelash, keeping yourself busy picking at your food.

Your lack of reaction did nothing to calm him down: no, motivating him even more. “I’ll follow your lead”, he declared, stubbornly determined to convince you he could do it. “I’ll use your cat as a weapon.”

Luckily, you had already swallowed the mouthful or you would’ve spat it all around the room. “Oh, good luck with that!”, you sneered, already picturing the scene. Or rather, the disastrous outcomes, his allergic reaction being the least bad thing that could happen.

“y/n!”, he eventually whined, trying to play the puppy-eyes card.

Your expression softened. “It’s water under the bridges, Tom. Seriously.”

Seeing that insisting was pointless, he reluctantly gave up, but still made one last try. “If you change your mind, just know that I’m at your orders.”

“That’s so Arvin of you”, you fake-gasped. “I certainly won’t forget that.”

“Please, stop making me feel like a jerk”, he pleaded, his voice muffled against the hand he ran over his face.

Lowering your gaze on your plate, you played around with what was left of your couscous. “… if that’s the effect my knowledge about your filmography has on you, I really shouldn’t tell you where I saw you for the first time”, you pondered quietly.

When you looked up, you found Tom already staring at you. “… I’m torn”, he admitted with a gulp.

“… do you want to know?”

He took his time giving you a definitive answer, wide eyes exploring your face, searching for clues, jaw clenched and lips pressed into a hard line. “… yes.”

“It was with–”

“DON’T!”

It was so sudden, so loud that it caused you to jump in your seat, almost making you drop your lunch box. Your heart was going crazy, beating so loudly that you could basically hear it in your ears. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if Tom had been able to hear it too. You observed the source of your fear with shock written all over your face.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I did it”, he quickly apologized. “I… I guess I kinda panicked for a moment and…” Guilt-filled eyes bored into your worried ones, as he inhaled and exhaled a couple of times to calm down and get ready. “… okay, go.”

Despite the huge jump scare he’d just given you, you couldn’t find it in yourself to protest. Not when that usually bright and light-hearted young man was looking like a small kid, both equally anxious and puzzled.

“I…” You decided to start him off easy. “I discovered you with Pilgrimage.”

A crease formed between his eyebrows. “Really? I wasn’t expecting that…”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping this wouldn’t make you sound like the fangirl you actually were. “To be completely honest, the first time I heard of you was with The Secret World of Arrietty, when I literally heard you. But it wasn’t until I watched Pilgrimage that I made the connection.”

“I see…”, Tom nodded at your words, looking a bit calmer now, the reaction reassuring you that your answer wasn’t that weird, after all – suck on that, Albert.

“So… did you like it? Pilgrimage, I mean…”

“I did. Maybe it was a bit too violent for me… but yeah, I liked it.” You even felt comfortable enough to add more details. “Middle age. Ireland. Religious themes. The love story in my head between yours and Jon Bernthal’s characters…”

“The what?”

“Oh, don’t tell me it never even crossed your mind!” You squinted your eyes at him, not even knowing where all this boldness was coming from. “That scene where you’re holding him and your face is just inches from his?!” With an emphatic sigh, you brought your hands to your chest. “If that doesn’t scream ‘couple’ to you…”

Tom wasn’t able to hide his smile. “That’s a… really interesting take on that”

“It’s not”, you corrected him in all seriousness. “In my mind, it’s canon.”

“Noted.” He looked at you with a peculiar, inexplicable combination of amusement and tenderness… then, something clouded his gaze. “But wait… aren’t you an atheist?”

“Yes.” You tilted your head to the side at the random question. “And?”

“You mentioned religious themes…”

“Oh”, you realized what he meant, then proceeded to give him a quick explanation. “I saw it as the perfect example of where blind, irrational Faith can lead you.” Pausing for a moment, you checked on him, silently asking him if you should end it there.

Apparently, Tom wanted more details, because not only didn’t he stop you, but he actually leaned towards you, resting his elbows on his knees as if that could help him to pay more attention to what you were telling him.

“Uhm… I’m not saying that Faith itself is a bad thing”, you clarified. “But, even if it involves an exemplary superior entity, it’s still a very human thing, and, like every human thing, it can be wonderful or it can be terrible.” You stopped again, wondering if you were being boring.

But, just like before, Tom encouraged you to go on.

“Stanley Weber’s character, that Geraldus guy” – you grimaced when you pronounced that name – “relied on that alone, used it to justify violence and the sacrifice of others, refused to use his head and ignored the other monks’ advises.”

Maybe you were being too harsh, listing all the errors of a fictional character. And annoying, too, you were talking too much. Albert’s voice overlapped with your father’s one, reminding you over and over again how ridiculous you sounded whenever you tried to explain your vision about one thing or another, how stupid it made you appear when you tried to face serious topics, how prettier it made you look to keep your mouth shut.

You gulped, attempting to free your mind from those memories, when you saw that Tom was staring at you through narrowed eyes, giving off the impression that he was going to ask you something.

“y/n, are you–”

You immediately cut him off. “… and look where that brought him: almost everyone in his group is dead and he got himself killed by the final girl”, you joked.

It was clear as day that he wasn’t buying it: he knew that something was up with you. And you had no idea how or why, but you knew that he knew.

This curly-haired boy had the surprising ability to make you feel like an open book. A book he couldn’t fully comprehend yet, as he was still learning you like you learn a new language. Though at this rate, he would come to know you by heart someday. A day that you dreaded, and at the same time eagerly awaited…

Luckily, Tom wasn’t planning to use that ability against your will: sensing that you didn’t feel like talking about that something, he simply decided not to pressure you. “Never thought I would live long enough to hear a monk being called a final girl”, he laughed softly. “Let alone if that monk was played by me.”

“Life’s full of surprises.”

“And I have the living proof right in front of me”, he gestured at you from head to toe, that tenderness back in his eyes. “I truly wasn’t expecting that”, he remarked. “I mean, Pilgrimage’s pretty under the radar… n-not that I’m saying that it’s bad, I had a lot of fun working on it!”

Overcome by those fond memories, Tom smiled to himself and you just took him in in awe, wanting to kiss the cute tiny wrinkles forming around his eyes…

No. No, I don’t want to do that. What a stupid thought.

“By the way…”

You snapped your head towards him, eyes wide open and breath held, like you just got caught saying that out loud.

“I loved hearing your opinions”, the cheeky bastard told you with a goddamn lovely wink. “I just… I’m a bit surprised, that’s all. In a good way, of course!”

Blinking again, breathing again, you also felt the need to match his cheekiness. A weird self-defence mechanism against the embarrassment, probably. “What can I say?”, you shrugged. “Looks like I have a magnet for cute monks.”

“You thought I was cute?”, he inquired with a pleased grin.

“Oh, come on”, you glared at him with a scoff. “A pouty Irish novice with curls? The crush was immediate!”

Tom lifted an eyebrow, his interest apparently growing by the second. “So the habit has that effect on you?”

“Blame Victor Hugo”, you told him, raising both your hands in an apologetic gesture, even though you didn’t sound like you were sorry at all. “He ruined me with his Frollo.”

That name seemed to awaken confusion in him. “But isn’t Frollo like, an old ugly judge or something?”

Good, think about Frollo. Don’t make me think of those cute little wrinkles.

“You’re thinking about Disney Frollo”, you pointed a finger at him, then did the same thing to yourself. “I’m talking about Book Frollo.”

Tom cocked his head to the side, the confusion still occupying his face: a silent way to tell you he had no idea what you were talking about.

“He’s an archdeacon in there. Plus, he’s thirty-five – which was considered old back then, I get it – and Hugo doesn’t say that he’s ugly”, you clarified. “I actually don’t like him, ‘cause he’s still a horrible person who does pretty messed up stuff, but I like his complexity, the conflict inside of him between love and Faith.”

“Sounds fascinating”, he observed.

“It is”, you confirmed, only to realize you had once more monopolized the conversation. “But yeah, weird fixations aside, we were talking about your film.”

“A film almost no-one mentions to me when they meet me…”, he muttered and, from the way he looked at you, you had no choice but to look down, unable to handle such intensity.

Bowl resting on your lap, you were still fidgeting with your hands, not knowing what else to say and wondering if that meant it was the right time to resume eating.

Tom didn’t seem to be on your same page, the sound of his voice making you raise your head again. “Okay, now I feel even guiltier”, he cackled a bit nervously. “Enough with me, then: it’s your turn to talk now.”

“My turn?”

“Yeah, I wanna know your origin story.”

“You mean how I became an actress?”, you asked.

“If you prefer”, he conceded, though everything in the way he said it suggested that this alternative wasn’t very appreciated by him. In fact, he made sure to let you know, to clear any possible doubt you might had. “Doesn’t sound as cool as ‘origin story’, though.”

You cracked a smile, jumping at the occasion to use that joke one last time. “That’s why I’m an actress and not a screenwriter”.

Without a reply, Tom stuck his tongue out at you, scrunching up his nose like a little kid. But, despite that funny little moment, it soon became clear that he wasn’t going to give up.

So it was you who had to give up. “Well, long story short”, you sighed. “I started acting because I was shy. Pretty classic, right?”

He nodded. “So far. But I want the details.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. “Okay. My grandma was a singer at the local theatre of the town I was born and raised in.”

The sweet memory brought a smile to your face, the feeling of her hand holding yours on the first day she brought you to her favourite place on Earth, more vivid than ever.

“He hates me.”

“Stop crying over what he said, honey. That idiot’s not worth your tears.”

“He’s your son, nana.”

“And that’s one of his only two good qualities.”

“What’s the other one?”

“Being your father.”

“That explains it”, he said, the satisfied expression on his face making him look like a detective who had just solved a case. “Talent runs in the family.”

His words flattered you, but at the same time, you couldn’t help shooting a glance at the ceiling. “God, I wish. She was a soprano with a vocal range of like four octaves.”

Tom’s eyes went round, shining with admiration. “Holy shit, that’s a lot!”, he exclaimed, his mouth agape… at least until hesitation took over his features. “It is a lot, right?”, he timidly asked, no longer fully convinced that his statement was correct.

Luckily, you were there to reassure him. “It is a lot.”

“Do you have it, too?”

You plastered a sweet smile on your face, your voice dripping honey as you answered him. “You’ll never know.”

“Fine”, he pouted. “I’ll just ask Thecla to make Anaïs sing.”

“Very fitting with the tone of the whole play”, you mocked him. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I can be very persuasive, love, you’ve seen what happened with the scene”, he smugly reminded you. “Just you wait.” And of course he had to wink again.

Cocky shit. Charming cocky sh-y/n, stop it.

“So, what happened next?”

“She started to take me there with her every time she had rehearsals to–”

… to make sure my father wouldn’t beat the shit out of me.

You managed to stop just in time, right before the worlds could roll off your tongue, the smile disappearing from your face like a mask falling to the ground. Though you were quick to pick it up and put it back on, ready to act like that didn’t happen, Tom was equally just as quick at noticing the pain that crossed your eyes.

For a moment, he debated whether he should say something or keep quiet, but then eventually chose the latter, as it was clear that you didn’t want to talk about it now, and he had no intention to force you to revive something that would just upset you. If one day you’d ever felt like telling him, he would be willing to listen.

But today was not that day.

“Didn’t force me to do anything, though”, you continued. “She’d just let me wonder around backstage.”

You remembered everything so clearly, as if she was still alive in your head. Her voice – now soft and faint – now loud and clear, would follow you around as you explored that place high and low, her songs and vocalizations guiding you like a personal North Star, as you learned how to navigate through it.

“A little girl wondering around in a mostly dark space…” He squinted his eyes, the grin contradicting the worried creases forming on his forehead. “I’ve seen horror movies begin in the exact same way, do you have something you want to tell me?”

“I’ll leave that up to your imagination.”

“Ah, the beauty of mystery…”, he sighed dramatically, with a few nods of approval. “I like it. Then?”

“Then I started going there by myself, because I discovered that I liked that place and the way it made me feel.” Right after you said that, one specific memory came back to you, and you couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips.

“What is it?”

“The people who worked there even started calling me ‘Erika’.” You gave him no further explanation, curious to see if he would get it.

“Erika”, Tom repeated slowly, concentrating on that single word until recognition dawned upon his face. “… as in Erik? Erik The Phantom of the Opera? That Erik?”

“Yup.”

“That’s it!”, he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. “I knew you looked familiar!”

“Asshole”, you played offended, biting the inside of your mouth not to laugh.

But that didn’t seem to kill Tom’s enthusiasm: without missing a beat, he came up with another question that almost made you drop your lunch box in absolute shock.

“So you’re into that kind of role-play? Besides the monk thing, of course.”

“Tom!”

“I’m taking notes”, he said, as if it was the most natural thing ever.

You blinked in confusion. “… notes?”

“I like to be prepared, darling.” He smiled at you with fake innocence. A fake innocence that made your mouth water. “You said so yourself, remember? We have to loosen up a bit.”

To say that your cheeks were burning was an absolute understatement: your entire face was enflamed, embarrassment spreading in waves under the surface of your skin. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“So, tell me…” Tom leaned back, resting his elbow on the table, his serious voice not matching whatever the hell he was doing with his body. “You want me to be your ingénue? And then your Irish novice?”

No. Just be my Irish novice–oh, for fuck’s sake, y/n!

“Oh my–” You couldn’t finish the sentence, hiding your face behind your hands, mostly because if you had looked at him doing that for just one more second, you weren’t sure you’d be able to think straight. You didn’t know what was wrong with you, right now, you just wanted to crawl into his lap and– “Shut up!”

“Can I ask you something, y/n?”

“No.” You dropped your hands, grabbing your food and placing it on the table, maybe with a bit too much energy, considering the loud thud caused by the impact. “I don’t like where this is going”, you pouted, or at least pretended to. “You seem way too comfortable when talking about the kinks I might have!”

Might. Yes, ‘might’ is very important.

“I swear it’s a serious thing.”

You finished closing your lunch box, facing him again to point an accusing finger at his face. “That’s kinda hard to believe when the word ‘serious’ is coming out of your mouth.”

Tom gently smacked your hand away. “Says the girl who called a tandem for ten people a ‘tendem’ and then kept laughing like an idiot for something like twenty minutes”, he smugly reminded you.

“Yeah, and who was the other idiot who dropped to their knees begging said girl to marry them?”, you bit back.

“A very smart guy indeed.” He proudly lifted his chin with a knowing look. “Certainly knows a keeper when he sees one.”

“And all it takes him is one stupid joke? That’s a talent.” You raised your eyebrows to mock him, his words making it hard for you not to crack a smile.

“The devil’s in the details, darling”, he replied, the unexpected shift in his accent hitting you like a wall of bricks. “Even the most insignificant or apparently stupid ones.”

You side-eyed him, voice reduced to a whisper. “Was that an Irish accent that I heard?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Yes.

“Thomas.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop”, he apologized, raising his hands as a peace offering. “All jokes aside, can I ask my question, now?”

You took your time before answering, eyes roaming his face to make sure he wasn’t bluffing. “Fine.”

“Do you get off asking people to sing for you in bed?”

Jaw slack and eyes rounded, you stared at him, unable to believe nor process what you just heard. And the effect it was having on you. “Fuck off”, you finally snorted, moving to punch his shoulder.

“It is a serious question!”, Tom protested, dodging the blow and grabbing your wrist. He didn’t let go. He had succeeded in blocking you and could’ve just released you. But he didn’t.

And you could’ve easily freed yourself. But you didn’t.

“You do know I have a musical background, right?”, he spoke, seriousness lacing his voice. “I mean, it was for a short period of time, but I’d love to try again.” And there it was, that cheeky grin again. “Who knows? I might even last longer now…”

“You’re disgusting, Thomas”, you spat, leaning forward and narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t you ever dare to talk to me again.”

“That would be extremely unprofessional, my dear. Rowan is not mute”, he pointed out, mirroring your action, still not letting go of your hand.

… not that you were complaining, even though, officially, you were.

“But, as a novice, I could take a vow of silence”, he added in a whisper. “… only to see if you can get me to break it.”

An image flashed in your mind. One that involved him falling to his knees in front of you, his hands resting on your hips, the fabric of your dress crumpled up in his fists, his forehead pressed against your abdomen as he clung onto you for dear life.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, taking it as a personal challenge not to make that thought could your mind. “You could always try a different interpretation, then”, you suggested with a sweet venomous smile. “I’m sure it would be very much appreciated.”

“So you want to silence me?” He looked genuinely hurt, those damn puppy eyes always ready to be used. “Don’t you want me to plead for forgiveness while I give into temptation with you? I’ll even grow my curls back for the occasion.”

You hated that you could already picture that, the unruly chocolate curls literally asking you – begging you – to bury your hands in them, comforting him as he prayed God through the altar of your body…

God yes…

“Don’t you wanna be my Angel of Music and have a passionate love story with me?”

And, just like that, all the magic vanished.

That sentence alone was enough to make you dryer than sandpaper, something you’d never thought you could ever be grateful for. But, after all, it was helping you keep your mental health in place, so who where you to complain?

“Absolutely not.” You pulled your wrist from his hold, sitting back with a disgusted look on your face. You rolled your eyes in an exaggerated motion. “Compared to them, Anaïs and Rowan – Anaïs and Rowan, Tom – are the portrait of a perfect healthy couple.”

“Just wanted to test your knowledge, love”, Tom chuckled, amused by your over-dramatized outrage. “But I see. You’re a Raoul stan, aren’t you?”

“Not really”, you responded, dragging the ‘n’ a bit. “I’m more of a ‘let Christine Daaé breathe for a moment you psychos’ stan, you get what I mean?”

He nodded. “I do, and you’re completely right. Even though I am a Raoul stan.”

“Well, he’s alright”, you conceded. “Not exactly my type, but he’s alright.”

“Got it. You’re more on the Billy Elliot side, right?”

“Yeah, sure”, you scoffed.

This time, you were the one on the receiving end of the accusing finger. “You totally are”, he reiterated. “I bet you had a huge crush on Jamie Bell, back in 2000.”

You did. But there was no need for him to know that. Enough with revealing the crushes of your younger self.

“And then you met me”, he continued, puffing his chest and straightening his neck, talking like a bard narrating a fairy-tale. “Which made your dreams come true. Now it all makes sense.”

“You wish, Tommy”, you giggled.

Unexpectedly, his face softened at that, a tender look appearing in his chocolate eyes. “I like it when you call me ‘Tommy’”, he told you with a sincere smile. “It has a nice ring to it when you say it.” He wasn’t being ironic or suggestive: he truly meant what he said.

And you… you were just one step away from melting. “… that was quite smooth, I’ll grant you that”, you admitted, still trying to play it cool.

“Glad I managed to impress you, darling”, he smirked proudly, then brought a finger to his lips. “But keep quiet about it, you’re the only one who can do it”, he spoke in hushed tones.

Remaining seated, you faked a courtesy. “Oh, what an honour!”

“So”, he clasped his hands. “Going back to people calling you ‘Erika’ due to your love for infesting theatres…”

“Oh, so you were listening!”, you joked, but, to tell the whole truth, you were actually positively impressed by his interest.

“And I still want to know more”, he confirmed. “Keep going.”

“It’s nothing special, really”, you shrugged. “After a couple of years, when I was around six, a director got sick of me wondering around like a ghos–” You stopped mid-sentence, noticing the look Tom was giving you.

“Yes?”, he prompted you, the innocence in his voice clashing with his shit-eating grin.

You pressed your lips together, thinking about how you could rephrase it. “Like a shadow”, you eventually decided. “So she took me on stage and told me that, now that I could read, if I wanted to stay there, I had to prove that I deserved it. Then she handed me a script and made me rehearse a scene with another kid.”

“And next thing you knew, the leading role was yours?”

“If Maiden Number Three sounds like a leading role to you, then yes”, you cackled.

Tom shook his head, pretending he hadn’t heard that. “I bet it was the title of the show”, he stated proudly. “And then?”

Then my parents divorced, my grandma died and we moved here.

“Then we moved here”, you cut it short: you didn’t need to bother him with tones drama. “And since nobody talked to me at school and I had zero to no friends, my mom insisted that I kept acting. It was like she was afraid I would lose my voice”, you attempted to end your sentence on a humorous note, then paused, thinking of your mother’s worried face, the endless apologies and words of encouragement she would murmur in your ear every time she held you. The way she basically begged you not to give up theatre, one of your few sources of happiness.

“So I did and I never stopped. The rest is history. I think acting literally saved me from…” You stopped again, a bit mad at yourself. You really just couldn’t avoid drama, could you? Well, better keep it vague: you’d already said enough. “… a lot of things.”

Your father, the bullying, the language barrier, Albert, to whom you had given your heart, only for him to treat it like a toy with his dark twisted games… all of that faded to nothing when you found your place on the stage. You’d pour your entire being into acting, processing your emotions through it, trading the sufferance for healing, the anger for peace.

After your grandma passed, theatre felt even more like the only right option for you, and you were grateful to your mother for being there to help you see it: through all those backlogged dreams your nana had left you, she had gifted you her World, a beautiful part of herself that you would cherish forever.

Tom said nothing, but his gaze, the way he wasted no time in reaching for your hands and taking them in his, spoke more than a thousand words.

You smiled thankfully, returning the light squeeze, your issues with physical touch completely forgotten.

The playful banter faded into a comfortable silence, as you simply stood there, sitting next to each other with your hands intertwined like it was the most normal and natural thing ever.

For a moment, you almost got the impression that he was about to bring your hands up to his lips to kiss them. He didn’t, but you might’ve sworn you saw something flicker in his eyes. Something you couldn’t quite place or name, that both enthralled and worried you at the same time.

“Just so you know, y/n…”, he finally spoke up. “I was a wonderful soprano until my voice dropped.”

“Div.”

Previous chapter/Next chapter

A/n: ... yeah, this is what I meant when I talked about weird dialogues... hope you don’t hate me after this hahaha. But no, all jokes aside, thank you so much for your support, I love you all so much and I’d love to know your thoughts 💜

Taglist: @isory @onewithnomightypowers @wildxwidow @harryhollandsgirlfriend @omegadumb42069 @thisisparadisemylove @tom-softie @jeyramarie @mn-jun @enilemes

I got the general concept from Wildest Dreams (Taylor’s Version), but I wanted it in a theatre setting. Then, the idea of the story started all from that scene in Part Five, and originally Tom was much more of an asshole, like, completely remorseless, cheating and lying simply because he knew he could... and the story was originally supposed to end there. Yeah, the parts I’m writing now had been planned from the very beginning, but I had decided not to include them, parting from the "audience" with that sudden twist... but then it felt so... open, and that was when I discovered that open endings aren’t for me (... yet), so the scrapped ideas came back all at once.

And for reader... the "inspiration", was actually me 😅 not for everything, of course (thank goodness I don’t have that sad backstory, and unfortunately I’m not at all like I describe her through Tom’s eyes in Part Six), but I discovered that I tend to give a lot of myself to my readers. I have her same issues with interacting with people, I struggle a lot to openly say what I really want, I did theatre for a while and I got told that getting on a stage would completely transform me, the description about her reaction to what Tom did is more or less what happens to me with a certain frequency, to the point where I would jokingly call it my "therapy session chapter", her cat, Lady Yuna, is named after my favourite character in Final Fantasy X, she lives for Tiramisù, and has an insane crush for Tom’s Brother Diarmuid in Pilgrimage 🤣