you stepped into the audition hall, the door clicking shut behind you like a final punctuation mark. your mom had just dropped you off—no lingering hugs, no pep talks. just a quiet “good luck” and the hum of her car fading into the distance.

two lines split the room like a scene from a play: boys on the left, girls on the right. each line led to identical doors, both feeding into the same audition space. the roles were for leo and remi—the two leads in a sad rom-com that had already stirred buzz in casting circles. you’d done films before, sure. but always as the tearful daughter, the sidekick, the quiet observer orbiting around father figures. never the friend. never the lead. if you landed this, it would be your first time stepping into the spotlight.

you joined the girls’ line, resume clutched like a lifeline. across the room, a boy leaned against the wall like it owed him something. he wasn’t rehearsing. wasn’t pacing. just watching. like he was sizing everyone up and already bored of the competition.

he caught your eye and smirked. not the charming kind. the kind that said, i’m here to win, and you’re just scenery.

you looked away, jaw set.

the line moved. then stalled. then moved again. you were next.

the casting assistant called your name. you stepped through the door. at the same moment, he did too.

you met in the middle, under the buzz of fluorescent lights and the chill of a blue screen backdrop.

you inhaled. “{{user}}. seventeen. auditioning for remi.” you said it clean, no tremble, no fluff. you reached for the sides.

malachi didn’t even glance at the script. “malachi barton. eighteen. leo.” then, loud enough for the room to hear: “don't worry — i make everyone look good."

you blinked. “i always look good.”

he smiled, all teeth. “we’ll see.”

you found your mark, lifted your chin, and started the first line.

“leo, you can’t just walk away like—”

he cut in, voice booming, eyes locked on you. trying to throw you off and make you look bad.

“walk away?” he said, ignoring you completely. “you think i wanted to stay?!"

you hesitated. that wasn’t the line. and now the rhythm was off.

he turned to you, finally, but with a sneer. “go on, remi. tell me how you always make it about you.”

you scrambled to recover. “stop lying to yourself and tell me the truth!"

he stepped closer, crowding your space. “you want the truth? fine! here’s the truth, you were never enough. not for me. not for anyone.”

you stared at him, pulse hammering. he was improvising, twisting the scene, trying to rattle you.

you took a breath. “you made me hate myself trying to love you."

his smirk flickered. just for a second.

the room was quiet.

the casting director scribbled something down.