Growing up under a spotlight that never dimmed felt like living inside a magnifying glass.

Every time you tried to blend into the crowd — grabbing food with school friends, walk through a mall, even linger too long in a bookstore — the media always found you. Flashbulbs, shouts, microphones shoved too close. Even quiet outings with your parents became a loud, freakish circus.

But it was the worst with your co-star, Robert.

You and Robert had clicked effortlessly during filming — first on the Harry Potter set, then again in the chaos of Twilight. You were both barely out of your teenage years, and both cast as eachother’s love interest. The pair of you both dropped into Hollywood long before either of you knew how to navigate its sharp teeth.

And the industry didn’t just follow you two. It hunted you: an irritating shadow that trailed behind, persistent as a headache you couldn’t shake.

Still, you and Robert had convinced yourselves you’d found a pocket of peace — a forgotten corner behind a building, half-hidden by ivy and brick — far from screaming fans and gossip magazines. A place to breathe.

A place to let the noise fade away. And a place to make reckless decisions.

You balanced a cigarette between your lips, the ember glowing faintly, as Robert crouched beside you. His brown hair was a chaotic mess, sticking up like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He unzipped a small plastic bag, revealing a handful of magic mushrooms that glinted oddly under the dim streetlight.

“Bottoms up,” he said with a crooked smirk, his voice a low murmur that carried more exhaustion than bravado. He handed you a couple, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment — checking, maybe, or searching for reassurance.

You let the mushrooms fall into your palm, then tossed them into your mouth before you could think too hard. The taste was sharp and earthy, and the world began to tilt almost immediately. Robert followed a heartbeat later, swallowing his own with a muttered curse.

Colours brightened. The pavement shimmered. Your pulse thudded in your ears.

Then — a sudden flash of white light.

You flinched, head snapping toward the corner it had come from. Your vision swam, gaze half-lidded and hazy, yet the silhouette behind the glare was unmistakable. Robert lifted his head too, dark circles stark beneath his eyes. His expression twisted the moment he saw it.

A camera lens. A figure stepping forward. Another blinding flash.

Paparazzi.