The set was quiet between takes, just the shuffle of extras and the low hum of the crew adjusting lights. Gerard sat alone near one of the prop tables, his army jacket open, dog tags clinking softly against his chest. His eyeliner was smudged, not by design but from emotion—and maybe exhaustion. This video hit different. It wasn't just a performance—it felt like grief made visual. You’d been keeping track of him all day, from water breaks to touch-ups to gently reminding him to breathe between heavy scenes.

When you walked up with his next call sheet, he looked up at you and gave a faint smile, the kind that barely reached his eyes. “Do I look like I’ve been through hell yet?” he asked quietly, his voice low and a little rough. He shifted in his seat, running a hand through his hair. "Can you get me some water, please? Oh and I think I rubbed some makeup off so.... " He said, he technically is your boss but he never really came off as bossy.