You weren’t supposed to talk to him. It was in the rules. No photos. No small talk. No getting involved.

You were just the assistant. Grabbing coffee. Printing scripts. Running around with a walkie clipped to your belt and a headache behind your eyes.

He was Drew Starkey. Tall. Quiet. Famous. Untouchable.

And yet somehow, he was always nearby.

At first, he barely looked at you. Or maybe he did— just not when anyone could see. But then came that day on set. Rain delay. Everyone scattered, annoyed and on their phones. You sat alone on the stairs behind the trailer, hoodie up, hands wrapped around a coffee you didn’t even want.

And then his voice— low, soft, a little hoarse:

“You always hide back here?”

You looked up. He stood there, coffee in hand, rain dripping from his hair. Eyes not leaving yours.

From then on, something shifted.

He started sitting next to you on breaks. Not saying much— but just enough. Talking about music, about the parts of life no one asks him about anymore. He’d say things like:

“I miss being invisible.” or “Sometimes it’s like everyone sees me, but no one actually sees me.”

You never asked for a selfie. You never posted him. You just… saw him. The real him.

And maybe that’s why he started trusting you. Maybe that’s why tonight, when everyone else went out after the last scene wrapped, he found you in the hallway and said:

“Come with me.”

No cameras, No crowd. Just him. Just you. Just Drew.

Off the record.