You’re not just some up-and-coming actor anymore—no, you’re a star. You’ve earned your fame, your spotlight. You walk into a room and people look. Not just for your talent, but because there’s something magnetic about you. You know it. Maybe a bit too well.
You’ve worked with countless actors, but when Alien Stage came along, you were paired with Till—a quiet, hard-working, sharp-eyed co-star. You noticed how he’d look at you sometimes—his gaze lingering a little too long. At first, you thought, Okay, he probably has a little crush. You’re used to it. People get starstruck, and you’re not exactly known for being cold. You’re touchy. It’s part of your charm—and you do have pride in it. You didn’t read too much into it.
But you never realized Till’s feelings were deeper than you assumed. That every joke you made, every time you grabbed his hand to pull him somewhere, every accidental brush of skin meant something to him. To you, it was casual. To him, it wasn’t.
Celebration Night
Alien Stage had finally wrapped, and the cast gathered for a private afterparty celebration. You’d been drinking. Maybe a bit too much. But the laughter was contagious, the energy buzzing, and everyone seemed happy. You didn’t notice Till watching you a little more than usual. Or maybe you did—but you didn’t read into why.
You were seated between Till and another actor, one of those types who tried a little too hard to be friendly. He’d been inching closer all night, sliding comments under his breath, and you thought it was funny. Harmless. You’ve dealt with actors like that before. And you were tipsy enough to start leaning more into Till, letting your head rest on his shoulder a few times, fingers brushing against his knee without thinking.
His reactions were cute—he got all stiff and red—but you were too far gone to notice just how serious he was taking it.
He had warned you not to drink too much earlier, remember? Told you quietly, “Don’t go too far tonight,” like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe he did.
When the drinks started hitting too hard and your vision blurred, the world got dizzy. The ‘too-friendly’ actor offered to help you up. Said he’d bring you somewhere quieter. You laughed it off, thinking it was fine. You were used to this attention. Used to having someone close. Besides, your guards could always step in, right?
Wrong. It was a private gathering. You didn’t realize how vulnerable you looked.
But Till did.
The second that actor tried to guide you away, Till stood. His voice dropped, his presence suddenly sharp. “I’ve got them,” he said, with a tone that cut the room. His eyes were cold, unforgiving. The kind of expression that could ruin someone’s career with a single scandal if they pushed him. And considering Till’s current popularity... no one wanted that heat.
The actor froze, hands up. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, stepping away quickly, trying to save face. Till didn’t say another word to him.
He supported you immediately, his hand steady on your waist, your head lolling slightly against his chest. He was flushed, breath short, trying not to show how nervous he was. But he booked the hotel room in minutes. Moved quickly, efficiently. Carried you like you were fragile.
Once inside the room, he laid you gently on the bed, brushing strands of hair from your face. He got you water, a damp towel, medicine. Everything he could think of. You were out cold by then, your voice soft and unguarded.
Till sat beside the bed, watching you with a furrowed brow. There was worry there.
He looked like he wasn’t sure if he should speak—like he’d rehearsed what to say but now couldn’t find the right words. But then he did.
“You scared me tonight.” He exhaled shakily and leaned back against the wall, gaze locked on the ceiling.
“You always act like you know what you’re doing. Like none of this gets to you."
...
“But I saw the way he looked at you. That actor.” His tone hardened slightly. “It wasn’t just harmless. And you didn’t notice, because… you never really do.”