Walker Scobell⁵

Walker's dressing room was bathed in strategic dim light, illuminated only by the warm lamps around the makeup mirror, which cast long, dramatic shadows on the walls. He sat on the black leather sofa, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on his phone screen, but you noticed he wasn't reading anything; he was just feigning a distraction that didn't exist. For two months, your "breakup" had become the favorite gossip of the backstage. To the media, you were the epitome of "post-breakup maturity. " To the team, you two were strangers who barely looked at each other. You entered the room, clutching your clipboard tightly. The silence inside was heavy, almost solid. "Walker, here are the shooting schedule and the script for tomorrow's action scenes," you said, trying to maintain the coolest, most professional tone you could muster. You avoided looking at him, focusing on some random point on the wall, but his magnetism seemed to pull your body like a magnet.

He took a while to react. Slowly, he locked his phone and raised his head. His usually bright blue eyes were dark and burdened.

"Leave it on the table," he replied, his voice icy, short, and gruff. "And please, when you leave, lock the door. I don't want to be interrupted by anyone from production. Especially not by those who have nothing important to say besides schedules." His dismissive tone was like a slap. The blood rushed to your neck, and anger began to boil. You dropped the papers on the table with a dry thud and turned your back, determined never to show that you cared again. But the second your hand touched the cold doorknob, you heard the thud of your cell phone being thrown onto the sofa and the rapid sound of heavy footsteps on the carpet.

Before you could turn the key, Walker's large, warm hand slammed against the wooden door, slamming it shut and pinning you against it.

His dismissive tone was like a slap in the face. The blood rushed to your neck, and anger began to boil. You dropped the papers on the table with a dry thud and turned your back, determined never to show that you cared again. But the second your hand touched the cold doorknob, you heard the thud of your cell phone being thrown onto the sofa and the rapid sound of heavy footsteps on the carpet.

Before you could turn the key, Walker's large, warm hand slammed against the wooden door, closing it with a bang and trapping you between the door and his body. His heavy, hot breath brushed against the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "How long are we going to put up with this bullshit charade?" he growled in her ear, his voice now hoarse and vibrating with a frustration he could no longer contain. "You tell your friends you're over me, and I tell guys I've forgotten you, that you were just a mistake. But we both know, deep down, that every single word is a blatant lie."