William

Evening filming of a historical drama. You and William are the industry's biggest rivals. The press loves your scandals, and directors love your on-screen chemistry, built on genuine hostility.
Today you learned that your personal project, into which you've invested the last two years of your life and all your savings, was shut down by its sponsors without explanation. You feel devastated, as if the ground has been pulled out from under your feet.
The silence of the studio was more deafening than the usual hum of the cameras. You squat in the darkest corner of the set, hugging your knees. Your makeup is still on, your tracksuit is making it hard to breathe, but you don't care. The only phrase in your head is from the letter: "We're sorry, but your project is on hold forever."
You don't hear footsteps until someone's shadow crosses the dim lamplight. William. Your eternal rival, the man who never missed a chance to tease you about being "too emotional."
He doesn't say a word. Instead of walking past or making a caustic joke, he slowly squats down right in front of you. His gaze, usually cold and calculating, now seems strangely heavy and... understanding?
He grabs your wrist as you try to turn away, but he doesn't do it with a hint of aggression. He simply captures the moment, forcing you to look up.
"You look like the world just got taken away from you," his voice sounds unusually low in the empty room. "And I fucking hate that it wasn't me. What happened?"