Watching him now, I realize this is what Bash looks like when he's actually resting. When nothing needs his attention, and no one is asking anything of him.
When he finally lets himself be still.
He’s still watching the screen. But I can feel his attention split, the way it always is, one part on whatever’s in front of him and one part on me. The way you’re aware of things you’ve decided matter.
I think about this morning. Elias’s breathing in the early dawn. Adrian’s hands folded on the counter before he asked me a question that could have cost him everything. Bash finding an activity that takes my mind off of everything.
I think about a room that was decorated before I ever decided to sleep in it. About snacks waiting in the pantry, blackout curtains already hanging, and someone researching blanket weights while I was still blocks away arguing with myself about whether I needed any of this.
I think about all of it, and a truth I've been circling for days finally settles into place.
It's not the heat.
That pull is there too, impossible to ignore, but this is something else entirely.
What I feel right now, warm and half-asleep against Bash's shoulder while he watches terrible television and pretends not to be monitoring whether I'm comfortable, has nothing to do with biology.
I genuinely like him.
And not because my instincts tell me to or because my body is changing.
Just because he's Bash.
On screen, someone dramatically accuses someone else of stealing their bag of trail mix.
“This is the best episode.” Bash murmurs
“They’re all your best episodes,” I say, my voice gone soft with almost-sleep.
I feel him smile more than I see it, a small shift in his posture as his hand adjusts slightly near my shoulder.
The television plays on. The house is warm.
And I let myself have this.
Chapter 29
Elias
It feels wrong to drive to work without Maya. It's only been a few days, but somewhere along the way it became routine. Adrian rode with me this morning. An objectively inadequate replacement. The absence remains noticeable when we arrive. We step through the exterior door, and the set opens around us. I pause for a second to take it in.
It’s off. The rhythm is off.
I’ve worked enough productions to know what a floor sounds like at the start of a functional shooting day. There’s a particular pattern to it. Conversations layer over one another without interruption. People move between positions with the confidence of knowing exactly where they’re supposed to be and what comes next.
That pattern is missing this morning.
In its place is something looser. More reactive.
People hesitate at moments they normally wouldn't. Clusters form around equipment carts instead of dispersing. A PA I recognize from the second unit stands near the shot board with a clipboard in hand, staring at it with the expression of someone expecting to find a problem already solved.
I keep moving.
Near the prop area, two crew members are arguing about something in undertones. I catch the words mid-pass without stopping. “She always pre-sorts these before the first setup, that’s why we never have to—“ The other one cuts in: “I know, I know, just look through the box.” I don’t slow down.
The shot list situation is worse. I hear it mentioned three separate times in the first twenty minutes, always with the same helpless quality underneath it.
Where is the updated version?
