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“Yes,” I tell her, softer this time. “Soon. I promise.”

After another few minutes of brotherly banter, Elijah hangs up muttering about billable hours and emotional distress. I’m still grinning when the lounge door opens and Ben walks in.

He smiles widely. “There he is. Ella told me you snuck in early. How are you doing?”

“Owner of the year,” I say, raising my coffee in salute. "I'm great, thanks for asking."

Ben is Ella’s husband and they make a great team. He’s tall with an athletic build and dark hair that always looks slightly tousled—the most unpretentious, level-headed guy I’ve ever met. And, unfortunately, I vividly remember being an absolute prick to him years ago. Hungover. Late. Rude. Classic old me. It’s a wonder he even allowed me to return after my behaviour.

I stand as he approaches. “Actually… Before we do anything else, I owe you an apology. The last few events I worked for you, I was a complete arsehole.”

Ben guffaws loudly. “Jax…”

“No, seriously. I was hungover, miserable, rude, full of self-importance and likely smelled like tequila and regret.”

He snorts, patting me on the back gently. “All good mate. Honestly you weren’t even that bad.”

Laughing loudly, I shake my head. He's lying, obviously, but I appreciate him not making me feel like more of an arsehole than I already do.

“Seriously,” I say, “what you’ve built here is incredible. I had a good look around earlier and was just blown away. I’m genuinely glad I got invited back.”

Something softens in his expression. “Thanks, mate. That actually means a lot.”

We shake hands as one of the media team approaches, looking to take some photos for the convention’s socials. I’m actually happy to oblige for a change, posing with a genuine smile next to Ben. Giving something back instead of taking feels empowering. I really have grown up. Finally.

By mid-morning the lounge is heaving. Actors, presenters, a couple of people I genuinely can't place but who clearly expect me to—and somewhere in all of it, the volume just... Cranks up. It appears the real chaos has begun.

“Jackson, My Jax!” Raffi shouts the second he walks through the doors. “The prodigal son returns!”

I laugh lightly as he throws his arms around me in a bear hug.

Raffi Rodrequiz looks unfairly attractive even in a hoodie and sunglasses. Tall, olive skin glowing under the lights, dark curls pushed messily back from his forehead, and a sharp jawline. Every movement he makes is animated, flirtatious, theatrical. The man could probably make ordering coffee look sensual.

“We missed you, Viejo,” he says. Viejo is his nickname for me since I was the oldest cast member by a few years.

“You did?”

“Of course, you are my wingman. Were my wingman. Now you fly Viejo. I miss you, but I understand.”

I think he actually means it, and we're still wrapped in a hug when Daria appears behind him, elegant as ever. Her platinum-blonde hair falls in a sharp cut at her shoulders, pale blue eyes cool as ice, cheekbones sharp enough to kill a man. She carries herself like a runway model and a Bond villain at the same time. Effortlessly beautiful in a designer red dress—probably one of her wife's creations.

I’m just about to greet her when Naithan strides through the door, towering over everyone else. Broad shoulders stretched beneath some ridiculously stylish streetwear that’s apparently ‘in’ these days. The second he sees me, he flashes that perfect smile, teeth so white they practically glow against his deep brown skin. He’s a literal god and fully aware of it. Bastard, I think, smiling back at him, my onscreen brother and my friend, whether I wanted him to be or not.

Naithan points at me accusingly. “He’s grown up.”

“Impossible,” Raffi gasps, clutching his imaginary pearls.

“I know,” Naithan says, his American accent warm. “I barely recognised him without vodka or tequila.”

“Very funny,” I huff, rolling my eyes, as we pull each other into a hug. He drags Daria in beside us and Raffi barrels into the fold a second later.

We settle onto the sofas with coffee and pastries to catch up. Apparently I’m not the only one who traded parties for peace. Raffi admits he wants something real now—someone to build a life with. Naithan shocks us all by announcing he’s engaged to Rachel, his on-and-off girlfriend for the last few years. It’s obvious from the way he talks about her now that he’s in love. And Daria tells us—in her soft Czech accent—how happy married life is with Sofia. Her wedding last year was actually the last time we were all together.

Sitting here now, I feel guilty for ignoring their calls. I told myself these friendships were superficial, but the truth is, I was the one keeping things at a distance. And God, I’ve actually missed them.

I arrived here today bracing myself for mockery, instead I was humbled. These people are genuinely my friends. For the first time ever, I don’t want to keep them at arm’s length so I tell them what I’ve been doing lately, which, honestly, has mostly been running – physically and metaphorically. At least until this weekend, when I met some incredible people and finally started making decisions instead of avoiding them. Several, actually.

Raffi claps me on the shoulder. “Good for you, Viejo.”