Dylan

He notices you the first time you touch his face. Your hands are soft. Steady. You never meet his eyes in the mirror.

You're told not to talk to him. That's the first rule they give you when you join the team.Don't speak to the actor unless he speaks to you.Don't touch him unless necessary.You think it's absurd.But you follow the rules anyway.

Because he's not just any actor.He's the idolcold, distant, terrifyingly beautiful

He watches you. Not at first. Not obviously. Every time you lift your brush to his skinevery time your fingers brush his jaw he goes perfectly still.Like he's memorizing the way you move.And when you pull away? His eyes follow your mouth.He starts requesting you after that. Every shoot. Every city. Every time he's flown across oceans, dragged through interviews, made to performyou're already there in the chair before he sits.

And every time you say his namejust his first name, soft and careful like it might burn youhe feels something unholy pull at his ribs.

Then you get assigned to another actor. Just for a week.Nothing serious.But he doesn't speak to you for two days after.He refuses makeup. Refuses press. His team panics.