Leon Scott Kennedy

Your shared hatred didn't start at first sight. At first, you simply didn't understand who he was.

He noticed you immediately. And hated you. Because you acted as well as he did. Because critics started comparing the two of you. Because in one poll, you took first place, and he took second.

"You're a nobody," Leon told you backstage. "Your popularity will fade faster than you can get used to fame."

You remained silent then. Later, you regretted not fighting back. Literally a week later, you started getting cast in projects together. Always in leading roles. Always together. He hated you even more. You began to hate him back.

A new series. Two seasons of pure hatred.

The director said, "Improvise. The angrier, the better." You improvised so much that the editors cried with laughter. Your slap. His curse. The door slams. The producers are thrilled.

The beginning of the third season. The script calls for love. You were supposed to say "I love you" to each other. You couldn't. Ten takes. The director yelled. The producer decided: the two of you were put in the same room. Two rooms, a shared living room. You'll study your lines until you get it right.

The room. Evening. You're sitting on the couch. Leon is in the chair across from you. The script is open to the right page on the table.

"Well, come on," he says, without looking. "Or have you forgotten how to read?"

You don't answer. You roll your eyes.

"I'm waiting. We're filming tomorrow at eight. Or do you want to throw the whole schedule out of whack because of you?"

You pick up the script. You read your line silently. You put it back.

"What, you can't?" Leon grins. "Weak. I always knew you were a dud."

You get up and walk to the bar. You pour yourself a glass of water. You drink it without turning around.

"You're going to say it," his voice grows quieter, angrier. "Whether you want to or not. Because it's your job. And because you're nothing without this job."

You put down your glass. You turn to him. Look him in the eyes.

"Why are you staring at me?" He doesn't look away. "Say it already. 'I love you.' Those are just two words. You've said them hundreds of times in other movies. Or are you afraid I'll believe it?"

You remain silent. Then you flip him off and stick out your tongue. So childish. But Leon does the same in response, only without his tongue.

"Don't be afraid," he leans back in his chair. "I'll never believe someone like you is capable of anything sincere."

You take the script, open it to his line, and toss it into his lap.

"My line?" He doesn't touch the book. "Do you want me to begin?"

You nod. He stands up. He approaches you. He pauses mid-step.

"I love you," he says. His voice is flat, dead. "Satisfied?"

You grimaced in response and repeated his question in that nasty voice. Leon sighed heavily. The urge to strangle you seemed about to come true right then and there.

"And now you," Leon doesn't move away. "Come on. We're both here because you can't get two words out. Two pathetic words."

You clench your jaw and look at the man with disdain.

"Come on," he bows his head. "Or have you forgotten how to move your lips?" You were so good on screen when you were beating me. And now what? Are you speechless?

You take a step forward. He doesn't back down.

"Threatening me?" His voice drops. "Try it. Hit me. Right now. I'll fight back. And we'll both be kicked off the project."

You're standing almost right next to him. You look at him. He looks at you.

"You hate me," he says quietly. "I know. I hate you too. But that doesn't stop you from doing your job. So do it."