Tait laughs. “Okay, okay. Sorry. Stop worrying. You know it’s natural to get into the part and have feelings for your costar. When the series is over, you’ll be fine.”
I have a feeling that’s going to become my new mantra.
“What about you and Aran?” I ask him.
“What about us?”
I give him my own sly smile and shake my head. If he doesn’t see what I see, he’s either blind or stupid.
Later, at home, I make some tea and sit on the balcony. After leaving Tait, I wanted to go back to the studio to watch Rama’s scenes, but I didn’t allow myself to do it. Despite what Tait said about love, I have to be realistic. Rama’s straight and isn’t going to fall for me. We are working together and need to maintain a level of professionalism even while being encouraged to appear close.
How fucked up is the bl industry? They throw us actors together, encourage intimacy beyond friendship, but they specify in our contracts that we’re not to become romantically involved. What do you call this sort of relationship? I’ve known actors who have had breakdowns after their series ended from being abruptly ripped away from the person they’d become so close to over months of filming and encouraged to concentrate on someone else. Bl actors are puppets in a money-making business, and it isn’t fair.
But I’m stuck where I am. I need the money. Rama, however, can do other things. Heshoulddo other things. I don’t lie to myself and deny I don’t want to see him with another co-star in the future—the very idea of it hurts. But the root of my concern really is his well-being. This business can get ugly, and I’ve learned Rama has a soft underbelly that he hides at all costs. I don’t want to see him get hurt.
Still, there’s nothing I can do about it now. Perhaps when the series is over, I can have a heart-to-heart with him.
I decide to paint. It’s one of the few things I can do that will quiet my thoughts. I can immerse myself in the oils and canvas for hours, forgetting even to eat or go to the bathroom. It’s the same today, andby the time I emerge from my fog, it’s dark outside and my bladder is screaming to be emptied.
After I take care of that, I check my phone. Three missed calls from Rama. Alarmed, I dial him back even though it’s after eleven.
“Hey,” I say when he answers. “I’m sorry—I didn’t see your calls until just now. Is something wrong?”
Rama clears his throat. “No, not really. I shouldn’t have called you so many times. I just—I was just…” he leaves off, sounding like he doesn’t know what to say.
“Did filming not go well?” I ask, sitting on the couch.
“It was okay.”
“Weren’t you doing several scenes with Aran?”
“Yeah.” He’s quiet for a moment. “But after we finished, Tida said she and Maha wanted to add something to Atid’s breakdown scene that I filmed a few weeks ago.”
Whatever thoughts or memories Rama drew from on the day he filmed that scene completely drained him. Knowing he went back to that head space today without me being there to hold him afterward stabs me in the heart.
“I should have gone back to the studio,” I say.
“What? No. I’m fine. I just called earlier because…I just needed to talk.”
“And I didn’t answer.”Dammit, I should have been there for him.I had to restrain myself from jumping up and knocking my easel to the floor.
“I’m glad you called,” Rama says, breaking into my turmoil. “I can’t sleep.”
“Do you want to talk about the scene?” I ask, forcing myself to calm down.
“Not really. I think it went well. I just—this sounds silly.”
“What?” I ask, curious.
“I just want to listen to you talk. Your voice is…well, soothing.”
I smile. “Well, I can tell you about my afternoon. Tait and I went to the sushi place. They have great maki. Then I came home and painted for hours. That’s why I didn’t hear your call. A plane could crash through the building, and I wouldn’t notice if I was painting.”
“What are you working on?” Rama asks.
I spend a few moments telling him about the series of paintings I started in March, and by the time I finish, he’s been so quiet I get the distinct impression he’s fallen asleep.
“Rama?” I ask softly, listening to his rhythmic breathing. Why does it touch me so deeply that simply listening to my voice can relax him enough to allow him to fall asleep? Smiling, I put the phone on speaker and lay it beside me.