AGAINST THE RULES

Chapter 8

They are huddled in the set bedroom. Sitting on the lower bunk of one of the bunk beds. They covered themselves in a blanket trying to keep dry but failing miserably. For the seven millionth time, Win wished this set had a fourth wall or at least a bedroom door.

The storm was unforgiving, spraying rain every which way while winds shook the set and everything else around them.

From where they were, they could see the ocean. Gone was the pristine blue from just an hour ago, it was now jet black and menacing.

"Atid," Win suddenly said. "Do you think he made it back to the resort?"

Bright didn't know but chose to answer as if he did. "Travel time is just 45 minutes, he should have made it back before the rains started."

They sat there, rigid and serious. But Win's stomach was apparently unaware of their predicament because it let out a big growl.

Bright looks at Win. "Really?"

Win shrugs. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," Bright quips, wiping the rain accumulating on his own face.

Win rolls his eyes. "How would you know?"

Bright looks at him, not understanding what that question could mean. "We worked together every day for almost two years, Win."

"We have not spoken in the last six months, Bright.
I could have changed."

"Are you angry?" Bright asks, unsure where this conversation was headed.

"I am hungry," answered Win.

"I could check around if there is any food? Maybe production stored snacks somewhere on this set."

"I have food," Win says. "But it is too dangerous to find our bags in this - whatever the hell this is."

They fall into silence again. Bright is acutely aware that this is the longest he and Win have talked off camera in a very long time.

Why did they stop talking off camera?  He seems to be asking himself this question often recently. He cannot seem to stop himself. 'We were only contractually required to limit interactions when on camera or in public. But then again, when are we ever not in public?'

Bright shakes his head vigorously, not willing to go down that road of thought.

"You know what we need?" Bright says abruptly. "We need information." He gets his phone but he has barely pressed the radio app when it shuts down. He groans. "We also need to charge our phones."

Win nods. "Maybe this storm will die down soon."

But it doesn't. The rain stops but the wind howls on. It is a miracle that the giant dollhouse they are holed up in hasn't been blown away.

A branch from a coconut tree blows clear above their heads, almost hitting them. Bright instinctively swats the flying branch away. He winces. He clutches his arm.

"Stop doing that!" Win says.

"Stop being in pain?" Bright asks in disbelief.

"Stop hurting your arm," Win says. "It is not made of vibranium."

Win reaches over and gently takes Bright's arm. It had a shallow gash that he would probably survive but the arm itself was swollen, which made sense since twice in a single day Bright had used it as a shield.

"You need to ice this," Win continues, as he strokes Bright's arm.

Bright tried to jerk his arm away but is hurt by his own sudden movement. Win lets go of the arm and eyes Bright warily. "Or at least you will need a pain killer."

"I need meds, you are hungry. I say fuck this storm, let's go get our bags."

They stand up and watch as one of the bar stools from the living room set blow by.

Win has to laugh. "Sounds like a plan. A not very wise plan. But a plan."

"Not a wise plan. But a Bright plan."

Win laughs harder. "Was that Bright Vachirawit cracking a joke? Maybe the world is ending."

Bright laughs despite himself.

And together they leave the safety of their fake bedroom.