Supernova||Book 1 [Wattys 2024]

Episode 1.4 - You Lied

Nine's posture was the embodiment of calm, his head slightly tilted in curiosity rather than concern. Around them, the cameras whirred to life, lenses focusing with mechanical precision as crew members scuttled around like worker bees.

Jorah's chest rose and fell in an erratic rhythm, each exhale a deliberate attempt to purge the nerves that climbed like ivy through his ribcage. He watched Nine turn toward him, the man's features betraying none of the turmoil Jorah felt inside. Nine's ease was almost offensive in its tranquility, a stark contrast to the storm brewing behind Jorah's eyes.

How could Nine stand there, so composed when the script called for them to cross a boundary Jorah had never dared approach?

Wait.

His mind stuttered, gasping for rationale against the rising tide of uncertainty. Was Nine's ease a testament to his professionalism, or something more personal? A comfort born from experience perhaps?

"Action!" The word cut through the heavy air again, and Jorah's heart lurched.

Fuck.

"Remember why you're here," he coached himself silently.

"Cut!" The director's voice rang out shortly after, a lifeline thrown into the chaotic sea of Jorah's thoughts.

For a moment, Jorah could breathe, pretending his pulse wasn't racing from more than just performance anxiety. He couldn't ignore the unsettling ease of Nine's presence and the intangible thread pulling at his composure.

"Again, from the top!" The next command came swiftly.

Jorah exhaled slowly, trying to anchor himself in the script, in the character, in anything other than the reality that Nine seemed utterly unfazed by the prospect of their imminent intimacy. His past encounters had been with women; their curves and softness a landscape he knew how to traverse. But Nine? Even with that slightly delicate face, he was still a man. He didn't do men.

The cameras rolled once more, and Nine advanced with the same assured grace that had underpinned his every move since Jorah first laid eyes on him. Jorah's gaze locked onto Nine's, searching for a flicker of doubt, a hint of hesitation, anything to indicate that Nine shared even an ounce of his trepidation. But there was nothing—only the calm certainty of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

"Cut!" The director boomed. Jorah gritted his teeth in frustration.

"Let's reset for one more take," the director instructed, insistent on completing his mission.

Jorah swallowed hard, feeling a tinge of embarrassment.

"Ready?" Nine whispered, a reassuring smile on his lips.

"Ready," Jorah found himself responding, like a snake charmed by this man.

What a lie.

"Think back," whispered an inner voice, coaxing forth Tanner's advice. "Remember what he said about John Travolta."

"Method acting," Jorah muttered to himself, the words barely audible. The key was immersion, becoming the character so fully that their truth overshadowed his own.

"Be Tony Manero, be Danny Zuko. Be Edna Fucking Turnblad." Tanner's voice echoed in Jorah's mind. He could hear Tanner adding just for this situation, "They didn't worry about who they were kissing—they just did it."

"Right." Jorah's breath steadied. He wasn't Jorah right now; he was the character, a man whose heart thrummed for another man. Nine wasn't just some guy—he was now his love interest.

"Action!" called the director, snapping Jorah back to the present.

Jorah inhaled deeply, letting the persona of his character seep into his pores, filling the spaces between his bones until there was no room left for doubt. As he exhaled, his gaze found Nine's and, in that moment, he allowed himself to believe in the fiction they were creating.