Chapter Text
Win had learned two things after one week of filming a period drama.
The first was that costumes in period dramas were designed by people who had never been out in the sun. The second was that the entire crew had silently agreed not to mention how tired they were. Which, in Win’s opinion, was impressive considering everyone looked like they were one bad cup of coffee away from a meltdown.
The filming site was already busy when he arrived. Staff moved between tents with clipboards and bags of equipment, actors sat around waiting for makeup, and someone near the costume area was attempting to fix a loose button while holding an iced drink in the other hand. The scene of organized chaos had become familiar.
“Morning.”
Win looked up from his phone. Nanon stood beside the tent entrance, already in costume. Unlike yesterday, he seemed slightly less betrayed by the amount of fabric wrapped around him.
Only slightly.
“Morning,” Win replied. Nanon glanced at the chair beside him. “Is this chair taken?’’ Win looked at the empty recliner and shook his head.
Nanon sat down, placing his script on his lap. For a few minutes, neither of them said anything. It wasn’t an awkward silence. Win looked over at Nanon’s script. “You studying already?” Nanon looked down. “Trying to.”
“Trying?”
“Well, there are too many names.”
Which was the irritating truth. The script was full of names, titles, and family trees that required remembering who was related to whom, who outranked whom, and exactly how much respect each conversation demanded. At least in a modern drama, nobody needed to remember whether they were supposed to bow at every turn.
Nanon looked into the distance. “Did you figure out your character yet?’’ Nanon mused. Win leaned back in his chair. “I figured out that my character makes a lot of questionable choices.”
Nanon’s lips quirked, his dimples appearing almost immediately. Win understood why everyone mentioned them; they were, admittedly, very cute. They appeared so effortlessly and softened Nanon’s entire face that, for one absurd moment, Win wondered what would happen if he reached over and poked one. ‘Wait, what?’ his thoughts stuttered to a halt. He immediately blamed the heat.
“Are you okay?’’ Nanon’s brow furrowed. Shit. Win realized he’d been staring. He cleared his throat. “Sorry… just zoned out.” Nanon studied him for another beat before nodding. “Long day.” He went back to the script in his hand, leaving Win alone with the unsettling realization that his mind had just suggested poking a coworker’s dimple.
***
The director finally called it a day just after sunset.
All around Win, the world they had spent a day creating was dismantled piece by piece. The makeup was washed out and the heavy costumes were replaced with oversized T-shirts and sweatpants. There were sighs of relief as the tight headpieces and bands were removed. Win watched as the crew packed away the last few props before heading out with the rest of the cast.
Everyone naturally moved towards the 7-Eleven a few blocks away from their set for a quick stop before heading home. Over the past week, it had become one of those routines nobody remembered starting. After long days of filming, when all were too tired for anything complicated but not quite ready to disappear into their own homes, they ended up there. By the time Win walked through the automatic doors, the place was already filled to the brim with cast and crew.
Fourth was standing in front of the snack aisle holding two chip bags that looked identical to any sane person. He was arguing with the emphasis of a criminal lawyer defending one’s client, while Phuwin looked ready to impale himself with a lollipop and spare himself the misery.
“I’m telling you they taste entirely different!”
“They are salted potatoes.” Phuwin deadpanned. Perth grabbed one of the bags and read the ingredients with exaggerated concentration. “Actually…”
Fourth brightened immediately. “I knew it!’’
“Two ingredients in the seasoning are different.” Perth had reached a conclusion from his nutritional profiling. Phuwin opened his mouth to retaliate. Win left them to their culinary crisis before the debate evolved into a full-scale scientific investigation. With Fourth involved, he had zero doubt it would.
Win walked to the refrigerators lining the back end of the store. The cool blast of air from them was a welcome relief. He reached inside for a bottle of iced tea, letting the cold settle against his palm. Around him, conversations drifted in and out of focus like background music. Someone was debating whether instant noodles counted as proper dinner. A stunt instructor had already started complaining about tomorrow’s call time. A crew member walked past carrying enough snacks to feed half the production. It struck Win, not for the first time, how quickly a film set became its own little ecosystem. They spent twelve hours working together and lingered another one refusing to say goodbye.
A laugh pulled his attention toward the next aisle. Tay was leaning against one of the refrigerators, arms folded, watching something with open amusement. Beside him, Force looked equally entertained. He seemed to be losing a battle to keep a straight face.
Win followed their line of sight.
Nanon.
“Nong Nanon,” A wardrobe assistant called, hurrying over with two packets of tissues. “Do you know which one’s softer? My hands are dying.” Nanon accepted both packets with complete seriousness, pressing each one between his fingers as though he genuinely intended to compare them. “This one,” he decided after a moment, handing one back.
“Thanks!” She disappeared just as quickly as she’d arrived. Before Nanon could return to browsing the drinks, another voice called his name. “Can I borrow your basket for a second?’’ One of the makeup artists was balancing too many things in her arms.
Nanon didn’t hesitate. “Here.” She took it, thanked him, and wandered toward another aisle. He simply waited without any visible sign of impatience. Force watched the exchange with a grin. “You know she’s forgotten she stole your basket, right?’’ Nanon glanced toward the opposite aisle where the basket had already disappeared and shrugged. “I can get another,” he replied.
Force laughed. “I can’t decide if that’s sweet or you’ve just accepted your fate.’’ Tay smiled into his coffee. “It’s both.” As if summoned by conversation itself, Fourth appeared around the corner carrying an armful of snacks. “P’Nonn,’’ Fourth held out two bottles of green tea.
“Which one?’’
Nanon blinked. “…They’re the same.” Fourth turned them over. “…Oh.” A beat passed.
“I’ve had a long day…”
“I noticed,” Nanon quipped. Fourth shrugged without the slightest embarrassment and wandered off again, immediately distracted by something Phuwin was pointing at.
Win leaned against the refrigerator door, watching the little interactions unfold one after another. It wasn’t that Nanon was particularly loud. Or that he commanded attention the moment he entered a room. If anything, he was quieter than most of them. Yet people drifted toward him. They asked for his opinion over the smallest things, borrowed whatever they needed without a second thought, and interrupted him in the middle of conversations, fully expecting him to make room.
And somehow, he always did.
Win found himself watching a little longer than he’d intended. He understood, suddenly, why every senior artist at the agency spoke about Nanon with such easy fondness. Why crew members smiled when they saw him. Why even the quietest people seemed comfortable around him.
It wasn’t one big thing.
It was a hundred little things.
Almost meaningless on their own.
Win sipped his drink. Somewhere across the store, someone called, “P’Nanon!”
He smiled before he even realized he was listening for the reply.