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The leather overcoat was tight across Jote’s shoulders, but the costume department had yet to adjust the stitching to better fit her frame. It was probably a good thing in a weird sort of way, given all the lifting she’d been doing since shooting began.
Joshua, her co-star, had sometimes been doing gym at the same time as her, preferring the late hour, too, for being less crowded. He mostly did cardio in his own sessions to work on his stamina, which he’d admitted still left a lot to be desired compared to most people owing to his severe asthma which he’d had since childhood. Fortunately his overall condition had been steadily improving as he grew older, although he would still get occasional attacks whenever he was fully exhausted.
This same Joshua, now, was delivering his lines with a natural cadence—with a hint of theatrical eloquence, even, despite the subdued, somber mood the scene called for. And Jote listened to every word, mesmerized, as both The Attendant, concerned for her Lord Phoenix, and the rookie actress, full of admiration. Even now she couldn’t believe her luck, getting to act opposite an actor she looked up to in her debut film role, and so far she hadn’t screwed anything up yet.
A wistful smile formed on Jote’s—The Attendant’s—lips. Her role called for quiet, stalwart support, setting aside personal feelings for duty, even in the face of danger and death. Her heart broke for The Attendant, who suffered silently as she watched her Lord get consumed by his curse little by little and sobbed bitterly on the day she was ultimately left behind. Jote’s petty side deigned to have words with this foolish Lord if she could, but the artist in her recognized, too, the beauty in such a tragic relationship.
Jote had yet to open up to Joshua about her thoughts on both their characters, already complex enough as they were among an even more complicated cast of characters. Even after so long, she could hardly get a feel for what the Lord Phoenix thought—felt, whatever—about The Attendant. Eighteen years of being literally together, and what? Maybe he didn’t care? Did it even matter? Whoever wrote this certainly tried their best, no doubt, but there were times she still found herself confused on how to interpret certain parts of this particular subplot.
Which, technically, was not her problem, to say the least. Don’t read too deeply into it, Jote reminded her petty self. You’re just an actress.
Just then, Joshua began coughing uncontrollably in the middle of his lines. Jote tensed; it was not the right cue in the script. His face quickly became pale and his breathing labored, punctuated by high-pitched wheezes. Still, he struggled to deliver his next lines in broken phrases, even as he fell forward into Jote’s arms and weakly held onto the edges of her costume’s sleeves. A real asthma attack, she realized with a start.
Jote immediately broke character, calling an emergency. The medical team immediately leapt into action, taking Joshua’s pulse and blood pressure. Another nurse placed an oxygen tube over his nostrils and injected something from a pen into his outer thigh, muttering about badly-fitting costumes and “someone not taking his inhaler regularly.” Jote ended up apologizing to him and the doctor-on-duty in Joshua’s stead.
They had immediately called for a filming break, with Jote accompanying Joshua in the makeshift infirmary trailer as he rested. Fortunately, he had recovered enough to not need oxygen support anymore, but the doctor still made him stay a few hours for observation. “They won’t let you film until the day after tomorrow, I heard,” she said to Joshua with a wan smile.
“Yeah,” Joshua replied sadly, looking through his messages on his phone. “Strict bed rest, they said. We’ll be behind schedule.” His expression grew more frustrated as he crumpled the thin blanket in his fist. “I’ll try to negotiate with management. We can’t afford to waste time.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Joshua Rosfield.” The stern command surprised even Jote herself, both for even having raised her voice at all, and for doing so in-character, complete with accent and voice inflection. She stopped short, briefly wondering if she had overstepped her boundaries, before she remembered she was different from The Attendant and had no qualms whatsoever about speaking her mind.
“I’d like to believe I speak for everyone on the team when I say this: your dedication to this project—to performing, to acting itself—is unparalleled. You’re one of the most hardworking actors on set. Clive and Jill, even Mr. Telamon and Ms. Harman, have nothing but praises for you. So many of us look up to you.” Here, Jote smiled affectionately, placing her gloved hand over his bare one. “ I look up to you, Joshua. I admire your professionalism, your tenacity, your unwavering commitment to your role.”
“The thing is, we’re not our characters. You’re not an Eikon. You’re not… immortal?” Jote felt like grasping at straws with the analogy she came up with on the spot, and a smile crept onto Joshua’s lips as he nodded for her to continue. “I guess all I’m saying is, it’s okay to put yourself first. To take breaks. No one will fault you for anything. The shoot can always wait.”
“Please rest, Joshua,” Jote implored again, looking him in the eye. “You scared everyone half to death earlier. And I…” She found herself unable to continue, simply holding Joshua’s hand as she willed her mouth to open once more, to say how she really felt.
No sooner had Jote said those words than she felt herself being enveloped in a tight hug, Joshua’s body heat seeping into her even through the thick costume she still wore. “It’s okay, Jote. You don’t have to say any more.” Joshua held her even closer and hooked his chin over her shoulder, and she found herself relaxing in his arms. “I actually felt that attack coming on when I woke up this morning. But I didn’t tell anyone. I thought I could power through, like always.”
Joshua sighed, half in frustration and half in remorse, and Jote shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath tickling the back of her head. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
The heartfelt apology overwhelmed her all at once, and she cried softly into Joshua’s chest. With today’s incident, Jote felt like she understood The Attendant a little more now, committing to memory the worry and the fear and the heartbreak she felt now to draw upon at a later time, at a later scene that would no doubt exhaust all her mental and emotional reserves just like now had. Just like a damn sponge, she chuckled to herself in between choked sobs. Like a true actress.
And Jote felt Joshua smile ruefully at her, half in sympathy and half in pride. He probably understood what was running through her mind at that moment, but chose to let her process her feelings on her own, God bless his considerate heart.
When the medical team finally released Joshua for the day, Jote accompanied him to his car parked outside the studio. “Are you sure you don’t want someone to drive you home?”
“No need,” Joshua reassured her. “I feel well enough, plus I still have to pick up food and my prescription refills on the way. I wouldn’t want to take up their time, if ever.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind—” Jote immediately let out a squeak at her Freudian slip, clapping both her hands to her mouth. Suddenly the costume she wore felt twice as hot, and she quickly averted her gaze, not daring to breathe. Not her damn mouth getting her in trouble twice in the same day!
If Jote’s blatant proposition had surprised Joshua, he didn’t show it at all. His eyes lit up, though, as if hit by a great idea, and he offered back one of his own: “Well, seeing as I’m on break for three days, and all your scenes are with me, I don’t see why not. I can wait for you here while you change out of your costume.”
It took more than a few moments for Jote to process what had just happened. She could only nod slowly, still in shock as her entire face flushed in earnest, before she backpedaled out of the parking lot and into her trailer to change and grab her things.
Did she just ask him out on a date?