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“Are you feeling okay?”
No, not really, but Rock didn’t want to admit that.
He’d felt groggy from the moment he woke up, but instead of shaking it off as the day went on, it got worse and worse. By noon his head was pounding. By two the bright studio lights were so irritating he could barely keep his eyes open. It was a miracle they filmed all of his scenes with no issues.
The day wasn’t over just yet, however. He still had to wait for his father to finish up before they could head home together. So, to hopefully get some rest, Rock found a sectioned off table in an infrequently used area of the studio and put his head down. Of the time he spent there giving his body a break, he only heard a few pairs of footsteps, and none of them acknowledged him.
Until he heard a lighter, faster pair of footsteps pattering down the hallway, that then abruptly stopped right by the table. Of all people, Kenichi would notice, wouldn't he.
Rock blearily lifted his head, squinting against the light. “I’m just tired.”
Kenichi tilted his head. “Are you sure? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” Rock pulled the brim of his cap over his face and put his head back down.
Silence filled the air. That was seemingly the end of the conversation, yet Kenichi refused to walk away.
After a moment, Kenichi spoke up again. “Well, um, do you wanna sleep in one of the green rooms instead? There’s a couch. It’s comfier than a wooden chair.”
Oh, how Rock would love to. This position was not comfortable in the slightest, and his muscles ached every time he adjusted himself. But seclusion was the name of the game here, not comfort; he couldn't let anyone catch him, especially his father. More people passed through those green rooms than a random hallway in the corner of the studio.
Or at least he thought. He wasn't sure where exactly the green rooms were. “Can’t,” Rock said. “Don’t want Dad seeing me slack off.”
“Are you still filming stuff?”
“No, I’m done for the day. Just waiting on my father.” Rock paused. He turned his head slightly to meet Kenichi's gaze, confused. “Wait, you’re in Metropolis too, shouldn’t you be—”
“I’m done for today too. They’re doing some of Duke Red— your dad’s scenes now.” Kenichi explained. “So if you’ve wrapped up, and your dad is busy filming, then there shouldn’t be any problem with taking a short nap, right?”
Rock shook his head and then winced. Bad idea. The movement made his skull throb. “If he finds me, he’ll yell at me.”
“You should rest if you’re tired! He shouldn’t yell at you for that.”
Rock wished it was that simple. His father had big plans for him, and to show any sign of weakness was going off course, being an embarrassment. Rock tried to fight him on this, but through shouting matches and punishments that left him hurt and in tears, he learned that it was frivolous. His father had total control. One day he'd escape his father's influence and forge his own path. Today was not that day.
“He doesn’t care. He wants me to be…” Perfect? The ideal protégé? The prodigious son that creates a dynasty of esteemed actors? “He doesn’t want me unwell.”
“No one does,” Kenichi said. “But it happens to the best of us, whether your dad likes it or not.”
“He’s still going to get mad.”
Kenichi put one hand on the table and pointed at himself with the other. “You can say I told you to. Put the blame on me.”
Rock stared at him incredulously. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Don’t worry about me, I can take it.”
He'd heard that Kenichi was like this. Set in his morals, he'd go out of his way to try and fix something he found unjust. Rock had watched some of Kenichi's starring roles, and his in-character self was the same way, striking down evil and believing in good with a sense of righteousness, but a fictional character and an actor were two different people. It surprised him that that trait was part of the real deal.
And it surprised Rock more that Kenichi was willing to help out someone like him. Rock started this job, what, two weeks ago? He was the newest actor on set. Kenichi was a year older, had more experience than some of the adults, and was the most famous star of the whole company. Sure, they were both kids (when there weren't many), but to Rock they felt miles apart.
Rock was ready to reject Kenichi again when a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Just talking wiped him out. Sighing, he resigned himself to indulgence.
“...Okay.”
As he pulled himself up to stand, his body protested. Every bone ached, his head heavy. It was like gravity put him into a vice grip. The only solace was his cap, still further down than normal, shielding his eyes from the lights.
They made their way to the green rooms slowly. Rock had expected Kenichi to go on ahead, leading him to their destination, but Kenichi instead stayed by his side despite his glacial pace. He should've apologized. Kenichi didn't need to being doing any of this. Yet he found it hard to speak, drained of so much energy that his brain was turning to mush.
The green rooms, as Rock had predicted, were closer to the center of the studio, which saw much more foot traffic. They shuffled their way inside one of them, hoping no one was paying attention.
It was dark, but not so much that they couldn't find their way around. In the corner was a vanity, surrounded by upholstered chairs. Near the door was the aforementioned couch, as well as a coffee table.
Kenichi flicked the light on. A large jolt of pain—the biggest one yet—went straight to Rock's eyes. Squeezing them shut, he grunted and covered his face with his hands.
Just as quickly as he turned them on, Kenichi flicked them back off. “Sorry.”
Kenichi motioned to the couch, and Rock had no qualms following that command, practically collapsing into it and curling up. This was much better than that back-breaking table; it was softer, cozier, actually willing to compensate his body. Though he was comfortable and no longer tormented by bright lights, Rock found it hard to focus his gaze on anything in particular, too tired to do anything other than stare blankly ahead.
“I'll be right back,” Kenichi said, heading towards the door. “I'll go get you some water.”
Rock nodded. As he heard the door click, his eyes fluttered shut, and he fell into a fitful sleep.
Hot. That was the first thing Rock felt. Sweat had poured into his cap and shirt, leaving him drenched and disgusted.
The second was enveloping soreness. His legs were on fire. His face felt like it was being crushed. His throat was raw.
The third thing was fear.
“What makes you think you know better than I do?” His father, muffled. He was right outside the green room. As expected, he found Rock eventually.
“I don't, sir.” Kenichi, also muffled. “But you were busy and I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“Why wouldn't he be okay?”
“He looked like he was coming down with something. He looked exhausted.”
“Don't tell me his stamina is that weak.”
“People get sick sometimes, sir.”
“You have no right to talk back to me.”
“Sorry, sir.”
A beat, then the door burst open, lights flashing on. Rock groaned.
“Rock?” His father shook him on the shoulder. “Get up. It's time to go home.”
Rock made a noise of confirmation. Blinking his eyes open, he found his father towering over him. He knew he had to sit up, but his body weighed half a ton. He had to scrounge up some energy first, as challenging as that would be.
Apparently taking too long (it had only been a couple seconds, hadn't it?), his father kneeled down and put a hand on Rock's forehead, eyebrows furrowed. His expression softened. “That's very warm…” his father muttered.
That couldn't be right. What Rock was seeing was impossible. Was he concerned, for him? He wasn't aware his father could do that. What miracle worker worked their magic?
Kenichi watched from the doorway, silent.
His father grabbed his hand and helped Rock sit up, then stand. “Come on,” he said softly, ushering him past Kenichi and out of the green room.
With his meager remaining strength, Rock turned his head back towards the green room and locked eyes with Kenichi. They stared at each other wordlessly, distance growing between them. Kenichi, offering a small smile, gave him a shy wave.
Rock waved back. It was the least he could do.