Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1:THE STRICT DIRECTOR
The morning air in the studio lot carried the scent of jasmine from the trees lining the entrance, but Offroad barely noticed as he strode through the gates at six-thirty. His black coffee had gone lukewarm in his hand during the drive from his condo, and he drained it anyway, tossing the cup in a bin before heading toward Sound Stage Three.
He'd been awake since four, reviewing shot lists and blocking notes for today's scenes. Sleep had never come easily, and lately it seemed even more elusive. But that was fine. Work had always been his refuge, the one place where control was possible, where vision could be made real through sheer determination and attention to detail.
At twenty-six, Offroad had already directed three successful series, each one earning critical praise for their visual style and emotional depth. Some people whispered that he was too young, too rigid, too demanding. But the results spoke for themselves, and that was all that mattered to him.
The stage was already buzzing with activity when he entered. Lighting technicians adjusted rigs overhead, their movements precise and practiced. The set decorators were making final touches to what would serve as the lakorn's main living room,a modern Bangkok apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows that would catch the artificial sunlight beautifully. The production designer, P'Nok, saw him and waved from across the space.
"Khun Offroad! Early as always," she called out, climbing down from a ladder.
He managed a small smile. "Just want to make sure we're ready. Today's schedule is tight."
"When isn't it with you?" She said it warmly, without judgment. They'd worked together on three projects now, and she understood his process. "Everything's set. We'll be ready for blocking rehearsal at eight."
Offroad nodded, scanning the space with a critical eye. The furniture placement was good, the color palette exactly what he'd specified. Every detail mattered. Every frame had to serve the story.
His assistant director, Kai, appeared at his elbow with a tablet. "Morning, P'. The cast call sheet is confirmed. Everyone's on time so far. P'Daou's already in hair and makeup."
"Good." Offroad took the tablet, scrolling through the day's schedule. Scenes fifteen through eighteen,the first major romantic sequences between the leads. This was where the chemistry had to start building, where the audience needed to begin investing in the love story.
He'd cast carefully for this project. The script was solid, a contemporary romance about an architect and an artist whose lives intersect through a chance encounter. It had depth without being heavy, romance without being saccharine. The female lead, Pleng, was talented and experienced, with a natural warmth that came through on camera.
And then there was Daou.
Offroad had seen his work, of course. Everyone in the industry knew Daou,the charming leading man with the easy smile and the ability to make any co-star look good. At twenty-eight, he'd been working steadily for nearly a decade, building an impressive track record of successful lakorns and a devoted fanbase. He had undeniable screen presence, professionalism, and that rare quality of making everyone around him comfortable.
During the audition, Daou had been prepared, charismatic, and technically excellent. The choice had been obvious.
So why did Offroad feel this nagging uncertainty?
He pushed the thought aside. First days were always like this, full of nerves masked as perfectionism. Once they started shooting, once he saw the actors inhabit the characters, everything would fall into place. It always did.
By seven-thirty, the cast had assembled in the rehearsal area off to the side of the main set. Pleng arrived in a swirl of energy, greeting everyone with warmth and hugs. She was already in costume, a simple but elegant dress that suited her character perfectly.
Daou came in a few minutes later.
Offroad looked up from his notes and felt something shift in the air, though he couldn't have said exactly what. Daou was tall, broader in the shoulders than Offroad had registered during the audition, with an easy confidence in the way he moved,the kind that came from years in the industry and genuine comfort in his own skin. His hair had been styled casually, and the makeup was subtle,just enough to enhance his features for the camera. He wore jeans and a fitted shirt, his character's costume for this scene.
"Sawadee khrap, everyone," Daou said, his voice carrying across the space. He waved to the crew, several of whom called out greetings in return. Then his eyes found Offroad, and he walked over with his hand extended. "Nong Offroad, good to see you again."
Offroad stood and accepted the handshake. Daou's grip was firm, warm. The "nong" was friendly, acknowledging their two-year age difference in that casual Thai way, though they both understood that on set, Offroad's word was final. Age didn't matter when it came to the director's chair.
"P'Daou. Ready to work?"
"Always." That easy smile again, the one that had probably charmed countless co-stars and directors over the years. "I've been looking forward to this project. The script is really special."
"Good." Offroad released his hand and gestured to the chairs arranged in a semi-circle. "Let's get started with table work, then we'll move to blocking."
The read-through went smoothly. Both actors knew their lines, understood their characters' motivations, and played off each other with professional competence. Pleng brought a lightness to her artist character, a creative spirit tempered with pragmatism. Daou's architect was more reserved, logical but not cold, carrying an old hurt he was learning to release.
On paper, it all worked.
Offroad found himself watching Daou more than he'd intended during the read-through. The older actor had a natural ease with the material, his delivery smooth and genuine. When he laughed at one of Pleng's improvised jokes, it was real and unguarded. When he read the more vulnerable lines, something flickered in his expression that suggested he understood loneliness, understood walls built to protect a bruised heart.
It was good work. Solid work.
But when they moved to the set for blocking rehearsal, Offroad began to see what his instincts had been warning him about.
The scene was simple enough,the two characters meeting at an art gallery opening, initial awkwardness giving way to tentative conversation. There was supposed to be a spark, that indefinable chemistry that told the audience these two people were meant to find each other.
"Okay, let's run it from the top," Offroad called out. He stood beside the camera, arms crossed, watching intently.
Daou and Pleng moved through their marks. The dialogue was fine, the blocking worked spatially. Pleng was giving everything she had, her expressions open and inviting. Daou was doing all the right things technically, the glances, the body language, the subtle smiles.
But something was missing.
They ran it twice more. Offroad adjusted Daou's positioning, asked him to soften his delivery on certain lines, suggested he maintain eye contact with Pleng for a beat longer. Daou took every note without complaint, adjusting his performance accordingly with the professionalism of someone who'd done this hundreds of times before.
Still, the spark wasn't there.
"Let's take five," Offroad said finally, keeping his voice even. Frustration was useless on set; it only made actors tense up and perform worse.
Kai sidled up to him as the actors stepped away to get water. "What do you think?"
"I think we have work to do." Offroad rubbed his temple, where a headache was beginning to form. "P'Daou's technically proficient, but he's not connecting. Not really."
"Maybe first day jitters? Even experienced actors get them."
"Maybe." But Offroad had been directing long enough to know the difference between nerves and a fundamental lack of chemistry. The question was whether they could manufacture what wasn't naturally there, or if he'd need to find another approach entirely.
He watched Daou chatting with Pleng near the craft services table, both of them laughing at something. They seemed comfortable enough off-camera, almost like old friends already. Daou had that gift,the ability to put people at ease, to create warmth and camaraderie. So why couldn't he translate that ease into romantic tension?
As if sensing the scrutiny, Daou glanced over and met Offroad's eyes across the set. For a moment, something flickered in his expression,uncertainty, maybe, or a question he didn't quite know how to ask. There was a vulnerability there that Offroad hadn't seen during the read-through, something unguarded.
Then the easy smile was back, and Daou raised his water bottle in a small salute before returning his attention to Pleng.
Offroad looked away first, turning back to his notes. They had eleven more weeks of shooting ahead of them, and every scene built on the foundation of this central relationship. If the chemistry didn't work, the entire project would fall flat. The network was counting on this. His reputation was on the line.
He'd figure it out. He always did. That was what made him good at his job,the refusal to accept anything less than what the story needed, the willingness to push through discomfort to find the truth of a scene.
Even if it meant pushing harder than anyone was comfortable with.
Even if it meant getting uncomfortably close to the process himself.
The break ended, and they returned to work. Offroad called for another take, making mental notes of every small adjustment that might help. Daou moved through the scene again, and Offroad forced himself to watch objectively, to see past the technical competence to what was missing underneath.
There was something in the way Daou held himself, he realized. A kind of safety, a boundary that kept the performance just on the surface. It was so subtle that most people probably wouldn't notice, but Offroad had spent years learning to see what actors were hiding, what they were protecting.
The question was how to reach past that boundary without breaking trust.
"Cut," he called. "That's better. Let's try it one more time, but P'Daou, I want you to let yourself be more affected by her. Your character has been alone for a long time. This woman,she's offering you something you didn't know you were hungry for. Let that need show, just a little."
Daou nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Okay. I can do that."
They ran it again. This time, there was a flicker of something more,a softness in Daou's eyes, a hesitation in his movement that suggested genuine longing. It wasn't quite there yet, but it was closer.
"Good," Offroad said. "That's the direction. We'll keep working on it."
The day stretched ahead, full of the familiar rhythm of filmmaking,the repetition, the refinement, the endless pursuit of that perfect moment when everything aligned. The crew moved around them with practiced efficiency. The lights adjusted, the camera repositioned. Take after take after take.
Offroad watched it all with his usual focus, but some part of his mind kept circling back to that moment when Daou had looked at him across the set. That flash of vulnerability, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
He knew that look. He'd worn it himself once, years ago, before he'd learned to keep those softer parts of himself locked away where they couldn't be damaged.
The thought unsettled him more than the chemistry problem did.
By the time they wrapped for the day, the sun was setting outside, casting long shadows through the studio windows. Offroad reviewed the footage with Kai, making notes for tomorrow's scenes. The performances were solid, professional. They'd get through this project just fine.
But "fine" had never been enough for him.
"See you tomorrow, Nong Offroad," Daou called out as he headed toward the exit, his bag slung over his shoulder.
Offroad looked up, ready to respond with something equally casual, but Daou was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
He turned back to the monitors, but the image frozen on screen,Daou's face in that moment of almost-vulnerability,held his attention longer than it should have.
Offroad shook his head and closed the file. Tomorrow they'd try again. They'd find what was missing.
He just hadn't expected to feel this unsettled so early in the process.
Or to keep noticing the way his own pulse had quickened during that brief moment when Daou's hand had clasped his in greeting, warm and solid and lingering just a second longer than necessary.
Professional observation, he told himself. Nothing more.
He gathered his things and headed out into the evening air, already planning tomorrow's approach.
There was work to do.