Chapter Text
There was something strangely intimate about reading a script alone. A melody belonged to everyone the moment it reached an audience. An idol's smile, a performance, even a single line spoken on stage; they only came alive once someone else was there to receive them. A script was different.
For a little while, the story existed only between the paper and the actor holding it. Ren rested the bound pages against his knee, turning another page with practiced care.
Until the Rain Stops.
It was a simple title. Almost understated. The script itself was anything but. College students. A chance meeting beneath an umbrella. Friendships that quietly changed shape. Love that arrived so gradually its characters scarcely realized they had crossed the line between companionship and something deeper.
Ren smiled faintly.
Television audiences did enjoy romance. Not that he could blame them. Romance had a peculiar habit of making ordinary moments seem unforgettable. A shared umbrella. An evening walk. A conversation that lingered a little longer than either person intended. None of it was extraordinary. Yet somehow those moments often remained long after grand declarations had faded.
His fingers paused on a line near the bottom of the page.
"I'm sure Rey would have a much easier time expressing himself if he were in this position."
Interesting.
The script painted Renn as someone who misunderstood the people closest to him. He assumed sincerity came easily to others while struggling to voice his own feelings. Ren found himself wondering whether that was true of people in general. Most smiles concealed something. Most laughter arrived a heartbeat before whatever had caused it. People were fascinating like that.
His phone vibrated softly against the table.
Production Meeting – 10:00
He closed the script. The official cast meeting. Today the production team would finally introduce everyone. He already knew the names of the characters; Renn, Rey and Madonna.
He knew the story. The filming schedule. Even the locations selected for the rain scenes. The only thing he didn't know...
...was who would be sharing those scenes with him.
Ren slipped the script into his leather satchel before straightening his jacket. Whatever happened, it would be another story worth telling. He had always believed every co-star had something worth learning from. Perhaps this one would surprise him.
The conference room was already beginning to fill by the time Ren arrived.
A handful of actors sat quietly reading their scripts one last time. Producers and assistant directors moved between tables carrying stacks of documents, greeting familiar faces with polite bows. Coffee had already been claimed from the refreshment table, leaving behind little more than the smell.
The conference room buzzed with the familiar energy of a production's first day. Ren recognized more faces than he didn't. Directors he'd worked with before. Supporting actors from variety shows. A stunt coordinator who still insisted on calling him “Prince.”
Then, of course...
“Ren-Ren~!” He didn't need to look. There was only one person in the entertainment industry who insisted on calling him that with complete sincerity.
Kotobuki Reiji was already halfway across the room, coffee in one hand and a script tucked beneath the other arm, smiling as though this were less a production meeting and more a reunion.
“Looks like we're partners this time!”
Ren returned the smile without thinking.
“It would seem so.”
“I've been looking forward to seeing who'd play Renn. Guess I won the lottery.”
“Lottery?”
“Sure! We already know we don't have to waste time figuring each other out.”
Ren considered that. Reiji wasn't wrong. They had spent enough years crossing paths that introductions would have been absurd. Television specials. Joint concerts. Variety shows. The occasional award ceremony. Enough shared stages that seeing Kotobuki Reiji no longer qualified as a surprise. Yet...
Knowing someone through work wasn't the same as knowing them. Ren knew Reiji laughed often. He knew he somehow remembered the names of every member of the staff, no matter how small their role. He knew that if filming ran late, Reiji was the sort of person who would appear the next morning carrying homemade food, insisting he'd simply “made too much.” He’d somehow managed to persuade Camus to smile on camera more than once; a feat that bordered on miraculous. And everyone seemed to end up with a nickname. “Ren-Ren” included. What Ren didn't know...
...was where Kotobuki Reiji ended and the smile began.
“You've read the script already, haven't you?” Reiji asked, falling into step beside him as naturally as if they'd arrived together. Ren nodded.
“Twice.”
“Oho?”
“I like to know what I'm walking into.”
“And?”
Ren glanced at the script tucked beneath Reiji's arm.
“You've only read yours once.”
Reiji laughed, entirely unbothered that he'd been caught.
“I knew you were going to say that!”
“You left the bookmark halfway through.”
“So observant.”
“I try.”
“You're making me sound lazy.”
“Were you hoping for a different impression?”
“I was hoping for 'mysterious.'”
“You've been talking to half the production staff for the last ten minutes.”
“...Right. Forgot about that.”
A chuckle escaped Ren before he could stop it. That, too, was familiar. Reiji possessed a curious talent for making conversation feel effortless. Silences never became awkward around him. Questions never sounded intrusive. He simply spoke to people as though they'd already decided they were going to enjoy one another's company.
“Actually,” Reiji continued, lifting the script slightly, “I stopped on purpose.”
“You stopped?”
“Mhm.”
“I wanted to hear the ending with everyone else.”
Ren raised an eyebrow.
“You didn't read the last act?”
“Nope.”
“You're trusting the script that much?”
“I'm trusting the people.”
“The people?”
“The director. The writers. You.” Reiji smiled. “It's a collaboration, isn't it? Feels like more fun if we discover some of it together.”
For a brief moment, Ren didn't answer. It wasn't how he worked. He preferred preparation. Knowing every beat before rehearsals began. Finding the rhythm of a scene before stepping in front of a camera. Reiji, meanwhile...
...seemed perfectly content discovering the rhythm alongside everyone else. Different approaches. Neither necessarily better. Just...
different.
“Well,” Reiji said, clapping his hands together once, “shall we find out who gets to cry in the rain?”
Ren looked at him.
“You've already guessed there will be crying.”
“The title is Until the Rain Stops, Ren-Ren.”
“...A fair point.”
Reiji grinned triumphantly.
“I knew you'd agree.”
Before Ren could reply, someone at the front of the room tapped a microphone.
“If everyone could please take their seats.”
The quiet conversations around them gradually faded. Reiji found his place card first. His grin widened.
“Oh, look at that.”
Ren followed his gaze. The two name cards sat side by side.
Jinguji Ren.
Kotobuki Reiji.
Reiji looked over with unmistakable delight.
“See?”
Ren pulled out his chair.
“What?”
“I told you.”
“Told me what?”
“We won the lottery.”
Ren wanted to shake his head. Reiji had a habit of turning almost any situation into something lighter than it had been a moment before. Somehow, a production meeting became a reunion. Assigned seating became winning the lottery. It should have been ridiculous. Instead, Ren noticed several people nearby smiling to themselves. The assistant director looked less tense. One of the supporting actors chuckled despite clearly trying not to. Reiji hadn't told a particularly clever joke. He had simply shared his enthusiasm as though it were impossible not to join in. Perhaps that was his real talent. Not making people laugh. Making them feel included.
Ren and Reiji had scarcely settled into their seats before the room quieted.
The producer stepped to the front with a practiced smile, thanking everyone for adjusting busy schedules before introducing the key members of the production staff one by one. Polite applause followed each introduction. Directors, assistant directors, script supervisors, costume designers. Ren listened carefully. Names mattered. He had learned years ago that a production lived or died by the people whose names never appeared on the poster.
“...And finally,” the producer continued, “thank you all for placing your trust in us. We know many of you have worked together before, but this is the first time this particular cast has come together. We hope you'll create something special!”
Beside him, Reiji applauded with surprising enthusiasm. The producer laughed.
“Thank you, Kotobuki-san. You're making me feel less nervous already.”
“I'm just cheering for all of us,” Reiji replied with a grin.
A ripple of laughter spread through the room. Ren caught himself smiling again.
There it is.
Reiji hadn't tried to become the centre of attention. He had simply noticed someone else's nerves. The producer visibly relaxed before continuing.
“Now then, let's begin with introductions. Not for the audience's sake, but for each other's.”
One by one, the cast stood. Some kept it short. Others spoke about previous productions or their hopes for the drama. When Ren's turn came, he rose smoothly.
“My name is Jinguji Ren. I'll be playing Renn.”
He bowed politely.
“I've been looking forward to working with everyone. This story values the small moments between people more than dramatic spectacle, and I hope we can bring those moments to life together.”
He sat down to polite applause. Nothing extravagant. Exactly as intended. Then it was Reiji's turn. Reiji stood, adjusted the cuffs of his jacket with exaggerated seriousness, and cleared his throat.
“My name is Kotobuki Reiji.”
Another theatrical pause.
“I'll be playing Rey.”
He looked around the room.
“I'm also accepting applications for friends to play board games with between filming days.”
For a heartbeat, silence. Then the room erupted into laughter. Even the director chuckled.
“I thought we hadn't started filming yet,” one of the supporting actors called.
“We haven't,” Reiji replied cheerfully. “But preparation is important.”
Ren shook his head almost imperceptibly. The joke itself wasn't particularly clever. It was the timing. Reiji had waited until everyone had finished introducing themselves with careful professionalism before giving the room permission to relax.
The atmosphere shifted almost immediately. Conversations resumed more naturally. Actors who had been complete strangers a few minutes ago began exchanging quiet comments across the table.
Someone asked another cast member where they'd worked before. The assistant director no longer sounded so tense while reading the schedule aloud. Without meaning to, Ren found himself looking toward Reiji again. Their eyes met for only a moment. Reiji offered him a quick, satisfied grin before turning his attention back to the front of the room. As though nothing unusual had happened. Perhaps nothing had.
Yet Ren couldn't shake the feeling that the production meeting had changed the instant Reiji decided everyone should stop feeling like strangers.
“...We'll now move on to the table read for Episode One,” the director announced.
Several scripts opened in unison. Ren placed his hand atop his own copy for a brief second. Across the table, Reiji flipped eagerly to the first page, the bookmark still resting stubbornly halfway through the script. True to his word. He really hadn't read the ending. Ren smiled to himself. For someone who claimed to trust people more than preparation...
...he certainly made it difficult not to live up to that trust.