Aster sat cross-legged on the plush rug of Adrian's home office, the printed script resting in his lap. His fingers curled around the paper, knuckles white.
His callback scene was simple on paper. Emotional. Quiet. A two-person confrontation between a man and his ex-lover, set at the edge of the border. One final plea, one final refusal.
He'd done harder things before. Monologues. Crying scenes. Long speeches with barely any time to breathe. This was nothing.
It should've been nothing.
But it wasn't.
Because this was his first shot in his new life. His first chance at real work. His first real stage again.
And he couldn't afford to mess it up.
He inhaled shakily and stood in front of the tall mirror across the room, posture stiff, arms heavy. His reflection stared back—rumpled hoodie, soft gray sweats, sleep lines still faint on his cheeks.
He didn't look like an actor.
He didn't look like someone who could carry a scene, make people believe, make hearts ache.
But he had to.
He would.
He raised the script.
Tried the first line.
His voice cracked.
Aster stopped. Closed his eyes. Tried again.
Still flat. Still tight. Still wrong.
Why couldn't he do it?
Why did he feel like that desperate, floundering version of himself again—the one from his past life? The one who tried to claw his way back into the industry after his scandal, only to be laughed out of auditions and dropped by agents?
He had talent. He knew he did. He had been praised for it. Respected. Envied, even.
But somewhere along the line, they'd all turned on him.
And worst of all—he'd believed them.
That he was done. That he was a joke. That he was lucky if anyone even looked at him.
"Stupid," Aster muttered under his breath, pacing now. "Get it together."
But the more he tried to force it, the worse it got. His voice sounded fake. His eyes wouldn't cooperate. The emotions just wouldn't land.
The lines blurred in front of him.
He couldn't do it.
Again.
He let the script fall and sat down heavily on the edge of the desk, burying his face in his hands.
"Brother?"
Aster jumped slightly.
Finn was standing in the doorway with one sock off, one sock half on, holding a toy dinosaur in one hand and a juice box in the other.
"Why you makin' your sad face?" Finn asked, toddling over.
Aster quickly wiped his eyes and tried to smile. "I'm not sad, baby. I'm just... practicing."
Finn squinted at the script on the floor. "That's the movie?"
"Sort of."
Finn held out the juice box like an offering. "You want?"
Aster blinked. "You're giving me your juice?"
Finn nodded solemnly. "Juice makes me brave. You can be brave too."
Aster stared at him for a moment, chest aching—then took the juice with a small laugh. "Thanks, buddy."
Finn beamed and scrambled up onto the desk beside him, swinging his legs.
Aster took a sip of the juice and sighed.
Brave.
He had been brave once.
He could be again.
Adrian found them there twenty minutes later.
Finn had migrated to the floor, setting up a dino battle between his triceratops and a shark, while Aster was back in front of the mirror—shirt changed, hair pushed back, script in hand again.
Adrian leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, just watching for a moment.
Aster didn't notice him.
He was too deep in the scene.
"...If I walk away now, I'm never coming back," he whispered, voice trembling with just enough pain. "You know that, don't you? This is the last time."
There was a pause—then the next line. Softer. Bitter.
"I waited for you. Until I realized I was the only one waiting..."
Adrian's brows lifted, his lips curling faintly.
By the time Aster finished the monologue and looked up, he was startled to see Adrian watching.
"W-When did you—?"
"Just now," Adrian said. "That last line was good."
Aster rolled his eyes, flushed. "I'm trying to find the rhythm."
"You found it."
"No, I—" He hesitated. "I panicked earlier. I... I don't want to mess this up."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
Aster looked down at the script again, hands tightening.
"I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"Then throw up after you ace the audition," Adrian said calmly.
Aster huffed. "That's not helpful."
Adrian pushed off the wall and walked in, stopping a few feet in front of him.
"You're going to walk in there, say your lines, and they're going to remember why you were made for this."
"...You sound like my manager."
Adrian leaned in. "I'm something better."
Aster scoffed, but he didn't argue.
Because even if he didn't believe in himself fully yet—
It was nice to know someone else did.
That night, after dinner and Finn's bath, Aster tucked the little boy in with his usual bedtime routine.
"Brother?"
"Yeah?"
"You gonna win the movie?"
Aster smiled, brushing Finn's bangs from his forehead. "I'll try my best, baby."
"Okay." Finn yawned, hugging his plush dino tight. "If you win, I clap. If you lose, I clap."
Aster's heart stuttered. His eyes warmed.
"Thank you," he whispered, kissing his forehead.
Finn was already asleep.
In the quiet that followed, Aster went back to the office and stood alone before the mirror once more.
This time, he didn't pick up the script.
He didn't need to.
He closed his eyes.
Breathed.
And said the lines from memory.
Not just with technique.
But with something closer to peace.
He wasn't that broken version of himself anymore—the one who died full of regret, full of rage.
He'd come back for a reason.
He had people who believed in him now.
A soft smile ghosted his lips.
This time—
He was going to win.