It’s your first day as a full-time intern on-set and you’re so nervous you’ve already dropped the assistant director’s coffee on his foot and lost Noel Clarke’s copy of the script. You’re standing off to the side, trying not to call attention to yourself any more than you already have, hoping you’re inconspicuous as you move cords out of the way of the camera, the one task the director decided you could be trusted with. But you aren’t inconspicuous enough.
The makeup lady walks by, snagging your arm, and hauls you into the Rose’s bedroom set. “C’mon, I need another set of hands. We’ve only got a sec.” She propels you toward the bed where David is lying in a mound of satiny pillows and blankets.
"You’re shiny again," the lady sighs at him, leaning over his head with a powder brush. She glances at you and nods at the duvet. "Get that mess straightened out before they start filming again, yeah?"
You reach forward hesitantly, staring at David’s face — he’s right there, eyes closed and cheeks scrunched up as the makeup artist dusts the sheen off his skin. You reach out, hesitantly tugging the duvet on one side, your face on fire.
David doesn’t open his eyes, because the makeup woman’s still doing her job, but he says, “Oh, come on! Don’t be shy. I’ve been kicking that duvet around for the last ten minutes. It’s a mess.”
Face still burning with nerves, you lean forward and reach over both sides of his body, yanking the duvet straight and smooth. Your hands ghost across his chest and down his sides, tucking the blanket into his waist and under his arms.
You finish and look up, only to realize the makeup artist finished and left several moments ago, and everyone has been watching you meticulously settle David into bed like a five-year-old. He’s grinning at you, his eyes bright, and he says with a laugh, “Is that it, then? Is anyone else going to tuck me in?”
You try to say something, but only inarticulate noises of embarrassment come out.
He winks at you. “Next time, you’re going to have to buy me a drink first.”