Chapter 8
Austin glanced at Christin as he prepared to eat his lunch.
Still idly playing with his fork, his gaze drifted from Christin to the empty chair across from him. The memory of their dinner at the restaurant surfaced quietly—and with it, a small, stubborn desire to recreate even a fraction of that moment.
Ice cream!— he thought.
Austin looked at Christin, hesitated, then called his name casually.
“Christin, do you want something for dessert? What about… chocolate ice cream?”
“We’ve done a lot today,” he added with neutral expression, “I believe we deserve a reward. What do you think?”
Christin’s eyes brightened instantly.
“Yes.”
“All right,” Austin said, still pretending.
He picked up the phone and ordered two large bowls of chocolate ice cream.
That alone made Christin’s smile widen. A big bowl, he thought. Andrei would never allow this.
Soon, the doorbell rang. Austin went to the door and quietly closed it behind him. It was the same staff member from earlier.
Austin leaned in and said softly, “We only need one bowl—sorry, I forgot to mention that on the call. I’ll take an extra spoon instead.”
The server barely processed the words. The stern, stoic Austin Ivanov—the infamous villain—was smiling gently. That alone was enough to leave the man stunned.
When Austin returned to the room, he closed the door behind him and sighed exaggeratedly.
“Can you believe this?” he said. “This is the last bowl of chocolate ice cream they have!”
He shrugged and set the tray on the counter, sneaking a glance at Christin.
“It seems it’s not just our favourite.”
Christin frowned immediately. One bowl. Two people.
He glanced at the dining table—Austin had already sent his dishes away. He folded his arms, clearly displeased.
Austin, secretly enjoying, masked his amusement with a reluctant sigh.
“You can have it,” he said. “It’s fine. I’ll just… have some tomorrow.”
He paused, watching Christin carefully.
“We—we can share it,” Christin said hesitantly.
“How?” Austin asked innocently. “Do you want half now, and I’ll have the rest later?”
“No—no,” Christin refused immediately. “I don’t want you to eat my leftover.”
He sighed.
“I—I will join you… at the t—table.”
He walked over reluctantly, disappointed—but determined not to give up the ice cream.
“You don’t have to force yourself,” Austin said gently.
“I—It’s fine,” Christin replied quietly. “I’ll be okay.”
They sat together and began eating.
Only then did Austin remember—too late—how much he disliked overly sweet things.
One spoonful in, his expression betrayed him. The sudden sugar rush made him wince.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Are you okay?” Christin asked, noticing the change immediately.
Austin froze— “Yes,” he said smoothly. “Actually… since they’re out of chocolate ice cream, how about we save some for dessert for dinner tonight? We can put it in the fridge.”
Christin blinked—then smiled.
“You’re right. That’s smart.”
They saved half of the bowl.
Austin excused himself and headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth, the lingering sweetness already bothering him—though the small victory made it entirely worth it.
After unpacking and finishing their meals, Christin found himself wondering what to do next. He had noticed that staying busy helped keep his mind off Austin’s presence in the room—but studying was the last thing he wanted to do right now.
Austin noticed him fidgeting with his fingers.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“I’m just thinking about what to do next,” Christin replied.
“We actually have a lot to do before tomorrow,” Austin said. “I was just waiting for you to settle down.”
“Like what?” Christin asked, curious.
“We need to finish reading the script together today—discuss it, actually,” Austin explained. “Tomorrow, we have a meeting around ten in the morning. The screenwriter, director—basically everyone—will be there. We’ll discuss the movie, the characters, expectations from the actors playing the important roles, and so on.”
He paused, then added, “We’ll also discuss the workshop schedule. And the most important thing—we’ll discuss us.”
Christin looked confused.
“Us?” he clarified.
“Yes,” Austin confirmed. “Our on-screen dynamic. For you to feel physically and emotionally comfortable with me—and for me to learn how to be more expressive.”
“More expressive…?” Christin echoed.
Austin sighed as he sat on his bed and picked up two copies of the script, handing one to Christin.
“I’ve read this once before. My character is actually very expressive when it comes to love—he shows it through his facial expressions, through care. I, on the other hand, am not very good at expressing affection.”
He continued, “As you might know, I’m often described as stoic, intense, stern—sometimes even cold.”
Christin couldn’t believe his words.
“This character is gentle, outgoing, and social—the total opposite of my personality,” Austin said. “So, I really need the workshops to work on my expressions.”
“But I think you are gentle,” Christin said aloud, reassuring him. “You’re very thoughtful. Honestly… I think you’re almost perfect.” He added, “I’ve heard you talk to your sister too. I don’t believe those rumours.”
Austin looked surprised.
“I’m trying to change as well,” he said quietly. “I wanted to be an actor, but my father was against it. He didn’t stop nagging me until my last movie, where I played the villain.”
He paused and sighed again.
“He wanted me to inherit his company right after I graduated. And the rumours, Christin—they’re true to some extent. My family is… different. I don’t open up to people easily.”
Austin continued. “I want to be close to you as a co-worker—and I want you to feel comfortable. So yes, I’m making an effort to be more open.”
Christin was still trying to process.
“So… is there any way I can help?” he asked gently.
“You being in this room, talking to me, is already helping enough,” Austin replied. “The director told me to have more conversations with people—the crew and the actors.”
“All right then, shall we start our work?” he asked.
Christin nodded.
Thirty minutes into reading, Christin was shocked by how the story unfolded. How am I supposed to do all of this with this man? he wondered. Not only holding him, but ki—
“What do you think so far?” Austin asked, curious about his opinion.
Christin’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted.
“Overwhelming,” Christin admitted. “How long do you think it’ll take before I’m able to do all of this?”
“I think we should start with scenes where you’re at some distance from others—or only close enough without physical contact,” Austin suggested thoughtfully. “Once you grow more comfortable, we can move forward. We don’t have to rush.”
Christin agreed, though the intimate scenes had already made him more conscious of Austin’s presence.
“It’s getting a bit late,” Austin said, glancing at the clock. “You can finish the rest of the reading. I will order dinner and then we can head to bed.”
He stood up.
“A-Austin,” Christin stuttered. “H—How about y—you go to bed first?”
“Why?” Austin was surprised.
“I’d feel m—more comfortable knowing you’re already asleep,” Christin explained quietly. “If I go to bed first…, my mind will keep wandering, t—thinking about what you’re doing.”
He couldn’t meet Austin’s eyes, feeling guilty.
Austin noticed the trembling return and didn’t question it.
“All right,” he agreed easily.
Christin remained at the desk, grateful that Austin hadn’t asked further questions—yet troubled. Am I making things difficult for him? he wondered. Austin seemed kind, understanding, and willing to adjust.
They ate dinner separately. Austin offered Christin the rest of the chocolate ice cream, claiming he wasn’t in the mood for it anymore. He marked a few points in the script, briefly went over details about the next morning’s meeting, and—as promised—went to bed first.
For Austin, sharing a room with a co-actor was nothing new. He slept easily.
For Christin, it was entirely different.
After finishing his dessert, Christin went to the bathroom and stared at his reflection.
You can do this, he told himself, though his hands still trembled.
He changed into his pyjamas and slowly slipped into bed. He lay still for an hour, listening—waiting to see if Austin would wake up. When he was certain Austin was asleep, he set his alarm for six in the morning, hoping to wake up before him.
That night, Christin tossed and turned, drifting in and out of a light, restless sleep.
