With Every Breath [JinAkin]

Akin

Familiar stranger

The bright lights of the dressing made my skin feel too warm. A soft mist of translucent powder settled against my cheek as the make-up artist dabbed at my face, muttering something about how healthy my skin was. I smiled politely, though the weight in my chest pressed heavier than usual. The air smelled of hairspray, coffee, and the lingering scent of someone's expensive perfume. It clung to the room, a haze I could taste on my tongue.

"Almost done, Khun Akin," the make-up artist chirped, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. I nodded, not trusting my voice.

My hair stylist hovered nearby, combing through my hair with precise, practiced fingers. The tug and pull of it was oddly grounding. He fluffed the front strands until they fell just right, a casual, effortless look painstakingly crafted by two pairs of hands and a can of volumizing spray.

"Perfect," he murmured, stepping back.

"Wardrobe!" someone called.

My shirt was straightened, the collar stiffened, sleeves rolled up to my elbows for the scene. A wardrobe assistant knelt to adjust the folds of my trousers where they met my boots, making sure no stray wrinkle would betray the image we were selling - that of a sharp, capable police officer chasing justice in a chaotic city of Bangkok.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror they wheeled in front of me. I looked but I wasn't registering my appearance. Seen it a thousand times. The man looking back wore a crisp blue uniform, dark hair slightly tousled, face clean and commanding.

And yet... my heart gave a sharp pang. I didn't recognize him.

A bottle of cold water was pressed into my hand. "Here, Phi."

I glanced at Sine's assistance, a young girl whose name I couldn't remember. But we fondly called her Miss Coordinator. She smiled, brightly like a nanny, and I was the toddler she was looking after. I was restricted from drinking too much to avoid disrupting my sexy abs.

I forced a grateful nod, unscrewing the cap, I took a sip, enough to soothe my dry throat.

I exhaled. And paused.

And then it hit me - I was surrounded.

Strangers. Faces. Hands. Voices. Names I barely knew.

People who made up my day-to-day life, who knew when I liked my coffe, how I preferred my scripts arranged, how I preferred my hair to be styles, what brand of breath mints I chewed before a scene.

Yet I knew nothing about them.

I swallowed hard, my Adams Apple sliding painfully along my parched throat, the water suddenly tasted bitter.

I recalled the text from this morning.

Unknown number
'You will look perfect today. But you look even better up close.'

"Shall we begin, please!" the director called.

The make-up artist gave my shoulder a reassuring pat, the hair stylist offered a thumbs up, and like clockwork, everyone drifted away, their tasks done for now. A chill snaked down my spine. I studied all the people around me, none of them showed signs of been a psychopath. Or maybe I wasn't skilled to detect one.

I made my way onto the set, my boots echoing lightly against the studio floor.

We were shooting a tense interrogation scene. My character was meant to slam his palms against a table, lean forward, eyes sharp and unyielding. I'd done it a dozen times in rehearsal. It wasn't a difficult scene, but tonight, my heart wouldn't stop hammering.