Chapter 1
Wilder Thorne is just an ordinary man.
He works a steady job in a pretty office building, and goes on dates that his mother sets up for him.
He is happy with his life.
\-
Milo Turner is one of the Asterian film industry's biggest stars.
He's been acting ever since he was a young teenager, starting off as 'younger protagonist' or 'neighborhood child' in weekly dramas.
Of course, his stubbornness had refused to let it end there.
When he finally had managed to score the lead in a deeply thoughtful, artistic piece about a blind piano prodigy—a critically acclaimed success—it had won him the PFF Best Actor of the Year award.
It had cemented his place as one of the best actors in the business.
And Milo's already bored of it all.
He's bored of his face on all the magazine covers. He's tired of variety shows praising his "unorthodox looks" and "kawaii tsundere vibe." (He's not even sure what the second one means, since it's in Japanese and he's never bothered to look it up.) He's tired of being offered awards and certificates and honors because he's
not
honored by any of it.
Milo knows that it's all just a show to try to get his attention, to get his sponsorships, to get a piece of his fame.
He's tired, jaded, and so, so bored.
"This one has Seraphina Blake casted as the female lead."
Milo's been tuning his manager out for a while, but he's forced to pay attention when Donovan slaps his cheek lightly.
"Hey, this cheek is insured for like 7 billion won," Milo complains, rubbing at his face roughly to try to get the red mark he knows is there to dissipate faster.
Donovan only snorts at him, and Milo wonders where the days back in the beginning of his career when Donovan used to actually dote on him like a normal manager went.
"Even if I did get your face insured, it wouldn't be worth that much," Donovan scoffs.
"Now, like I was saying," he continues, but Milo's had enough of it.
"I'm not acting with Seraphina Blake," Milo interrupts harshly, ripping the script out of Donovan's hands and tossing it onto the steadily-growing pile of rejected screenplays on the floor.
"She's like 14, I'd feel so gross trying to act with her.
Imagine if she was your sister or someone!"
Donovan makes a face.
"Don't pull the sister card on me, I'd never let you even look at her." He looks down at the rejected script sadly.
"That probably would have been a hit, you know.
She's getting big after she did
Hello!
Academy Love Love
."
Milo exhales loudly through his nose, which Donovan interprets as a sign to let the topic die.
He rifles through his bag before pulling out another stapled packet.
Milo sighs internally.
They do this at least twice a week, shuffling through the dozens of screenplays mailed to his P.O box.
Donovan's always rigorous, and never allows Milo to skip over even the lowest-budgeted, straight-to-video films, because his philosophy is to always search for the diamond in the rough.
Milo thinks his philosophy is horse shit.
("You were a diamond in the rough once, you know."
"Shut up.")
"How about this one?
It has Penelope Shaw," Donovan suggests, waving a script in front of Milo's face.
The actor ignores Donovan's waggling eyebrows and takes the script, glossing over it before tossing it to the ground with the other.
No, he doesn't feel like acting in another overplayed love story.
He's tired of pretending to be a fool in love.
Donovan frowns, "She even called you her ideal type, you know.
You could at least consider it a little longer.
She's a big star these days.
She could really help you make another big hit." And Milo hates that, hates the way Donovan suggests he needs some co-star's help in making a movie a success because Donovan, as his manager, is supposed to be on Milo's side, not suggest that Milo needs to team up with the latest hot actress to make himself more
marketable
.
He's an actor, not a prostitute.
Milo just wants something different.
"Am I picking movies just based off of which pretty face they cast now?" Milo asks sourly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What happened to me picking movies that I actually liked?
Or should I give up on that and just switch over to hosting variety shows?"
Donovan looks chagrined, but no less determined as he spreads out the stack of scripts across Milo's coffee table.
"Listen, I'm sorry I can't offer you the role that you're looking for, but it'll come, okay?
Until then, just pick the role you hate the least."
Milo heaves out a sigh and leans back against his patent leather sofa, rubbing at his eyes.
It's wrong to get snappy with Donovan; it's not like he writes the scripts.
In the end, Donovan, just like Milo, is only trying to make a living, and he's glad that for some reason, Donovan's stuck around for this long even though Milo's well aware that he can be a brat at times.
All the time.
"I'll choose something," Milo mumbles, dropping his hands from his face only after his vision's gone thoroughly blurry.
Donovan smiles thinly, nodding once, and then gets up and heads out, his hand going to the Bluetooth headpiece that's ever-present on his ear.
Milo stares at Donovan's retreating back and wonders if it's possible for managers to ever take vacation days.
But he's just a little too selfish for that, since Milo would be lost without Donovan.
Sometimes he wonders why he'd ever agreed to be an actor in the first place when he's so obviously bad at interacting with other people.
But then again, Milo thinks, when you don't know how to be human, you should at least pretend.
And that's what acting is.
\-
Wilder Thorne works as a photojournalist for a local newspaper.
Photography is his only passion in life.
He's happy with his life, he thinks, but he would be happier if he could one day make it big in the newspaper.
He wants to be known, to be heard.
That's his dream.
\-
Milo hates getting fan letters.
He hates how girls send him perfumed pink notes, sometimes decorated with their nail polish or favorite markers or, god forbid,
tears
.
Even back when he was a dumb teenager, Milo had never cared about anyone enough to send them handwritten notes and little gifts.
He wonders why the teenagers of today don't have anything better to waste their time on.
Milo would have long ago abandoned opening his fan mail if Donovan hadn't insisted that it was only polite to acknowledge his fans.
And while Milo may be an asshole, he isn't a rude asshole, and so every other day at noon he slips on his sunglasses and face mask and makes the long journey from his comfy condominium in Goldhaven to his P.O box.
And even though he tries his best to remain discreet, he's still surrounded by a shrieking crowd of fans the minute he exits the post office.
"Yes, yes, thank you," Milo murmurs quietly, accepting a small box of chocolates from a young girl who looks so nervous that Milo's scared for her blood pressure.
He puts it in his jacket pocket, and then turns to bow to all the fans standing behind him.
So maybe he hates fan mail, but he can't hate his fans.
He doesn't really understand how other famous stars go on interviews and profess their undying love towards their fans, since Milo really has to strong feelings about them either way.
But he knows he's supposed to be kind and gracious and lovely.
That's what's expected of him, so that's what Milo will deliver.
Acting is all about pretending to feel, after all.
"Thank you all for coming to see me," Milo speaks up a bit more to address the crowd, squinting his eyes against the blinding glare of dozens of cameras.
"I have to go now, but perhaps I'll see you later, hmm?"
The words cause loud squealing to erupt from the group, and Milo forces his smile even wider to fight against the urge to cover his ears.
He nods his head one last time in farewell before quickly slipping into the waiting taxi.
Donovan's grinning at him from the backseat, and Milo feels the sudden urge to punch him in the mouth.
"You're always so sweet to your fangirls," Donovan coos, and Milo sits on his hands so he can't do anything harmful with them.
Donovan pulls the stack of envelopes off of Milo's lap before flipping through them carefully, not even skimming over a single letter.
A plain manila envelope apparently catches his attention, and Milo watches as his manager peers at it in confusion.
"What's that?" Milo asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Donovan looks at the contents of the envelope quickly.
"It's a script sent to you from Nathaniel Nielsen," Donovan replies, flipping through the packet.