Bambi Eyed || Katya x Reader fic

Chapter 19: Storyboards

The sky was bleeding from blue to a faded lilac overhead as you pulled into the lodging parking lot, crisp air clinging to your bones. The snowfields glimmered some way into the distance, but the temperatures here were edging into freezing, your lungs expelling small puffs of warmth. Shivering, you pulled the jacket around you tightly, dragging yourself out of the car to grab your things.

"[Y/N] [L/N]?" called a friendly voice. Turning to the archway, you saw a young man set in a warm halo from the porch lights. "I'm Theo Lange, the director for this shoot."

He was the only person from the crew you'd not met yet - he had been off on another project when you had your meeting with Violet. "Oh, hey! Sorry, let me just-." You were struggling to tug your duffel from the backseat as it had wedged itself into the footwell some time during the ride. Seeing this, he jogged over, chuckling. Helping you yank it out, you stumbled back, colliding with his chest. "Shit, I'm sorry. What a first impression."

His smile never faltered, however. "No worries, glad to be a crash mat any time."

Bag now hanging from one hand, you awkwardly offered the other in a shake. "How about a proper introduction?"

He took it, warm eyes glinting in suppressed laughter. "Right. Theodore Salvatore Lange, pleasure to meet you."

It was your turn to laugh now. "That's one hell of a name."

"Most people call me Theo, or Sonny if you're nasty." Shaking your head, you followed as he gestured towards the lodge, swooping slightly to take your bag. Seeing you move to argue, he raised a finger. "Can't have the talent straining themselves before the big shoot. You think I would let Violet or Fame carry their own things?"

"You think they would carry their own things?" you scoffed back in a joke, earning a single, loud laugh.

"Touché."

"Having said that, though," you argued, snatching your bag back, "I am neither of them. So, I can carry my things."

He pursed his lips, his salt and pepper facial hair lightly catching the glow from overhead. "I think, as director, I outrank you, so what I say, goes."

A scoff left your throat again, but there was no hiding the smirk. "Well then by all means, I guess," you retorted, sarcastic. With a triumphant fist pump, he trotted merrily up the hallway beyond the foyer.

"Your room is up here. You're next to Violet, but that gives us pranking opportunity. She's a giant scaredy cat, honestly. But don't tell her I said that. I'm not looking to get fired before we even shoot this thing." At the end of the hall, he turned abruptly at the last door, using his free hand to swing open the door with a dramatic flourish. "M'lady."

"That's disgusting," you chided. "Besides, you don't have the neckbeard for that kind of language, sir."

"Sir?" he cried, indignant. "How old do you think I am?"

"Old enough to know better."

"Yowch. Nobody told me you were this cut throat."

Flipping your hair over your shoulder, you batted your lashes. "Who me?" It occurred to you that, for the first time in too long, you were having fun - silly, uninhibited fun. You paused a moment, suddenly awash in guilt. How could you be laughing and joking after everything? Shaking the thought away, you jumped to work mode. "So, what's the vision for this?"

Hoisting your bag onto the bed for you, he shrugged. "Glamour. Icy goddesses. Simple."

Puffing air from between your lips, you raised your brows. "Simple, sure. Because those divas would settle for simple."