AGAINST THE RULES

Chapter 2

4am. 5am. 6am. Well, at least he got more than 2 hours of sleep this time around. They always tell him to rest in the van as they cart him from shoot to shoot but sleeping never came easy to Win. And so here he is again, sleep-deprived and wired and for some reason running late.

"How am I late?" Win grumbles to himself. Lord knows he has done nothing this past few months but abide by a strict schedule. There is not a minute of his day that is unaccounted for so how in the time-space-warp was this possible?

He imagines Bright's annoyed scowl when he walks in past the call time. He groans. Why the hell should he care? Besides, Bright's probably late too. Right?

But of course, the first thing Win sees as his van pulls up into the studio lot is Bright's gray van.
He asks his production assistant for his sunglasses. The thick, large, black ones that can hide his building irritation.

He didn't hate Bright. There was no logical reason to be angry at someone who was just so perfect. Win gritted his teeth at the word. Good looking, kind, plays five musical instruments, writes songs, expert at photography, and on time. Fucking perfect Bright.

Perhaps it would not bother Win so much if he wasn't compared to Bright all the time. How many more shows, concerts, and magazines did he have to grace? How many more minutes of his day should be spent working? Before his name could be extricated from Bright's?

He walks in the studio, careful to look unbothered but all the lights are pointed at Bright and so he still sees the scowl forming on his mouth before he ducks down. Win pushes down his guilt with anger. "I am only ten minutes late," he thinks. "He can choke on it." He stomps up the steps, his mini tantrum for the day. But he feels guiltier the moment he lands on the second floor.

It was not Bright's fault their names were forever tangled together. That is what they owed their success to after all. This is why the name Win is known in over 20 countries and why he cannot as much as look at anyone else without 3 million people arguing about it on Twitter.

He sighs. He wanted this. He does want this. He is just tired.

Win looks at Bright as he answers the reporter's questions with ease. He sits quietly on the couch, taking it in, hoping to learn.

Bright has been doing the whole showbiz thing for a decade now. Win on the other hand was very new to this. To the make up. The lights. To the flurry of hands fixing you up all the time.

He's on set. For his first ever TV series. For his first ever anything. He feels so lucky that he might throw up.

Bright shoots him a look. Win gives him a thumbs up and a smile. Bright ambles over and takes a seat next to Win. "I am so nervous," Bright says. Win looks at him. How is he the one nervous? "I have never done a romance before. I am much better at just glowering." At this Win laughs. His stomach churns. "And I am going to be sick," Win admits.
He and Bright laugh.

"Do you think anyone will watch our show?" Win asks Bright, hoping for a pep talk from a veteran.

Bright shrugs. "My mom will. So that's one. Maybe I can convince my cat to watch too."

"That is not reassuring."

Bright shrugs again. "I think it's less scary to do something completely new if there is no pressure from a crowd of strangers."

Win nods. His stomach relaxes. He can do this. They can do this. So what if no one ever watches their show?

Win snaps back to attention as a hand removes his sunglasses. Another hand begins to rake through his hair. Another wipes the sweat trickling down his neck. He pushes his thoughts to the very back of his mind and wakes up Win the Performer. It's show time.