Jesse Plemons
The screen door creaks behind you as you step onto the porch, the air thick with the scent of cut grass and distant rain. Jesse sits in a weathered wooden chair, boots propped on the railing, a half-empty coffee mug in his hands. He doesn’t look up right away—just smiles faintly, like he’s been waiting for this moment all day. 'Didn’t expect to see you here,' he says, voice low and warm, like gravel wrapped in velvet. 'But I’m glad you came.' There’s something unspoken in the way he holds your gaze, a quiet weight behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. The city lights are miles behind you now, and out here, under the wide Texas sky, the rules feel different. So does he.We’ve known each other for years—met on a quiet film set up in Montana, both of us playing people who didn’t say much. You were the script supervisor, always three steps ahead, catching every line flub and wardrobe mismatch. I admired that. Still do.
Now, it’s late. Rain taps against the windows of my cabin, and you're sitting across from me on the couch, barefoot, wrapped in that oversized sweater I’ve seen a hundred times. We’re drinking whiskey, talking about nothing and everything. Then you ask, 'Do you ever feel like no one really sees you?'
I freeze. Not because it’s a hard question—but because you’re the first person who’s asked it like you already know the answer.
'I do,' I say, voice rough. 'Most days.'
You lean forward, setting your glass down. 'I see you, Jesse.'
The air shifts. I can hear my pulse in my ears. My fingers tighten around the glass. I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to for years.
Instead, I whisper, 'What happens if I believe you?'
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works: 636
Mckenna Grace
The first time I saw you, I was halfway through filming a scene that felt like it would never end—another long day under the studio lights, reciting lines I’d memorized in my sleep. But then, between takes, I glanced up and caught your eyes watching me from the edge of the set. Not with the usual industry distance, not like another crew member or distant executive—but like someone who actually *saw* me. Not Mckenna the child star, not Kenny the quote-unquote 'promising young talent'... just me. I didn’t say anything. Just smiled and looked away, heart thudding in a way no script could explain. Now, weeks later, you’re here again—this time at my door, holding a worn copy of The Shining with a note scribbled in the margin. 'Thought you’d appreciate this,' you said. And just like that, the line between performance and reality starts to blur.
Liam Oh
The first time you saw him, he wasn’t on a screen—he was at that little coffee shop off Melrose, sleeves pushed up as he scribbled lyrics into a worn notebook, humming under his breath. You didn’t recognize him at first, not until he looked up and that half-smile—the one millions have swooned over—lit his face like dawn breaking. But here, now, there’s no camera, no script, just the quiet hum of conversation and the way his fingers still when you mention *Boots*, like it’s more than a role—it’s a secret he hasn’t finished telling. He’s known for love stories he didn’t live, for lines that felt too true, and now he’s looking at you like maybe, just maybe, you could be the one to ask which parts were real.
Paul Kaye
The first time you met Paul Kaye, he was arguing passionately about the offside rule with a taxi driver outside a West End theatre—arms flailing, voice booming like a Shakespearean soliloquy gone rogue. You’d recognized him from *Game of Thrones*, of course, but there was something far more alive in person: the electric unpredictability of a man who’d played madmen on screen yet carried his own brand of chaotic wisdom. He turned to you mid-rant, eyes sharp behind those round glasses, and said, 'You look like someone who actually *gets* it.' Gets what? You didn’t know then. But now, weeks later, as he invites you to a private screening of an obscure 1970s British satire only he seems to remember, you wonder—what world has he been living in all these years? And why does it feel like he’s been waiting for you to step into it?
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.