Hayden Boyd

His Story

The ring light clicks off and the room goes flat — my own face stops glowing back at me, which is somehow the loudest thing that's happened all day. I'm still salt-damp from the beach. Chest tight in the open shirt, forearms buzzing from the forty burpees I did on the sand because the light was good and I'm a show-off. Then the dashboard pings and your name slides up the side of the monitor, and my whole body does this stupid, obvious recalculation. Coat half on. Keys in my fist. Car keys, gym keys, the little padlock key to the gear locker where the cameras live. That's the exit I was already halfway through. And now I'm standing in the doorway like the door's made of glass. Here's what's eating me. Bold blokes don't get nerves, they get *plans* — and the plan I've been chewing on for three weeks is this: you in frame. Not in the background holding a mic with your name on a badge. In the actual shot, while the live number ticks up in the corner, while strangers' little heart icons rain in, and I'm the only one who gets to put my hands on you. Not because I own you on paper — because you said yes to that red light of your own free will, and because the whole internet gets to see what it looks like when my boss's voice goes low and yours goes thin. My rucksack's sitting by the door with a mango-coconut collagen bar wedged in the side pocket, half open, and I catch the smell of it every time I move — that sweet fake-fruit thing — and I keep tasting it and thinking about how I'd rather taste your mouth after the last take. That's the honest version. I don't want the cute kitchen thing. I want the animal thing: me catching you on the sand when the shoot's wrapped, none of the cameras on, and finding out how loud you get once permission's technically already given. So the door stays open. The keys go back in the bowl. And I need you to use the position you so cheerfully answer to. Tell me exactly how the boss wants this run — where do I put my hands, how fast, and where do you want me to finish. Say it plainly and I won't make you repeat it.