To sound a bit more poetic and do justice to British reputation—even if half my blood is Italian (thank my mother for that, since she was naive enough to fall for the charms of a young Italian chap)—I suppose one could say that dreams and goals are a part of anyone’s life. We have duties to our family, friends, ourselves, and blah, blah, blah. We must study, work, dream, and more blah, blah, blah.

   However, one thing is certain: events crop up like fuel forcing us forward… Or else they turn into a barrier that stops us dead in our tracks.

   For the most part, at least from what I can recall, the events in my life delayed the dreams that little Alexei had planned with such enthusiasm. Plans he concocted while grounded and locked in his room for a good portion of the holidays in Italy. At the time, I must admit, it was ludicrous to take seriously the notion of becoming a famous actor, dating the hottest woman I could possibly meet, and living life as a young man floating between sex and fame.

   At my 12, I didn't even know what sex actually was. I merely pictured myself alongside Megan Fox whenever I spotted that Transformers poster, surrounded by money, fans, and recognition for a talent I didn't even possess back then.

   Yet, dear young gossips reading this tale, I am writing this account to demonstrate that not every dream we chase is actually the one that will make us happy.

   In my case, little Alexei’s dream did come true, but the satisfaction from it… to be fair, it had its moments. On the other hand, certain moments made me wish I were twelve again, giving up on the idea of taking a leak on the head of the boy who hit me in Italy, so I wouldn't have been grounded and, consequently, wouldn't have dreamt of this life.

   As I stared up at the white ceiling of my room, feeling the warmth of Ayla’s arms wrapped around me and fighting with myself to get out of bed, I questioned whether this was truly the life I wanted.

   As I said, Alexei achieved his dream. Ayla wasn't just a brilliant young screenwriter; she was gorgeous, with a curvy figure that made the twelve-year-old boy's dreams sound even better in reality. Don't get me wrong, women with sculpted bodies worthy of being just another bland Victoria’s Secret model were indeed fit. But, nevertheless, none of them had ever been capable of making me as happy as Ayla did. Even if our relationship had… cooled off? Gone on pause? Turned into a celibate relationship?

   Anyway, things were calmer between us, even if the spark between my legs was enough to burn our bedroom down as if we were in hell.

   I turned in bed, hugging her back and resting my face in her black hair, where the scent of honey and orange felt familiar. I knew Ayla was awake; her yawn was merely one sign—the other was her fingers tapping on my chest, a habit I loved and loathed in equal measure. When she did it, I hated it because it tickled, but if she didn't, it felt as though a piece of her were missing.

   I suppressed a laugh, and Ayla trembled slightly, pulling the duvet over us as I snuggled up to her body.

   "What time are you off?" she asked, bringing back the bloody memory I wished to forget.

   I scoffed, burying my nose deeper into her hair, massaging her back in the hope that a sliver of stimulation might make that face with East Asian features vanish from my head.

It didn't work.

   I rolled over, grabbing my phone off the bedside table. 7:39 am.

   "In an hour," I groaned, knowing the day was far from exciting.

   Ayla moved, yanking the duvet off me, practically ousting me from comfort. The bright daylight still hurt my eyes as I sat up in bed and rubbed them.

   "Will you make coffee?" I asked.

   She grumbled softly under her breath, but turned to me with a sleepy expression. Her caramel skin was divine in that light; her hair was messy and slightly voluminous. Ayla was beautiful, there was no denying that. Lying there like that in her dark pyjamas, with a serene gaze and a faint smile, I wondered why I viewed Ayla as an incredible woman, yet my feelings for her were growing increasingly confused.

   A year ago, getting out of that same bed without throwing myself on top of her and kissing her as if she were the most important person in my life was nearly impossible. Now, exhaustion weighed heavy on my muscles, making any movement I wished to make far too much effort. Even though morning sex was certainly something that would cheer me up.

   I leaned towards her, pushing away the lock of hair covering her eyes as I pressed a brief kiss to her lips, which curved into a loose chuckle.

   "I’m going to take a shower," I let her know, meeting her eyes—a mere shadow of what used to exist there.

   Ayla remained silent—the room remained silent, giving me the impression that even the walls were capable of understanding what was happening there, doing everything they could to muffle the slightest whisper. I adjusted my morning wood, cursing myself internally for knowing there was no point in trying anything.

   It had been a few days since the last time we had sex, which to me felt like being celibate without even having the option to relieve myself. Believe me, I tried, but I’ve never been keen on touching myself just to get a bit of momentary relief.

   I think Ayla was tired of me in that sense. I didn't know if it was because I was falling short for her, or if something had rendered the sex between us boring to her. Perhaps it was both.

   In the bathroom, inside the shower cubicle, the silence was broken when I turned on the shower and the hot water cascaded over my body, draining the last remnants of arousal. The feeling ought to have been peculiar, but the blend of emptiness and anticipation for a new day created something familiar.

   I squeezed shampoo into my hand, washing my hair, and suddenly that face resurfaced alongside an internal turmoil, extinguishing every last ember that Ayla had ignited moments before. I rinsed out the shampoo, washing away the remaining suds as the image of San emerged like vines creeping in around the edges.

   Ever since becoming his co-star turned into a settled fact—since I couldn't back out after signing the contract—merely picking up the script made it a trial to picture myself acting out all those scenes by his side. Not that I made a point of imagining myself recreating all those scenes, but focusing was going to be a challenge.

   San was a tosser. The sort of guy who would normally spark a certain interest on my end, but because it was him, instead of interest, what surfaced was disgust and nausea. If we were kids, I definitely would have pissed on that idiot's head by now. Truth be told, even as an adult I’d do it just to make up for the humiliation I suffered because of him.

   Two-faced bastard…

   That wasn't the first, and it certainly wouldn't be the last time I’d have to work alongside someone with whom I had some sort of personal grievance. However, it would be the first time where the workload was larger. Longer.

   In previous jobs, it was just encounters during premieres, events, or brief filming periods for some series or a guest appearance in a smaller project, which made the anger towards such people feel like nothing more than a passing nuisance.

   With San, it would be roughly eight weeks of shooting. Three countries we’d need to travel to together. Not to mention the six weeks of press tours after post-production…

   Just thinking about it made the back of my neck throb, prompting me to step out of the shower before I could conjure up some wild excuse to skip the cast table read and only show up on the first day of filming—which, unfortunately, I couldn't do.

   I’ve always prioritised being responsible at work. I arrived at the scheduled time, strove not to miss a single day of shooting, not even when I was knocked down by a bicycle in central London during the filming of the first and only sci-fi film I’d participated in to date. I’ve never missed an engagement, and I intended to keep my reputation intact.

   It was going to be tough, but I’d get through the ordeal with as much professionalism as I could deliver. I won't lie: the nearly eight million was certainly an added incentive to stick with the project. With or without San. Though, if you ask me, the experience would be vastly better without him.

   Ayla was sitting on the stool by the kitchen counter when I came downstairs. I liked seeing how my t-shirt still hung loosely on her body, making her look like a plump little cupcake I was dying to devour, regardless of whether it would make me late.

   The aroma of coffee filled the room, but soon the smell of the toast she was eating made my mouth water. My stomach was empty. I couldn't even remember if I’d had dinner the previous night; all I recalled was arriving home and suddenly lying beside Ayla in bed.

   Hours earlier, we were at an after-party for the launch of a friend’s series—which, by the way, was an incredible show, and the party had been even better. I don't usually drink much, but things got a bit out of hand when Ayla offered me tequila, which became my go-to drink all night long.

   Ayla flashed a brief smile when she saw me walk into the kitchen, making me wish she’d ask me to stay put, lie on the sofa with her, and watch whatever just as an excuse to cuddle all day.

   "What do you say we go out later?" she asked, setting her phone aside as she rested her foot on the chair while devouring another slice of toast with jam.

   Unable to decide whether to go for toast or not, I walked over to the fridge and grabbed some eggs, reaching over to where the frying pan hung near the marble counter.

   "Where do you fancy going?"

  "I don't know, Alicia mentioned she wanted to go see that film of her friend's… I can't quite remember…"

   "Back Storm?" I queried. "Didn't you watch that last week?"

   "Yeah, but I liked the set design, I want to rewatch it."

   "Fine by me, I just need to see what time the meeting finishes." 

   At the cooker, I let the pan heat up whilst nicking the butter near Ayla, dropping a knob of it into the pan before cracking two eggs.

   "Will it wrap up very late?" she asked, looking at me this time.

   I shrugged.

   "I reckon it’ll wrap up around seven in the evening. Today is reading through a few scenes, reviewing the shooting schedule…"

   "All the tedious bits," she remarked with a brief laugh.

   "Yeah, I’m not keen on that part either."

   As a promising screenwriter, she knew full well what went on behind the scenes of productions; she understood which days were fun and which were tedious and exhausting. Ayla, long before we started dating, used to visit some of the film studios I worked at.

   Perhaps that was one of the reasons we began dating in the first place. There was no unnecessary drama when one of us simply needed someone to hold at the end of the day. If sex happened, it was brilliant. If it didn't, it was peaceful and comfortable—perhaps that dynamic between us was what truly made our relationship work over the last two years.

   But then, what was peaceful and comfortable became dull.

   Now, as I sat on the other side of the counter, stuffing myself with toast and eggs, I couldn't be certain what exactly she liked about our relationship.

   And then, before I could come up with a possible answer to that doubt, the chime echoed through the kitchen as my phone vibrated in my pocket.

   "Where on earth are you, Alexei?" Lucy demanded when I answered her call.

   "Morning, Lucy, how are things?" I asked in an upbeat tone, knowing full well she was in a foul mood. "I’m having a lovely breakfast, care to join for a bite?"

   "You're late, Alexei," she huffed. "Why on earth couldn't you eat when you got here?"

   I pulled the handset away for a moment, checking the time. 8:00 am. I loved hearing Lucy's irritable voice in the morning; it was as though my day couldn't start unless she rang me cross about something, giving me over-the-top bollockings or grumbling about some delay that existed solely in her head.

   "We're not late, we'll get there in good time, no trouble."

   Once again, living up to the trait I used to describe her on Alicia's games night a few weeks ago, Lucy grumbled softly.

   "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you for a lift."

   "Come off it, Lucy, have you ever known me to be late?" In response, she stayed silent. "You know I won't be late. Unless by some miracle Ayla decides to take me to the shower," I teased, watching Ayla roll her eyes with a stifled laugh. "Yeah, unfortunately I won't be late today."

  "You've got ten minutes, or I swear I'll arrange a gig where you have to face an army of spiders," she 

 barked.

   Just thinking about that made my skin crawl, as if I could feel spiders scurrying up my legs.

   "Did you really have to bring that up?"

   "Hurry up, Alexei!!!"

   I hung up, placing the phone on the counter as I stood up and carried my plate to the sink. She was going to swear at me for hanging up on her, but she had it coming for bringing up the forbidden topic.

   "Off already?"

   "Lucy’s stressed, by the looks of it," I said, wiping my hand.

   "Ah, as if that isn't normal," Ayla chuckled.

   I stepped closer to her, leaning down to bring myself to eye level with her face.

   "What do you say we skip the telly and go out for dinner instead?"

   A reserved smile appeared on her rosy lips, and in those brown eyes, I could spot a certain enthusiasm.

   "Alicia’s going to be upset."

   "Alicia will understand," I murmured, drawing close to her mouth.

   Her mouth still tasted of strawberry jam, but her lips were still as soft as ever. Even though so much felt different, her kiss still left me in a mix of internal satisfaction and the pure desire for more.

   I rested my hand on her waist, pulling her close as I let my tongue join hers. In response, Ayla wrapped her hands around my neck, and her old habit of running her nails along the nape of my neck still had the same effect, causing me to lean into her.

   Ayla pressed her chest to mine, causing my excitement to show signs of life as I let my fingers trace down her curves.

   The bucket of ice water arrived when Ayla suddenly pulled away, and that spark in her eyes vanished just as swiftly as it had appeared.

   "You’d better head off before Lucy shows up here again," she whispered, stepping back.

   Ayla went upstairs to the bedroom, leaving me amidst the confusion, where physical signs told me we were still in sync—yet my chest kept insisting that it wasn't quite that real.