"I wanna do it again, but this can be us. We can't live like this, baby, we need something new. I Wanna do it again, but we can't end up crying alone.  I wanna, I wanna, I wanna..." 

   I wanna - NEIGHTZ

   INT. LONDON – CAFÉ – DAY

   A cosy café, with natural light streaming through the windows. The low hum of conversation and the espresso machine fills the room.

   Behind the counter stands Joonho in his simple uniform, his expression gentle and slightly tired. He places a cup of coffee on the counter.

   JOONHO

   Here you are, a medium iced coffee.

   The CUSTOMER (30), elegant and visibly irritated, takes the cup and has a sip. Immediately, she grimaces.

   CUSTOMER

   This is freezing.

   Joonho blinks, surprised.

   JOONHO

   That’s rather the point of an iced coffee, ma’am.

   CUSTOMER

   I want an iced coffee, but not that iced.

   A few customers in the queue begin to watch. Among them is Luke, his rucksack slung over his shoulders as he waits his turn, tapping his feet against the floor.

  JOONHO

   If you’d like, I can make you a hot coffee instead. No problem.

   CUSTOMER

   No. I want an iced coffee, but hot.

   LUKE

   But wouldn’t that just be a hot coffee?

   (from the queue, trying to help)

   The customer abruptly turns towards him.

   CUSTOMER

   I wasn’t talking to you.

   Luke raises his hands, embarrassed.

   JOONHO

   Ma’am, please, just give me a minute and I—

   Suddenly, in a frustrated impulse, the customer throws the coffee forward.

   The liquid hits Joonho squarely in the face and across his T-shirt. He freezes, eyes shut, coffee trickling down his chin.

   Absolute silence fills the café.

   Joonho looks towards the counter, where he spots a bottle of water. He picks up the cup. Taking off the lid, he turns towards the customer and throws the water at her.

   The customer pulls Luke in front of her, hiding behind him, and Luke is hit by the water instead.

   (Close-up of water running down the notebook in Luke’s hands.)

   I let out a quiet laugh as Kang parked the car outside the café where we would be spending our first day of filming. I couldn’t deny that part of me had been somewhat apprehensive about filming alongside Alexei, but the email Lucien had sent to Aiko the night before had put me much more at ease.

   The plans for our first day of filming had changed, and instead of the more intimate scene between Luke and Joonho, we would be filming the café scene.

   Although the rest of the filming schedule had remained the same, Lucien thought it would be better to film the more intimate scene on the final day, as it would be easier for the editing team to simply cut the footage together rather than having us film the same scene twice.

   Filming alongside Alexei was still going to be a challenge, but knowing I would get to throw water in his face made it all the more entertaining.

  “Do you think I could take a few photos for Instagram in this setting?” Aiko asked, looking towards the entrance through the car window.

   I had been thinking the same thing as I stepped out of the vehicle, taking in the transparent glass panels that offered a clear view of the inside of the café. However, I barely had time to take in the details of the place before an excited shout caught my attention from across the street. The boundary marked by yellow tape kept a group of girls and a few other curious onlookers from coming any closer.

   One of them, wearing a T-shirt with Junseo’s photograph on it, raised her hand and called my name. I gave her a closed-lip smile and waved back, and that was when I noticed that the girls accompanying her probably weren’t fans. They seemed to be there more to support their friend than out of any desire of their own.

   “How long have we got until the make-up artist arrives?” I turned towards Aiko, who looked at me, then over my shoulder.

   “You can go. We’re a few minutes early.” She returned her attention to her phone. “Kang, don’t let him take too long,” she added before walking towards the entrance.

   I turned back towards them, and they now seemed more attentive as I approached. The girl—the one who was clearly a fan—soon held out her phone towards me, beaming with enthusiasm.

   “Oh my God! I love you, San!” she exclaimed. “Can I take a photo with you?”

   I smiled in response, stepping closer to the tape separating us.

   “Of course. We can.”

   In one swift movement, the fan wrapped her arm around my neck and pulled me into a warm hug. I tried to return it while still avoiding touching her too much.

   Ever since the day I had hugged a fan the same way I would hug someone close to me—which, to me, was the proper way to return a hug—it had been viewed badly on social media, causing an uproar because of where my hand had rested on the young fan’s back.

   At the time, countless people accused me of using my fame to take advantage of others. As much as that had never been true, it became impossible to avoid a certain degree of contact with fans. As much as I wanted to return their hugs, since most of them were far too warm to simply ignore, I now only placed my hand on the upper part of their back, avoiding wrapping my arms around them.

   When the hug ended, I positioned myself beside the girl, bringing my arms behind my back as her friend already had the camera pointed towards us. At her signal, the girl returned to her friend’s side with a bright smile.

   “Oh my God, it’s beautiful,” she exclaimed. “You’re amazing, San. I can’t wait to see the film.”

   “Thank you.” I waved towards her. Her friends then stepped closer as well.

   “Can I?” the girl on the left asked, a shy smile on her face.

   “Of course.” I adjusted my position again, standing between the two of them, who quickly smiled towards the camera.

   Kang tapped me on the shoulder, something I immediately understood.

   “I’ve got to go, but I’m glad you came.” I waved towards them as I made my way towards the café.

   My shoulders felt heavy as I entered the café with Kang beside me. The smell of coffee and butter sizzling on the hotplate hit me immediately, bringing a certain sense of comfort. At the same time, the place was in complete chaos, with members of the production team adjusting the lighting, others paying close attention to the positioning of the cameras, and countless other details being taken care of.

   Further towards the back, near the counter that was meant to serve as the café’s reception area, Aiko was talking to a young man with fair hair and blue eyes. I had thought it was impossible for anyone to have eyes in that shade.

   As I approached, I became even more certain of it, because it was obvious they were only contact lenses. Despite the new look—and even a new tattoo on his arm—I recognised the familiar face as Peter’s, the make-up artist who had looked after NEIGHTZ’s make-up when we did our last show in London.

   He seemed calm, but all of that changed the moment he spotted me.

   “Oh my God, finally. I thought you were going to make me late as well,” he commented, taking a step towards me and grabbing my arm before I could say anything. “What is it with you famous people? Why can’t you ever be punctual, eh?”

  “But I arrived on time,” I protested, glancing at the silver watch on my wrist to make sure I hadn’t somehow got it wrong. “Actually, I’m fifteen minutes early.”

   “I’m not talking about you, San,” he replied. Only then did I realise that Peter was dragging me towards the back of the café, where a makeshift make-up station had been set up.

   The next thing I knew, I was sitting in front of a mirror surrounded by lights.

  “I don’t understand,” I muttered, sitting in the chair he had indicated.

   “Alexei,” he grumbled. “That idiot is late. I’ve been here for nearly half an hour doing absolutely nothing, just waiting for that fool to turn up.”

   I smiled faintly.

   “Finally, someone who understands me in this place,” I remarked.

   Peter raised an eyebrow.

   “You don’t like Alex, do you?” He laughed. “If he weren’t Alicia’s friend, I swear I’d have buried him by now as well.”

   “Alicia?” I asked curiously.

   Peter walked over to a white bag, rummaging through its contents until he found a clear bottle containing what I assumed was foundation.

   “Yeah, my cousin. Don’t you remember her?”

   Ah, his cousin… I thought.

   “I do.” I shifted in the chair. “How is she? Are you still working together?”

   “No, no. She gave up make-up. Now she…” Peter poured some of the liquid onto the back of his hand, using a brush to mix it briefly. “Yeah, I don’t remember what she’s working in now. I think she’s doing something at a publishing house, but I’m not sure.”

   “At least she won’t be poking anyone in the eye anymore,” I joked, remembering the story he had told me the last time we met in Korea, before the whole disaster happened.