The clock showed eight in the evening as the sound of soft laughter filled the main room of the Douglas family home. On the warm wooden floor, two toy cars zipped between the legs of the sofa and the coffee table. One car was black with a pirate flag stuck to its hood—it belonged to Joey. Meanwhile, the blue-and-white police car with a tiny fake siren was Jack's go-to vehicle.
"I'm going to catch you, robber!" Jack shouted loudly, pushing his car as fast as he could.
Joey responded with a small laugh, steering his car to make a sharp turn under the coffee table. "Too late! I've already escaped with all the money from the chocolate bank!"
"Chocolate bank?!" Jack stopped his car for a moment, his eyes wide. "That's the most delicious bank in the world!"
Joey nodded firmly. "There were hundreds of bars of milk chocolate and golden caramel inside. But I've stolen them all now."
With full enthusiasm, the seven-year-old boy pushed his police car again, chasing Joey. They circled around the living room, passing over the wool carpet, bumping into sofa cushions, and nearly knocking over a vase on the table.
"JACK! Slow down a little!" Laura yelled from the kitchen without sounding truly angry. "Don't ruin the decorations!"
"This is all Joey's fault!" Jack yelled back, still laughing. "He robbed the chocolate bank!"
In the kitchen, which was open-plan and connected without a partition, Laura was preparing a fresh salad, tossing cherry tomatoes and arugula into a large bowl. Charlie stood by the stove, flipping slices of grilled chicken. The aroma filled the room—warm, fragrant, and bringing a rare sense of calm to a house that had been quietly troubled for weeks.
"You know, even when Joey tries to be a robber, that boy still can't be mean," Laura whispered, smiling slightly as she glanced toward Joey and Jack in the living room.
Charlie nodded slowly. "He needs space to feel normal. That's what the outside world often forgets."
"I'm glad he wanted to come here tonight." Laura washed her hands in the sink. "His face is still the same, but... he smiles more often with empty eyes."
Charlie was silent for a moment, then said softly, "He didn't come because he wanted a vacation. He came because he no longer knows where he can feel safe."
Laura looked at her husband, then turned her gaze to the two figures in the living room. Joey was now lying on his stomach, his head on the floor, following the path of the little black car he was pushing while making engine sounds. "Vrooomm!"
Jack giggled hysterically and lay down on his stomach beside him, forming the least intimidating robber-versus-police team in the world.
After dinner, Joey helped Jack change into his pajamas. They sat together on the edge of the boy's bed, listening to a tape of fairy tales on a small player at low volume. Jack fell asleep faster than usual. His head rested on Joey's arm.
Joey remained still. Unmoving. His eyes stared at the dark window on the side of the room.
Charlie, standing in the doorway, watched him for a few seconds before whispering, "I left some hot tea on the side table. If you need to talk—I'll be in the study."
Joey only nodded. Not many words were spoken that night.
At 11 p.m., Joey went downstairs. The kitchen was dark. The light in the study was dimly lit.
Charlie was still awake, leaning back on the sofa with a cup of tea in his hand. In front of him was a new film script, untouched.
"Can't sleep?" he asked as Joey came and sat down slowly.
Joey pulled a thin blanket over his knees as he sat on the sofa across from Charlie. The reading lamp cast light on his face from the side, highlighting the soft shadows under his eyes and a jaw that looked sharper than a month ago.
Charlie offered a cup of warm tea. "Still lemon, no honey. Just the way you liked it before."
Joey accepted it with a small nod. The steam from the tea rose slowly in the cool night air. He stared at the clear yellow liquid in the cup for a moment before finally speaking. "You still work this late?"
Charlie raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the pile of scripts on his lap. "A bad habit since '89. My brain can't sleep until my hands stop writing."
Joey nodded slowly. Then, after a long pause, he asked without turning his head, "What's the next project, after A Genius Criminal season two?"
The question sounded light, but there was genuine curiosity behind it. Charlie was briefly surprised. It had been a long time since Joey asked about work—usually, he just nodded when given news.
Charlie leaned back, smiling broadly. "Finally, someone asked about that. I've been keeping a folder full of ideas in the cabinet."
Joey turned his head. "So?"
"I'm exploring horror." Charlie folded his arms across his chest. "A story about an old house haunted by bad memories, not ghosts. More psychological, less jump scares."
Joey was silent for a moment, then sipped his tea. "You... directing a horror movie?" His tone was flat, almost disbelieving.
Charlie grinned. "I know, it sounds like I'm trying to be Wes Craven. But seriously, there's something tempting about that genre. Imaginative, not bound by morality. I think—maybe I can."
Joey nodded slowly. "Sounds exciting." Then he looked at Charlie with slightly narrowed eyes, as if weighing something. "You're still thinking about that teen romance movie, aren't you?"
Charlie froze for a few seconds. "How did you know that?"
"Laura." Joey smiled faintly. "She said you once joked that you were tired of all the killing in your scripts and wanted to make a teen movie full of flowers and first kisses."
Charlie laughed. "That was supposed to be a husband-wife secret."
Joey set his tea cup down, leaning back on the sofa. "Charlie Douglas directing Kiss Me at Prom Night. That's probably the title. I can picture it—slow-mo cameras, prom lights, and someone crying because the basketball captain didn't show up."
"Joey!" Charlie hit the sofa cushion with his script, amused. "I haven't even written one page!"
"But you've imagined it, right?" Joey smirked slightly. "You could use new actors. Or—if you're really desperate—I could play the basketball captain. But I'd only do a kissing scene if my co-star isn't human."
"So who do you want to kiss? A dinosaur?" Charlie shot back quickly.
"Maybe a snowman."
Their laughter broke softly in the room. Not loud. Not excessive, just warm and honest—the kind of laughter that comes from the relief that tonight, they could still talk like normal.
After a while, silence enveloped the room again. It wasn't an awkward silence. Charlie spun his cup in his hands, then asked, "Do you... still want to act, Joey?"
Joey didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the window, where streetlight seeped between the curtains.
"Sometimes yes," he said finally. "Because when I'm in a role, I can breathe. The outside world goes quiet. But..." he paused briefly to catch his breath, "sometimes no. Because when the camera stops, I become myself again. And I'm not sure I like who that is."
Charlie didn't answer. He just looked deeply at the young man. Joey's face, from a distance, was still like the boy who came to the set four years ago—thin, quiet, full of faint, unhealed wounds.
"You don't have to be someone else, Joey," Charlie said finally. "But you have the right to choose who you want to be. In films or in your life."
Joey only nodded slowly. Not convinced, but grateful.
Charlie was still sitting on the sofa when Joey stood up, excusing himself to go back to Jack's room. He stared at the horror script he had been enthusiastically writing earlier, then put on an old cassette.
A soft song played. But before the young man could truly leave, Charlie called out softly, "Joey."
Joey turned around at the door.
"There's something I want to show you."
Joey came back, his steps calm, almost lazy. Charlie rummaged through a pile of folders on a small bookshelf beside the sofa and pulled out a few sheets of paper that looked freshly printed. They weren't bound, just loosely clipped, with wide margins and neat spacing. In the upper right corner of the first page was a small title: Cloud Nine High.
Charlie handed it over.
"What's this?" Joey asked, taking it.
"A small project from a young producer I met at an indie film festival two months ago. A short TV series, slice of life—about high school kids in California. More comedy than drama. The writing is clean, straightforward, the script has heart."
Joey looked at the first page of the script for a few seconds, then lowered his gaze to the sofa, seeming to ponder something.
"You want me to read this?"
Charlie nodded. "Not for tonight. But... there's a character named Nick. A transfer student from New York, awkward but sharp, doesn't know how to fit in, but people are somehow drawn to him. They think he's 'cool,' but he's just tired." Charlie smiled slightly. "For some reason, when I read this script, I immediately thought of you."
Joey didn't smile back. But his eyes moved, reading a line or two.
"A film school project?" he murmured. "So not for national TV?"
"No, but sponsored by a small studio. If it succeeds, it might make it to digital festivals. Small, but with heart. And the casting is next week." Charlie looked at him. "If you want to come, I can arrange it so it's not too crowded. Or if you prefer, they can come here."
Joey stared at the script page for a few more seconds, then closed it and held it on his lap.
"The character is in high school?"
"Yes. Sixteen years old." Charlie shrugged. "Makeup can adjust. You still look young."
Joey smirked slightly, for the first time that night. "With makeup and a big hoodie, maybe I could pass for a sophomore."
Charlie laughed, relieved to hear the joking tone.
Joey stood up, taking the script papers with him. "I'll look at it later, okay?"
"Take your time," Charlie said gently, not pushing. "You don't have to answer now."
Joey nodded. Then he walked toward the stairs but stopped halfway.
"Charlie."
"Hmm?"
"If I say yes, and I go to that casting, will you be there?"
Charlie smiled widely. "You don't even have to ask."
Joey replied with a faint nod, then disappeared upstairs. Shortly after, the sound of Jack's door closing softly was heard.
Charlie stared at the stairs for a few seconds before finally turning off the reading lamp, leaning his head back on the sofa, and closing his eyes.
On the corner of the table, another copy of the Cloud Nine High script lay open. In the corner, a note in blue ink read: Nick – A boy with silence in his bones and sun in his smile.
[]
Have you ever fallen in love to the point of losing yourself?
LIMERENCE is a story about a quiet love, unspoken obsession, and feelings that grow too deep to escape.
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