Gray(Graham) POV

The Sydney Opera House stood tall and proud, it's magnificent sail-like rooftops gleaming under the hot Australian sun. Gray stared up, wondering why he felt intimidated by the sight of it. He'd been working there for almost three years, it didn't make sense for him to just feel... out of place here.

Or maybe it did.

He frowned at the blue sky and then turned away, intending to head home. He had been disappointed last night, of course. He was okay that Y/N hadn't showed, and he had been expecting that, really. It had just been a slim hope that he'd see her.

"Excuse me, do you know where I might find a tour guide for the building?"

Gray whipped back around. A beefy man in a white collared shirt had addressed him. "A-a tour guide?" He glanced around, wondering why the man would need such a thing. "For the Opera House?"

The man sighed, irritated. "Yes, the Opera House."

Gray tried not to scowl. "We don't do tours."

"We?"

"I work here, sir. So again, I'm sorry to say that we don't really do public tours."

Beefy guy just laughed. "Well, Son, you'll be glad to know that I am not the public. My name is Eric Hamilton. I'm the producer for Ultra Violet."

Gray felt himself pale. "Ultra Violet?"

The man nodded, looking smug. "You've heard of it. Good. Then you can help me."

"I-"

"No questions from you, only me. Can you get me a private audience with the owner of the building?"

Private audience? What even was that? "Um, I think maybe I could-"

"Good. Get on it," Erik said, pulling his phone from a hidden pocket. He then turned away to make a call, and Gray let himself tune out the conversation. A name caught his attention, however.

"Did you just say Y/N?" he asked.

Eric scowled at him and ended his call. "I did. And why are you still here?"

Gray ground his teeth. "You don't need a private audience to have a tour. I'm assuming you've already talked to people about being showed around?"

"Of course."

"Then come on. I'll show you around right now. Like I said, I work here. Electricians know the layout."

"Oh, no." Eric shook his head. "it won't be just me. My whole crew is here." He paused, then smirked. "Even Y/N. I'm sure you could talk to her, if you wanted to. Maybe even get an autograph."

An autograph isn't what I want, old man.

That's not what I want at all.

Reader POV

You glance around wearily at your fellow actors and actresses. Most of them are surveying the Opera House with fascination, some murmuring quietly about the movie you had yet to start filming. Annie Johnson was relieved they hadn't started, whereas Michael Kent just wanted to get going already.

You just frown and shake your head. You had been feeling worse and worse about continuing this career, or at least with the current company you were working for. Something about being in the same city as Graham -heck, even being on the same continent as him- was making you rethink your every life-changing decision. Breaking up with Graham, for example. That had been a bad idea.

Sometimes you missed him more than you thought you even could.

The sound of the producer clearing his throat silenced your thoughts and your coworkers, but you couldn't -and didn't bother to- see over the tops of heads.

"Well, I assume that everyone had the chance to eat?" Erik asked them.

You mentally scold yourself. You had, in fact, not eaten for over 24 hours, because you'd had too much alcohol in your system the night before and hadn't been hungry when you woke up just about an hour earlier.

Erik continued, not really waiting for responses. "Good. Well, now that everyone's here, I did manage to find us a tour guide for the Opera House. Come up here, Son. What was your name again?"

"It's Graham. And like I told you, I'm an electrician, not a tour guide."

You freeze.

You hadn't heard Graham's voice in a little under two years, but you could never forget it. It brought everything rushing back-the emotions, the sounds, the smells, the touch. It was too much for you to process. Suddenly you had a clear view of his face, and you were dimly aware of Eric saying something. You couldn't concentrate on it, though.

He was staring right at you.

You feel your knees give way under you as tears prick your eyes, and you don't register that you're collapsed on the ground a second later until there's shouting surrounding you. Your vision is blurry and swimming with tears, and you are very quickly aware of a headache that's pounding it's way through the side of your head.

I must've... must've hit it... Even your thoughts are distorted as your consciousness slowly ebbs away. Whether it's from smacking your head on the pavement or seeing Graham again, you don't know.

And you're out like one of his lights before you can even dredge up the strength to care.