While Owen was showering, he found himself thinking about sothing Jenna had ntioned just a few minutes earlier.
It wasn't about their growing relationship or the terms they had set. He was thinking about what she had asked regarding the weather in Boston, and how he had answered that there was snow and that it looked very cinematic.
The aesthetic.
Boston in February was cold, and there was snow. Not a constant storm or an extre landscape like Utah near the mountains in January, but enough to give the city a different visual identity, very unlike Los Angeles.
And though no one else knew except him, in his first world the film had been shot in autumn, without snow. A typical aesthetic of that season: yellow leaves on the ground, reddish trees, muted greens, warm light tinged with lancholy.
Instead, he was about to shoot it in a completely different season. Snow changed the atmosphere of the film entirely, even if the dialogue, the scenes, and the structure remained the sa. It wasn't a minor detail.
The visible cold in people's breath, heavier clothing, white covering streets and university campuses, the contrast between frozen exteriors and warm interiors. All of it altered the emotional subtext without touching a single line of the script.
Owen had thought about it before deciding which month to shoot the film. He had evaluated it and chosen to do it this way. After analyzing it, he liked how it would look with snow, more symbolic in certain scenes.
It was a powerful aesthetic. There was also a practical factor: shooting now allowed him to move forward without waiting months to film in autumn in Boston, which would have ant September.
The only downside was continuity. The story would take place in winter, and that had to be respected. There couldn't be one scene covered in snow and another without a trace of it.
He couldn't rely solely on the weather. They would have to take advantage of real snowfall when it happened, plan exterior shoots in concentrated blocks, avoid letting the snow lt between shooting days and completely change the landscape.
And when necessary, reinforce it with artificial snow, which they had already purchased for the sets and to cover specific areas if the weather failed to cooperate.
Owen turned off the shower and stepped out while steam continued to gather in the bathroom. He wrapped a towel around his waist and ran his palm across the fogged mirror, clearing the center until his reflection reappeared.
The image staring back at him no longer felt unfamiliar.
'Almost a year…' he thought.
Almost a year since he had arrived in this alternate reality. In February 2022 he had awakened in this body, the body of a boy who had died from a cocaine overdose. He could still clearly rember the initial sensation.
The face no longer startled him. Pale skin, grayish eyes, jet-black hair. Features that had undoubtedly been privileged.
Owen lowered his gaze to his torso.
'The gym paid off…' he thought with quiet satisfaction.
He was no longer as skinny as he had been at the beginning. His height had increased, now steady at six feet. When he arrived, he weighed about 167 pounds; now he was around 183 pounds. Roughly 16 pounds gained in almost a year.
The consistent training, three or four days a week, had worked. The hardest part hadn't been lifting weights, but eating. Not dieting to cut, but to bulk.
Eating more than his body asked for, and eating well. It hadn't always been perfect; there had been ssy weeks. But the progress was there.
In recent months, with filming approaching and the pressure increasing, what had kept him from quitting was convenience: there was a gym in the building where he lived. Very well equipped. He didn't even have to leave the building, there were no excuses.
And there was also Will.
The character he was about to portray wasn't a scrawny intellectual. He was a genius, yes, but he was a Boston guy who worked construction. A guy accustod to physical labor. Not a bodybuilder, but soone with presence.
He didn't want Will to look fragile. He wanted his intelligence to contrast with a solid physicality. So that when he stood in a bar or on a job site, no one would doubt he belonged there.
The physique wasn't central to the story. But it helped with credibility.
And even though it was winter, which ant coats and thick clothing outdoors, the body structure would still show. It wasn't the extre winter of Utah, the kind that forces you to cover yourself entirely with scarf, hat, and gloves all day. It was February in Boston: cold, yes, but manageable.
Besides, many scenes would be indoors. Spaces where the wardrobe would be much lighter.
Owen looked away from the mirror, and five minutes later he was dressed.
It was ti to head down to the restaurant, eat sothing, talk a bit with Derek and the others, and go back to sleep to prepare for tomorrow.
Just then, soone knocked on the door.
Owen raised an eyebrow. He turned off the bedroom light, slipped his phone into his pocket, and walked toward the door. He was about to leave anyway.
He opened it and was surprised by what he saw. Or rather, surprised because he saw no one.
The hallway was empty. He looked to the left.
Nothing.
Then to the right. The sa.
His gaze slowly returned to the left, and then he noticed it. A few ters away, right where the corridor bent, faint shadows were poorly concealed against the wall.
'These guys…' Owen thought, shaking his head slightly.
Then he corrected himself.
"More like, this girl."
He stepped out of the room and carefully closed the door behind him. He began walking toward the corner in long strides, trying not to make noise against the hotel's thick carpet.
When he was about a yard from the turn, he took one last quick step and jumped into the side corridor.
"Boo!"
On the other side, hidden in a fairly unprofessional way, were three people.
Gaten, his friend, who would be playing one of Will's neighborhood buddies.
Caleb, who was portraying another of Will's friends.
And Emma Watson, who would be bringing Skylar to life.
None of the three had expected Owen to appear there.
"Shit!" Gaten exclaid, hopping slightly in place.
Caleb stepped back several paces, nearly bumping into the wall.
Emma, however, didn't let out a high-pitched scream. She only flinched slightly, her eyes widening in surprise, and a second later, she began to laugh.
"How did you know we were here?" Emma asked between laughs.
Owen crossed his arms with an expression of mock superiority. "I saw your shadows. You guys sucks as spies," he replied, leaning back against the wall as he looked at them.
"Damn it," Gaten muttered again, more to himself this ti. "It's always the lights. No matter how faint, they give everything away."
"Noted for the next victim," Emma said, nodding with fake seriousness, as if ntally taking notes.
Owen looked at them with a mix of disbelief and amusent. "Aren't you a little old to be ssing with people in hotel hallways?"
Emma looked at him, unoffended. A slow smile spread across her face. "Look who's talking. The one who snuck up and yelled 'Boo!' like he's twelve."
"And…" she added, tilting her head slightly, "it was a good scare. I'll admit it. Proper timing and decent vocal projection."
"Decent?" Owen repeated, frowning slightly. He didn't like that middle-tier rating.
"Yes. You could work a bit more on diaphragmatic support," Emma replied in a technical tone, as if she were in the middle of an acting class.
Owen raised his hands defensively. "It's not like I don't work on it. It was a one-take thing. Pure improvisation when I saw you there. It did its job, you jumped, and Gaten even swore."
"Gaten always swears," Emma said. "But it's true, doing it in the mont bumps up your score."
"This just turned into a workshop," Caleb said with a laugh.
Owen shook his head slightly, aware the conversation was drifting.
"Anyway…" he said, trying to steer it back. "What was the actual objective here? Annoy ? Scare ? What?"
"When I left my room, I thought about finding you guys so we could all head down to dinner together. But knocking like normal people would've been kind of boring. So I ca up with this," Emma explained.
"I was the first one," Caleb added. "At first I thought I'd misheard when I opened the door and no one was there."
"By the third ti I opened the door and saw no one, I was getting annoyed," Caleb said. "When I realized soone was trolling , I knew Emma had to be involved."
Emma and Gaten laughed.
Owen smiled and looked at Emma with a clear intent to tease her. "Don't your thirties co with maturity?"
Gaten and Caleb let out a low "oh…" heightening the tension.
Emma didn't flinch. She held his gaze with the sa smile she'd had since he first spotted her.
"Whoa, Ashford… that's low," she replied, "I will avenge this offense."
She didn't sound upset, just theatrical.
Owen let out a short laugh. "I'll be waiting."
Emma narrowed her eyes playfully, then shifted the subject naturally. "All right. Now we're going to Jacob's room. Sa strategy."
Gaten straightened up as if preparing for a mission.
Caleb nodded with mock seriousness. "We need to watch the shadows this ti."
"Let's just knock like normal human beings and go eat," Owen said as they began walking down the hallway toward Jacob Elordi's room.
Emma glanced sideways at him and knew it was the perfect mont to strike back. "Twenty-one years old and already this boring… You must be the life of the party, huh?" she added, obvious sarcasm coloring the end of her sentence.
Gaten and Caleb laughed, covering their mouths as if they were witnessing an official exchange of points.
Owen didn't respond imdiately. The comnt was fair. She had returned the age remark.
"I'm just hungry," he justified at last. "And if I were boring, would I have gone to scare you with a 'Boo'?"
"Fair point," Emma conceded, tilting her head slightly. "But don't be a killjoy, join us. It'll only delay us a few minutes."
Owen let out a sigh, though internally he knew it would be fun.
"Fine…" he finally agreed. "But instead of trying to annoy Jacob by knocking nonstop, let's scare him properly."
"Oh…" Emma said, now genuinely interested. "What's the plan?"
"Jacob's too calm. He won't get annoyed by a few knocks and no one there. He'll figure out you're ssing with him," Owen began explaining.
The plan was simple.
Jacob's door was at the far end of the right stretch of the hallway.
Emma, Gaten, and Caleb would be the bait. One of them would knock and quickly run back to hide with the other two, turning the corner. But they wouldn't disappear completely. They'd leave sothing visible, the tip of an elbow, a shoulder barely sticking out, sothing. Just enough for Jacob to notice when he opened the door.
If Jacob saw that, the most likely outco was that he'd try sothing similar to what Owen had done minutes earlier: walk toward the corner to surprise them, or simply catch them in the act.
But Owen wouldn't be hiding with the group. He would position himself at the other intersection of the hallway, on the opposite side, where the corridor turned left.
When Jacob moved toward Emma, Gaten, and Caleb, convinced he had uncovered the trap, Owen would use the blind spot and, just as Jacob was confronting the three of them, appear behind him.
There was a chance that upon reaching the hallway intersection, Jacob would do a full scan and look left as well, where Owen would be. It was a real possibility, though a small one. The natural focus would be drawn imdiately to the right corner, where the culprits were.
'I can't believe I'm doing this,' Owen thought as he took his position, while Caleb, faster than the others, headed toward Jacob's room.
He had never imagined the chemistry with a cast could reach this level.
Honestly, it was a stroke of luck that in the first major film Owen was making, the group functioned like this. No tension. No egos clashing from day one. There was professionalism, yes, but also lightness.
He rembered his first eting with Emma. It had been over Zoom, alongside Derek and Lianne, when they were interviewing candidates for Skylar. From the start, he had seen how focused she was on the role, analyzing the character, the tone, the motivations. The commitnt was obvious.
That was why Derek had chosen her.
Her résumé said a lot, too. Carefully selected projects. She didn't work every year just to work. She didn't accept just any script. She had discernnt.
She was British, an activist, and no longer in her early twenties, she was almost thirty-three. And her filmography leaned mostly toward indie and European cinema.
So at first, Owen hadn't imagined she would have this more playful side.
During the in-person rehearsals at the Second Take Films office, she gave everything. She followed Derek's direction precisely, explored nuances, and asked to repeat scenes.
But once she grew comfortable with the group, which had had a very good atmosphere from the beginning, another facet erged. Not chaotic, but clearly fond of joking, teasing a little, and breaking the seriousness when the mont allowed it.
Owen saw it as sothing positive for everyone. More trust, a better atmosphere.
Besides, he joined in the jokes too. So did Jacob, Gaten, Caleb, even Bryan and Ethan, though more restrained because of their age.
On another note, Owen now had a physical headquarters for Second Take Films, his production company. It was in Burbank, right in the heart of the audiovisual industrial district, near major studios and other production offices. A strategic location.
The space was around 4,000 square feet. Enough for a private office for him, a developnt office, a large conference room, five smaller offices, a compact editing suite, a creative common area, and a room dedicated to rehearsals.
The monthly rent was $12,000.
The initial investnt in furniture and light renovations had been around $300,000, but that had been a one-ti expense.
The annual rent amounted to $144,000.
A considerable figure in absolute terms.
But with his current capital in the bank, it didn't even represent one percent. It was a structure he could sustain without pressure. More than a luxury, it was a foundation.
Owen pushed aside his thoughts when he heard footsteps approaching. Caleb had already returned and hidden with Emma and Gaten.
Emma executed the key detail: she left a small part of her arm barely visible from the doorway angle.
And, judging by the sound of it, Jacob had taken the bait.
"Seriously, guys? You're starting already and it's day one…" Jacob said as he walked toward the corner, clearly aware it was them.
Emma, Caleb, and Gaten raised their hands in preemptive surrender.
"We got caught," Emma said naturally.
Jacob shook his head, about to add sothing else.
That was when Owen appeared from the opposite side.
He jumped toward him, grabbed both his shoulders firmly, despite Jacob being taller, and shouted another "Boo!" straight at his back.
Jacob flinched automatically. He spun around quickly, and in the motion his arm made an instinctive backward sweep, pushing Owen hard enough to force him a step away.
His expression was pure surprise and alertness.
Owen imdiately raised both hands, taking half a step back.
Emma's laughter cut through the air before the situation could turn awkward.
Jacob exhaled, relaxing his shoulders, and ran a hand through his hair in resignation.
"Having fun?" he asked, looking at Emma.
"A little," she replied, amused. "So you're the type who doesn't scream, just switches into defense mode, ready to throw a punch."
"Basic reflexes," Jacob said, still regaining his composure. "I wasn't expecting soone to co up from behind."
Then he looked back at Owen. "Did you seriously team up with her?" he asked, as if feeling betrayed.
"If you can't beat them, join them," Owen said simply, and Jacob laughed, shaking his head.
"Alright, are we going to dinner?" Emma asked, already satisfied with the outco of the operation.
Jacob looked at each of them in turn and pieced it together. "So all this was just to tell to co downstairs and eat."
"Basically," Gaten admitted.
Jacob shook his head, resigned. "Give a second to grab a jacket."
He went back into his room and, less than five minutes later, returned with a dark jacket over his shoulders.
The group started walking down the hallway toward the elevator.
As they moved, Emma glanced sideways at Jacob. "By the way… were you practicing your Boston accent?"
Jacob glanced back at her.
During the in-person rehearsals at the Second Take Films offices, Jacob had spent several days speaking almost exclusively in the Boston accent.
Not just during scenes, but in casual conversations, breaks, and table reads. His thod was clear: repeat it enough tis until it stopped feeling forced and started coming out automatically.
Emma had witnessed that firsthand.
"There were a couple of days when you spoke like that all the ti," she continued with a teasing smile. "Even when ordering coffee."
"That was the idea. The Boston accent isn't easy," Jacob replied without losing his composure.
Emma dropped the smile and nodded more seriously. "Yeah, it's one of the hardest."
The Boston accent was considered one of the most difficult to understand and imitate in the United States. Famous for being non-rhotic, it drops the final "r" or shifts it into a broader sound, in addition to altering vowels and carrying a distinct, fast-paced rhythm. If it wasn't done well, it sounded forced imdiately.
Gaten and Caleb nodded.
They had to use it too. They were part of Will's friend group, so the accent was mandatory. They had practiced quite a bit, and it hadn't been simple. They hadn't adopted Jacob's thod of keeping it all day in normal situations, but it still required work.
Their lines weren't as nurous as Jacob's, but consistency mattered.
"And you?" Emma asked, turning toward Owen.
Owen was the lead. The entire film rested on him. He had to maintain the accent in practically every scene, which ant more practice and greater precision.
Emma already knew from rehearsals that Owen handled it very well. It didn't sound exaggerated or put on. She just wanted to know what his process had been.
"I practice separately," Owen replied. "Then I prefer to switch it on right before a scene and switch it off when it's over."
"Different approaches," Caleb said, and they all nodded.
They stepped into the elevator and within minutes were at the hotel restaurant.
They weren't the only crew mbers there. After all, more than forty people were staying at that hotel, while the rest were distributed in a second one.
The atmosphere was relaxed, but clearly that of a production about to begin the next day.
Owen, Jacob, and the others sat at a long table where Derek, Lianne, Ethan, Bryan, and Larry, Owen's manager, were already seated.
Dinner was light. Nothing heavy the night before the first real day of filming.
The conversation was light as well. Comnts about tomorrow's plan, a few rehearsal anecdotes, and scattered jokes. They already knew each other. They had gone through several sessions together.
When Owen finished dinner and checked the ti, it was already 8:10 p.m. The call ti tomorrow would be early.
He stood up from his chair and said goodbye to everyone with a small gesture.
But just as he was about to step away from the table, Bryan stood up and called out to him.
"Hey, Owen."
Owen turned around. "What's up, Bryan?" he asked as they stepped a little away from the table.
Bryan looked at him with that natural blend of warmth and firmness he carried effortlessly. He had watched Owen move nonstop throughout the day. Too many things for soone who also had to act the next morning.
"Rest," Bryan said sincerely. "Sleep eight hours. Not six. Eight."
There was sothing almost paternal in the way he said it. It wasn't an order. It was genuine concern.
"You were running at a thousand today," he added. "Tomorrow you need to be clear."
For a second, it reminded Owen of that kind, slightly over-the-top but well-aning energy Bryan radiated as Hal in Malcolm in the Middle.
Owen smiled. "I'll try."
Bryan narrowed his eyes slightly, his expression shifting just a touch. The warmth was still there, but now there was steel beneath it. "Don't try. Do it."
And in that brief transition, Owen was struck by a completely different energy, the quiet authority Bryan projected as Walter White in Breaking Bad.
Owen let out a small laugh. "Alright. Eight hours."
Bryan nodded, satisfied. "That's what I wanted to hear."
Owen lifted a hand in farewell and headed toward the elevators.
He did sleep eight hours. He had a few things to review before bed, pending emails and a couple of minor decisions, but he couldn't disobey Walter White.
And so the first day of filming arrived.
Then the second.
And the third.
In the blink of an eye, ten days had passed.
In the end, it hadn't been as extre as Owen had imagined. Or maybe it had been in terms of hours worked, but not in ntal exhaustion.
The days were long, yes, but they were filled with energy. He genuinely loved the project. Playing Will, the lead in one of his favorite films from his past life, felt almost surreal. Being able to build his own version, give it his nuance and rhythm, was stimulating.
He hadn't experienced this before. Paranormal Activity and The Spectacular Now were films he had seen, but they hadn't been among his favorites.
On top of that, the atmosphere with the cast and crew was perfect, one of the best experiences Owen had had. Everyone was committed.
With Caleb and Gaten, it felt organic, almost spontaneous. Even though in this reality they hadn't shared a set before, the chemistry was there. Owen couldn't help but rember the energy he had seen between them in Stranger Things in his past life. There was a similar dynamic, and the two already seed like good friends.
Jacob was also a pleasure on set. He didn't carry a star attitude, even though he was probably the most mainstream-recognized among them because of Euphoria. On the contrary, he was one of the hardest workers. Focused when he needed to be, relaxed when the mont allowed it.
Then there was Ethan, more reserved. His experience in film and theater showed. Between takes, he offered practical advice, small adjustnts in intention, and details of rhythm. His portrayal of Professor Lambeau was coming out very strong.
In fact, Owen believed the role suited him perfectly, far better than playing the therapist, which had initially been considered.
And then there was Bryan.
The scenes they had shot together so far, even though they hadn't reached the most intense ones yet, had already generated internal buzz. Derek, without saying it openly in front of Owen, was convinced it had been the perfect decision.
In fact, he silently appreciated that Owen had fought for Bryan when they discussed casting Sean Maguire.
Bryan's presence on screen was different. He didn't overact, nor did he impose. He simply was, perfect naturalism.
If what they were already getting from their early interactions was at that level, Owen didn't want to imagine what would co once they reached the deeper monts.
Today was Saturday, February 11. The midpoint of the shoot.
Derek had structured the schedule so that this Saturday they would film an emotionally intense scene. Not because it was easier, but because it was more demanding. He preferred the team to be fresh, without accumulated fatigue, when shooting delicate material.
That day they were set to film one of the strongest scenes between Will and Skylar.
A scene from past the middle of the film. The relationship was already solid. It wasn't flirting or early tension.
It was real love.
Skylar was asking Will to move to California with her. A leap, and a commitnt.
And Will, true to his pattern, shut down. It wasn't a lack of feeling. It was fear of attachnt. And fear of being truly known.
The scene ended in a heated argunt. Will, emotionally cornered, raised his defenses in the cruelest way possible: telling Skylar he no longer loved her.
Not because it was true. But because it was the most effective way to push her away.
The set was an interior built on stage. A Harvard student's bedroom: light-colored walls, a wide window simulating the cold February light filtering in from outside, an unmade bed, open books scattered across the desk, and photographs taped to the wall.
The scene began with both of them lying in bed, side by side, in a position that was intimate but calm.
Owen was already in fra, sitting at the edge of the bed. He wore only lightweight cotton shorts, reinforcing the intimacy of the scene. Wardrobe ready.
He was getting into the mindset.
Emma was also in position. Leaning against the headboard, her expression completely different from her usual relaxed deanor. Now she was one hundred percent focused and silent.
Derek was giving the final technical notes. Minor lighting adjustnts, sound checking levels, and the cara marking the exact focal distance.
Lianne stood a few feet away, arms crossed, outside the cara's axis. Though her strength was the executive side, she was deeply interested in the creative aspect. She was watching, especially Owen.
Beside her, Bryan was also observing attentively.
"Do you think he's ready?" Lianne asked quietly. It didn't sound like doubt, just a natural evaluation before a key scene.
"Yes," Bryan replied calmly. "We've seen him in rehearsals, haven't we?"
Lianne nodded slowly.
It wasn't that she doubted Owen. But there was no track record. No previous filmography to prove how he would respond in a scene of this intensity. They had worked it in rehearsal, but not under the real pressure of cara and full crew.
Besides, rehearsals rarely reach the absolute breaking point.
They weren't the only silent observers. Ethan, Jacob, Gaten, and Caleb were also present, with permission to watch. They weren't part of the scene, but they wanted to see it. It wasn't confidential, everyone knew the script by now, but on a set that wasn't very spacious, extra spectators weren't always allowed.
"Ready?" Derek asked, looking at Emma and Owen.
Both nodded and moved into position.
Owen lay face down, his face partially buried in the pillow, eyes closed. Emma settled beside him, leaning against his shoulder. She wore a loose blue-gray jacket that fell to her thighs.
"Alright," Derek said. "Quiet on set."
The murmurs faded.
Derek looked at the director of photography. Then at the assistant.
"Cara."
"Rolling."
"Sound."
"Sound ready."
A second of silence, and then:
"Action!"
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