"This person walks so weirdly."
"Could they be disabled?"
As Michael Sheen walked towards the restaurant after getting out of the taxi, he heard numerous comments about his strange gait. He had thought a rest would suffice, so he had arranged to meet Matthew for lunch, but the pain had persisted all night and morning, particularly when walking quickly—it felt like a drill was boring into him.
Yet, he had come, fueled by the thought of Matthew Horner, who, despite calling himself a friend, had been unwilling to help.
With his legs spread apart and his backside slightly protruded, Michael made his slow, swaying way into the restaurant.
"Hello, welcome!"
A blonde, blue-eyed waitress approached him. "Sir, how many? Do you have a reservation?"
Michael looked past the waitress deeper into the restaurant, saying, "I'm meeting someone, has Matthew Horner arrived?"
As he had walked, sweat had broken out on his forehead from the pain. He wanted to find a seat quickly, preferably one with a soft cushion, which he anticipated would feel much better.
The waitress gestured for him to follow and led the way. "Mr. Horner is over here."
Following her, Michael entered the restaurant. Many patrons turned to look at his unusual walk, filling him with discomfort.
"Damn it!" he muttered under his breath. "Why didn't he pick a quieter, less crowded restaurant?"
"Hey, Mike!" Matthew spotted Michael Sheen and waved him over. "Over here! I'm here."
Thinking of the relief sitting would bring, Michael quickened his pace. The waitress nodded with a smile and left.
Seeing Michael's peculiar gait, Matthew immediately guessed he wasn't fully recovered and stood up to ask, "What happened?"
Normally, a man who had suffered such an indignity would prefer to keep it secret.
As expected, Michael put on a relaxed face. "It's nothing, just twisted my ankle getting out of the car."
"Then sit down," Matthew pulled out a grand armchair. "Don't stand."
Michael eyed the chair, his eyelids twitching uncontrollably at the sight of its entirely hard wooden structure without a hint of cushioning.
"Sit down," Matthew urged warmly, adding, "Do you need someone to take a look? I know a community doctor here..."
"No, no need," Michael quickly declined, saying it was just a bit painful and would pass soon.
He noticed Matthew's concerned look, as if he had more to say, and quickly moved to the front of the chair and sat down stiffly. As soon as his buttocks touched the hard wood, a pain akin to that experienced while walking surged through him.
"What's wrong?" Matthew looked genuinely concerned.
Enduring the pain, Michael continued to sit down, feeling the full weight of his body press down on his buttocks. The fiery pain transformed into the tearing agony he had felt the night before, causing him to involuntarily bounce up.
"Is there something else hurting? Should I take you for a check-up?" Matthew suggested.
If Michael had wanted a check-up, he wouldn't have waited until now. He shook his head quickly, "No, really, it's nothing."
To avoid Matthew suspecting anything, he forced himself to sit back down, but the pain wasn't something he could simply endure. As soon as Matthew sat back down, sweat beaded on Michael's forehead.
A waiter approached with the menu, appearing like a lifesaver to someone drowning. Michael prepared to ask for a softer seat cushion.
Before he could speak, Matthew noticed his shifting and asked, "Did you hurt your butt? Should I get you a cushion?"
"No, no," Michael quickly denied, the memories of last night making him blanch. "My butt is fine!"
He would never let Matthew suspect the true nature of his injury. Such things might be done, but they were too shameful to admit.
"I'm just not used to these weird chairs," Michael found a suitable excuse.
"Ah, you'll get used to it after a while," Matthew nodded earnestly.
He called the waiter over to order.
Sitting on the hard wooden chair, only Michael could understand how much he was suffering.
"What would you like to eat?" Matthew asked.
Having no appetite for anything, Michael responded absently, "I'm not familiar with Chinese food; you order for me."
"Alright then," Matthew said casually and ordered a variety of spicy Sichuan dishes.
"Do you speak Chinese?" he asked the waiter, noticing his East Asian features. The waiter nodded, and Matthew switched to Chinese, saying, "My friend here loves spicy food. Make sure these dishes are extra spicy, especially with facing heaven peppers!"
The waiter, curious about Matthew's fluent Chinese, nodded and said, "Okay!"
Michael, wiping sweat from his forehead with a napkin, endured the pain of sitting on the hard chair, regretting not bringing
a thick cushion... no, he regretted coming at all.
Remembering why he had come, he told Matthew, "I've got reliable news that I'm likely to be the male lead in the MV."
"Really?" Matthew appeared genuinely pleased. "That's great!"
Michael was taken aback. This wasn't the reaction he had expected.
"If it's true, congratulations, Mike!" Matthew's sincerity sounded as if it came from a true friend.
Hearing these congratulations, the boast Michael had planned all night suddenly choked in his throat.
"You've finally made it!" Matthew clapped Michael on the shoulder enthusiastically. "Go for it! Aim to be a big star."
"Ah..." Michael cried out, sounding like a response to Matthew's words but actually an involuntary yelp of pain from the vibration that pushed his buttocks more firmly against the chair.
Matthew clapped him on the shoulder again, saying earnestly, "That last role really suited you better than me, but these things aren't up to us, right? See, now luck has come your way."
Michael bit his lip and nodded vigorously.
"I'll talk to Helen Herman tomorrow," Matthew continued, still patting Michael's shoulder. "If Helen agrees, I'm thinking of withdrawing from the audition."
"Um..." Michael grimaced as if constipated. "Um... um..."
Seeing Matthew's genuine intention, he suddenly felt that his own show of bravado might have been too much.
The food arrived, and Matthew ordered a bottle of strong liquor, pouring a drink for both of them.
Looking at Matthew, Michael felt confused. Was this guy really treating him as a friend?
"Matthew..." he started to say something, but Matthew raised his glass, "Mike, you were the first friend I made in Los Angeles. To our friendship, to our future, cheers!"
"Cheers!" Michael, moved, ignored the searing pain in his buttocks and clinked glasses with Matthew. "To the future!"
He downed his drink in one go.
Matthew also finished his drink and poured another for Michael.
"Let's eat..." Matthew invited warmly. Michael took a bite of the spicy food, feeling his mouth—and inexplicably his buttocks—burn.
Matthew raised his glass again. "Cheers!"
Michael clinked glasses with Matthew and downed another shot of strong liquor.
Afterward, Michael refrained from any further boastful comments, enduring the spicy sensation in his mouth and the pain in his buttocks as he finished the meal with Matthew.
Despite the food being too spicy for him, he drank quite a bit of liquor with Matthew.
He even paid the bill before Matthew could, his rationale simple: since Matthew Horner, this fool, still considered him a friend, there might still be something to gain from him, like his close personal relationship with Helen Herman...
After paying, Matthew asked, "Shall we go together?"
"I'll sit here for a while," Michael said, worried Matthew might notice something was wrong and didn't want to leave together. He quickly made up an excuse, "I've arranged to meet a friend on another street this afternoon."
"Alright," Matthew nodded, then added, "Your injury..."
Despite the intense pain making his eyebrows furrow, Michael quickly waved his hand, "It's fine now, rested a bit, all good."
"Okay then," Matthew waved, "See you, Mike."
"See you, Matthew."
As Matthew turned and left, Michael no longer had to hold back. His face twisted in pain, and he bounced off the chair as if on springs, looking behind him even though he couldn't see anything.
"Ah!"
He rose too swiftly, and the pats from Matthew had been a bit too forceful, pulling at the wound in his buttocks, causing him to cry out involuntarily.
Luckily, he quickly covered his mouth.
Even so, many people looked over curiously, and a waiter approached, asking with concern, "Can I help you with anything, sir?"
"I..." Michael started to say it was nothing but felt the pain intensify, making even standing a challenge. He quickly amended, "Could you call a taxi for me and help me out?"
"Of course," the waiter said politely.
He called the service desk for a taxi and helped Michael out of the restaurant.
Michael's face went pale with pain, as if Martin Jackson had hit him again. With the waiter's help, he barely made it out of the restaurant and into the taxi home.
He vowed to spend the next few days in bed, fully recovering and definitely not going out again.
Nearby, Matthew smiled as he emerged from an alley; his acting classes had not been in vain. He felt his skills had improved significantly.
At least, Michael Sheen seemed completely unaware.
From Michael's attitude, Matthew was sure Martin Jackson had promised him the lead role, which was a major reason he had accepted Michael's invitation.
To win the second audition, he needed to think outside the audition room.
Matthew had already considered this last night. He took out his phone and the business card Elena Boyar had given him, dialing the number on it.