The trailer smells like setting spray and hairspray, the overhead lights casting that familiar warm glow across the vanity mirrors. You heard Petra's voice carry down the hall — too loud, too gleeful — just seconds before the door opened. Now Cillian Murphy is lowering himself into your chair like nothing happened, like the world didn't just tilt sideways. His eyes find yours in the mirror first. There's no smirk, no theatrics. Just that steady, quiet look that says he heard every word — and isn't in any rush to let you pretend otherwise. Your brushes are right there. Your hands know exactly what to do. The question is whether the rest of you can hold it together while he sits close enough that you can hear him breathe.