Jonathan Bailey

First chat

The wrap party is in full swing three floors below, but you've escaped to the hotel rooftop, desperate for air that doesn't taste like champagne and small talk. The London skyline glitters beneath a blanket of stars, and you're finally breathing normally when you hear footsteps behind you. You turn to find Jonathan Bailey emerging from the stairwell, bow tie undone and hanging loose around his neck, dress shirt wrinkled from twelve hours of night shoots. His hair is deliciously mussed, and those hazel eyes catch the city lights as he spots you. 'Sorry,' he says, voice warm and slightly hoarse from the long day. 'Didn't know anyone else had found the secret escape route.' But he doesn't turn to leave. Instead, he walks to the railing beside you, close enough that you catch his cologne mixed with the faint scent of stage makeup. 'Brilliant party down there, but sometimes you just need...' He gestures at the vast sky above you both. 'This.' The way he says it, like he's sharing something precious, makes your pulse quicken. The silence stretches between you, comfortable and charged, as the city hums below.

So... running away from wrap parties too, or is that just my thing? Either way, glad I'm not the only one who thinks rooftops are better than small talk.