"Ah... disaster. A total disaster..."
Chris lifted his head slightly, trying to spot Anson, but failed. He writhed like an alien about to burst from a chest, finally managing to flip over onto his stomach. Then, inchworm-style, he wriggled his way into the living room before flopping down again.
With a thump, Chris buried himself face-first into the mustard-yellow sofa, as if trying to suffocate himself.
Honestly, Anson found it all quite novel—
The original owner of this body wouldn't have batted an eye, which was normal. But Anson's soul had returned from 2023. The contrast between the heroic image of Captain America in his mind and the not-yet-metamorphosed caterpillar before him was staggering—more shocking than the audition earlier.
After all, whether it was David Crane or Darren Star, they were behind-the-scenes figures—household names, yet their faces remained unfamiliar.
The year 2000 was proving more interesting than he'd imagined—
The future Captain America was still a nobody, not even having begun his acting career yet.
Encouraged by his high school drama teacher and with his parents' full support, Chris had dropped out to chase his dreams in New York.
While completing acting courses at drama school, he'd taken a friend's advice and started interning at a casting agency, attending auditions.
Yet, nearly two years later, Chris still hadn't landed a single role. So he packed his bags and headed to Los Angeles for another shot.
In two months, Chris would turn nineteen, but his acting career remained a distant fantasy. The teenage angst was palpable—his whole aura screamed "I give up," yet it was laced with such adolescent melodrama that it was hard not to laugh.
Anson's lips curled slightly. "If you're trying to suffocate yourself, you might need to press harder."
Chris tucked his arms at his sides and attempted a sit-up using only his core, but immediately face-planted back into the sofa cushions.
Oof!
The springs smacked him square in the face. He groaned, then mumbled, "What about your audition?"
Anson paused, considering how to answer—
Should he say the outcome had been decided before the audition even started, guaranteeing a 100% success rate?
Or that while the audition's result was still unknown, the body now housed an entirely different soul?
Chris, mistaking Anson's silence for failure, sighed and forced his head up. "Was it Laura or Natalie who interviewed you?"
TV and film auditions fell into two categories: those handled by production companies and those outsourced to specialized casting agencies—the latter being far more common.
So even for different projects, actors often faced the same casting directors, turning them into familiar faces over time.
Of course, exceptions existed, but this was the general rule.
Anson blinked. "I don't know any Laura or Natalie."
Chris's voice was muffled by the sofa. "They're the worst. Absolute nightmares."
Anson's eyes twinkled. "I was interviewed by David."
David Crane.
Chris didn't think much of it, exhaling deeply. "Jesus Christ, that's a relief. I really hope you hear some good news. Honestly, I never want to see Laura or Natalie's faces again. Did every show suddenly outsource casting to their company?"
The gates of Hollywood were slowly creaking open—a mysterious world Anson had only heard about but never seen.
Curious, Anson asked, "What network was your audition for?"
"CBS." Chris's head lolled like a dejected teddy bear. "But it's more about the production company. Networks usually don't interfere with casting."
Huuuuuh.
A long exhale. Chris melted further into the couch like soft-serve ice cream. "Tell James I'm skipping the play this afternoon."
"Play?" Anson still hadn't fully settled into his role. Digesting eighteen years of someone else's memories wasn't easy.
Chris, oblivious to Anson's confusion, wallowed in his misery. "James's play. 3 p.m. We agreed to go cheer him on, remember?"
James Franco—Roommate No. 2.
Unlike Chris, James was a rebellious, arrogant talent. From high school to college, he'd seized countless opportunities and dabbled in everything before dropping out of UCLA after his freshman year—against his parents' wishes—to pursue acting.
Now nearly twenty-two, after years of hustling in Hollywood, James had landed a co-lead role last year in NBC's Freaks and Geeks, alongside Seth Rogen and Jason Segel, finally cracking open the industry door.
Years later, Freaks and Geeks would unexpectedly become a cult classic, hailed as a perfect nostalgia trip to the '80s. But during its original run, plagued by erratic scheduling and meandering plots, it was axed after just twelve episodes.
For James, it was a blow—but he didn't care.
On one hand, he took on the antagonist role in the teen romance Whatever It Takes; on the other, he and Seth Rogen cooked up an experimental play.
This afternoon marked its premiere.
As roommates, they were naturally on the guest list.
Anson eyed Chris. "You sure?"
Chris: Snore. Snort.
Anson chuckled. "Chris, I'm genuinely sorry today didn't go well—"
Chris cut in, "You sound the opposite of sorry."
(If you knew you'd become Captain America someday, you wouldn't be sorry either.)
But Anson wasn't about to spoil the future. "Think about it—James and Seth's play? Their agents won't just sit back and watch."
"Maybe they invited press. Maybe casting directors, producers, other actors. Maybe there's an opportunity there."
Chris rolled his eyes and flashed a plastic smile in response.
Anson was serious—
And even if nothing came of it, he was curious about what kind of project James and Seth—the eccentric duo who'd later spark countless creative flames—had concocted. Something like Pineapple Express? Or This Is the End?
"Chris, it'll be fun."
"No, it won't. It'll just be a bunch of sycophants gathered to pat each other on the back."
"That's why it'll be fun."
Anson's deadpan reply left Chris stunned. Then, with utter sincerity, Anson added, "Honestly, when else do you get to watch a room full of polished phonies reciting Hollywood clichés, fighting sleep but forced to stand and applaud like they're having the time of their lives? We'll have front-row seats to the circus."
Chris burst out laughing. "Haha, Anson, you've gone dark."
Anson shrugged lightly. "About time."
Chris continued flopping around on the sofa like a fish out of water—
Crash!
He lost his balance and tumbled off.
But in one fluid motion, he sprang upright, landing gracefully as if nothing had happened.
"So... what should we wear?"
"Bikinis."
"...Get out."