"Sorry, there are two more water bottles here. Please wait a moment."
A voice came through, and Harry felt his hair stand on end, instantly holding his breath.
Anson!
Harry was 100% sure that this was Anson's voice.
A chill ran down his spine as memories he had buried came rushing back. His first encounter with Anson had been on the set of Spider-Man.
Back then, it was also during a costume shoot for the Spider-Man suit. Harry had to hide in a cramped trailer wardrobe, curled up pitifully into a tiny box, only to be found by Anson, becoming the laughingstock of the day.
The details of that evening had faded from Harry's memory, but the tension, the absurdity, the shame, and the frustration were still fresh.
And now, all of it was coming back.
Thump, thump, thump.
His temples throbbed, and Harry thought his PTSD was about to kick in.
Every time he faced Anson, he always seemed to lose his ground, becoming dizzy and disoriented, reminded of how helpless he was under Anson's influence. His knees almost gave out at the thought.
"What's wrong? Are you okay? You're trembling," Anson noticed.
Harry: ... No, I'm not!
"It's just the air conditioning…" Harry managed to squeeze out a bit of sound from his throat.
Anson didn't think much of it. "Oh, right. You have to be careful. Going from outdoor to indoor or vice versa, that temperature change can make you sick."
Then James' voice came from the back, "Sick? What are you talking about? Is this some new theory?"
Luckily, James caught Anson's attention, unintentionally saving Harry from further embarrassment.
Noticing Anson's focus shift, Harry's legs felt like noodles—he could barely stand.
Was he really that terrifying?
Heh.
If anyone doubted it, Harry would challenge them to try standing in Anson's presence. It was easy to talk, but until you experienced it yourself, you had no idea.
Though every cell in Harry's body screamed to run away, he knew he couldn't. If he left now, Anson might pick up on it.
He needed to stay calm—at least appear calm.
"Air conditioning sickness. Think about it, going from cold to hot or hot to cold. Your body needs time to adjust. Maybe we should raise the temperature a bit. It's really too low right now."
"It's all for you. You're wearing that tight suit. Aren't you hot?"
"Not at all. You want to try it?" Anson joked.
Harry quietly lifted his head and caught sight of James making a disgusted face, twisting as if revolted. The whole group burst into laughter, and even Anson seemed a bit flustered.
Yes, flustered.
Anson was indeed wearing the Spider-Man suit that everyone was curious about. In the rush of the moment, Harry hadn't had time to inspect the hundred little details of the suit's changes—his attention was entirely on Anson.
At the moment, Anson wasn't wearing the mask. The Spider-Man suit, like a wetsuit, had been peeled down halfway, with the sleeves tied around his waist. His upper half was covered only by a white T-shirt, soaked through with sweat. His hair was wet and messy, looking as if he had just been pulled out of water.
He was even steaming—literally, there was steam coming off him.
It didn't take words to understand how hot Anson felt. The set's air conditioning was clearly struggling to cool him down.
Harry couldn't imagine how uncomfortable Anson must have been, but he figured if he had to wear a wetsuit on land, moving around constantly, it wouldn't be pleasant either—and this suit was probably even worse than that.
Quickly looking away, Harry pushed his trash bin forward.
Anyway, the suit wasn't fully revealed yet. Anson wasn't fully ready, so there was no rush for now.
But what if they hadn't started filming by the time he finished his job?
Harry's brain raced.
Meanwhile, Anson didn't seem to notice anything wrong, since all his attention was on the discomfort of the suit.
Actors in superhero films had often mentioned how different their costumes felt in real life compared to how they looked on screen. It wasn't just hard to fight in them—they were downright restrictive.
On the surface, superhero suits looked sleek and stylish, and everyone dreamed of wearing their own suit. Every Halloween, kids and even adults dressed up as superheroes. It wasn't just about the mask—a full suit made them the coolest on the block.
But in reality, it was a nightmare. Beyond looking cool, the suits were entirely useless, perfectly illustrating the phrase "all show, no go." Like a duck paddling underwater—calm on the surface, but furiously paddling underneath just to stay afloat.
And Anson was no exception.
He had thought that after filming Spider-Man, he would have some experience. This time around, with the sequel, he should have been more comfortable. But nope.
Even with improvements to the suit, it didn't get any easier. If anything, it became more unbearable—a true testament to how much suffering it inflicted.
"Anson, are you sure? Drinking so much water might send you straight to the bathroom again," Kristen said, grimacing sympathetically as if she could feel his discomfort.
Anson shrugged. "I'm sweating so much. If I don't stay hydrated, I don't know which will come first—dehydration or the need to, you know..."
Everyone burst out laughing.
Alfred asked curiously, "With that suit, how do you even use the bathroom?"
Anson mimed pulling the suit all the way down. "You pull it all the way off."
"All the way?" Alfred asked, incredulous.
Anson nodded. "All the way."
Alfred: ...
Anson nodded again, confirming Alfred's worst fears. "The picture in your head is accurate. When I show up in the bathroom, it's pretty humiliating. I really wish I had full privacy."
The room: ...
Anson spread his hands, scanning the room. "Are you all picturing it now? Naughty, naughty."
Laughter erupted once again.
People looked away, avoiding eye contact. Even those who hadn't been paying attention were now glancing elsewhere, feeling awkward.
Except for James, who looked Anson up and down, joking, "Oh, I bet all the ladies are crushed now."
Anson wasn't fazed. He patted James on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll join the club soon enough. William said the Green Goblin costume is basically armor. Armor. Once you're in it, no girl's gonna be shouting 'James, James!' anymore."
It took James a moment to remember that the Green Goblin also had a tight suit.
"Oh no..." James groaned, holding his head in despair.
Nearby, Alfred noticed the others' glances. He patted his large beer belly and said, "They really had a tough time with me. In the end, they let me off the hook because they were worried that if I wore a tight suit, I'd look like a manatee. Not sexy, not funny. So they spared me."
A manatee?
The image was too vivid, and everyone, including Anson, couldn't help but laugh.
Alfred didn't mind. "Go ahead, laugh. It doesn't bother me. Even my wife wouldn't be able to keep loving me if I looked like that."
The room exploded with laughter.