….
[Location: Indoor Skatepark(:Random Warehouse District)]
….
"...okay, let's do THIS!!"
Andrew Garfield muttered to himself, planting his board at the rim of the indoor skating bowl.
He wiped a forearm across his brow, eyes narrowing as he took a breath, ready to drop in.
He is currently in the indoor skating ramp.
He was wearing knee and elbow guards, but the sweat from his t-shirt told the story of how long he had been practising for the day.
He had been at it since afternoon, and he had long forgotten that it was already evening.
After the acting coaching he had dealt with for the past six months - skating is something had fallen in love with recently.
He could tell, now, his posture - knees bent just enough, balance shifting smoothly into the curve - is perfect.
He pumped once, twice along the inner wall of the smooth concrete bowl, then, approaching the transition at just the right angle, he crouched deeper, coiled like a spring, and–
"NOW!"
His brain screamed, as he dragged his front foot, the board followed his motion upward.
Frontside Ollie.
He dragged his front foot, the board obeyed, climbing air under his soles and his right hand snatched it for a mid-air grab - pure sync, added with muscle memory.
The board slapped back to the surface with a soft but solid thunk, echoing against the corrugated walls.
Immediately–
Another pump.
Another turn.
Sweat trickled down his jawline, as he nodded to himself, for the next one.
"Kickflip Indy." He whispered.
This one the beginner tricks he hadn't quite landed yet - at least not in a satisfactory way.
Approaching the near wall, he launched higher - shoulders open, knees snapping - kickflip initiated.
The board spun once underneath him, flipping over as he reached out midair with his back hand - caught it under the toes just before the board came down flat.
BOOM.
It slapped the ramp as his legs compressed, absorbing the jolt.
His balance teetered for a moment…. then held.
He rolled away.
It was clean… His first ever one landing of the move.
"Andrew!" - a familiar yell cut through the warehouse
"That was buttery as hell!"
Andrew glanced up.
Standing by the railing in a long coat, hands clapping with a wide grin on his face, was Regal.
Not in his usual loose tee and sneakers, dressed sharp - meaning one thing.
"Came from the meeting?" Andrew called out, rolling over.
"You guessed it." Regal met him with a firm fist bump.
Andrew chuckled, brushing hair from his forehead. "You are too easy… and formal isn't really your thing unless it is unavoidable."
"Easy to read haa…? It goes for you too."
"...huh? What did I do? I was just skating." He was like a kid caught in an act.
Regal leaned against the rail, expression softening.
"It must be nerve wracking, tomorrow is a big day after all."
"...." - Andrew didn't answer right away, he stared down at his board, his hands flexed at his sides.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow is the day for the test shoot, which will determine everything.
Six months of training from - acting lessons, skating, dieting, muscle gain and even a few stunts.
All to convince the world - and a studio filled with skeptics - that he could be Peter Parker.
And it wasn't just about him anymore - it included Simon, Darren, Samantha…
And moreover - Ross and Regal.
People had spent money, time, and reputation.
All on him.
Just the diet and protein he had been having over the past six months came from Regal pocket - and trust him - he really doesn't want to remember the expenses.
…and he was also actually getting paid for all this on top of it?
Damn it… isn't a bit too much burden and faith put on his shoulders?
"Hey."
No response.
"Andrew."
Still nothing.
"Andrew!"
"Eh—what? Yeah, yeah… Sorry for that." Andrew blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.
Regal raised a brow. "I did tell you to understand your role to the best of your abilities but not to the point where you do the most Peter Parker thing again, spiraling."
"Yeh, sorry."
Regal let out a soft sigh, choosing not to press it. "Anyway, as I said it is enough if you just looked like you weren't holding the skateboard like an amateur, but you went all out..."
Andrew scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I guess I got into it halfway through, you know… like with acting."
Regal glanced at him, expression unreadable for a second, then softened.
"Just don't get hurt." He said, his voice quiet but firm. "That is the only thing I am asking, don't overdo it."
He meant it, over the past half-year, Regal had seen Andrew grind harder than most trained athletes - acting classes in the morning, stunt and parkour drills in the afternoon, movement coaching at night.
Even the skating from the past month.
Obviously, Regal wanted to give a reason - how he could pull off those insanely impressive stunts in mid-air while swinging.
And without a doubt, [Amazing Spider-Man] - outperformed in that category.
So he just asked Andrew to learn some beginner skating tricks.
However, he will fall out again.
The dude is persistent, obsessive, and unrelenting.
Andrew wasn't just a good actor, he was driven in a way that most weren't, and Regal respected the hell out of that.
But it also meant someone had to keep the brakes nearby.
An injury now would be more than a setback - it would be catastrophic.
Not just to the production, but to Andrew's mental state, he would never forgive himself.
"Go clean up." Regal said, cutting through the tension. "We are having dinner together."
"Alright…" Andrew exhaled, relieved.
He knew, deep down, he knew Regal had been the only reason no one stopped him from skating right before the biggest test shoot of his life.
If it were up to Simon or Andrew, they would have bubble-wrapped him by now.
And honestly, he was grateful for it, he really needed to get his nerves to calm down for him to have a good night's sleep.
….
[Same Day]
[Indoor Set of - Whiplash]
….
A few crew members leaned against the far wall, just out of frame, whispering low enough not to echo -
"Are they gonna do it again?"
"....I donno man."
"But, that hit looked seriously serious."
"How many times has he hit him now?"
"Yeah, you remind me."
No one answered that last one, they had all stopped counting after seven.
A hush had fallen like a veil across the soundstage.
No one dared to joke… there was no usual idle camera chatter.
Just quiet checks, soft steps, cables coiled with reverence as if something important was happening.
And everyone knew exactly which scene was next.
Fletcher slapping Andrew… the name of the character Stephen is playing in the movie Whiplash.
There were at least two solid takes earlier - both slaps landed, with no stunt tricks.
But Alexander - the first time director - wanted another one.
"The rhythm's not right yet."
Obviously no one argued his review.
Because the crew and technicians knew that in a film about rhythm, if the pace, the tension, or the timing was even slightly off... the whole thing fell flat.
So the cameras were reset, lighting touched up, and the sound was checked again.
Alexander's eyes scanned the room, then fixed on the two men who stood at the center of it all.
Ross Oaklay.
Stephen Hawking Jr.
Ross - playing Fletcher - stood still.
His posture is unflinching, and impassive.
His face gave nothing away, and nobody would have thought he had slapped his co-star ten times today.
He hadn't even said sorry once.
Because to Ross, it wasn't personal.
It was professional.
He wasn't a cruel man, but he didn't believe in false politeness when the camera was rolling, also he is competent enough to understand that it was for the scene.
All the actors had agreed before signing up for it… So no point in making it awkward with a fake apology.
If you wanted honesty, you had to pay the cost in flesh.
Stephen Jr. knew that.
In fact, he expected it and accepted it, but it didn't mean he was numb to it.
He sat hunched slightly on the drum stool, elbows resting on his knees, sticks dangling from his fingers.
His eyes weren't on the crew or the camera, they were somewhere else - Inside.
The pain from the previous takes still tingled across his jaw, but the ache was minor compared to getting the scene right.
This scene in the film might as well be the soul of it.
Even in the script stage, he knew this is not just one of the most intense scenes in [Whiplash].
It is the heartbeat of the film.
It's where the quiet abuse, competitive pressure, and the battle for artistic perfection all reach a physical boiling point.
Fletcher doesn't just humiliate Andrew - he tests him, breaks him.
This was the climax that wasn't at the end of the movie - but at the core.
Stephen had spent the last several weeks carrying Andrew's anxiety like a second skin, letting it steep in his muscles, shape his sleep, fracture his posture.
And Ross, terrifying and calm, had only made it easier to disappear into it.
That's why Alexander had saved the scene for last.
They all agreed, from week one, to hold it back - to let the actors build toward it naturally, until the final day of filming.
No rehearsals on this one, or fake run-throughs.
Just pressure, and now, release.
Now or never.
Alexander walked onto the set quietly.
He didn't need to speak loudly, he just nodded at Ross and Stephen - slow and deliberate then a silent cue: This is it.
Stephen gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.
Ross cracked his knuckles, casually.
Again, no warm-up or wind-up, just the icy stillness of a man who believed in his method, even if it meant becoming the villain.
"Picture up."
"Rolling."
"Scene 47, Take 8."
Clap.
Back to one.
They reset.
And the whole room held its breath, waiting to see just how far they had gone this time.
Because deep down, every single person on that set understood something:
This was about putting something on film that felt so truthful that you feel uncomfortable - it would leave a scar.
Not just on the characters.
But on the people who filmed it.
And on those who will watch it.
.
….
[To be continued…]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
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