Architectural digest "open door"
Harry Collet x costar!redaer (1,8k)
During an Architectural Digest "Open Door" tour of your respective trailers, yours is revealed to be completely empty and unused because you spend all your time in Harry's.
MATERIALIST
By the fourth season, the digital marketing apparatus surrounding the production had mutated into a sleek, high-end juggernaut. No longer content with standard press junkets or basic social media takeovers, the studio had partnered with Architectural Digest for an episode of their celebrated “Open Door” series. The concept pitched to the publicists was deceptively simple: a joint, behind-the-scenes tour of your respective trailers during a rare, two-hour gap in the grueling filming schedule. It was supposed to be a polished, aesthetic deep-dive into the private, curated sanctuaries of two young stars navigating a massive fantasy epic. The reality, however, began unraveling the exact moment the AD camera crew met the two of you in the sprawling, gravel holding lot situated just behind the cavernous soundstages.
“We’ll start with yours,” the producer announced cheerfully, checking a box on her digital clipboard and gesturing toward the door of your trailer. A sleek, metallic plaque bearing your name glinted under the harsh afternoon sun.
“Oh, great,” you laughed, offering a bright, seamlessly media-trained smile to the wide-angle lens hovering just a few feet away. “Welcome to my home away from home, everyone. Come on in.”
You stepped up the metal stairs and pushed the door open, allowing the camera operator to slip in right behind you. The lens began a slow, cinematic pan across the interior, expecting the standard fare of an AD tour—perhaps some custom linen throw pillows, a carefully stacked tower of deeply personal literature, a few framed family photographs, and a luxury candle emitting the scent of expensive wood smoke. Instead, the silence that followed was incredibly, excruciatingly awkward.
The trailer looked like a high-end witness protection safehouse. The minimalist faux-leather couch was entirely bare, lacking a single blanket or wrinkle. The built-in vanity table held absolutely nothing but a single, lonely box of tissues and an empty paper coffee cup from that morning. Even the small kitchenette counter was pristine, devoid of a kettle, a mug, or a single stray snack. It looked entirely unlived in, sterile and cold.
The interviewer blinked, her gaze darting from the barren counter back to you. “Wow. It’s very... minimalist. Is this a specific design choice? A sort of sensory deprivation tactic to help you clear your mind and focus before a heavy, emotional scene?”
Beside you, Harry let out a sudden, muffled snort that he tried—and utterly failed—to disguise as a cough. You shot him a sharp, warning glare, though you could already feel a telltale warmth creeping rapidly up your neck.
“Uh, no,” you confessed, rubbing the back of your neck as you surveyed the vacant room. “To be completely honest with you, I don't think I've actually spent more than ten consecutive minutes in here since we started production this season.”
The interviewer’s eyes lit up, sensing a break in the standard PR script. “Really? Then where do you keep all your things? Where do you go between takes?”
“Harry's trailer,” you said simply.
“She entirely colonized it,” Harry interjected cheerfully, leaning his shoulder against your empty doorframe with an insufferable smirk. “It was a completely hostile takeover. Come on, I'll show the viewers what a lived-in space actually looks like.”
Sensing an infinitely better narrative than a tour of an empty room, the camera crew practically sprinted across the gravel lot, following Harry like a pack of bloodhounds. His trailer door was flanked by a nameplate that hung slightly crooked, and the moment he unlocked it and stepped inside, the contrast was staggering.
The space was warm, chaotic, and utterly packed with personality. A soft, oversized fleece blanket was tangled at the foot of his rumpled sofa, a familiar portable speaker sat hummed quietly on the counter, and stacks of script pages bleeding with fluorescent yellow highlighter were piled high on the small dining table.
“Now this is a home,” Harry announced with theatrical flair, spreading his arms wide as the camera panned over the cozy, cluttered interior.
But as the camera operator began zooming in on the domestic details to capture the essence of a young actor's sanctuary, the aesthetic narrative completely derailed. The interviewer stepped further into the tight space, her eyes narrowing as she pointed a manicured finger toward the small, stainless-steel kitchenette. “Interesting. I notice a very specific theme developing here. Harry, I didn't know you were a massive fan of sour watermelon gummies and organic elderberry tea.”
Harry froze halfway through the act of sitting down on his couch. He glanced over his shoulder at the counter, where a massive, family-sized bag of sour candy and a box of specialty tea bags were prominently, undeniably displayed.
“Oh,” Harry stammered, his face instantly flushing a light, telltale pink that stood out vividly against his wardrobe. “Right. No, those... those aren't actually mine.”
“They're mine,” you piped up, casually walking past the direct line of the camera to snatch the bag of candy. “I keep them over here because Harry's trailer has significantly better temperature control, and they don't melt into a giant blob.”
“Right. Temperature control,” the interviewer repeated, a highly amused, knowing smile breaking across her face. She stepped toward the appliances. “Let’s check the fridge.”
“Wait, no, the fridge is private property—” Harry joked, half-rising from the cushions with a nervous laugh, but the producer was already gently tugging open the small refrigerator door.
The lens focused tightly on the top shelf. It was entirely devoid of any typical bachelor snacks, protein shakes, or energy drinks. Instead, it was exclusively, neatly stocked with six bottles of a highly specific, obscure brand of iced matcha lattes—a beverage you had repeatedly and passionately mentioned being completely obsessed with in almost every press junket for the past two years.
“Exclusively stocked with your co-star's exact, highly specific caffeine order,” the interviewer remarked, looking over her shoulder at Harry. By now, he had buried his face entirely in his hands, his ears glowing a bright, unmistakable crimson. “Harry, do you even drink matcha?”
“It tastes like lawn grass,” Harry muttered into his palms, his voice muffled and miserable. He slowly lowered his hands, clearing his throat awkwardly as he desperately tried to find his media-trained footing. “I just... I buy them in bulk. Because someone around here gets incredibly grumpy if we hit hour fourteen of a night shoot and there's no green caffeine left in the immediate vicinity.”
“That is deeply, deeply attentive of you,” the interviewer teased, her voice dripping with satisfaction.
“It's just being a good co-star,” Harry insisted, his voice dropping into that rapid, rambling register that always gave him away when he was cornered. “Professional courtesy. You know. Teamwork. Cast morale.”
“Of course,” the interviewer smiled, clearly not buying a single word. She turned to pan across the remainder of the room, her eyes landing on the dark wooden bathroom door at the back of the trailer. Hanging carelessly from a plastic hook on the door was an oversized, heavily worn, charcoal-grey hoodie with a vintage sports logo fading across the front.
The interviewer pointed her pen toward it. “And what about that? Is that a prop from the wardrobe department?”
You looked at the hoodie, and your heart gave a sudden, violent thud against your ribs. You recognized it instantly—mostly because the exact matching sweatpants to that set were currently sitting in a laundry basket in your own apartment.
“That's mine,” you said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly, trying to sound casual. “I, uh, I borrowed it because the soundstages get really drafty between setups.”
“You borrowed it three weeks ago,” Harry pointed out. He looked up from the couch with a sudden, mischievous glint in his eyes that made your stomach do a frantic, dangerous flip. The initial panic seemed to have entirely left him, replaced by that comfortable, dangerous confidence he always wore when he wanted to push your buttons. “You left it on my chair, and then you just claimed it. It’s been living on that hook ever since.”
“It looks better on me anyway,” you shot back, trying to cover your rising blush with a wall of stubborn defiance.
“It does,” Harry said softly.
He didn't laugh. He didn't make a witty joke for the edit. He just said it—a quiet, completely sincere admission while looking directly up at you from the sofa, entirely ignoring the fact that a high-definition Architectural Digest lens was trained squarely on his face, capturing every ounce of tenderness in his expression.
The studio went entirely quiet for two long, agonizing seconds. You stared back at him, your throat suddenly dry, the rest of the trailer fading into a blur of warm lighting and static.
The interviewer finally cleared her throat, a massive grin practically bursting out of the frame. “Well. This has been an incredibly... revealing look at your workspace. Thank you both so much for opening your doors to us.”
When the final edit of the video was uploaded to YouTube a month later, the production team didn't cut a single frame of the exchange. In fact, the editors deliberately kept the heavy, breathless two-second silence after Harry’s compliment, leaving it completely raw and unedited for the world to see. The video broke the channel's record for views within twenty-four hours. The comments section became an absolute battlefield of emotional devastation, but the top comment, pinned to the top with nearly eighty thousand likes, summarized the entire episode perfectly:
“They called it an Architectural Digest tour, but they literally just documented a girl moving into her boyfriend's apartment piece by piece while he buys her favorite groceries and watches her wear his clothes. Someone give the interviewer a Pulitzer.”
Part IV of the interview series -> GQ 10 things I can't live without
