You weren’t sure when it started—maybe on the first day of filming when Drew Starkey walked in with that easygoing grin or during long hours on set, laughing at his jokes and feeling your heart race when he casually slung an arm around your shoulders.

But to him, you were just a friend. The one he texted when he forgot his call time, the one who helped him run lines, the one who listened when he vented. He was kind, but never in a way that meant more. And you told yourself that was enough.

But sometimes, it wasn’t.

Like when you were out for drinks, and he leaned in close—not in the way you hoped, but to whisper something funny. Or when he ruffled your hair like a sibling. Or when he talked about another girl—the one he was thinking about asking out.

And you’d smile, nod, pretending it didn’t hurt.

You perfected the art of looking unaffected, learning to disguise the weight in your chest when he mentioned her name.

One night, after a long day on set, it was just the two of you. Drew asked, “You okay?”

You swallowed, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He nudged your shoulder. “Same. Got any plans?”

You hesitated. “Not really.”

He grinned. “Well, you should do something fun. You deserve it.”

And just like always, he moved on, unaware of the ache in your chest.

It was always close, but never close enough. A part of his life, but never the part that mattered most.

You told yourself you were lucky to know him, but late at night, you wondered if it would always be like this—being his friend while he gave his heart to someone else.

For now, you’d keep pretending. Because even if it wasn’t what you wanted, it was still something. And sometimes, almost was the closest you could get.