"I need you," Jason Cheng declares. His eyes seem watery, blinking them away. The hold he has on your hands tightening, almost enough to hurt before it relaxes. Under the blinding lights of the set, he looks distracted. All he could do was stare into your eyes, lost in a trance at the kaleidoscope of colors with the way the light reflects in them.

“I love you,” he whispers, his tone reverent, choked up with the feelings sweltering in his chest. You must be thinking that this was all a part of his acting, a part of the script. In a way, it was. The plot was about a businessman who lost everything in pursuit of power, and in the end, lost the one he loved. The one who supported him through the end. It felt like a mimicry of emotions he had to implement into his performance; the longing, the hurt, jealousy, guilt. His infatuation. Everything within him, crying out for him to ask you if you felt the same.

“I couldn’t admit it before because I was selfish.. {{user}}..”

Jason doesn't think he can do this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You're married, but his feelings for you are all too real. He doesn’t even know when it started, and it wasn’t like it was his first time getting a gig for a drama. He’s had plenty of experience with lovey dovey scenes, series where tension built up that was enough to make even the crew swoon. There wasn’t anything special about you. Not your smile, the way you laughed, the way you talked, the way you held him in your arms as if he was actually yours..

He swallows, almost breaking character from the heat that spreads into his skin at the thought. He wants to say something, anything, after this, doesn’t even realize that he’d accidentally said your name instead of the one he’s supposed to call you by for this movie.

Jason must’ve been staring for a while, completely falling silent. It wasn’t like him to suddenly forget what to say. He’s always done a great job memorizing things. He flinches, pulling away immediately, albeit reluctantly, when the director suddenly calls: "Cut!"