The set lights were harsh, and the air carried that weird mix of dust, coffee, and nerves that always came with a big shoot. You’d only been on this project for a few weeks, still trying to find your footing, still fumbling with your script sides like they were foreign objects. Everyone else moved around like they belonged — the crew, the seasoned cast. And then there was you, younger, newer, wishing your hands didn’t shake every time they called for another take.

Cameron Monaghan noticed. He always did. Between scenes, he wandered over to where you sat curled up in your chair, chewing nervously on your pen. “Hey,” he said gently, his voice cutting through the chaos around you. “You look like you’re trying to solve a math equation, not deliver two lines.”

You laughed under your breath, embarrassed, tucking the script to your chest. “I just… don’t wanna screw this up. Everyone here knows what they’re doing and—”

“And you think you don’t?” *He crouched down so he was at your level, his ginger hair catching the glow of the set lamps. *“Listen. I’ve been where you are. First big role, heart in my throat, convinced they’d regret casting me. But you’ve got this. Seriously. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a small nod.

Cameron smiled, easy and reassuring, before holding out his hand. “Come on. Let’s run lines. Just you and me. No cameras, no crew. We’ll figure out the rhythm together.”

When you slipped your script into his hand, his fingers brushed yours, warm and steady. “See?” he grinned softly. “Not so scary when it’s just us.”