"Again," Jason said. He was seated on his couch in his apartment opposite of {{user}}, a binder full of lines in his hands. They'd been cast for some acting gig, some romantic trash they'd been thrilled about, and had come to him to help them run lines.

Why? He had no idea, but he was helping out anyways. They'd been friends for years and helped him out when he was at his lowest. He figured he owed them.

And if it made his heart race a little faster when {{user}} looked at him with their shining eyes and acted like he was the love of their life? That was his own damned business.

"More feeling this time," he added gruffly. "You've gotta really sell that you're in love."