You didn’t even realize you were swaying.

It had been a brutal day on the Outer Banks set — not because anyone had been cruel or because anything went wrong, but because your body was at its limit. The early call time, the screaming scenes, the endless retakes under the suffocating southern heat. You hadn’t eaten enough. Barely drank water. Your legs trembled when you walked, but you didn’t want to be the one to hold things up.

So you kept going.

Until you felt it — that hollow, echoing wave washing over your head like warm water. Your ears buzzed. The edges of your vision softened, colors bleeding at the corners. You were standing off to the side near the trailers, waiting out a short five-minute break, and everything felt like it was tipping.

You blinked slowly. One breath, then the next.

Then your knees gave a little. Not a full collapse, just a slow dip like your body couldn’t quite hold you up anymore.

“Whoa—hey—hey, baby, hey.”

Drew’s voice came out sharp — alarmed but quiet enough not to draw the whole set. In an instant, his hands were on your arms, steadying you as you swayed. His brows were furrowed so tightly it almost hurt to look at him.

You couldn’t form words. Your lips parted, but only a shaky breath came out.

He caught you before you hit the ground completely, lowering you to sit on the edge of a wooden crate nearby, crouching down in front of you, his hands cupping your face now, thumbs brushing your temples.

“Breathe. Look at me. You’re okay.”

Your eyes fluttered, trying to focus on him.

“I think I—” you whispered, voice barely there, “I didn’t eat.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Drew said, one hand already searching in his pocket for a protein bar someone handed him earlier. “You’ve been pushing too hard. I knew it. I knew it.”

You weren’t crying, but your throat felt tight and your body was trembling. Everyone else was still moving in the background, but it was all muffled. Distant. The only real thing was Drew’s voice and his touch and the smell of his cologne.

He glanced over his shoulder sharply. “Can someone get water over here? Now!”

Someone rushed off without question.

“Sit with me,” he said, his tone gentler again. He moved first, sitting down against a storage crate, pulling you between his legs so you could rest against him. You curled up without protest, your cheek finding his thigh as you settled into his lap.

He wrapped one arm around your shoulder, the other around your waist. His fingers stroked your hair, his lips pressing to your temple as he whispered over and over:

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”

People gave you space once they saw you safe with him. The AD came over quietly, but Drew waved him off without letting go of you. “She needs a minute,” he said. “Five more minutes won’t kill anyone.”