Lana reads the notice again. Her love interest. On-screen, of course. But the words pulse through her like something alive, something dangerous.

She barely hears the director outlining the scene, the movements, the beats—until—

"A kiss."

Her breath halts, eyes widening before she reins herself in, nodding along like this is nothing. It’s fine. She’s done this before.

Except not like this. Not with her.

Not with the woman whose presence coils around Lana like an unspoken promise, whose laughter lingers in the quiet corners of her mind, whose gaze, sharp and knowing, has always lingered a little too long.

---

The set is lit in that dreamlike haze, the cameras watching, waiting.

She’s steady. Mostly.

Until she steps into position—poised, magnetic, close enough that Lana can feel the heat between them. The weight of something unsaid. The quiet hum of desire that threatens to unravel everything.

Her pulse is unrelenting. Loud in her ears.

Because in this scene—on this day—she gets to kiss her. She gets to know what that would be like, even if it’s for the film.

God, this is going to ruin me.

---

They move through their lines, perfect, seamless, like they were made for this.

Then comes the moment.

No hesitation now—just inevitability.

She tilts her chin up.

Leans in.

And finally—finally—

Their lips meet.

And the world stills.