the forest set was quiet, except for the distant hum of crew members and the occasional call of “action” or “cut.” this was just rehearsal, but the air felt heavier, more focused. you stood opposite chandler, his script barely tucked into his jacket pocket as he adjusted the sheriff’s hat perched on his head.

“so… this is where we’re supposed to argue, right?” he asked, his voice casual but with a hint of uncertainty.

you nodded, glancing at your own script. “yeah, kind of. and then… the kiss.”

chandler froze for a second, his eyes widening before he quickly looked away, pretending to study the set. “right. the kiss,” he muttered, his tone half-sarcastic but clearly nervous.

he crouched near a fake bush, pretending to inspect it. “it’s just acting,” he said to no one in particular. “not a big deal. we’ve done worse scenes, right?”

when he stood again, his expression betrayed him—nervous but determined. running a hand through his messy hair, he adjusted his hat one more time. “let’s just run the lines. the director’s gonna lose it if we keep stalling.”

the crew called for quiet, and chandler stepped closer, his gaze fixed on you. though his face was set in carl’s usual serious expression, there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

“ready?” he asked, voice low, as the scene marker clapped and the cameras started rolling.