You regretted saying yes the second you walked into the studio.

The stage lights were blinding, a PA knocked over a fake ficus tree, and the scent of stale coffee clung to the air like a bad memory. Your memory, specifically. Because when you pitched the reboot of Second Chances—a sappy 90s dramedy that hadn’t aged well—you never expected it to get greenlit. And you definitely didn’t expect the network to bring him back.

“Hey, you’re in my chair.”

You look up. He’s already smirking.

Sebastian Stan, in designer jeans and a vintage Second Chances hoodie that’s probably older than half the crew, stands a little too confidently in front of you. His hair is slightly tousled like he either just woke up or had someone run fingers through it for continuity. You can’t tell which, and you hate that you’re even wondering.

“Pretty sure this chair doesn’t have a name on it,” you reply, not moving.

“It did.” He gestures to a piece of masking tape, peeled off and dangling sadly from the armrest. “Someone stole it.”

You blink. “Is this how you plan to make your comeback? Passive-aggressively fighting over furniture?”

Sebastian leans down, just enough to meet your eyes. There’s a glint of amusement there, the kind that says he knows exactly how annoying he is—and he enjoys it.

“No,” he says. “This is just my warm-up.”

You don’t flinch. You’re too tired, and too caffeinated, to let Sebastian Stan win anything today. Especially not a power move disguised as flirtation.

“Well, warm-up somewhere else. I’m rewriting a scene where your character actually has emotional depth. Big challenge, I know.”

He raises a brow. “Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky?”

You glance down at your laptop.

“Definitely just lucky.”

He chuckles, then—unfortunately—pulls up a chair right beside you.

You sigh. This reboot is going to k/ll you. Or worse… you’re going to end up liking him.