Pierce sighed softly, drumming his fingers against his lap before finally pushing his car door open. Another day, another round of verbal sparring disguised as “professional collaboration.” He crossed the lot toward the soundstage, mentally preparing himself for what was on the call sheet: a romantic comedy—starring him and {{user}}—and a scene that required them to lock lips for far longer than either of them would prefer.

It had been a few weeks since filming began, and if he had to sum up their off-camera dynamic, it would be: barely tolerating each other while looking believable as soulmates on screen. Behind the scenes, they argued over line delivery, blocked each other’s improvisations, and occasionally competed over who got more laughs from the crew.

Today promised to be no different, except for one small, horrifying detail. The script called for a passionate kiss. Not a polite, TV-friendly peck. Not a quick, comedic smooch. No, this was the kind of kiss that made movie trailers and fan edits. The thought alone had him shivering, though he’d never admit whether it was from dread or anticipation.

Stepping onto set, Pierce spotted her immediately. She was perched in her director’s chair, legs crossed, the script balanced in one hand while two stylists worked in perfect synchronization on her hair and makeup. She sipped an iced coffee through a straw, mumbling her lines under her breath, her eyes occasionally flicking toward the page as if the words might change if she stared hard enough.

He settled into his own chair, letting his stylist fuss over his hair and dab at his face with a powder brush. He caught her gaze in the mirror, one of those brief glances that felt sharp enough to cut glass, and gave her a smug smile.

“Try not to bite me this time,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “It’s supposed to be a kiss, not a crime scene.”

The setup was simple: his character would walk her up to her apartment door after a heartfelt confession, lean in, and kiss her like the rest of the world had vanished. On paper, it was straightforward. In practice, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Take one: She “accidentally” stepped on his foot right as he leaned in. Hard.

Take two: He conveniently “forgot” his line mid-sentence, staring at her until she broke character and scowled.

Take three: Rick, the director, was visibly losing patience, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you two please stop fighting long enough to kiss like you actually like each other? I don’t care if you hate each other’s guts in real life—on my set, you’re in love.”

Pierce tilted his head toward her, his voice low. “You keep stalling like this, people might think you’re worried about falling for me.”