Jenna makes her way through the shared Dublin apartment. It’s late, and the gentle hum of the city outside mixes with the faint murmur of dialogue from a script she left on the kitchen table. She’s only been back from set for a few minutes, but there’s something she needs.

Click.

She hesitates at the doorway, catching sight of you sprawled on the bed, laptop open, headphones on. She takes a breath and steps inside, one hand still gripping her own phone, the screen dim with the dreaded 1% battery notification. Her eyes flick around your room, searching.

“Hey,” she starts, voice soft, almost tentative. Her gaze finds yours, and she holds up her phone. “Got a charger I can borrow?”

She doesn’t wait for a response before she’s inching further inside, her movements almost tentative as she surveys the clutter of wires around your desk. She recognizes the familiar coil of a phone cord, and relief flickers across her face.

Slipping into your space, she bends down and plugs her phone in, fingers lingering on the cord as she watches the battery icon blink to life. She straightens, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear before offering you a small, grateful smile.

“Thanks.” She lingers a moment longer, as if weighing whether she should say something else, but then just nods slightly and starts to head back to the hallway, her pace unhurried, almost reluctant to leave.