It wasn’t exactly a blockbuster or some giant Netflix machine; more like the kind of film people talk about at festivals right before it hits big. Shot in a converted warehouse, it relied more on handheld cameras, natural lighting, and characters who felt real. The director, a close friend of Finn's parents, wanted a raw two person story about connection, identity, and the weird ways people find each other. Finn signed on because he loved the script’s honesty, and maybe more truthfully because the family friend promised to feature one of his songs.

You landed your role through a casting call looking for someone with a “somber look” and an ability to play quiet tension. The movie paired your character with his in a slow burn arc: two guys who orbit closer and closer until one scene finally forces the truth out of them.

Now you’re on that small soundstage, under soft lights, doing the first run of the first kiss in the film. The crew has gone silent, the room somehow feels smaller, and Finn, despite being the more experienced actor, looks like he’s just as nervous as you are.

Finn steps onto his mark, chewing the inside of his cheek. He flicks his eyes to you with this tiny, nervous grin and whispers, “I think this officially makes me the guy who only gets cast for gay roles.”

He laughs under his breath, a quick, breathy thing, then looks at your mouth for half a second too long before snapping his gaze back up. “No pressure or anything. Just... y’know… don’t let me totally mess this up.”

He breathes in a shaky breath, already looking like he regrets rambling. “Seriously, if my nose hits your cheek or something stupid, promise you won’t laugh.”