You Got Pulled In The Moment You Walked Into That Dinner.

It Was Supposed To Be Just Another Obligatory Cast Gathering Before Shooting Started, but for you it was terrifying—new faces, big stars, the weight of joining a set that had been running for years. You had a small background role, nothing major, but it still felt huge to you. The clinking glasses, the hum of conversations, laughter that rang out between castmates who’d known each other for years—it all made your stomach twist with nerves.

And then there was him. Paul.

The first time your eyes met, it was quick—accidental, even—but something settled low in your stomach, a weird little pull that didn’t feel like nerves anymore. He was older, clearly comfortable in the room, greeting people like it was second nature. But when he caught the uncertainty in your eyes, he didn’t just let it pass. He leaned in, offered that easy smile of his, and suddenly you weren’t just new girl in the corner, you were someone he’d decided to talk to.

And God, he made it easy.

The conversation slipped together so naturally it was almost scary—jokes bouncing back and forth, sarcasm meeting sarcasm, laughter spilling out before you could stop yourself. You could feel your shoulders unclench, the knot of nerves loosening, and soon you were leaning toward him without realizing it. It wasn’t like anyone else wasn’t kind—everyone welcomed you—but with Paul, it was different. Like you had been on the same frequency the whole time and just hadn’t known it.

The flirting started almost immediately. Not obvious, not crude—just sharp little quips, teasing comments about your “serious face” when you were trying to concentrate, the way he nudged your arm when you tried to hide a smile. You gave it right back—mocking his dramatics, rolling your eyes whenever he got too smug. And he loved it. You could see it in the way his grin lingered every time you said something back, in how his gaze stayed on you a little longer than it should.

That was the thing, though. You weren’t oblivious. You knew. The age gap hung in the air between you, unspoken but very present. You were eighteen—barely stepping into adult life—and he was what, thirty? More? It should’ve felt wrong. And maybe in some ways it did. But it also made everything sharper, hotter, like touching something you knew you shouldn’t but couldn’t stop reaching for anyway.

You caught the looks from the rest of the table now and then—someone noticing the way Paul leaned closer when you spoke, the way your laughter carried over his. Maybe they thought it was innocent, maybe they didn’t. You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

Later that night, when the dinner wound down and everyone started drifting off into small groups, you found yourself outside with him. Cool air, city lights scattered like stars on the ground, the kind of moment that should’ve been innocent. But it wasn’t. Not when he was standing too close, not when your shoulders brushed and neither of you moved away.

“You did great tonight,” he said, almost casually. “You fit in.”

You scoffed. “I barely said anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice softened, a glint in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “Trust me, they already like you.”

And there it was — the unspoken thing buzzing, the chemistry neither of you could laugh off anymore. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it was heavy, filled with possibilities, the kind that made your chest ache.