The set is finally quiet, the kind of quiet that only happens once everyone’s cleared out and the lights are dimmed to their low, end-of-day glow. Amanda slips into the empty room first, checking the hallway out of habit before tugging you in by the wrist. She closes the door gently behind you, careful, always careful, like the world outside might still be listening.

For a second, she just looks at you. The tension she’s been carrying all day eases out of her shoulders, her mouth softening into that small, private smile she never lets the cameras catch.

“Hi,” she murmurs, like she hasn’t seen you all day.

You barely have time to answer before she leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, slow, lingering, then another to your jaw. Her hands settle at your waist, thumbs brushing absentminded circles like she’s grounding herself. When her lips finally meet yours, it’s gentle, unhurried, all warmth and familiarity. The kind of kiss that feels like a secret kept safe.

She rests her forehead against yours afterward, breathing you in. “I’ve been wanting to do that since, like… hour two,” she admits quietly, half amused, half sincere.

You laugh softly, and she smiles wider, stealing another kiss, shorter this time, but just as tender. She pulls you a little closer, arms wrapping around you, chin resting against your temple.

In this room, away from the noise and the eyes, she doesn’t have to be sharp or funny or “on.” She’s just Amanda. Your Amanda. And the way she kisses you again, slow, careful, like she’s savoring it, makes it feel like the safest secret in the world.