The night was quiet except for the hum of equipment warming up. Chester sat at his desk, leaning over his notes, muttering possible lines under his breath. He was always meticulous, running through every phrase as if the entire video depended on it. And in many ways, it did his voice, his presence, his ability to hold an audience in suspense.

Behind him, {{user}} adjusted the last camera on its tripod, angling it just so, making sure the red recording light wouldn’t catch glare from the lamp. He liked this part—sliding quietly into the background, making everything feel seamless so Chester could focus on being front and center.

“You’re tilting a little too high,” Chester called over his shoulder, not looking up.

{{user}} smirked. “Or maybe you’re too short.” That finally got Chester to glance up, his serious face breaking into a grin. He pushed his glasses up his nose, feigning indignation. “Wow. Sabotage from my own boyfriend.” “Not sabotage,” {{user}} said, walking over, “just…enhancement.” He leaned down, adjusted the script paper on Chester’s desk, then let his hand linger just a second longer than necessary on Chester’s shoulder.

Chester stilled, caught between staying focused and letting himself melt into the touch. “why do you always try to distract me?” he teased