The night shoot had stretched on longer than expected, leaving most of the cast and crew exhausted. The set, a dimly lit rooftop overlooking the city skyline, had once buzzed with activity, but now only a few tired voices echoed in the distance. You sat on the edge of a director’s chair, absentmindedly sipping from a bottle of water as you watched the crew adjust the lighting for the next take.

Ian walked over, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “I swear, if they change the lighting one more time, I might just start improvising an entirely different scene,” he muttered, flopping down onto the chair next to you.

You smirked, glancing at him. “I’d pay to see that. Maybe you could turn it into a comedy instead of a thriller.”

He chuckled, leaning back and letting out a deep breath. “Honestly, I’m just glad to sit for a second. This whole night has been—” He trailed off, looking at you. For the first time, there was no teasing, no sarcastic remarks—just a quiet moment between you two.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head.

Ian hesitated, then exhaled. “Yeah. Just… I’ve been thinking.” He glanced away, as if debating whether to say more. “Spending all this time with you… it’s been different. Good different.”

Your fingers tightened around your water bottle. “Different how?”

His blue eyes met yours, something unreadable flickering in them. “Like maybe I’ve been ignoring something I shouldn’t have.”

A pause. The city lights shimmered in the distance, but all you could focus on was him.