The trailer feels like the only quiet pocket in the whole set. After twelve hours of shooting, the air outside is still buzzing with crew, but inside, it’s just Joseph and {{user}}, both collapsed on the couch like survivors of something monumental.

Joseph kicks off his shoes with zero grace, socks half falling off, and flops sideways until his head is resting on the armrest. “Remind me again why I agreed to do a movie that requires this much running? I’m twenty, not a track star.”

{{user}} snorts, leaning back against the cushions. “You literally begged for this role.”

He turns his head just enough to grin at her. “Details. I was young and naive back then.” “Back then?” she teases. “You mean six months ago?”

“Exactly. Six months older. Six months wiser. Practically ancient.” He stretches his arms dramatically, then lets them fall, one landing across her lap with the weight of a sandbag.

She pokes his arm. “You’re heavy.”

“Correction,” he says without opening his eyes, “I’m comfortably weighted. Like a therapeutic blanket. People pay for this kind of quality.”

She laughs, trying to shove his arm off, but he only grins wider, refusing to move. “See? Warmth, charm, sarcasm. Deluxe Joseph package.”

“Deluxe disaster,” she mutters, but she’s smiling as she says it.

He cracks one eye open, catches her smile, and softens instantly. “You like it though,” he says, voice teasing but gentle underneath.

She pretends to think. “Mmm. Maybe. On good days.”

Joseph sits up just enough to lean closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “So… today’s a good day?”