Landing a job on a major movie production was a dream come true—but what you didn’t expect was that your chair would be reserved for Josh Hutcherson. He was effortlessly charming, surprisingly down-to-earth, and never complained, even during the early call times or long retakes.

Over the weeks, you grew comfortable around him. He made it easy. Joking around between scenes, asking questions about your work, occasionally letting his eyes linger a little too long when he thought you weren’t looking.

Today was no different.

You stood in front of him, brush in hand, gently blending foundation along his cheekbone as you prepped him for the next scene. You could feel his gaze locked on you—not in a distracted or bored way, but like he was watching you paint something delicate.

You glanced up, catching him staring.

“What?” you asked with a soft laugh, cheeks warming under his attention.

Josh blinked, like he’d just been pulled out of a trance. Then he smiled, slow and sincere.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “You’re just… really beautiful.”

Your hand paused mid-motion. The room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer.

You swallowed, trying not to smile too much. “You know, flattery won’t get you out of touch-ups.”

He grinned, eyes still on you. “Wasn’t trying to. Just telling the truth.”