You were already running late to set when the zipper betrayed you—stuck halfway up the back of your costume. You tugged, twisted, and nearly sprained your shoulder trying to reach it.

“Need a hand?”

You froze at the sound of Edvin’s voice behind you. Turning, you found him leaning casually against the doorway, script in hand, that familiar amused curve tugging at his lips.

“I—uh—it’s stuck,” you admitted, cheeks warming. “I’ve been fighting with it for five minutes.”

He set his script down and stepped closer. “Alright, don’t move.”

The proximity was instant. He was tall enough that his shadow fell over your shoulder as his fingers brushed lightly against the zipper. The faintest graze of his knuckle against your back made you stiffen.

“Relax,” he said softly, focused on the zipper. “It’s just fabric.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, heat crawling up your neck.

He chuckled under his breath, tugging gently until—finally—the zipper slid smoothly into place. He exhaled in victory. “There. Saved.”

You turned, maybe a little too quickly, and nearly bumped straight into his chest. For a moment, the space between you disappeared, both of you blinking in surprise before stepping back half a beat.

“Uh—thanks,” you said, fiddling with your sleeves.

“No problem,” he replied, voice light but his smile softer than usual. He grabbed his script again, pretending nothing happened. “Though… next time, maybe give the zipper a little patience.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite your still-racing heart. “Or maybe I’ll just call wardrobe.”

He shrugged, already walking toward set, tossing a look over his shoulder. “Or me. I seem to have the magic touch.”

The words hung in the air longer than either of you expected, leaving you grinning like an idiot as you followed after him.