The set’s gone still for a moment — crew moving quietly, lights humming low. Jared’s off to the side, leaning against a wall with his script in hand, hair a little messy from the last scene. He’s reading through his lines, lips moving just enough to show he’s mouthing them under his breath.

You wander over, pretending to check your phone before glancing up. He notices, that easy half-grin tugging at his mouth. “Hey,” he says, voice warm and casual.

“Hey,” you reply, stepping closer. “You make it look like you actually enjoy rehearsing.”

He chuckles, folding the script. “Nah, I just hate forgetting my lines in front of the crew.”

You laugh quietly, and for a moment the noise of the set fades — it’s just the two of you standing there, a few feet apart, the smell of coffee and dust hanging in the air.

He shifts his weight, eyes still on you. “You grabbing a break?”