It’s late. The set’s quiet, everyone else has wrapped for the day. You stayed behind to run lines for tomorrow’s big scene. He said he was heading out, but thirty minutes later, he’s sitting across from you, hoodie sleeves pushed up, script in hand, smirk in place.

“Didn’t feel right leaving you here alone” he says, like it’s nothing. Like he always lingers for co-stars.

You’re half-distracted, trying to focus, but he keeps giving your lines a little too much meaning. Your characters aren’t supposed to be into each other yet, but the way he looks at you between lines says otherwise.

When you call him out on it, he just shrugs. “Maybe I’m getting into character. Or maybe I just like messing with you.”

His tone is light, but his eyes? Not so much.

He leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against the script. “So… do you wanna keep running lines? Or talk about what we’re really doing here?”