Rehearsal wrapped, but you and Edvin stayed behind in the empty studio, scripts scattered across the couch. The one scene you hadn’t touched yet—the kiss—hung unspoken between you like a weight.

Edvin broke the silence first, drumming his fingers against the script. “You know… it’s gonna be ten times more awkward if the first time we try it is with twenty people staring.”

You raised a brow, pretending to stay casual. “Are you suggesting we… practice?”

His grin was quick but nervous, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For the sake of the scene. Purely professional, obviously.”

You laughed softly. “Obviously.”

The laughter died fast, though, replaced by a taut, humming silence. He shifted closer, his knee brushing yours, and suddenly there wasn’t enough space on the couch.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low, almost rough. His hand hovered near your jaw, close enough to feel the warmth but not quite touching.

You swallowed hard. “We’re professionals, right?”

That broke something in him—his grin returned, crooked and teasing. “Right.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His fingers finally touched your chin, tilting your face up. The first brush of his lips was careful, almost testing. But then he shifted closer, deepening it—his thumb grazing your cheekbone, his other hand resting against your knee like he needed the anchor.

The world fell away. It didn’t feel like practice. It felt dangerous.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Edvin’s forehead rested against yours for a beat too long. His voice was quiet, shaky but playful.

“Yeah… we should, um—definitely rehearse that again. Just to be sure.”

But the way his lips lingered near yours, like he wasn’t finished, made it very clear: this had nothing to do with the scene anymore.