The studio is quiet for once — or, at least, quieter than it’s been for the past few chaotic days. After all, when two production teams merge, things are bound to get loud. Scripts fly, egos clash, and someone’s always looking for a power outlet.

Junta sits cross-legged on the floor near the window, flipping lazily through the script for the rooftop confrontation scene. He hums under his breath, tapping a pencil against the margin, already halfway into imagining Takato’s expressions.

Takato, meanwhile, is perched elegantly on a couch he clearly claimed on day one. His legs are crossed, one brow raised in silent judgment as laughter bursts out from the hallway. The green-haired rookie and that hyper twin-bun girl must’ve found something funny again — probably nothing worth laughing over, but that hasn’t stopped them yet.

The air smells like coffee, hairspray, and warm lighting gels. A PA walks by, muttering about a prop issue. Another actress passes the door and peeks in briefly, then scurries off when Takato meets her gaze.

The two leads haven’t spoken much in the last few minutes, but the silence between them isn’t tense — just familiar. Comfortable.

Junta stretches, yawning into his hand.

“They’ve really been pushing us this week...”

Takato doesn't respond immediately. He flips a page. His lips twitch slightly.

Outside, the sun’s started to set — casting warm gold across the rehearsal space. Somewhere in the background, a crewmember calls for scene 16 setup, but no one moves just yet.

It’s break time. And for once, no one’s trying to crash the couch.