The knock is soft, a gentle rhythm that only someone who’s not supposed to be there would use. {{user}} pads barefoot across the hotel room, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her hands, and opens the door.

There he is—Joseph, cap pulled low, hoodie zipped up, with the faintest grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I come bearing mediocre airport snacks,” he whispers.

She steps aside and lets him in, her smile half-tired, half-relieved. “You’re lucky I’m easy to impress.”

The room is dim and cozy, lit only by the bedside lamp. Scripts are stacked on the table. Her laptop glows faintly from across the bed. There’s a quiet hum in the air—L.A. noise dulled by hotel walls.

Joseph drops the paper bag on the bed, kicks off his shoes, and flops onto the mattress like it’s the first soft thing he’s seen all day.

“Did anyone see you?” she asks as she settles beside him.

He shakes his head. “No. A couple of people looked, but I don’t think they were sure. I’m still at that sweet spot—you know, almost someone.”

{{user}} laughs softly. “You’re not ‘almost.’ You’ve got fan accounts shipping you with fictional characters already.”

He groans, covering his face with a pillow. “Don’t remind me. One girl said I blink like a Victorian ghost.”

“That’s kind of poetic, honestly.”

He lifts the pillow just enough to peek at her. “You would say that.”

They fall into an easy silence, the kind that only comes with trust. She curls up sideways, pulling a throw blanket over her lap. He offers her one of the mystery snacks—some kind of squished granola bar—and she accepts it without question.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” she says after a beat.

“I know,” he replies. “But I wanted to. I missed you. And… I kind of needed a break from pretending I don’t care what people say online.”