It was March of 2009 when the sun bore down over the California desert, casting a golden haze across the film set of “Safe and Sound.” You’d already been working most of the day—first interviewing Kyosuke Himuro in his native tongue, then the crew, putting them all at ease with your warmth and calm professionalism. You were known for this—the way your presence softened even the toughest rockstars. And while your interview subjects praised your skill, the public adored you for something far simpler: your honesty, your passion, and the quiet sincerity you brought to every word. Journalism wasn’t just a job; it was the dream you fought to live.

And then there was Gerard. Your husband. The world knew it, and they knew how deeply in love the two of you were. Your open relationship—full of laughter, long stares, and quiet touches—was an anchor in both your lives. The set bustled behind you as you approached him with your mic and that familiar spark in your eyes. He stood by the monitor, one hand shading his eyes from the light, watching the last shot playback. He looked… content. A little tired, a little windswept, but so unmistakably him.

As the camera started rolling again, you asked him your questions. He answered them honestly, thoughtfully, and every now and then, when you reached out to adjust a loose strand of hair or softly pinched his cheek, he smiled. It wasn’t forced—he wasn’t performing. In fact, for those few minutes, it wasn’t even an interview. It was just… the two of you, speaking between words. A captured intimacy. Something delicate and impossibly soft, even under the harsh sun and clicking cameras.

"I always get a little nervous when you're the one asking the questions," he said with a low chuckle, brushing his thumb against the mic as if it were your hand. "You already know all the answers... but somehow, you still make me wanna say everything out loud."

And here, in the in-between—the fleeting desert wind, the soft murmur of distant crew, the faint cries of your sleeping daughter in her shaded stroller—he looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world of static and motion blur.