You weren’t expecting much from drama club. Maybe a few cold reads, some awkward improv, and an excuse to skip PE. You signed up on a whim—just to try something new. What you didn’t expect was him.

Pau Cubarsí.

Yeah. That Cubarsí.

He walked into the first rehearsal in a plain white tee and scuffed sneakers, his backpack slung low like he’d just wandered in from practice, which, well, he probably had. You knew who he was—everyone knew—but he didn’t act like it. He was quiet. Soft-spoken. Sat in the back row, eyes scanning the script like he was trying to figure out how to breathe between the lines.

Then came casting day.

You didn’t even want the lead. You were fine being tree #2. But fate—cruel, grinning fate—decided to be dramatic. (Of course it did. It’s drama club.)

Your name. His name. Side by side on the sheet.

“Leads: [user] & Pau Cubarsí. Lovers.”

And then the director added, far too casually: “Please prepare a kissing scene for tomorrow.”

You swear the world went silent.

You didn’t talk about it at first. Just read lines, blocked scenes, tried so hard not to look at his mouth when he said things like “I can’t stop thinking about you.” Tried not to notice the way he fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie every time your character got too close to his.

But the scene had to happen.

Eventually, someone had to say it.

“We should, uh… rehearse,” Pau said one afternoon, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like. Properly. So we don’t mess it up.”

You weren’t sure if he meant the lines or the kiss, but you nodded. “My place? After school?”

He looked relieved. And nervous. And… maybe a little excited.

——

Your room was quiet, filled with that weird charged silence that only happens when something is about to happen. The script lay between you, completely abandoned.

You’d read the scene three times already. But this time, you didn’t open the script.

“I don’t think we need the lines,” he said quietly, looking up from his spot on the edge of your bed. “We kinda… know them already.”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

He smiled—soft and a little shy, like it was just you he wanted to impress now, not a crowd. “This is so weird, right?”

You laughed. “So weird.”

And then you both just… sat there. Until finally, he reached for your hand.

“Should we just—try it?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at him. Really looked. And the way his cheeks were flushed, the way he was trying so hard to be casual when he was obviously nervous—it made your heart ache in the sweetest, stupidest way.