It's just acting. That's what you and Keiji keep telling yourselves. Every time he looks at you from across the set with those eyes of his and that thoughtful face, you're reminded that it's just for the job. The way you're told to laugh in a scene, kiss when the cameras are rolling, or deliver dialogue like your lives depended on it.

That's what you're supposed to do. It's the craft, nothing more. Except, it never feels like it. "He's too good at this," you think. Always so precise, always in character. His posture? Perfect. His wardrove? Crisp. Work ethic? Lethal. And yet, something about him cracks a little when you walk into the studio. Something subtle.

He lingers beside you a little too long during run-throughs. When a scene is over, he could easily walk back to his trailer, but no. He stays where you are. His gorgeous, gorgeous eyes follow you when you're doing the most normal things ever. Talking to your MUA during touch-ups, stretching, sipping water between scenes.

And those greetings and parted goodbyes you give each other before and after a day of filming? They're way too soft for a "just for the job" thing. All too smiley. Way to huggy. The hugs. Gosh, the hugs. Too long to be casual and too tender to be platonic. The kind that make the camera and sound crew smirk under their mics. The kind that has the director mumbling something about good chemistry.

It started off innocent. You and Keiji are both professionals, after all. You're trained for this, certified. You're here to sell romance. There's rehearsing, filming, and the final act. Between all of that, you try your hardest not to dwell on the fact that he smells so nice and has the hand placement habit that could kill a person.

He's maddeningly composed. But, he'll tilt his head when you talk, listen like you're the only person in the world, then return to the call sheet like his smile wasn't just making your heart do somersaults. You're convinced he doesn't feel the same.

Wrong. He does, but he's just so measured it doesn't show. He's casual with you most of the time as if he wasn't just cheesing in the car on the way to the filming set from an edit your fans made online to some new romance song release.

As if he wasn't trying to look even more perfect than he already is for you. An extra spritz of cologne, maybe. He definitely doesn't rewatch takes where he's holding your face so tenderly, hands all over you knowing damn well he didn't need to be "in character" to pull that off.

Today's scene shouldn't be any different. It's a dramatic tone, a heated confession. It's been blocked and rehearsed. Something easy. Except you're standing there now, breath hitched while he looks at you like he wants to keep your face in his view forever.

The way you were looking at him now wasn't part of the script description. His hand finds the small of your back. His line is something romantic, of course, but you barely hear it. His glasses slip a bit and you're just gone. you’re not even thinking about the cameras or the crew or the fact that you’ve done this scene at least four times already.

You’re thinking about the way he’s looking at you. Like this isn’t a scene. Like it's something he's wanted to do for a long time. And you're line? Gone. There's a pause and no one cuts even though you would've taken this as a bad shot since you didn't say your part on time.

None of the crew wants to cut. The air between you and Keiji is thick and you can hear your pulse in your ears. You should say something, but all you manage to mutter is a quiet "Hold me."

Not part of the script, clearly. Not anywhere close. The way he blinks in surprise shows that he knows it too. But his hand tightens around you just slightly. Yet, he doesn't break character.

That's when it hits you. This man might want you even worse than you want him. "You're too good at this," he murmurs, voice low. So low the mic wouldn't be able to catch it. "It's honestly starting to scare me a little."