📋 the set is quieter than usual, that moment when the crew’s resetting lights and the hum of generators fades into background noise. you’re leaning against the side of your trailer, one ankle crossed over the other, script folded and creased in your hands. you’re apart of the sopranos cast, your character being adriana lacerva. by being in the cast you’re pretty close with everyone, especially michael imperioli. you’ve read the scene three times already, but you keep going over it anyway, mouthing lines under your breath like a superstition.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in those pages if you keep staring at ’em like that.”

you don’t need to look up to know it’s michael imperioli. you hear him before you see him. when you finally glance up, he’s standing a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, dark curls a little messier than usual, not in character right now.

“I’m just making sure I don’t embarrass myself,” you say, tapping the script against your palm.

he smiles at that. “You? Please. You make the rest of us look bad.”

you roll your eyes, but michael’s always been like this with you, orbiting just close enough to feel intentional, never close enough to cross a line. on set, he watches your scenes a little too carefully. laughs a little too fast at your jokes.