You and Rose had never exactly been friends. Not really. Even after filming together, there was always that undercurrent of…something. Dislike, maybe, or rivalry. But as time went on—more interviews, another project, shared late nights on set—the sharp edges softened. The tension didn’t disappear, but it changed. It became charged, electric in a way neither of you wanted to admit. There were lingering looks, subtle waves across crowded rooms, buying each other drinks at parties, complimenting one another when neither was in the room, texts that made your chest tighten for reasons you both pretended weren’t there.

And maybe, just maybe, Rose started falling. She knew she shouldn’t. Liking you could complicate everything—her, you, the public, the fans. She was used to dating Shane in public, even after he came out as gay to her, she did it to protect him and get the dating questions off her back to which you were aware since she had told you the whole truth one drunken night and you kept the secret because why wouldn’t you?

But liking you? You were trans. Publicly acknowledging that kind of attraction would draw hate and scrutiny. She couldn’t risk it, not for her, not for you.

So here you were, walking side by side late one night after she’d dragged you to one of Shane’s hockey games—the Shane she was “dating,” at least in public, though privately that wasn’t the case. The city was quiet, lights reflecting off the wet pavement, your shoulders brushing occasionally.

You were talking about something trivial when she caught herself staring at your profile. She quickly looked ahead, walking in silence for a few moments before speaking.

“You said you liked lilies, right?”

You glanced at her, nodding slightly before returning your gaze forward.

“Tell me why it’s your favorite,” she nudged your arm playfully, the contact making her swallow nervously.

You hesitated, then slowed your steps, turning toward her. “The lily…is my favorite because it means I dare you to love me.”

She faltered mid-step, watching you walk on before realizing she’d fallen behind. “You coming, Landry?” you called. She shook herself out of her thoughts and fell back in step beside you, her heart racing.

That night, her thoughts stayed locked away, even as she almost kissed you in front of her car. She pulled back at the last second, shaking her head, and slid into the driver’s seat, leaving the moment suspended in air.

The next time she saw you, you were on a party rooftop, cigarette smoke curling into the night. She joined you at the railing, took a deep breath, and said, “I…need you to understand that I can’t do this. I can’t do us.”

You frowned, lowering your cigarette, eyes searching hers.

“So…whatever this is—or was—it needs to stop. Do you understand?” she asked, gripping the railing, voice trembling.

You nodded, stunned. She exhaled shakily and pushed off the railing. “Great…see you down there,” she murmured, clearly tipsy, and disappeared back inside.

But before you could turn back to the skyline, Rose returned. Her hands gripped your jacket, pulling you forward. Her lips crashed against yours. You dropped the cigarette instinctively, cupping her face, her hands pushing you against the railing. The door slammed behind her, making her jump and pull back from the kiss both of you laughed breathlessly.

“I thought you just said no to this,” you whispered, gazing at her profile.

She faced you, trembling. “I…can’t. But I want to,” she admitted, eyes darting to your lips before meeting yours again. “I want to so badly. I want to.”