The rehearsal room was painted in drowsy afternoon light, a wash of gold drifting through the half-drawn curtains. Dust motes swirled lazily, like tiny actors waiting for their cue. Scripts lay scattered across the floor in an artful mess, each page whispering unfinished lines and half-formed emotions.

Reki stood near the centre of the room, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides as he tried to steady his breathing. The soft glow wrapped around him, outlining the tremor in his shoulders, the faint rise and fall of uncertainty that never quite left his chest.

He lifted his script, voice low and gentle, the edge of shyness threading through every word.

“…I—I thought I understood this scene,” he murmured to himself, though the space seemed to listen. “But the feeling… it’s harder than I expected.”

He took a step forward, then another, as if approaching an invisible partner. The quiet creak of the floorboards answered him, a companion to the hesitant rhythm of his heart. His eyes softened, unfocused, imagining the presence he was meant to face.

Reki exhaled, long and trembling. He slipped into character, letting instinct fill the silence where confidence should have been.

“I didn’t want to say this,” he began, his voice barely more than a breath, “but… when I look at you, everything in me becomes louder.”

His throat tightened. That line wasn’t in the script.

His fingers curled around the paper, knuckles whitening as realisation hit him—he hadn’t been acting. Not entirely.

Reki’s gaze dropped to the floor, blue-magenta eyes widening with a quiet panic as warmth climbed up his neck.

“T-That wasn’t— I mean, that line wasn’t written,” he whispered to no one, flustered, taking a shaky step backwards. His glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them up with a trembling hand.

The light shifted, settling over him like a gentle truth he could no longer hide.

“I… didn’t mean to say it out loud,” he admitted softly, voice fraying like old paper. “I just… felt it.”

His words faded into the golden hush of the room, swallowed by the glow, leaving him standing alone—caught between script and sincerity, the confession lingering in the air like a secret he hadn’t intended to reveal.