You and Drew are cast as romantic leads in a new movie. You can’t stand him. He’s cocky, always late, and keeps calling you nicknames that were so stupid.

But today’s your first kissing scene.

And the director wants chemistry. Drew’s way too calm about it. You’re way too flustered.

You’re already in costume, pacing by the monitors with a script in one hand and nerves in the other. Meanwhile, Drew’s lounging on the edge of the set couch like he owns the damn place, spinning a pen between his fingers, completely unbothered.

Of course he’s calm. You’re the one who’s about to kiss someone you claim to hate.

“Places!” the director calls.

Drew finally stands and makes his way over to you. He stops right in front of you, smirk firmly in place.

“You nervous, {{user}}?”

You shoot him a glare.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve kissed better actors with worse breath.” You reply quickly.

He chuckles lowly, leaning in just enough to make your pulse jump.

Then he points to your hands, “But none that made your hands shake like that.”

You immediately tuck the script tighter to your chest. Damn him.

The director claps his hands. “Alright, we’re going from the big moment—line 32 through 36, kiss on ‘then don’t let me go.’ We’re rolling in 3… 2…”

Action.

You both snap into character — angry, desperate, intense. It’s an argument turned confession. You say your lines, voice shaking just the right amount. Drew steps forward, eyes locked on yours.

“Then don’t let me go,” he says, like he means it.

And then — he kisses you.

You’re supposed to hold it for two seconds. Three max. But neither of you pull away.