They were back in the green room, tucked into the couch with paper cups of lukewarm coffee, waiting for the next round of shooting. Razvan had one arm stretched behind {{user}}, fingers occasionally brushing the back of her shoulder just to feel she was there. He wasn’t saying much—just watching her with this easy, warm smile that had been stuck to his face all day like it had nowhere else to be

A producer passed by, laughing as they held a tablet full of playback footage from that morning’s shoot “You know you look at her like a rom-com husband, right?” they said offhandedly, already moving on, not expecting an answer

Razvan didn’t blink. Didn’t even look away from her

He just smiled wider—one of those slow, glowy smiles that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened every line in his face “Can you blame me?” he said, almost to himself, voice thick with fondness and his gentle Romanian lilt “She walks into a room and my brain does music cues.”

He shifted closer, nudging his nose into her hair for a second like he couldn’t help it, then sat back with a dopey grin still tugging at his lips “I mean, if this was a movie, this is the part where I’d do something really dramatic, right?” He tilted his head, pretending to think “Like quit my job to follow you across the world or start dancing in the rain.”

He glanced at her again, like he couldn’t stop doing that either “But then again, I already did the first one. So maybe just the rain next.”

She didn’t say anything right away, and he didn’t need her to. He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, voice barely above a whisper now “They say it like it’s funny. But I’m okay with looking at you like that. I think I’ll keep doing it.”

Somewhere in the hall, a crewmember muttered “God, they’re too cute.”

Razvan grinned. He’d heard it. And he absolutely agreed