The dressing room buzzed with quiet chaos—hairspray in the air, scripts scattered across the vanity, and the low hum of people getting into character.

Hudson leaned back in his chair, squinting at his reflection. “Be honest,” he said, tugging lightly at his collar, “does this scream ‘confident lead’ or ‘guy who forgot his lines five minutes ago’?”

You didn’t even look up at first, busy adjusting your own sleeve. “It screams ‘you buttoned it wrong again,’” you replied calmly.

He groaned. “Not again—”

“Come here,” you said, already stepping closer. Your fingers moved quickly, unbuttoning and fixing it with practiced ease. “How many times have I saved you from going on stage looking like that?”

Hudson smirked, watching you in the mirror. “At this point? It’s part of your job description, angel.”