Bill and {{user}} are filming one of the most emotional scenes of the movie. After a staged explosion, their characters are trapped beneath debris, believing they might not survive. Smoke lingers in the air, fake rubble scattered around them. Their clothes are torn for the scene, damp and dirty, hair messy and clinging to their faces. Both of them are kneeling under the wreckage, facing each other.

{{user}}’s hand rests against Bill’s cheek as part of the scripted confession. His hand is firm on her waist, meant to show desperation. He delivers his lines in a low, strained voice, eyes locked onto hers with raw intensity. The chemistry that’s been building for weeks between rehearsals and lingering glances suddenly feels heavier than acting. His grip tightens slightly, not enough for the cameras to notice, but enough for her to feel.

“Stay with me.” he says quietly — but it’s not the line written in the script.

“Cut!” the director calls out. The crew begins to move again, but Bill doesn’t.

His hand remains at her waist, her palm still warm against his cheek. He keeps looking at her for a few seconds longer than necessary, breathing steady, like he’s trying to remember where the character ends and he begins.