Jonathan Roumie adjusted his tunic for what felt like the hundredth time, eyes darting to the floor as he shifted uncomfortably on set. “So,” he exhaled, glancing at you, his scene partner. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

You, equally unsure, nodded. The scene in question was not the usual fare for The Chosen—a moment of raw, romantic tension that had sent both of you into a spiral of polite avoidance all morning. There was touching. Gazing. An almost-kiss.

The director clapped his hands together, exasperated. “Guys, we’ve been here for an hour, and I’m getting nothing. This isn’t Sunday school; give me some heat! We need real chemistry.”

You and Jonathan exchanged panicked glances. Real chemistry? Between the two of you, a devout Catholic and someone whose idea of flirting was not that?

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, I don’t usually—uh—do this kind of thing.”

“You literally play Jesus,” you reminded him. “I’d be more concerned if you did.”

The director groaned. “Fine. You two need to loosen up. Try… unconventional methods.”

“Like what?” you asked hesitantly.

“Surprise each other.”

That was all the instruction he gave before storming off to adjust the lighting.

You and Jonathan stood there, still awkward. Then, Jonathan took a deep breath and—

“Did you know that in the first century, Galilean sandals were made of goat leather?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I panicked,” he admitted.

You sighed. “Okay, unconventional methods. How about this—we-…..“