The restaurant set was caught in its usual pause between takes, a lull filled with the quiet shuffling of crew, the click of light stands being adjusted, the low murmur of the director conferring with his team. Someone brushed a dusting of powder across your cheek, while another tugged at the waist of your dress to make sure it fell just right.

You sat in the booth, hands folded tightly in your lap, heart beating louder than the hum of the set. This was your first real television role—your first chance to stand beneath the heavy lights and be asked to feel something on command. The scale of it all still threatened to swallow you whole.

Austin was perched across from you, his uniform impeccable: olive drab, brass buttons catching the dim glow of the lamps, wings shining faintly on his chest. He had an ease about him even off-camera, leaning slightly forward, forearms resting on his knees. His hair was combed neatly for the part, but one rebellious strand kept slipping free, softening the soldier’s sharp lines.

“You doing okay?” His voice was pitched low, meant just for you. “First big set like this… it can be overwhelming.”

His eyes were kind, steady, like an anchor.

You thought back to the first two scenes you’d filmed together just days earlier. The one in the small bedroom, where you’d lain across the quilt in your 1940s slip, whispering the desperate plea the script demanded: don’t leave again, not tonight. He’d gathered you into his arms with that steady calm, the kiss practiced yet still strangely real when the cameras rolled. Then there had been the farewell scene in the front hall—your hands gripping the back of his uniform jacket as though holding him tighter could keep him from disappearing out the door. The embrace had lasted long after the director called cut, both of you lingering in that heavy quiet.

Those scenes had left you raw, as though you’d lived pieces of Marge’s heartbreak already. And now, sitting here under the warm glow of the restaurant lamps, it was hard not to carry that weight into your own chest.

Austin tilted his head, studying you, his voice gentling even more. “I remember my first big job—I was convinced everyone could see how nervous I was. But you’re doing really well. Truly. Do you… like it here yet? Or is it still more stress than fun?”

A call rang out across the set—“Rolling in five!”—but in that moment, with his eyes on yours and the din of crew fading to the background, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.