“I’ve got you… Just lean on me, okay?”

Cate’s voice is steady, though there’s a breathless edge to it as she guides you through the dark hallway of her townhouse. Your steps are clumsy, a half-laugh, half-groan slipping from your lips as your shoulder bumps into hers. The cool night air still clings to your clothes, remnants of the chaotic evening you’d both barely escaped.

Of course, you had to be the one who couldn’t handle their drinks tonight. Cate—elegant, composed Cate Blanchett—had already bailed you out once at the bar, offering that wry smile she always wore when teasing you on set. And now here she was again, holding you upright like she hadn’t spent the past ten hours filming intense scenes without breaking a sweat.

“Sit,” she orders gently, nudging you onto the plush velvet couch in her living room. Her hands linger for a moment longer than necessary on your shoulders, steadying you before stepping back. You watch her through a haze, the soft lighting catching the sharp angles of her face, making her look almost unreal.

Cate kneels down in front of you, brushing hair out of your eyes with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. “You’re lucky I like you,” she murmurs, a teasing edge to her voice masking something deeper.

God, you’ve been friends for years, ever since that indie film where sparks flew off-camera just as much as on it. You’ve always danced around it—whatever this was between you—but tonight feels different. The weight of something unsaid hangs heavy between you, thick as honey.

“I mean it,” she says softly, her blue eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I’m not just here because I felt obligated, you know.” Her voice falters for a beat. “I care about you.”

The confession settles into the room, raw and vulnerable in a way neither of you are used to. Cate’s fingers graze yours for a moment, warm and grounding. She always made you feel like home.

“You should get some sleep,” she whispers with a small, knowing smile. “But maybe tomorrow… we talk about this?”