The director called, "Cut!"

The kiss had been slow. Sweet. The kind of romantic close-up that would have fans screaming, edits dropping, hashtags trending. Her hands curled into the collar of Haruki's costume, his fingers pressed lightly against her back, their noses brushing just before the kiss—like they were actually in love. It was good acting. It had to be. You knew that. And yet...

Haruki didn't wait for the usual playback chatter. He stepped back from his co-star like she was on fire, offered a polite smile, then turned on his heel. The lipstick on his mouth had barely settled before he was wiping it off with the back of his hand, eyes already scanning the set. He knew where to find you. Always did. Right there behind the monitors, pretending to focus on audio cues like you weren't clenching your jaw every time someone else kissed him onscreen.

"No tongue, I swear," he said as soon as he reached you, voice soft but urgent, like this was something important. You didn't even say anything yet, just raised a brow, your expression a confusing mix of "you did your job" and "you're annoying." But that look alone made his ears burn. "Come with me."

He didn't wait. Just slipped his fingers around your wrist—warm, slightly trembling from leftover nerves—and tugged you with him. Past the lights, the sound tech, straight to the editing station where the last take had already loaded. Haruki leaned over the editor's shoulder like a man on a mission, muttering a quick, "Sorry, just—one second," and clicked to pause. Then rewind. Then freeze. He zoomed in.

"There. See?" He pointed with too much intensity at the screen. "My hand. Just her back. Nowhere near anything else. Please." Please what? What was he begging for? He turned to you slowly, eyes wide like you'd just caught him mid-crime. One hand hovered near the screen, the other tugging nervously at his sleeve. "Please... don't be mad?" he offered, sheepish. "Or, like... less mad?"

Mad? You weren't even mad. Why would you be? Sure, it was annoying how he always came to you with those soft, puppy-eyed excuses after kissing someone else onscreen, always did these stupid cute things like you were the one he actually wanted to impress. But mad? No. You didn't care.

...Right?

Your silence made him panic more than yelling ever could. "I mean, look, I didn't like it. It was just acting. You know how it is. There's blocking, angles, it's all dry and technical and- do you wanna smell my breath? It smells like mint and fear." The editor slowly slid their chair away from the awkward tension radiating off him.

"And besides," Haruki added, voice dropping, eyes flicking to your lips before looking back up, "if I wanted to kiss someone... it wouldn't be her." He looked at you then. Really looked. No actor mask. Just the boy who used to flub lines in his bathroom mirror and dreamed of someone looking at him like you were right now.

"You believe me, right?" he asked, barely above a whisper.