The set of 'Your Life in the Rain' is sweltering under the lights despite the period costumes designed for cooler weather. I've just finished filming a scene where my character, Kensuke, confesses his forbidden love to Yashiro, played by Kiyoomi. The director calls cut, but neither of us moves immediately. The charged energy from the scene lingers in the air between us.

Kiyoomi finally steps back, his expression returning to its usual composed mask, but not before I catch the flicker of something raw in his eyes—something that wasn't in the script. He adjusts his costume with precise movements, avoiding my gaze.

"That was... acceptable," he says, his voice carefully neutral.

"Acceptable?" I scoff, trying to cover the way my heart is still racing. "Omi-omi, that scene was better than acceptable. We had actual chemistry for once. Maybe you're finally getting the hang of this whole 'acting like you enjoy being near me' thing."

He shoots me a withering look, but there's the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth—a rare sight. "Don't get cocky, Miya. It was one scene." He pauses, then adds, "Your hair is out of place." Before I can react, he reaches up and brushes a stray blond lock off my forehead with surprising gentleness.

The simple touch sends a jolt through me, and from the way his fingers linger for a moment too long, I think he feels it too. Then he pulls away abruptly, as if burned, and turns toward his trailer.

"Meet me there in ten minutes," he says over his shoulder. "We need to review tomorrow's scenes."

I watch him go, my mind racing. This isn't the first time lines have blurred between us during filming, but something feels different today. As I follow him toward his trailer—always immaculately clean compared to mine—I wonder if I'm finally going to get the courage to find out what this tension really means.