Elliot didn't sleep.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over.

Roman's collar under his fingers. Roman's voice, quiet and steady.

'I wanted you to have it.'

What did that mean? What could it possibly mean?

He fell asleep around four. Woke at six to his alarm.

The call sheet said bar scene. Studio Stage 2. Seven a.m.

---

The bar set was built inside the soundstage. Neon signs. Sticky tables. A jukebox that didn't work.

Elliot stood in the corner, script in hand. He'd memorized the lines weeks ago.

But memorizing wasn't the problem.

Priya found him first.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

She studied him. "You and Roman ran the scene last night?"

"Yes."

"Good." She nodded. "Because we're shooting the kiss today. I need you ready."

Elliot's stomach flipped. "I'm ready."

"We'll see."

---

The first rehearsal was a disaster.

Elliot walked to his mark. Roman walked to his.

"Action," Priya called.

Elliot stepped forward. Grabbed Roman's collar.

Then stopped.

His hand hovered. His body refused to move.

"Cut." Priya's voice was sharp. "Elliot. What was that?"

"I — "

"You're playing Noah like he's angry. He is angry. But that's not all he feels."

Elliot dropped his hand. "I know."

"Do you?" Priya walked onto the set. "Noah hasn't seen Julian in eight years. Eight years of silence. And now Julian is standing right there, close enough to touch."

She stopped in front of Elliot.

"Noah wants to hurt him. But he also wants to *keep* him. The kiss isn't an attack. It's a confession."

Elliot nodded. His throat was tight.

"Again," Priya said.

They ran it again.

Same result. Elliot's hand froze. His body locked.

"Cut."

Third time. Fourth.

Each time, something held him back.

He could feel Roman watching him. Not judging. Just watching.

That made it worse.

---

Priya called a ten-minute break.

Elliot walked to the far side of the stage. Pressed his back against a flat.

Closed his eyes.

Footsteps.

He didn't open his eyes. "I know. I'm working on it."

"I'm not here to tell you you're doing it wrong."

Elliot opened his eyes.

Roman stood a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Calm.

"Then why are you here?"

Roman didn't answer right away.

Then he said, "You're holding back because of me."

Elliot's jaw tightened. "I'm not — "

"You are." Roman's voice was quiet. "You're afraid that if you really kiss me, you'll lose control."

Elliot's heart slammed against his ribs.

"That's not — "

"It's okay." Roman stepped closer. "You can use it."

Elliot stared at him. "Use what?"

"The anger. The resentment. Whatever you've been carrying for eight years." Roman's eyes were steady. "Don't push it away. Put it into the scene."

Elliot's hands were shaking. "And if I hurt you?"

Roman's mouth curved. Just slightly. "You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I trust you."

The words hit Elliot like a punch to the chest.

Before he could respond, Roman turned and walked back to set.

---

They called places.

Elliot took a breath. Then another.

He thought of the audition. The callback list. Roman's name instead of his.

He thought of every girl who'd asked about Roman. Every professor who'd compared them.

He thought of eight years of silence.

"Action."

Elliot walked into the bar.

Roman stood by the jukebox. Julian. Not Roman. The man who'd left Noah without a word.

Elliot crossed the room. His heart pounded.

He grabbed Roman's collar. Pulled him close.

And kissed him.

Not soft. Not tentative.

He kissed him like he was angry. Like he was starving.

Roman's hands came up — one on Elliot's neck, one on his waist. Firm. Controlled.

Exactly as rehearsed.

But then Roman pulled him closer.

Elliot's breath hitched. Roman's mouth opened against his.

The kiss deepened. It was no longer a scene. It was a collision.

Elliot's hands fisted in Roman's shirt. Roman's fingers tightened on his waist.

The world narrowed. The bar. The lights. The crew.

All gone.

There was only this — heat, pressure, the taste of Roman's mouth.

"Cut!"

Priya's voice cracked through the air.

Elliot stumbled back.

Roman's hands dropped immediately. His expression was unreadable.

Elliot stood there. Chest heaving.

His lips were burning.

"That's it," Priya said. Her voice was almost triumphant. "That's exactly what I wanted."

The crew moved around them. Adjusting lights. Resetting.

Elliot didn't move.

His body was waiting.

Waiting for Roman to touch him again.

---

They shot three more angles.

Each time, Elliot kissed Roman.

Each time, Roman kissed him back like the world was ending.

Between takes, Roman was professional. Quiet. He didn't look at Elliot more than necessary.

It made Elliot's chest ache.

---

By the time Priya called for a wrap, Elliot was exhausted.

He walked off set. Grabbed a bottle of water.

His hands were still trembling.

He found a quiet corner. Leaned against a crate. Closed his eyes.

Footsteps.

He knew before he opened his eyes.

"You did good today," Roman said.

Elliot opened his eyes. Roman stood close. Too close.

"It was just a scene," Elliot said.

Roman tilted his head. "Was it?"

Elliot's breath caught. "What do you want me to say?"

Roman stepped closer. Close enough that Elliot could smell him — soap, coffee, something warm.

Roman leaned in. His lips brushed Elliot's ear.

"That wasn't the first time I imagined it."

Elliot froze.

Roman stepped back. His expression was calm. Controlled.

Like he hadn't just upended Elliot's entire world.

"See you tomorrow," Roman said.

He turned and walked away.

Elliot stood there. Heart pounding. Lips still burning.

'That wasn't the first time I imagined it.'

What the hell was that supposed to mean?