Something Like Love

The storm's roar cuts. The camera stops rolling. For a beat, no one moves.

Then—

"Cut!" Clea's voice rang out. "That's a wrap on episode one!"

The stage burst into applause like someone had uncorked the whole set. Grips clapped backs, someone whooped near the lighting rig, and even the guy from sound, who hadn't cracked a smile all day.

Natasha let out a low breath across from me. Her hair was sticking to her forehead, her chest rising like she was still caught in the moment. Then she gave a short, stunned laugh.

"Jesus," she muttered, wiping her face with her sleeve. "That was a trip."

I stayed where I was for a second, still riding the pulse of it. My hands were trembling. I couldn't tell if it was from the emotion of the scene or the heat of all those eyes suddenly on me.

And not just watching. Noticing.

Clea jogged over from the monitors, eyes bright.

"Can I just say, unreal work. All of you. But..." She pointed straight at me. "Especially you. That was next level."

My stomach did a weird little drop. "Thank you," I managed, probably too quiet, but it came out honest. "Seriously."

Natasha pointed at me from where she was now gulping water, squinting through the overhead rig. "Kinda showed us all up a little, huh?"

I huffed out a laugh. "No way."

But then the others started joining in. Castmates. People I barely knew. Someone from the makeup trailer. All clapping...for me?

I rubbed the back of my neck. Grinning. A little dazed. Someone tossed me a water bottle and I caught it just before it smacked me in the chest.

Natasha walked over, slowing down near me like she wasn't sure if she wanted to hang or bolt.

She tilted her head at me. "Honestly? Didn't think you had that in you. No offense."

I gave her a look. "None taken."

"But now I'm annoyed," she went on, voice dry. "Means I gotta step it up to keep up with the up and comer over here."

I smirked. "Please."

She bumped her elbow against mine.

"Nah," she said, more quietly. "You were great."

Clea clapped again, somewhere behind us. "That's it, folks! Get outta here. Go rest. You earned it."

The crew started unplugging lights. People trickled off toward the parking lot. I stood there, frozen in place, like I needed just a second more to absorb everything.

Natasha was still beside me.

"That bit in the shed?" she said, glancing sideways. "You didn't act scared. You were scared. I believed it."

I blinked. "It was easy. You were scary."

She grinned. "Damn right."

Someone called her name across the soundstage. She waved without looking.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, turning. Then paused, just long enough to toss this over her shoulder: "Get used to people looking at you different now."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

She kept walking, casual as ever. "Recognition," she said. "It's a thing. And you earned it."

And then she was gone. Swallowed up by movement and chatter.

That was it. My first real moment.

And someone like Natasha had just told me I nailed it.

It had been three days since we wrapped the first episode. Long enough for my body to stop buzzing. Not long enough for my brain to do the same.

I was horizontal in bed, tangled in sheets and half empty LaCroix cans. My laptop was somewhere under a throw blanket.

Outside, L.A. was being weirdly quiet for once just the ambience of traffic two blocks away as per usual.

My phone buzzed, lighting up with my agent's name. I groaned and answered it mid-roll, not bothering to move from my blanket cocoon.

"Hey."

"Good. You're alive," they said. "I've been trying to reach you for two days."

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I blacked out after wrapping up"

"Uh-huh. Anyway, listen. There's movement. Critics saw that episode, and I mean really saw it. The screener got around faster than we thought. There's talk already."

I blinked up at the ceiling. "Talk?"

"Talk. Like callback for another show talk. Like interviews. People want to know who you are. There's a lot of heat, kid."

"Okay," I said slowly, letting that settle somewhere in the corner of my brain. "That's good, right?"

"It's great. I need you focused. There's press interest, a couple casting folks checking availability—"

But my mind was already wandering.

Because I hadn't seen Natasha since we'd wrapped. She'd left the stage like she always did, slipping away sideways while everyone else got stuck in hugs and selfies and wrap cupcakes. She'd shot me one last glance over her shoulder, said something funny I couldn't remember now, and then disappeared.

And the thing was, I didn't even know why I cared. I just did. It was annoying.

My agent was still talking. "—so we've got to line up your schedule, make sure you're not locked down for anything random like that indie thing you almost took. I'm telling you, if we play this right—"

There was a knock.

I sat up fast, heart thudding for no reason. "Hold on."

I peeled back a corner of my blanket. The knock came again. Not urgent, just... rhythmic.

I got up, crossing the room in one sock. When I opened the door, I blinked.

There she was.

Natasha!

Wearing sunglasses , a vintage Mets cap, and holding a bag from some overpriced bagel place I only knew because it trended on TikTok once.

"'Sup," she said casually, like this was just a regular Tuesday. "Got lox. Figured you might be starving and fame's probably got you too dizzy to use a toaster."

My jaw went slack.

"Who is that?" my agent said through the phone, voice tinny and alarmed.

I didn't answer.

"Are you hearing me? Don't hang up. Do not hang up. I swear to God if you—"

"Okay I gotta call you back," I said, already pulling the phone from my ear.

"DON'T—!"

Click.

Natasha raised an eyebrow as I shut the door behind her. "Someone's gonna be pissed."

"Yeah," I breathed. "They'll live."

She strolled inside, tossing the bag onto my kitchen counter and peering around like she was judging my taste in furniture.

I crossed my arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't I say?" She pulled off her sunglasses dramatically. "I brought lox."

"You live across town."

She shrugged. "The traffic was meditative."

I stared at her for a beat. "So you just... showed up."

"Well, yeah. You weren't answering your phone. And don't take this the wrong way, but you seemed like you were spiraling into a state of minor existential dread after your first breakout performance. Thought I'd check in. Maybe drop some protein"

I couldn't help it—I laughed. "Wow. Thanks."

"Anytime." She smirked, pulled a container from the bag. "Also, selfishly, I wanted to see if that thing we did on camera was a fluke or if you're actually that good. Needed to stare into your eyes again. For research purposes."

I raised an eyebrow. "Sure."

"Swear to God," she said, mouth full of bagel now. "Like, I'm trying to be cool but you really did kinda wreck me that day. Not emotionally, just like, I had a whole plan and then you showed up with your whole 'wounded agent with a conscience' thing and I had to recalibrate my entire approach to the scene."

I blinked. "I thought you carried that scene."

She waved a hand. "I mean, yeah, I crushed it. But you surprised me. I don't get surprised that often. So congrats. You're annoying now."

I sat back down on the edge of the bed, heart thudding for real this time. Something in her tone had softened.

"You really came all the way over here just to say that?"

"Well." She sat next to me, uninvited. "That, and I missed you a little."

That caught me off guard. I looked at her. "Seriously?"

"Sure." She looked down at her bagel like it was the most interesting object in the room. "You're fun to talk to. You don't kiss my ass. You smell better than most people I work with."

I laughed again. "That's... surprisingly sweet."

We sat in silence for a minute, my phone blinking somewhere forgotten on the floor.

"Hey," I said eventually.

She looked up.

"I missed you too."

She smiled, crooked and lazy. "Yeah?"

I nodded.

"Well," she said, nudging her knee against mine, "good thing I brought breakfast."

Her knee was still against mine. Not a nudge anymore — just there. Warm through the fabric of my sleep pants. The contact was small, easy to ignore if I wanted to. I didn't want to.

She was chewing slowly now, eyes drifting around the room. Like she wasn't in any hurry. Like she belonged here.

I picked at a corner of the bagel wrapper, not looking at her. "So is this, like... a social call?"

"Sure," she said. "Social. Recreational. A little predatory. I'm open."

I looked at her then, and she was watching me, all patient and sly.

"You know," she added, voice lower, "I wasn't totally joking. You really do smell better than most people. It's unfair, honestly. Distracting. I got lines to remember and then boom, there's this very specific clean skin laundry thing and I'm just screwed."

"You're ridiculous."

She was close now, that warm knee brushing mine a little more deliberately. I could feel the rise and fall of her breath. Could see the tiny freckle right under her left eye. Her hair was damp from the drizzle outside, curls framing her face like she'd walked out of a noir scene and straight into my apartment.

"You've got that same look you had after our first table read," she said, voice lighter again. "Like you're not sure if I'm messing with you or about to kiss you."

"Are you?"

She raised a brow. "What do you want me to do?"

God. There it was.

That voice. That grin.

She knew what she was doing.

"I don't know," I said which was half true, but mostly a lie.

"You sure?" she asked, tilting her head. "Because your pupils are dilated and you haven't looked away from my mouth in like—" she glanced at the nonexistent watch on her wrist "—a full twenty seconds."

My face burned. "Shut up."

She grinned. "Hey, I'm just here for the bagels."

She leaned back slightly, but not far. Her hand brushed my thigh on the way to setting down her half eaten bagel. Casual. Maybe. But her pinky lingered longer than it needed to.

"I like your place," she said softly. "It's kinda messy. Lived in. Makes me wanna..." Her voice trailed, but she didn't finish the sentence. Just let it hang there, electric and unfinished.

I swallowed. "Wanna what?"

She smiled with all her teeth. "Wouldn't you like to know."

She stood up like it cost her nothing and crossed the room. I watched the way her shirt clung to her back, the way her fingers skimmed the top of my bookshelf.

When she turned around again, her voice was a touch more serious — but still teasing.

"You ever think about what's next? For you, I mean. After this?"

I shrugged. "I try not to. I'm just trying to keep up."

She walked back to me slowly. "You're good, y'know. Like... real good. If you keep doing scenes like that with me, people are gonna talk.""

"Talk how?"

"About chemistry," she said, stopping in front of me again. Her hand brushed my shoulder, fixing a wrinkle in my shirt that didn't matter. "About tension."

"And you?" I asked. "Do you live for that?"

She looked at me then, really looked, and her smirk softened.

"I live for the scene," she said.

She leaned in, slow. Not kissing me. Not even touching me. Just close enough for her breath to tickle my cheek. Then she backed off like it was nothing, like she hadn't just cracked something open and walked away from it.

"I should go," she said, heading toward the door. "But don't be surprised if I show up again. I'm not great at staying gone."

I was still frozen, perched on the edge of the bed like a statue.

She turned in the doorway, resting her arm against the frame. "Call your agent back. You've got big stuff coming."

"Natasha."

She looked back.

I stood. Took a slow step toward her. "You didn't actually miss the bagel place. You came here first."

She winked. "Busted."

And with that, she slipped out the door.

I didn't move for a full minute. Then I smiled, slow and helpless, and reached for my phone.

I was going to call my agent back.

Eventually.

It started happening more after that night.

Natasha just... kept showing up.

Sometimes it was casual. A knock on my trailer door, her voice muffled on the other side, asking if I had gum or a charger. Sometimes it was late, way after wrap, when I thought everyone had gone home and I'd hear her heels echo through the lot.

She didn't ask to come in anymore. She just did.

Each visit got a little weirder. Not in a bad way.

She'd lean against the counter and talk about nothing. Joke about her old gigs, bad press, her exes. Then she'd get quiet, just for a second.

Her fingers always found a way to brush mine. Never on accident.

There was one time she reached for a coffee cup on my table and her hand slid against the inside of my wrist, deliberately slow, like she was measuring my pulse. I still don't know if I was breathing when she pulled away.

I thought about her too much. The sound of her voice, the way she sat with her legs open and elbows on her knees, like she was constantly on the verge of getting up and leaving or crawling into my lap. The smell of her perfume, like spice and leather and something faintly sweet underneath,stayed on my clothes long after she was gone.

But it was that day in the hotel I couldn't get out of my head.

She hadn't even touched me, not really. Just took my breath away made me yearn for something more.

She'd whispered something low about lipstick. I couldn't remember what it was. I couldn't remember anything but the ache that bloomed behind my ribs after. I went to bed shaking. And mad. Mostly at myself. Because I'd wanted her to do something. Anything.

I still wanted that. And more. I wanted her to just stop teasing me. Stop hanging me over the edge and then leaving like nothing had happened.

I wanted her hands on me for real. Mouth, too. I wanted her to take me apart.

My phone buzzed. A message lit the screen.

Natasha: I'm outside. Come on. I got somewhere weird I wanna take you.

My heart spiked. I threw the blankets off and yanked the curtains open just enough to peek.

She was there, leaning against the driver's side of a beat up black Bronco, hood up. Aviators on. Lit cigarette between her fingers. Like something out of a movie.

I was already halfway out the door.

She grinned when she saw me and took a last drag before tossing the cigarette and gesturing toward the passenger side. "Look who finally joined the land of the living."

I climbed in. The inside of the Bronco smelled like peppermint gum and some kind of woodsy cologne. She revved the engine and peeled out without explaining where we were going. I didn't ask.

Twenty minutes later we pulled into the empty lot of an old roller rink. The sign was flickering. Neon pink cursive: Starlite Wheels. Looked like it hadn't changed since the eighties.

"No way," I laughed.

She was already halfway out of the car. "Oh yeah. We're doin' this."

Inside, it was dim but not dead. Disco ball spinning. Soft crackle of old speakers playing Prince. A guy at the counter barely looked up as she threw a couple bills down and handed me a pair of skates.

The rink wasn't even a rink. Not really. It was an old industrial warehouse cleared out and half converted, mismatched string lights overhead, a loop of carpeted benches, and a pop up concession stand that looked like it was borrowed from a county fair. But the floor was smooth, the rental skates were laced tight, and the music was a slow burning mix of soul and vintage rock. A warm of people floated through the air. No one was in a rush. Everyone was just... gliding.

I looked over at Natasha as she rolled ahead of me, easy and loose, like her body remembered the rhythm before her brain did. One hand behind her back, the other dangling at her side. Effortless.

"I feel like I'm about to eat shit," I muttered, gripping the railing with both hands.

Natasha slowed, looped around, and skated backward toward me. "You're doing fine, kid."

"I haven't even let go yet."

"Exactly. That's why you're doing fine."

I gave her a dry look. She grinned, leaned in.

"C'mon," she said. "Just a little. I got you."

She held out her hand. Not pushing. Just offering.

I stared at it. Then at her. That same crooked smile, the one that always seemed to come with some trick she was about to pull but not a mean one.

Her fingers closed around mine, firm but warm. She started to skate backward again, tugging me slowly into motion. My legs wobbled.

"Okay, okay—"

"Relax," she said. "Bend your knees a little. Don't lock up."

"I'm trying not to die."

"If you die, at least it'll be on a romantic floor."

"You mean a concrete warehouse."

She smirked. "Same thing if the music's good."

The lights above us flickered slightly, string bulbs swaying with the draft. A slow Marvin Gaye track came on next.

Natasha turned, skated beside me now. Her shoulder brushed mine. Her hand stayed in mine. I didn't say anything.

We found a rhythm, sort of. Small strides, hers smoother than mine. We weren't really skating anymore just coasting.

"Not bad, huh?" she said, voice low. "You look like you've done this before."

"Lying doesn't suit you."

"No, seriously. You got good posture. Confident. Like someone who pays their taxes on time."

I huffed a laugh. "I do pay my taxes."

"Even hotter."

She bumped me gently with her hip. I stumbled.

"Hey!"

"You're fine," she said, catching my elbow.

"You're gonna kill me."

I froze for a half-second. She didn't stop moving.

There were people around us, teenagers, couples, a few older folks who clearly did this weekly, but in that moment it felt like the room had gone blurry.

Just her, and me, and the way our hands hadn't let go.

She pulled me toward the middle of the floor, where the lights were dimmer.

And then she did something I didn't expect.

She let go of my hand, spun in front of me, and then skated backward into me, close enough that I could feel the warmth off her body through both our jackets. Her hands found my wrists, drew them up and around her waist, guiding them like I was a beginner in a slow dance.

"Just go with it," she murmured. "I won't let you fall."

My palms pressed against her ribs. Her back rested lightly against my chest. We moved like that together. A little shaky, but synced.

I don't know how long we stayed like that. Minutes? Songs? Time was stupid in that space. Every now and then she'd say something under her breath some teasing comment, or a joke that didn't quite land because I was too distracted by how close her mouth was to my neck.

And then, slowly, she turned to face me again. Her hands came up and brushed my arms, slow and featherlight. Our skates bumped. I steadied.

"Look at you," she said. "Natural."

"You're doing all the work."

"True." She grinned.

I swallowed.

Her fingers moved to the zipper of my jacket, didn't pull—just played there for a second. Her eyes flicked up to mine.

Then, just like that, she let go.

"Okay," she said. "Race ya to the exit"

Before I could answer, she was gone pushing off fast, laughing over her shoulder.

I stood there, heart still pacing, trying to remember how to move again.

——————

The car ride back was quiet.

Natasha was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other lazily draped out the open window. Wind pulled strands of her hair loose, made her collar flap against her neck. She hadn't changed out of the skates yet.

I sat in the passenger seat, trying to focus on the streetlights flickering by and not on the fact that my body still remembered the way her back had pressed into my front.

She tapped the steering wheel with two fingers, glanced over at me. "You're real quiet all of a sudden."

I blinked. "Just tired."

"Liar."

She was smirking.

My mouth opened. Closed. I stared at her.

She laughed, not mean just amused. "Don't worry."

Natasha shifted again, eased the car into a parking spot in front of my place. She cut the engine, but neither of us moved right away.

"So," she said, turning to me with that infuriating glint in her eye, "we calling it a night, or am I invited in for... I dunno. A glass of scotch and a look at your uh Criterion Collection?"

I scoffed. "I don't have a Criterion Collection."

"Exactly. I gotta come in and fix that."

She winked. I rolled my eyes. And still when I pushed the door open and stepped out, I didn't stop her from following.

The apartment was in its warm lighting mode, cozy, cluttered with signs of a lived in life. A hoodie slung over the back of a chair, a script binder on the table, a half drunk iced coffee sweating on the counter.

"Home sweet home," I said, kicking my shoes off and tossing my jacket over the couch.

Natasha wandered in behind me like she owned the place. She picked up the binder, flipped it open. "Wow, you're really a nerd, huh?"

"I'm a professional."

"You annotated scene seven like it was Shakespeare."

"Scene seven is where Charlie threatens Quinn with a toothbrush. I had to dig deep."

She laughed and dropped the binder back on the table. "God, I love your brain."

I froze for a second. She noticed. Didn't comment. Just moved into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.

"You gonna offer me something?" she asked.

"Water or... tequila I forgot I had."

She tilted her head. "Forget the drinks."

I glanced at her. "Then why'd you come in?"

Her eyes met mine. Steady. "You know why."

And just like that, the air between us changed again.

She walked toward me, easy. I didn't move.

Her fingers brushed my forearm. Then my hip. Her voice dropped. "I like teasing you."

"No kidding."

"But you know what I like more?"

I shook my head.

She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. "Watching you try not to fall apart."

My breath hitched.

And then she backed off smirking, stepping out of reach, like she was giving me a chance to chase her. I followed without thinking.

"You can't keep doing that," I said. "Showing up, pushing buttons—"

She interrupted. "Why not?"

"Because it's driving me insane."

"Good." Her voice was a little rough now, like it cost her something to say it.

I didn't realize how close we were until her hand was on the small of my back, pulling me forward. Her mouth hovered near mine but didn't close the distance.

"This what you want?" she asked.

I nodded, almost dizzy with it. "More than anything."

"Then say it."

"I want you to stop teasing me."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's not the same thing."

"I want you," I said, breathless.

That was all it took.

She closed the gap in a heartbeat, kissing me like she had something to prove. Hungry, hot, hands already in motion. My back hit the wall. I didn't care. Her jacket hit the floor. I stepped out of my own shirt like it was on fire.

Every part of her touched every part of me, and every part of me remembered it memorized it. Her hands weren't hesitant now. They were sure, skilled, sliding under layers, dragging breath from my lungs.

Her kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as she whispered against my mouth, "You're going to have to be more specific." Her tongue danced with mine, a tease of its own.

"I want you to devour me" I murmured, the words barely leaving my lips before she chuckled, the sound vibrating through my chest.

"Well, we're not quite there yet," she said, a hint of challenge in her voice. She stepped back, grabbing my wrist and leading me to the bedroom. She pushed me down onto the bed, her weight pressing me into the soft mattress.

Her kisses trailed from my mouth, down my neck, and over my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. Her teeth grazed my skin gently, leaving a trail of sensation that had me arching into her. Her hands roamed my body, unhooking my bra with a swiftness that belied the hunger in her movements. Her mouth found my breasts, her tongue tracing patterns that made me gasp.

Natasha's fingers continued to explore, moving down my stomach to the button of my jeans. She took her time, her eyes locked on mine as she unzipped them and slid them off, along with my underwear. I was bare before her, vulnerable, but instead of feeling exposed, I felt powerful. Wanted.

Her mouth moved lower, leaving a path of kisses down my stomach until she reached the apex of my thighs. She took a moment to admire me, her eyes smoldering with desire before she leaned in, her breath hot against my skin. Her tongue parted my folds, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. She licked and kissed, exploring every inch with a focus that was both intense and tender.

Her fingers joined her mouth, teasing my clit in a rhythm that matched the beating of my heart. I moaned, my hands finding their way into her hair, gripping tight as she brought me closer to the edge. Her eyes never left mine, watching my reactions, reading my body like a map to pleasure.

"Please, Natasha," I begged, my voice a whimper.

Her response was a low chuckle that sent vibrations through my core. She slowed, her touch feather light, before she sat up, straddling me. She took my hand and placed it between her legs, her own wetness coating my fingers. "Show me what you want," she instructed, her voice a gruff whisper.

I didn't need a second invitation. I slid my fingers into her, feeling her warmth and the way she tightened around me. She leaned back, her eyes closing briefly as she let out a deep sigh. Her hips began to move, setting a pace that I eagerly matched with my own hand.

Our movements grew more frantic, our breaths coming in pants and gasps. She leaned in to kiss me again, her hand slipping between us to play with my clit as we moved together. The tension built, coiling tighter with each stroke until it snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing through my body.

Natasha pulled back, a smug smile on her face. "Now, that's what I like to see," she murmured, her own breathing ragged.

I sat up, pushing her back onto the bed, my body on fire with need. I kissed her hard, tasting myself on her lips. Her hands roamed my body, her nails scraping my back as she pulled me closer.

Our eyes met.

 My heart raced in rhythm with hers.

 Her hands traced my body with a gentle, knowing touch.

 I kissed a trail down her neck, pausing to nibble gently on her earlobe, which elicited a soft moan from her. My fingers danced over her, teasing and exploring, until I found that perfect spot that made her hips jerk in response.

We shared a gentle kiss, smiling into each other's eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a wild halo around her face. I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her, feeling her heartbeat slow to match mine.

As me and her lay there, our bodies tangled in a delicious mess of sweat and desire, my heart raced in rhythm with yours. Her eyes searched mine, a silent question lingering between us. I nodded, feeling the intensity build to a crescendo. She knew what I needed, what me and her both craved.

 With a gentle smile, she positioned herself above me, her wetness glistening in the soft candlelight. Slowly, oh so slowly, she began to lower herself onto my face, her arousal coating my cheeks and nose. I opened my mouth eagerly, my tongue reaching out to taste her sweetness. The moment my tongue touched her clit, she gasped, her hand finding my hair to guide me deeper.

I licked and sucked, savoring the sweetness of her essence, feeling her muscles tighten and release with each stroke. Her hips began to rock in a slow, sensual dance, matching the rhythm of my tongue. Her breath grew ragged, and I knew she were close. I slid two fingers inside her curling them just so, hitting that spot that makes her back arch and her toes curl.

She moaned, the sound echoing through the room, and I felt her walls start to pulse around my fingers.

My own arousal grew with each tremor of her body, my clit swollen and begging for attention. I reached down, my hand slipping easily through the slickness, and began to rub myself in time with her movements.

As I felt her orgasm approaching, I quickened my pace, my tongue flicking against her clit with a fervor that was almost desperate. Her moans grew louder, and her body began to shake. With a final, powerful thrust of her hips, she came, her juices flooding my mouth as I swallowed greedily. Her legs trembled, and her body went slack, boneless with pleasure.

We shared a moment of pure, unbridled ecstasy, our hearts beating as one. After a moment of blissful silence, I gently slid out from under her rolling onto my back. She curled up beside me, her head on my chest, her hand resting on my still throbbing sex.

With a knowing smile, she whispered, "your turn." Her touch was tender as she began to stroke me, her fingers dancing over my clit with the same finesse I had used on her. The world narrowed down to the sensation of her hand on me, the sound of our breaths mingling in the quiet.

I threw my head back, my hips rising to meet her touch. My orgasm crashed over me like a wave, my body spasming as I came hard. I could feel the her own climax building, my breathes coming in gasps.

She released, and all I could do was be amazed at the fact I was given a chance to do something like this with her.

I was just trying to live my dream, be an actor, have a name for something.

Now my legs were tangled, and my lips were locked with the biggest name I've ever gotten close to .

I touched her wrist. My voice slipped out before I could stop it.

"I love you."

Her hand froze. Still on my cheek. Still touching me.

Then she pulled back.

Not fast, but not slow either. Like stepping away from a stove you forgot was on. Like realizing the moment's gone too far.

"What?"

The word wasn't harsh, just small. Careful.

"I..." I sat up straighter. The air felt colder now. "I didn't mean to say that."

"But you did," she said.

I nodded. Quiet.

She looked away, ran a hand through her hair. "Fuck."

"It's okay," I said quickly. "You don't have to say anything."

She stood.

"No—no, it's not that. It's just..." Her words caught, like she couldn't get them out clean. "I don't... do that. Relationships. That whole deal. I'm not—"

"I didn't ask for anything," I said, even though I knew that wasn't entirely true. "I just said it."

She was already heading for the door. She slid her pants and undergarments' back on, grabbed her coat, and turned back only halfway.

"You're great. Really. But I'm not built for that kind of weight, okay? You should know that."

My chest felt tight. But I didn't speak.

She looked at me again, eyes softer now, but the wall was already up behind them. Higher than before.

"Thanks for tonight," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't have come."

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut.

How could I be so stupid?