---
The next morning arrived slower than usual. The skies were an overcast kind of pale, the sun too lazy to show up fully. Rain hadn't come, but the air smelled like it had been thinking about it.
Ashtine wrapped her fingers around the edge of her coffee cup, sitting at a small outdoor table just outside the set's café location. Her shoot wasn't until noon, but the quiet of the early morning had felt too tempting to resist. A moment alone, before everything — before makeup chairs and script notes and that look Andres had given her last night that was still echoing in the pit of her stomach.
She hadn't meant to replay it.
But she had.
Every blink. Every breath. The almost of it.
She sighed and glanced toward the empty street, watching a cat slink past a row of parked vans. Her thoughts were already drifting back to rehearsal when a familiar voice interrupted them.
"I knew you'd be here."
She looked up.
Andres.
He wore a hoodie — not the same one, this time — and a cap pulled low. His hair was still wet, probably from a rushed shower, and he carried two paper cups of coffee, one already half-sipped.
She raised an eyebrow. "Stalking me now?"
He grinned, settling into the seat across from her. "Not stalking. Just... good at predicting your patterns."
"You've been observing my patterns?"
"I'm observant."
"Mm." She took a sip. "Sure."
He slid the second cup toward her. "Extra cream, two sugars. Like always."
She blinked, eyes narrowing. "How do you even know that?"
He shrugged. "You always hand the hotel staff your cup after the first sip and tell them it's too bitter."
She stared at him, then cracked a small laugh. "That's either incredibly thoughtful or kind of creepy."
He raised his cup in a mock toast. "Can't it be both?"
They fell into a quiet that wasn't awkward — just gently there, like a blanket you forgot you were wrapped in. The kind of silence that settles because there's comfort, not in spite of it.
Her fingers tapped lightly against the cup. "You know… last night was different."
He tilted his head. "The scene?"
She nodded. "It wasn't just the scene though. I felt like… I don't know. Like I wasn't acting."
"I wasn't," he said plainly.
Her breath caught.
The honesty in his voice was too naked for the early hour, too tender for someone who usually deflected with humor or teasing. She didn't reply, unsure of what to say without cracking the moment in half.
Instead, she smiled and shook her head slightly. "This is dangerous."
"What is?"
"This," she gestured between them, "blurred lines. Feelings pretending to be lines in a script."
Andres leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Then let's stop pretending."
His voice was low.
Firm.
Her stomach fluttered.
But she looked away. "It's not that simple."
He didn't argue.
Didn't push.
Just let the words linger, then shifted the topic with a small grin. "You know, when I walked past the crew tents earlier, I overheard a new theory."
She raised an eyebrow. "About us?"
"About Evelyn and Ren, technically. But yes — us."
She smirked. "Let me guess. Secret lovers from a past life. Or maybe siblings in denial."
"Nope," he said, eyes twinkling. "This one says we're both aliens pretending to be human, and that our chemistry is a government distraction."
She blinked.
Then laughed — full, bright, and completely unfiltered.
The kind of laugh that startled even her.
Andres stared for a beat.
It was… different.
Her laugh — it had always been soft, polite, careful. But this? This was reckless. Loud. Beautiful in its messiness. Like it had escaped her before she could shape it.
"You laugh," he said quietly, "like it's a secret."
She caught her breath.
The words shouldn't have hit her as hard as they did. But they did.
Something in the way he said it — in the way he looked at her while saying it — made her pulse stutter.
"You sound like you're trying to memorize me," she said softly.
"Maybe I am."
She went still.
He meant it.
He didn't laugh after. Didn't tease. Just sipped his coffee and kept his gaze steady.
For a moment, all she could hear was the soft wind shifting through the potted plants by the fence. The distant clatter of set equipment. Her own breathing.
And him.
Always him.
---
Later that day, while filming resumed, she caught herself looking for him in the quiet moments between takes. Not in a desperate way. Not like she needed him to be near. Just… to know he was there.
Andres had always been around.
But now, it was different.
Now, it mattered.
---
In one of the break rooms, a new post went up on social media. A blurry behind-the-scenes photo — someone from the lighting team, probably — of Andres handing her a cup of coffee outside.
The caption read:
> "They think we don't notice. But we do."
#Ashdres #BloomingInRealLife
She saw it hours later, while she was in the makeup chair.
And she didn't even bother to hide her smile.
---
That night, she posted something herself.
Just a photo of the café corner.
No people in it. No caption.
But in the blurry corner of the photo, barely visible — two paper coffee cups.
Andres reposted it with one word:
> "Repeat?"
She replied in the comments.
> "Same place. Same time."
---
And the internet — once again — lost its mind.
But they didn't care.
Because for once, the story wasn't about what others thought they were.
It was about what they were slowly becoming.
Together.
---