Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun outside was already dimming, soft orange light barely pushing past the frosted windows. The film club room on the second floor of the Fine Arts building looked like organized chaos. Storyboards covered one wall, curling at the edges from old masking tape. The floor was a maze of extension cords and half-unpacked lighting kits. There were empty ramen cups stacked next to the trash bin, which was about one snack away from toppling.

A whiteboard faced the room, marker-scrawled with:

FESTIVAL DEADLINE: 6 WEEKS.

Posters of previous student films covered every inch of remaining wall space. Some romantic dramas, some thriller wannabes, and one sci-fi epic that everyone quietly agreed was a disaster.

Giselle stood at the front, one foot perched on a rolling chair, marker in hand, pink hair swept up in a messy bun. Her hoodie, white and fuzzy with a rhinestone heart across the chest, glowed slightly under the fluorescent light.

“So far, we’ve got four ‘meh’ ideas and one maybe,” she announced, underlining the deadline twice. “We’re not winning with a maybe.”

Mark, cross-legged on the floor behind a tripod, lifted his hand like he was too tired to care. “What about the one where the girl turns out to be a ghost?”

From the back, Ning spoke up without removing her lollipop. “That’s literally from TikTok.”

Ning was sprawled across a beanbag, her laptop open, long dark hair falling into her face. Even through her gold headphones, she was tuned in.

“We need something bold,” Giselle said, now pacing. “Something that’s gonna make people talk. You know what I’m thinking?”

She turned, tapping her marker against the board like it was a mic.

“A queer film.”

The room paused. Not tense. Not judgy. Just surprised. Like someone saying what nobody had dared to say.

Karina, sitting in a spinning chair with one leg tucked under her, arched an eyebrow. She had on a cropped cardigan over a tank top, low-rise jeans, and the kind of makeup that looked natural but took forty-five minutes.

“Wait,” she said, “like actual gay men in Korea?”

“No. Women this time,” Giselle replied. “Sapphic. Bold. Sexy. Moody lighting. Think French cinema, but make it Korean.”

Winter sat across the room, partially tucked behind a stack of equipment cases. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled over her hands, legs crossed, short blonde bob still slightly damp from her bike ride. Her eyes didn’t lift from her notebook as she flipped to a new page, but she spoke anyway.

“People are gonna lose their minds.”

“Exactly!” Giselle pointed. “Whether they love it or hate it, they’ll talk about it. Viral. Controversial. We don’t need everyone to like it.”

“You think the university’s actually gonna screen something like that?” Mark asked.

Ning shrugged. “If it’s good, they won’t stop us. And if they try? Even better. We’ll be legends.”

Yeji, leaning against a desk with her clipboard, tapped a pen against her lip. “Okay, but who’s writing this?”

“Me,” Ning said, finally closing her laptop. “Forbidden attraction. Bedroom tension. But make it emotional. A little porn vibes. Real heat.”

Hyunjin, standing beside his twin and trying to open a coke in can, muttered, “Just don’t make it cheesy.”

“Please,” Ning replied. “Have some faith.”

Giselle clapped, a single sharp sound that brought the room back into focus.

“Here’s the problem,” she said. “None of us are actually gay.”

Ryujin, half-asleep in the corner, lifted one brow but didn’t speak.

“So,” Giselle continued, picking up a sparkly pink box from the supply shelf, “We’re doing it fair. Everyone puts in their name. We draw two leads. One shot. No swaps. No complaints.”

“What if they have no chemistry?” Yeji asked.

“Then I’ll direct the chemistry into them,” Ning said, grinning.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “With what? A taser?”

Giselle moved through the room, passing out slips of paper. “Come on, girls. No cowards. Write your name and fold it.”

Karina ripped a square from her planner, scrawled her name in looping script, and dropped it in.

Winter hesitated for half a second, then scribbled hers and tossed it into the box without a word.

Once everyone had contributed, Giselle shook the box like it was a party game.

“Moment of fate,” she said. “First name…”

She pulled one and flipped it open.

“Karina.”

Karina raised both hands. “Whoa. Me as lead? I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.”

Everyone laughed.

“And her lucky co-star…”

Giselle pulled another slip. She paused, smiled a little too wide, and read, “Winter.”

Winter looked up for the first time. Her face was unreadable, just a blink, then back to her notebook.

Karina simply laughed. “Oh my god.”

“Great,” Winter said dryly.

“Sexy lesbians, coming right up,” Giselle declared, tossing the slips into the air like confetti.

The room burst into applause and teasing. Ning leaned over and clapped twice in Winter’s direction. Yeji was already jotting notes on who to pair for behind-the-scenes.

Karina glanced across the room.

Winter had pushed her hoodie back slightly, tank top visible underneath. It clung to her ribs, and the curve of her collarbone was just... there. Her hair was still messy, strands sticking to her cheek.

Karina looked away fast.

She didn’t know why she noticed that. But now she couldn’t unnotice it.

The club meeting wrapped up not long after, everyone buzzing with gossip and half-formed ideas. As the group began to filter out, Giselle cornered Karina and Winter by the door with a clipboard and a mischievous grin.

“We’re doing a read-through this weekend. You two free Saturday afternoon?”

Karina nodded. “I guess. Where?”

“My apartment. I’ll make snacks.”

Winter gave a non-committal shrug and tugged her hoodie sleeves over her hands again. “Sure.”

“Great! Chemistry bootcamp starts now,” Giselle chirped, and then vanished into the hallway with her boyfriend Mark, loudly debating over what the opening scene should be.

Outside, it was colder than expected. Karina pulled her jacket tighter around her, pausing on the steps to check her phone.

A text from Jeno popped up: Want me to pick you up?

She typed back quickly: Nah, just gonna walk.

Behind her, Winter pushed her bike out of the rack and clipped on her helmet. Karina glanced over. “Hey. So… you cool with this whole film thing?”

Winter shrugged. “It’s just acting. I’m good at that.”

There was something about the way she said it. Flat, certain, that made Karina hesitate.

“Yeah,” Karina said, adjusting the strap on her bag. “Me too.”

Winter gave a little nod and wheeled off, earbuds already in.

Karina stood there for a moment longer, watching her disappear down the hill, that cropped tank top still burned into her brain.

She shook her head, muttering to herself, and started walking.

Later that night, Karina sat at her desk with a sheet mask on and her laptop open, half-watching a drama on mute while she scrolled through Winter’s social media. Her profile was nearly empty. Just a few posts, including a picture of a book on a windowsill, a blurry photo of a cat, and one of her at the beach. Her legs looked nice. Karina stared at the photo a second longer than necessary.

She slammed her laptop shut and leaned back in her chair, fanning herself with her notebook. “Jesus,” she whispered.

Her phone buzzed.

Another message from Jeno: You up?

She ignored it and opened her textbook, even though she knew she wouldn’t be reading any of it.

A few streets away, Winter was on her bed, earphones in, watching a clip of an indie film on her cracked phone. She rewound the kiss scene three times. Not because she was into it. Not because she was gay. She was just studying. Acting. Expressions. Timing. Lighting.

Still, when she closed her eyes, it wasn’t the actresses she imagined.

It was Karina.

She groaned and flipped over, burying her face in the pillow. “This is so dumb,” she muttered.

But she hit replay anyway.

Chapter Text

Saturday came with pale sun and sharp wind. The kind that cut through campus buildings like it had an agenda. Giselle’s apartment was on the third floor of a worn-down building near the arts district, where most of the students with weird outfits and expensive film gear lived. The walk-up smelled faintly of instant noodles and old incense.

Inside, the apartment was warm, cluttered, and scented with strawberry candles. There were fluffy throw pillows everywhere, a projector screen hung from one wall, and a stack of matcha KitKats in a candy bowl. The floor was a mix of worn wooden planks and soft rugs in pastel pinks and cream, scattered haphazardly like someone tried to hide the floor’s bad decisions.

Giselle, naturally, was in glittery socks and hoodie as pink as her hair, flitting around with a clipboard and her phone flashlight. “This is rehearsal, not an interrogation room. Light it sexy, babe. Warm tones!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mark was crouched by the window, adjusting a gold reflector with Ryujin. The sun caught on it, bouncing soft light across the room.

Winter arrived first. Her cheeks were red from the cold, hair tucked behind one ear under her beanie. She wore a cropped black hoodie that barely touched the waistband of her jeans. Her backpack was slung over one shoulder, a notebook sticking out. She stepped out of her sneakers by the door, lined up beside a tangle of others.

“You’re early,” Giselle said, hugging her one-armed. “That’s suspicious. You trying to impress Rina?”

Winter’s forehead creased, but her lips formed a small smile. “I just hate being late,” she replied, brushing a bit of snow off her sleeve.

“Of course you do,” Giselle winked.

Karina showed up ten minutes later, swaddled in a puffy cream coat, glossy lips, and confidence. Her short bob was curled at the ends, bangs slightly parted like she hadn’t tried, even though she absolutely had. She peeled off her coat, revealing a fitted long-sleeve and a red plaid skirt.

“Someone dressed up,” Mark teased, adjusting his camera.

“She’s dressed for Baeksang,” Ning muttered from behind the monitor.

“There’s gonna be a camera, can you blame me?” Karina joked, brushing her hair off her shoulder.

They sat on the floor while Ning explained the plan. A folding table behind her held stacks of scripts, a steaming rice cooker, and a giant thermos of barley tea. “We’re starting with chemistry drills. No lines yet, just presence and trust. That kinda thing. I need you two to get used to each other’s space.”

“Like improv warmups?” Winter asked, pulling her sleeves over her knuckles.

“Kinda,” Ning said. “But gayer.”

The twins, Yeji and Hyunjin, sat on the couch taking notes. Yeji had her blonde hair in a high ponytail, her clipboard already full. Hyunjin, buzz cut blond and wearing a faded hoodie, was eating from a box of Pocky. A half-empty can of iced coffee balanced beside him.

“First drill,” Ning said. “Eye contact. You sit in front of each other and hold it. Don’t look away. Don’t speak. Two minutes.”

“That’s it?” Karina asked, smoothing her skirt.

“It’s harder than it sounds,” Ryujin added from behind the softbox light. She had one foot on a crate and was adjusting the angle with slow precision.

Winter sat cross-legged on one of the rugs. Karina mirrored her. Their knees almost touched.

“Ready?” Ning called. “Start.”

The room went quiet except for the faint buzz of a heater and someone’s pen tapping against a clipboard. A soft cough came from Yeji’s direction.

Winter’s eyes were steady. Brown and unreadable. Her face was calm, but not blank. She wasn’t trying to intimidate. She just… looked. Patient and still.

Karina shifted slightly, unsure where to rest her hands. For the first ten seconds, it was fine, until a ticklish feeling crept into her cheeks. She didn’t know why it felt so funny, but she struggled to hold back a giggle.

At thirty seconds, Karina noticed the way Winter’s lashes curled slightly at the ends. How her pupils seemed darker the closer you looked. Her lips were bare, pink. Chapped. And twitching like she was holding back a smile.

Karina blinked slowly, not looking away, but suddenly very aware that she might be smiling too. Like they were both in on the same joke without saying a word.

She’d been in this club with Winter for what, a few months now? And in all that time, Winter had been the type to hang back. The last to speak. The first to disappear after meetings. No parties. No loud laughs. Just that low-key lone wolf energy.

But now? Winter looked like she might actually smile, and Karina liked looking at it.

She exhaled slowly. Damn it, Ryujin was right. This drill was harder than she thought.

She glanced down without thinking.

“Cut,” Ning said immediately. “Start again.”

“Sorry,” Karina muttered. “Thought I saw something on her face.”

“Was it the face itself?” Hyunjin teasingly asked through a mouthful of Pocky.

Winter glanced away with a smile and exhaled through her nose. The closest thing to a laugh she’d probably allow in public.

They reset.

Winter folded her legs again, settling back into the same spot on the rug. She didn’t look right at Karina until Ning called, “Start.”

Then they locked eyes. Again.

And somehow, it was worse this time.

Or harder, at least.

Because now it wasn’t just two minutes of eye contact. Now it felt like they had a secret.

Not a real one. More like a pretend secret. A made-up joke only they understood. But they didn’t actually understand it either, they just knew it was there, floating between them, tugging at the corners of their mouths.

Winter fought the twitch in her lips. So did Karina. She could see it. There was something ridiculous about it, and that just made it harder to fight off.

Winter focused on Karina’s eyes. But that only helped a little. Karina’s eyes were warm, even when she was trying to be serious. She had that look, the kind that pulled people in without asking for it.

Karina had always been like that. Friendly. Smiling at everyone, asking questions even when no one was talking. She didn’t need to be loud to be noticeable. She just kind of… glowed.

But Winter had never really paid attention to her face before. Not like this. Not from a foot away with nowhere to look but at it.

Now she noticed everything. The tiny mole on the right side below her mouth. The barely-there freckle on the bridge of her nose. The soft sheen on her cheek, and yes, of course, her pores.

She had actual pores.

Winter hadn’t realized that about Karina. She was always polished. Always just a little out of reach. It was weirdly comforting to see her up close and notice she was, like… human. Pretty, yeah. But still human.

Winter’s eyes dropped for half a second to Karina’s lips again. That same almost-smile was back.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

This was the dumbest drill she’d ever done.

And also maybe her favorite.

“Cut,” Ning said.

“Perfect! That’s two minutes.” Giselle announced animatedly.

Ning stood and stretched, her voice light. “Next drill is mirroring simple gestures. Touch your face, run a hand through your hair, stretch. Subtle things to sync up.”

The two main characters nodded.

Karina raised her hand and pushed her bangs back, fingers moving slow and deliberate. Winter mirrored the motion with the same softness, eyes locked on hers the entire time.

Karina shifted her weight to one hip, casual on the outside. Winter did it too, same timing, like she was wired into Karina's thoughts.

That’s when Karina noticed it. The edge of Winter’s hoodie had already been riding high without doing much at all, but now, the way she moved made more of her abs show. Just a few inches of skin. Pale and smooth and completely, stupidly distracting.

Karina looked away fast. Too fast. Like she’d touched something hot. And then came the worst part… she had the urge to look again.

She fought it off with everything she had.

Just to mess with the moment, or maybe herself, Karina lifted her hand and slowly traced the side of her neck. She let her fingers glide all the way down to her collarbone.

Winter ran her tongue over her bottom lip, probably without even realizing it. A nervous habit maybe. Or maybe she was just cold. Sure. That could be it. Cold.

And then Winter did it too. The same exact motion, fingers brushing her own neck down to her collarbone.

Karina’s breath hitched so softly it didn’t even make a sound.

She couldn’t look away.

Whatever this drill was supposed to be, it had definitely stopped being simple.

Across the room, Ryujin crouched by a coil of cables. Still adjusting. Still pretending not to see anything. One brow raised just slightly, but her eyes stayed locked on the floor.

“Okay,” Ning said. “We’re gonna level up to proximity work. Stand and face each other.”

They stood slowly, brushing lint off their clothes. Winter kicked her notebook to the side with the toe of her sock.

“Now,” Ning said, adjusting the lamp angle. “Slowly walk forward until you’re as close as you can get without touching. Then stop.”

They moved.

The rug beneath them was soft, muffling every step. Karina’s skirt touched Winter’s jeans, and that made them stop.

Breath to breath, chest to chest, but not touching.

Karina smelled like something citrusy and sweet. Body mist and maybe hand lotion. Winter didn’t know why it made her lightheaded.

Karina could feel the heat radiating off Winter’s chest. Their foreheads were almost level. Her own pulse was thudding behind her ears.

Winter’s eyes flicked between Karina’s lips and eyes, back and forth, like she couldn’t settle.

They held there.

“Hold,” Ning said.

Karina’s brain screamed at her not to move. Not to lean, blink, or breathe too deeply.

“Cut,” Ning said.

No one said anything.

Giselle broke the silence with a clap. “That’s hot.”

“Hot? Do you have to sexualize everything?” Karina said quickly, laughing.

After practice, Winter was unlocking her bike. Her breath fogged in the air as she zipped up her hoodie and tightened the strap of her helmet. The streetlight caught the curve of her cheekbone.

“Hey,” Karina called softly, stepping out onto the icy landing.

Winter looked up. The wind pulled a piece of hair across her face.

“Today was nice, huh?”

Winter gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I think we did okay.”

“Yeah. Totally.”

A car passed, headlights reflecting off the slick pavement. Karina shivered.

Winter paused, one foot on the pedal. “See you Monday.”

“Yeah. Monday.”

Winter rode off, tires humming against the road, hoodie flapping like a shadow behind her. Karina stood there a long while, watching the space where she’d disappeared.

Inside her pocket, her phone buzzed with a message from Jeno.

She didn’t open it.

Chapter Text

Rehearsal started late on Monday. The kind of late that wasn’t intentional, just everyone moving slower than usual. Giselle had her laptop open on the coffee table, blasting some French indie pop playlist while she sipped banana milk from a tiny carton. Ryujin adjusted a softbox lamp by hand, its glow turning the small apartment into something dreamier.

“Today is blocking,” Ning said, standing by the whiteboard she dragged in from campus. Her handwriting was messy but excited. She drew little stick figures and arrows. “That means movement. Physical rhythm. We’re staging the first real kiss scene.”

Karina sat on the rug, pulling off her boots. She peeled her coat off and tossed it on the couch. Underneath, she wore a tight gray tank under a slouchy jacket and black jeans that hit just above the ankle. She stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her hands, watching Ning with a neutral expression that didn’t match the nerves in her stomach.

Winter came in last. Her blonde bob was pinned back on one side with a silver clip, and she wore a navy sweater that fell off one shoulder and straight cut pants. She looked like she had just rolled out of a warm bed, which somehow made it worse. She took off her sneakers quietly, placed them neatly near the door, and walked barefoot over the rug, toes brushing the fabric softly with each step.

“You two ready to make history?” Giselle teased, pointing a KitKat at them.

“It’s not a real kiss though, right?” Karina said, tying her hair back with a small black scrunchie, the motion repetitive and practiced.

“Sure,” Yeji said without looking up from her clipboard. She was already noting down time stamps from previous rehearsals.

Ning clicked her pen. “Okay, here’s the setup. It’s late night in the scene. The characters are alone, maybe tipsy. They’re talking. One reaches out to touch the other. The touch leads to a lean-in. You’ll stop just before the lips touch. We need to sell the weight of that moment.”

“Who reaches first?” Winter asked.

“Karina’s character does,” Ning said, turning her head to the person mentioned. “You guide Winter’s character by the waist. Then bring your faces together, pause, hold tension, then step back.”

Karina simply nodded.

Mark hit record. The red light on the camera blinked.

The room shifted. People settled. Even the heater made less noise.

Karina took her mark. She stood just left of the edge of the couch, the corner of a plush pink throw brushing against her calf. Winter stood a few steps away, arms hanging loosely at her sides, her expression unreadable. Her gaze tracked Karina’s movements with calm precision.

“Let’s go from the lean-in,” Ning called. “Karina, hands on her waist. Slow. Comfortable. Playful.”

Karina stepped forward. Her socks against the wood flooring. She reached out. Her hands hovered for a second before settling lightly on Winter’s sides, fingers spread just under the curve of her ribs. She felt the cotton of the sweater and then the shape underneath. Solid, firm, warm.

Winter flinched just slightly. Not visibly, just a stiffening of her spine. The way their eyes were locked wasn’t helpful at all.

“Good,” Ning said, studying their postures. “Now lean in, but not too fast. Let it breathe.”

Karina leaned forward, her breath slowed. The heat of Winter’s body was right there. She tilted her head slightly. Her eyes went to Winter’s lips.

The room faded.

Karina’s hands were on Winter’s waist. She imagined letting her fingers slide under that sweater. Just a little. Just to feel the skin underneath. What would it feel like? Warm? Soft? Would Winter stop her?

What if she didn’t?

Her breath hitched.

She imagined brushing the back of her hand against the dip of Winter’s stomach. Just tracing. Her fingers itched.

Winter shifted slightly. Her shoulder brushed Karina’s. The edge of her sweater caught Karina’s wrist and dragged slightly.

Karina’s pulse jumped.

She could see the slope of Winter’s collarbone, how the skin there looked touchable, too pale under the lighting. She could almost feel it under her fingertips.

Almost.

“Cut,” Ning called.

Karina jolted back. Her hands dropped.

Winter looked at her with curiosity.

“You okay?” Yeji asked from behind the couch.

“Yeah,” Karina said quickly. Her voice cracked a little. “I’m fine.”

Winter tilted her head. “You spaced out.”

“Did not.” She answered defensively.

“You were breathing weird.”

Karina cleared her throat. “I was trying to put on a good show.”

Hyunjin muttered, “Someone should give her a Baeksang now.”

Karina ignored him. She stepped away, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Take five,” Ning said. “Then we’ll do the full run.”

Karina went to the kitchen, opened a cupboard, closed it, then opened the fridge and stared at the contents like she forgot what water looked like. She poured a glass and took a long sip, not because she was thirsty but because it gave her something to do. The cup clinked lightly against the counter when she set it down.

She turned her head slightly.

Winter was still in place. Still standing. Still looking at her.

Karina looked away.

They reset. This time they started from dialogue. Karina had to walk up, make a joke, touch Winter’s wrist, and let the moment turn.

Winter was still, letting Karina come to her. Her lips were parted, like she was about to laugh but didn’t. Karina delivered her line and reached out.

Her hand brushed Winter’s.

Winter didn’t move.

The contact was small. Barely there. But Karina felt it echo.

They paused.

The camera caught everything. Even the way Karina’s hand hovered half a second longer than necessary.

Ning didn’t yell cut. She let it hang.

Karina looked at Winter.

Winter looked at her.

“Don’t kiss,” Ning said quietly. “Just stay. Just let it burn.”

And they did as told.

Karina’s back tensed. Her jaw shifted. She kept her eyes trained just off-center, watching the edge of Winter’s lips without fully focusing. Her breath felt too warm in her chest.

Winter didn’t flinch, but her eyes darted quickly once, just a flicker downward, before returning to Karina’s face. Her arms were still at her sides, unmoving, but her fingers curled into her palm.

The soft hum of the camera filled the silence. The red recording light blinked.

Ning finally called, “Cut.”

They stepped back at the same time.

Mark stopped the camera. The red light clicked off. Ryujin flipped the boom mic to idle. Yeji capped her pen.

Winter exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding that breath too long. She brushed her hair off her face with one hand and reached for her water bottle on the edge of the couch.

Karina blinked. Her cheeks were flushed, color blooming up to the tops of her ears. She took a small step backward, then sat on the edge of the coffee table.

Winter pulled her clip from her hair and let it fall loose. She ran a hand through it and tucked it behind her ear.

Karina didn’t say anything for a long time. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, once, then again. She didn’t reach for it.

Outside the window, the sky was deep gray. The city lights had just started blinking on, and headlights streaked through the street two floors below. The radiator hissed softly in the corner.

Winter stood and picked up her sweater, slinging her bag over one shoulder. She didn’t announce anything, just glanced at Giselle, who gave her a nod.

Karina watched her go. Her knees still tucked tight under her chin, arms wrapped around them like she needed to hold herself still.

She still hadn’t looked at her phone. And she wasn’t going to. Not tonight.

Chapter Text

They were off book now.

The scripts were gone. Ning had made a show of locking them in a drawer and tossing the key into her boba cup, which now sat on a shelf next to a broken clapboard and a half-deflated balloon leftover from someone’s birthday.

“No crutches,” she said. “If the tension isn’t in your eyes, I don’t want it.”

Karina sat cross-legged on the apartment floor, chewing a piece of gum and bouncing her knee. She’d cleared her whole afternoon for this. She wore a ribbed navy top that hugged her a little too perfectly and loose black jeans with the button undone for comfort, a detail no one commented on but everyone noticed.

Winter sat on the couch, hunched over her marked-up copy of the scene notes, even though they weren’t supposed to need them anymore. Her blonde bob was messier than usual, and she wore a cropped hoodie with drawstrings she kept wrapping around her fingers.

“So,” Giselle said, flopping onto the beanbag with a bag of spicy chips. “We’re finally doing the bedroom scene, huh?”

“Technically, it’s just dialogue on a bed,” Ning said, setting up the camera. “No kissing. No hands. No drama.”

“Yeah, and Titanic was technically about a boat,” Hyunjin muttered, flipping a script page with dramatic flair. A cheese puff rolled off his lap and landed on the carpet.

Yeji flipped to the right page in her binder. “You two ready? It’s the part where your characters stay up all night talking and start realizing they’re falling in love.”

Karina laughed too quickly. “We’re not turning this into softcore, right?”

“Depends on your definition,” Winter said, deadpan.

Everyone howled.

“Oh, she’s awake today,” Giselle said, grinning.

“I’m always awake.” Winter replied, stretching her arms overhead. Her hoodie lifted just enough to show a sliver of skin.

Karina saw it and tried not to.

“Okay,” Ning said. “Karina lies down first. Winter joins. You face each other, knees slightly bent, pillows between you. We’re doing natural light. No soundtrack. Just your voices. Got it?”

Karina climbed onto the mattress, which was really just a futon layered with soft throws and pastel pillowcases. She fluffed a pillow under her head, adjusting until her hair looked casually perfect. The edge of the blanket was soft against her bare arm, the room warm from the heat of apartment lights even though the window showed a gray afternoon outside.

Winter lay beside her, mirroring the angle. The futon dipped slightly under their combined weight. She tucked her hand under the pillow and turned slightly inward, just enough to close the space between them.

“Rolling,” Mark called, crouched by the tripod.

“Scene six, take two,” Yeji echoed.

“Action.”

Karina turned toward Winter. Her line was a simple, “Do you ever think about leaving?”

Winter answered, but it wasn’t the line. “Where would we go?”

Karina blinked. Improvised. “Somewhere warmer. Where no one knows us.”

Winter tilted her head slightly. Her hair shifted, exposing more of her face. “Would we go together?”

Yeji looked down at her notes. Her pen hovered, then scribbled in the margins.

Karina hesitated. Her voice dropped. “Do you want to?”

Winter didn’t reply right away. She just looked at her. And kept looking, like she didn’t know whether to speak or touch.

“Cut,” Ning said softly.

The girls didn’t move.

“Cut,” she repeated.

Winter blinked.

Karina rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The light fixture above spun slightly from an earlier movement.

“That was not the script,” Yeji said, flipping a page to make sure.

“But it works,” Ning said. “Play it back.”

They broke for snacks. Giselle made juice and passed around instant tteokbokki cups, the kind that steamed up the windows. Hyunjin offered to share his sandwich with Yeji, who declined like always.

Karina leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. Winter stood nearby, eating a rice cracker one slow bite at a time.

“You changed your line,” Karina said, voice low.

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but I was following you.”

Winter didn’t answer. She took another bite of her cracker and chewed slowly, eyes fixed on the wrapper.

Giselle slid in between them, draping an arm around each shoulder. “Great job, you two.”

Karina gave her a look. Winter smiled.

The next scene they blocked was meant to be emotionally distant. A post-argument moment. Tense. Quiet. Winter was supposed to stand in front of the window, and Karina would walk up behind her, and gently hug her from behind. The moment was about restraint. Reconciliation with boundaries. Minimal contact. No warmth.

Winter took her mark, standing in front of the tall pane, light filtering through sheer curtains, making her skin glow soft gold. She folded her arms in front of her, her shoulders held tight, her head bowed slightly like she didn’t want to be seen.

Karina stepped in behind her. Her heels clicked once against the old floorboard. She paused just behind Winter.

She reached forward slowly, her arms sliding around Winter’s waist in a soft, simple back hug. Her hands met just above Winter’s stomach, fingers curling gently, like she was afraid to hold too tightly.

Then, she leaned in.

She tilted her head slightly and pressed her face to the side of Winter’s neck, just below her ear, where her hair tucked behind. Her nose brushed skin. Then she inhaled.

Not a casual breath, but a long, noticeable inhale.

Winter smelled clean. Soft. Like fresh laundry and a hint of something floral. Something grounded, familiar, and addicting.

Karina didn’t move. Her eyes drifted shut, her cheek resting just barely against Winter’s neck. Her arms stayed wrapped around her, steady and still.

Winter’s hand twitched at her side. Slowly, she reached up and placed her fingers over Karina’s forearm, gently holding on.

They didn’t say their lines.

They didn’t move.

The camera kept rolling.

“Cut,” Ning whispered, eyes wide.

Giselle looked between them like she’d just watched two strangers fall off a cliff.

“Did they forget their lines?” Hyunjin asked quietly.

“Obviously,” Yeji said, circling something in her notes.

–

Later that day, Jeno showed up.

He wasn’t supposed to. Karina had told him not to. But there he was, standing in the doorway with iced americanos for everyone and a bag from the café down the street.

“Figured you’d be hungry,” he said, smiling. His hands were slightly red from the cold, and his shoes squeaked against the entryway mat.

Winter looked up from her notes and immediately looked away. She pressed her lips together and adjusted her hoodie.

Karina stood. “I thought you had class.”

“It ended early. Figured I’d swing by.”

“Cool,” she said, accepting the coffee. Her tone went up half a pitch.

“What time are you done?”

“Probably eight.”

Jeno just nodded.

“Hey, it’s Jeno,” Giselle said as soon as she saw him, pulling him into the chaos.

“So, you’re the guy,” Hyunjin added.

“The situationship,” Yeji corrected.

Everyone laughed. Winter didn’t.

“Nice to see you, guys. I’ll get out of your hair now.” Jeno smiled at everyone else, kissed Karina at the back of her head, tossed a playful salute at Mark, and then slipped back out the door with a gust of cold air.

The room settled back to work. Lights adjusted. Camera back in position. Pages flipped. The usual rustling and repositioning before another take.

But Winter didn’t settle.

She stood on her mark, but her focus was somewhere else, farther than just outside the apartment. Her shoulders were tight, her jaw set, and she kept pressing her lips together like she was trying to keep something inside. She held her script loosely at her side, pages fluttering slightly with every tiny movement.

They started the scene.

Karina delivered her line, steady and open, her voice soft with that same barely-there tension that always made the room lean in.

Winter responded. But it was off.

Her tone came out too flat, then too sharp. She paused too long, eyes flicking to the wrong spot. Her next line was rushed, like she was trying to outrun the moment.

Mark poked his head from behind the camera. Not quite frowning yet, but close.

They reset.

Second take. Winter shifted her stance, tried to breathe deeper, shake it off.

Didn’t work.

She missed her cue. Jumped in half a second early on the next line. Then overcompensated and came in late the next time.

Karina tried to hold the rhythm, but it kept slipping. Like trying to dance with someone who couldn’t hear the music.

Winter dropped a line completely.

“I, wait, sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head and putting her hand to her temple. “Line?”

Yeji flipped her binder open, read it out to her gently.

“Right,” Winter nodded. “Okay.”

Third take. This time she got the words out, but they didn’t land. There was no softness. No weight. Just syllables spoken out of obligation.

Karina reached out during her line, like the script called for. A soft touch on Winter’s wrist.

Winter flinched, enough for everyone to notice. Enough to make everyone else hold their breath.

Giselle squinted at the monitor. Her finger hovered near the pause button. She didn’t hit it.

Yeji leaned in, voice low. “The chemistry’s gone.”

“I know,” Giselle said quietly.

Yeji exhaled and underlined something in the margin of her script with slow, careful strokes.

Winter reset herself again, rolling her shoulders back, jaw flexing.

But whatever it was, whatever had shaken her, it was still in the room. Sitting on her chest. Tangling in her voice.

And everyone could feel it.

–

Outside the building, the sky had dipped into a deep blue, soft around the edges but fading fast. Streetlights buzzed to life one by one, adding yellow halos on the sidewalk, which was cracked and dotted with gum stains and little pebbles no one ever bothered to sweep.

The crew had already thinned out. Some were heading in different directions and others calling for rides, voices low and tired. The hum of goodbyes and leftover laughter was still hanging.

Winter started walking near the curb, quiet, clutching the straps of her backpack like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her hoodie was bunched around her elbows, her sleeves too short to cover the faint red indentations on her arms. Her lips were pressed together in that almost-smile she wore when she didn’t want anyone to ask if she was okay.

Karina came out, script folded under one arm, hair tied up in a quick, uneven bun that had started slipping because her hair was too short. She looked around, squinting slightly, then spotted Winter walking off to the side alone.

“Hey,” Karina called out, walking over.

Winter turned her head, making sure the other person was talking to her before responding. “Hey.”

Karina frowned. “You didn’t bring your bike?”

Winter gave a tiny shrug. “Flat tire this morning. Didn’t have time to fix it.”

Karina looked down the street, then back at her. “Are you gonna walk home?”

Winter shrugged again, trying to make it casual. “Yeah, it’s not that far.”

Karina shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. “I’m six blocks down. You?”

Winter hesitated. “Eight.”

Karina smiled, a little hopeful. “Wanna walk together?”

Winter’s fingers fidgeted with the frayed edge of her sleeve. She nodded once, soft and shy. “Sure.”

And just like that, something lit up in her chest. Quiet, delicate. Like maybe, just maybe, this day wouldn’t end on a low note.

Karina stepped beside her. They started walking, falling into step. Their sneakers brushed the same cracks in the sidewalk. It felt like something normal. Easy. The kind of thing they didn’t have to name.

Then…

A car turned the corner and pulled up to the curb behind them. Gray sedan with headlights cutting through the low evening light.

The window rolled down.

“Rina!”

Both of them turned out of curiosity.

Jeno leaned out of the driver’s seat, smiling like this was some kind of romantic gesture. “You said eight, right? Thought I’d swing back.”

Karina stopped. Her whole body stiffened like someone had hit pause. “You came back?”

Jeno nodded casually. “Didn’t want you walking this late.”

Winter went still beside her. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at Karina, then Jeno, then the faded chalk marks on the sidewalk like they were suddenly fascinating.

Karina turned to her with an apologetic face. “I didn’t know he’d come.”

“It’s okay,” Winter said, voice light and fast, almost rehearsed. “Seriously, go ahead.”

“Do you… wanna ride with us? We can drop you off.” Karina’s voice was quiet, tight around the edges, as if she already knew the answer.

Winter shook her head and faked a smile, just enough to be polite. Her jaw clenched for half a second. “I’m okay.”

Karina stood frozen between them. The open car door. The girl beside her. Her heart pulled in two directions, one that felt safe and expected, the other that felt like it might ruin her if she let it in too deep.

She forced a smile. “Be careful.”

Winter kept her eyes on the sidewalk.

Karina turned and walked toward the car, her stomach twisting with every step. Guilt curled up in her throat. The door shut behind her with a soft click. The headlights shifted.

Winter didn’t watch them drive away.

She adjusted her backpack, tugged her sleeves back down over her hands, and started walking.

Chapter Text

They’d done the blocking. They’d rehearsed. They’d joked about it, shrugged it off, said it was just a scene.

But this time, the camera was rolling for real.

Ning stood by the monitor, headphones on, fingers hovering over the sound levels. Mark was already behind the camera, adjusting the focus ring with the practiced calm of someone who knew whatever was about to happen wasn’t going to be ordinary.

“Scene twenty-eight, actual bed scene,” Giselle called. “Take one.”

“Action,” Ning said.

The lights had been warmed for the mood. Low amber tones that softened Winter’s blonde and made Karina’s skin glow against the soft cream sheets.

Karina lay on her back on the futon mattress, one hand resting on her stomach, the other curled loosely beside her head. Her chest rose in deliberate breaths. She wore a white camisole with loose grey denim shorts, the string of her top slipping over one shoulder.

The overhead light catching the subtle sheen of her collarbone. A strand of her dark hair lay curved against her cheek.

Winter entered the frame quietly.

She moved carefully, like she didn’t want to startle anything. Her cropped tank top clung to her as she crawled up onto the mattress. Loose shorts hung low on her hips. Her hair had fallen into her eyes again, but she didn’t fix it. One piece stuck to her bottom lip for a second before she brushed it back.

Karina looked up at her. Their eyes locked.

Winter settled on top of Karina, her knees on the sides of the girl’s hips. She didn’t sit all the way down, just hovered. Hands on either side of Karina’s head, elbows bent for support. The space between their bodies buzzed with held breath.

“You said you didn’t care,” Karina whispered, her line barely audible.

“I lied,” Winter responded.

They were following the script well when Karina’s hands suddenly moved to Winter’s sides. She knew the script didn’t say to touch her like that. But her hands moved anyway. Her fingertips curled over the hem of the tank top, slipping underneath.

Her palms met Winter’s skin, then one slid around to the front like she’d been wanting to do it out of curiosity for a while.

Behind the camera, Giselle and Ning exchanged confused glances. The lines were correct, but the movement wasn’t.

Karina felt Winter’s stomach, the firm muscle under soft heat, and the way her body tensed at the touch but didn’t pull away. Her hand slid upward with slow intent, fingertips tracing the slope of abs with quiet awe.

Winter’s lips parted. Her eyes flicked to Karina’s mouth, then back to her eyes. She leaned in, just slightly. Just enough for her breath to tickle Karina’s lips.

Karina exhaled, then, without thought, pulled her closer. Her hands flattened against Winter’s back, bringing her down until their stomachs touched.

Winter’s weight shifted down. Karina’s legs adjusted, parted beneath her.

Karina arched up, a small, involuntary motion to get comfortable. Barely a thrust, but it was there. Her hips pressed lightly into Winter’s, enough to make contact. Her breath hitched.

Winter froze for a breath, her hands curling into the blanket on either side of Karina’s shoulders. Her expression flickered, something unreadable behind her eyes, like half surprise, half want.

Their faces hovered, an inch apart.

The script called for Winter to initiate the kiss.

But Karina leaned up, and Winter met her halfway.

Their lips brushed softly at first before pulling back. A pause, as if talking using their eyes. Then the second time, Karina parted her lips.

Winter followed.

The kiss turned torrid. Slow, but deep. Karina’s hands stayed under Winter’s tank, moving gently up her back, fingers skimming the curve of her spine. Winter’s fingers wandered to Karina’s side, nails tracing gentle lines across her skin.

Karina shifted again, a subtle grind of hips beneath Winter’s weight. Her mouth opened wider. She breathed out through her nose, shaky.

Winter’s lips moved with hers, deeper now, and more certain. Palm splayed across Karina’s waist. Their legs brushed again.

A sound escaped Karina’s throat. A low, soft moan muffled by the kiss.

Winter responded with one of her own. The kind that’s not for show. The kind that comes from the chest.

No one called cut.

Mark was still recording. Ning hadn’t blinked in thirty seconds. Hyunjin stopped eating his chips. Ryujin stood behind the light with her mouth open. Giselle leaned toward the monitor but didn’t move. Yeji’s pen was frozen midair.

Karina rolled slightly to shift the angle of the kiss. Her knee bent, brushing Winter’s hip.

Winter adjusted without breaking contact. Her weight pressed down more. Her hand slid down Karina’s arm, pausing at her wrist, then moving to interlace their fingers.

They kissed like they forgot they were supposed to stop.

“Cut,” Ning said eventually, but it came out like a question.

They didn’t hear. They didn’t stop.

“Cut,” she said again, louder.

Winter finally pulled back. Her breath was fast. Her lips slightly parted and pinker than before. Karina lay beneath her, eyes glazed, blinking up like she was waking up from a trance.

Winter got off the bed first, quiet. She adjusted her shirt. Tugged at her waistband.

Karina sat up slower. Her hands dropped into her lap. Her lips were parted, her chest rising in shallow pulls.

No one spoke.

Giselle cleared her throat. “That…” she said. “Was… cinematic.”

Ning clapped once. Then again. Her face still in shock, but a positive one.

“That was not in the script.” Yeji wrote something down without looking up.

Karina stood. Her voice was soft. “Yeah, but it felt like the right thing to do for that scene.”

Giselle grinned. “That’s gonna win us something.”

“Like what?” Mark asked, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Viewers. And maybe a scandal.” Giselle smirked proudly.

Winter looked at Karina, who was already looking at her, but they didn’t say anything.

–

Later, most of the crew had packed up. The lights had been turned off. The noise had drained out of the room like air from a balloon. Just cables, leftover coffee cups, and that odd quiet that only shows up when everyone’s gone. Karina stayed.

Ning had left the laptop open, the last clip still queued up. The playbar sat right at the start of the kiss.

Karina didn’t move for a moment. She just sat there, back half-turned to the empty space where people had been laughing an hour ago. But it seemed as if the laptop was calling her. She turned to face it, her hand drifted to the trackpad. A click. The video started.

There it was again. The crawl. The kiss. Winter leaning in, inch by inch, like she couldn’t not. Karina’s own hands moving with a kind of certainty that didn’t feel performed. Not like acting. More like memory. Her fingers slipping beneath that thin cotton tank top like they had every right to be there. The way she had moved beneath her, slow, drawn-out, almost like she’d been waiting for it.

It was all there. Every breath. Every shift of weight. Every flicker in her eyes that she couldn’t explain away later.

The camera had caught it all. And Karina couldn’t look away.

She hit pause.

The screen froze on a moment just after the kiss. Winter’s lips were parted. Her hair had fallen across one eye, that strand curling like it had been placed there on purpose. Karina’s hand was still on her, curled into the fabric, holding her like she might drift away if she let go.

Her phone buzzed on the table. Once. Twice.

She didn’t look.

She said, to no one in particular, or maybe to herself, “That’s a good scene.”

–

That night, Karina lay in bed, flat on her back, staring at the ceiling like it owed her answers. Her phone was on her chest, screen dark. She hadn’t touched it in hours. Jeno had probably messaged. Giselle might’ve called. She hadn’t checked.

The whole day kept playing in her head like it was on repeat. But really, it was just that one part. That one scene.

The way Winter had looked at her before the kiss. Like she was letting herself fall. Not for show. Not for the camera. Just... letting go.

And Karina had leaned in like it was the only natural response. Like breathing. Like gravity. Her hands had moved with that strange kind of confidence that only shows up when you stop thinking and just do. She could still feel the shape of Winter under her palms.

Karina let out a slow breath. One of those quiet, nearly-soundless exhales you don’t even mean to make.

It wasn’t just a good scene.

But she wasn’t going to say that out loud.

A few blocks away, Winter sat on her bed with a towel draped around her shoulders, her hair still damp and dripping onto the cotton. The TV was on, but she couldn’t have said what was playing if someone offered her a million bucks. She wasn’t watching. She wasn’t even seeing the screen.

She was thinking.

About Karina.

About Karina’s hands, more specifically. The way they’d touched her. Not timid, not testing, just... slow. Like she was trying to memorize the feel of her. Like she wanted to get it right. Like it mattered.

Winter’s fingers brushed against her lips before she realized what she was doing.

No one had ever kissed her like that. Not in a scene. Not even in real life, if she was being honest with herself. There’d been kisses, sure. But this one had lived in her skin. It was still there, hours later, echoing.

Her pulse had started racing during the scene, and it hadn’t slowed down since.

And the thing that really got her, the thing she couldn’t let go of, was that she couldn’t tell if any of it had been just acting. Couldn’t tell if Karina had meant it. Couldn’t tell if she wanted her to think she had.

She leaned her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes. For a second, just one second, she imagined going back. Playing that scene again. Not for the camera this time.

Just to see what would happen next.

Chapter Text

​​The next morning felt too bright.

Karina slipped into class ten minutes late. Her hair was styled neatly, lashes curled, lip gloss carefully applied, but her expression was quiet. She wore a beige coat, black top, and light-washed jeans that hugged just right. She sat down quietly, pretending to dig for a pen she didn’t need, her eyes flicking around the room until they landed on Winter.

Winter was already there, holding a cold drink. Beads of condensation slid down the can, soaking the napkin she’d set on her empty desk. Her hair was loose above her shoulders, ends slightly curled, tucked behind one ear. She wore a heather grey hoodie and navy blue cargo pants, legs crossed beneath the desk. She didn’t look up. She didn’t turn when Karina entered. Her eyes were locked on the front, tapping her straw rhythmically with one finger.

After classes, Mark and Giselle were hanging out just outside the building, taking up too much space on the steps like they owned the place. Mark leaned against the railing, one sneaker kicked back against the wall, tearing into a melon bread. Giselle was perched next to him, swinging her legs and watching other students leave.

Karina walked up, squinting into the afternoon sun, adjusting the strap of her bag.

“There you are,” Giselle said through a mouthful of bread she’d just bitten out of Mark’s hand, “the queen of lesbian bed scene.”

Karina didn’t break stride, but her eyes narrowed. “It’s just a scene.”

“Sure,” Mark said. “And I go to dance practice for the cardio.”

Giselle snorted.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Karina muttered, trying to keep the heat off her face, but her blush was already betraying her. Her mouth twitched like it wanted to argue, but didn’t have a comeback ready.

Mark gasped theatrically. “Oh my god. She’s blushing. It’s happening.”

“Mark,” Karina warned, but she was already smiling against her will.

He grinned wider and elbowed Giselle. “You seeing this? We need a second camera. Behind the scenes. Director’s cut.”

Before Karina could fire back, Giselle calmly reached over and jabbed Mark in the ribs with her elbow. Not hard. Just enough to make him yelp and almost drop his bread.

“Hey!” he said, clutching his side. “Abuse!”

“Distraction,” Giselle replied. “You were getting greedy.”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “Is this what you two do all day when I’m not around?”

“Absolutely,” Mark said, recovering quickly. “But it’s more fun when you’re here to suffer.”

Right then, all three of their phones buzzed at once. Ning’s text lit up the screen: run it again tomorrow. one more take.

Mark looked up first, eyebrows waggling. “Guess we’re getting a sequel.”

Karina sighed, but the smile tugging at her lips said she didn’t hate the teasing half as much as she pretended to.

–

The room was dim, all overhead lights off. Only the projector lit the space, humming softly from the back like it was trying not to intrude. The area smelled faintly of coffee and whatever old snack had been forgotten under a seat.

On the screen: a frozen frame of Karina and Winter. Lips almost touching.

Yeji sat cross-legged on the couch, her pen tapping out a steady rhythm against her notebook. The cap hung between her teeth, forgotten.

The scene started.

Karina watched herself on screen. Watched the way her hand slid under Winter’s shirt, how Winter’s body eased down into hers like they were made to fit. Her own eyes were locked in, intense. Focused. Hungry. She didn’t remember acting like that. Not exactly. And that was the weird part.

Giselle, sitting on the floor with a lollipop stick poking out of her mouth, broke the silence. “Okay but… seriously. Can you even do that again?”

Winter shifted slightly, arms crossed as she leaned deeper into the couch cushions. She exhaled, slow and controlled. Like she was trying not to let anything show.

Yeji underlined something on her clipboard like she was angry at it. “Natural escalation,” she said. “We keep it. It builds. That’s the hook.”

Hyunjin nodded without looking up, flipping his pencil between his fingers.

Ning stood near the monitor, arms folded tight, her bun half-collapsing from stress or sleep deprivation, or probably both. “Let’s do the same heat. Same energy. I want the tension, the desire, the way your bodies move, keep that. But for the love of film, speak your damn lines this time!”

Giselle popped the candy stick out of her mouth with a loud click. “So basically, don’t make out so hard you forget your lines.”

Yeji scribbled something and didn’t look up. “Honestly? Kind of iconic, though.”

Karina sat back in her chair. “I hate all of you.” But her voice didn’t carry much weight. Not with the way she was smiling.

And across the room, Winter was still watching the screen. Quiet. Focused. Like she was already replaying it in her head.

Planning her next move.

–

The bed was freshly made, sheets smooth and pale cream, soft cotton that still held the warmth and wrinkles from earlier rehearsals. Karina lay back against the pillows, brushing her hair off her forehead, trying to breathe past the thump of her own heart. It pounded like it knew something was coming.

Winter stepped onto the set.

She moved carefully, knees settling on either side of Karina’s hips. One hand braced near Karina’s head, her balance instinctive, practiced. Her cropped top shifted as she adjusted, riding up just enough to reveal the subtle dip of her waist and a strip of skin that seemed to glow under the lighting.

Karina’s eyes flicked down, just for a second.

“Action,” Ning called from offscreen.

They moved.

Karina reached up, fingers grazing Winter’s side. Winter leaned in. Their faces hovered close. Words were exchanged, clear, on cue.

Perfect.

But empty.

“Cut,” Ning said flatly.

“Again.”

“Reset.”

“Cut.”

“Reset.”

Ryujin groaned from behind a light stand, dramatically tilting her head back like she might perish from boredom.

Yeji flipped a page on her clipboard with unnecessary force.

“Again,” Ning said, and her voice was getting thinner.

They went through the motions. Winter adjusted. Karina shifted. Hands found familiar places. Words came on time. But nothing sparked.

Winter’s fingers skimmed Karina’s jaw with textbook precision. Her expression, though beautiful, didn’t flicker. Karina tilted her face up, trying to find something. Anything.

Nothing.

“Cut,” Ning muttered.

Giselle’s voice rang from the shadows. “You’re too focused on acting now. That’s the problem.”

Winter didn’t move. She remained where she was, hovering above Karina, held still by something unspoken.

Karina’s heart was beating too fast again. Her gaze dropped to Winter’s mouth, the slight sheen of lip balm, the barely-parted lips. A single strand of hair had fallen forward, brushing Karina’s temple like a secret.

Then she moved.

Her hand slid back to the place it had gone before. Under Winter’s shirt. Palm flat. Fingers familiar.

She pulled her closer. Not fast. Just sure.

Her lips brushed the shell of Winter’s ear.

Then she whispered. It was barely audible, too low for the mic, too quiet for the camera, meant only for Winter and definitely not in the script.

“Why aren’t you touching me like before?”

It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t coy. It was almost... asking. Almost begging.

Winter froze.

The breath against her ear sent a chill down her spine. Her chest tightened like something had just locked into place, and not gently. She didn’t move, didn’t even blink, but her voice came quieter than before. Less sure. Less guarded.

“Why were you touching me like that at all?” She whispered back.

Karina flinched. Her eyes widened, and her fingers pulled back like Winter’s skin had burned her.

She stayed still for a moment.

Then she sat up, gently shifting so Winter had to move off to the side.

Her gaze passed over Winter, past the camera, and landed on Giselle.

“Let’s just use the first take,” she said, her voice low but steady. “The deadline’s close. Let’s move on.”

No one said a word.

She slid off the bed. She adjusted her shirt, then ran a hand through her hair like she was trying to fix something deeper than just strands.

Winter stayed on the mattress, hands still braced, eyes locked on the space where Karina had just been. Her mouth parted like she was going to say something. But nothing came.

The silence stretched tight around everyone.

Then finally, Giselle spoke. “Let’s take five.”

No one moved right away.

Because something in that room had changed, and nobody knew what to do with it yet.

–

That night, Karina sat at her desk, the soft hum of her laptop fan the only sound in the room. Her window was cracked open, letting in a breeze that ruffled the corner of her printed script pages.

The video file sat on her desktop: Scene_28_UNEDITED.mov

She told Ning she needed it for study. Said she wanted to review her performance, see what worked and what didn’t.

But as the minutes ticked by, she realized she hadn’t been watching herself at all.

She’d been watching Winter.

Every frame, every shift of her eyes, every part of her that lingered too long or moved too carefully. She paused the video when Winter leaned in, slow, uncertain, breathing too fast.

Karina rewound and played it again.

Then again.

She leaned forward, squinting at the screen, trying to see something in Winter’s face. Something in her eyes.

She didn’t even know what she was looking for.

But she couldn’t stop.

She paused on a frame where Winter’s eyes were half-lidded, her mouth parted just slightly. Karina stared at it, heart twisting in a way she didn’t have words for.

She reached toward the screen as if touching it would bring her closer. As if she could pull Winter out of that moment and ask, ‘What are you thinking?’

But the only answer was silence.

Under the same moonlight, Winter stood in her bathroom, wiping a drop of water from her chin. The mirror was fogged at the edges, her reflection soft and blurry.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. Another unread message from Ning in the group chat.

She didn’t care.

She walked to her room, pulling an oversized shirt over her still-damp skin, hair sticking to her neck. She climbed into bed, the fabric of her sheets cool against her legs.

She reached for her iPad on the nightstand. She opened the clip she’d secretly asked Mark for. Saying it was ‘for learning and improvement purposes.’

But not to study. Not to analyze.

She watched Karina’s hands. The way she pulled her in. The sound she made when she kissed her back.

Winter paused the clip, staring at the moment when Karina opened her eyes too early.

She remembered that.

She had felt it. The exact second Karina wasn’t in character anymore.

Winter shut off the screen and lay back in the dark, one arm across her forehead.

Her mind replayed the words she’d said on set earlier today.

“Why were you touching me like that at all?”

She didn’t mean for it to come out like that.

It was a genuine question.

She had been thinking about it for days, not just the scene, but Karina’s hands. The way she touched her. The way it had made her feel something different, something terrifying.

She kept wondering why.

Why did she touch her like that?

Was it for the film? For realism? For show? Or was it something else?

But when the words left her mouth, they came out wrong. Too harsh. Too defensive. She watched Karina’s face change, saw her pull away like she’d been hit.

But that wasn’t it at all.

Winter didn’t want to push her away. She wanted her to stay. She just didn’t know how to ask.

Now Karina probably hated her. And Winter hated herself for not saying it right.

Chapter Text

The studio lights weren’t even that bright today, but everything felt too exposed.

They were shooting a non-romantic scene. Just a short dialogue between their characters. Casual, reflective, no physical contact. Nothing loaded. Nothing that was supposed to mean anything.

And yet it did.

Winter leaned against a fake wooden doorway on set, the edge of the frame rough where the paint chipped. Her arms were crossed loosely over her chest, script pages tucked into one elbow. She looked calm. Cold, even. Her mouth was set, her gaze neutral. The heels of her sneakers dug softly into the painted floor, one foot angled slightly toward the wall like she wanted to disappear into it.

Karina stood a few feet away, holding a clipboard prop and pretending to scan the fake documents she’d been handed. The pages were blank, just paper and ink, but her eyes kept flicking to Winter’s face.

Every look between them felt too long. Every silence was heavy, like it stuck in the throat.

“Action.” Ning declared.

They ran through it. Lines clean. Movements sharp. Blocking perfect.

But it was stiff. Strained. The crew could feel it.

Ryujin yawned loudly behind the light rig, the sound echoing too much in the quiet room. Hyunjin crossed his arms and didn’t even try to hide his eye roll.

“Cut,” Ning said.

“Let’s go again. Just loosen it up a bit.” Giselle said, her previous enthusiasm nowhere to be found.

Again.

Winter barely blinked at Karina. Karina barely remembered to blink at all. Her spine was straight, arms too stiff, lips too tight. Her eyes darted back and forth between Winter’s eyes and her mouth, like she didn’t know where to land.

“Cut.”

Giselle leaned over to Yeji and whispered, “This is a disaster.”

Yeji’s pen paused mid-note. “They’re acting like they broke up without even dating.”

Karina dropped her script in her lap during the break, sinking into the couch with a soft creak of fabric. Her phone buzzed from her hoodie pocket. Jeno, probably. She didn’t check. Her fingers traced the hem of the hoodie instead, over and over, like she was trying to smooth out her thoughts.

Across the room, Winter sat on the edge of a chair that no one was using. One leg bouncing slightly. A water bottle gripped between her palms. She kept twisting the cap open, then shut. The plastic snapped and clicked like clockwork.

She wasn’t looking at Karina. Not really. Her eyes flicked to the lights, the floor, her hands. Anywhere else. When Ning passed by and said something to her, Winter nodded too fast. Like she was trying to look present without actually being there.

She hadn’t met Karina’s eyes once since the scene.

And Karina hated it. Hated the silence between them. Hated not knowing what was in it. Guilt? Regret? Or something worse?

Her gaze drifted back to Winter. To the little crack in her bottom lip. To the soft shadows at her collarbones. To the way her fingers moved like she was desperate for a task, like stillness might swallow her whole.

Karina stood. She didn’t remember deciding to.

She crossed the room before she could talk herself out of it. Each step made a soft, uncertain sound against the floor. The clipboard bumped against her hip like it was trying to remind her that she was supposed to be somewhere else. “Hey.”

Winter’s head snapped up. The bottle cap clicked into silence.

Karina stopped a foot away. Not too close. But closer than she’d dared all day.

Winter blinked, then set the bottle down beside her. “Hey.”

Karina opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. Her eyes flinched sideways, then back. “You didn’t answer me,” she said finally, low and a little rough.

Winter’s brows knit together. “What?”

“Yesterday.” Karina’s throat tightened. “I asked you something.”

Winter sat still. Her chest rose, then fell. “I answered,” she said quietly.

Karina shook her head, slow. “No. I asked a question, and you gave me one back.” She swallowed, and for half a second her voice nearly cracked. “That’s not the same thing.”

Winter looked at her then. Really looked. And Karina didn’t know what she saw in her eyes. Confusion? Fear? Regret? Something just as messy as what was churning in her own chest.

Karina took a tiny breath in, just about to say more…

“Alright, positions!” Ning called from across the room.

The spell broke.

Winter instantly looked away. The tension slipped back into her shoulders like armor being reassembled.

Karina stood there a moment longer. Then gave a small nod. Like she was accepting something, even if she didn’t want to.

She turned to go, the words still clinging to her ribs, unsaid and unfinished.

Winter didn’t stop her.

–

Later, Jeno stopped by.

He brought her coffee, black, with an extra shot, just how she liked it. The cardboard sleeve was still warm. He kissed her cheek lightly and leaned into her shoulder while handing it over. His hand lingered on her arm for just a second.

“You’ve been hard to reach lately,” Jeno said, watching her with soft eyes. “I barely see you anymore. You don’t even text back half the time.”

Karina took the coffee and smiled faintly. She ran her finger along the edge of the lid. “I know. This shoot’s been intense. The deadline’s creeping up and Giselle’s on edge. I’ve been at the set a lot.”

“Yeah, but even when you’re not, you’re somewhere else,” he said gently.

Karina didn’t respond to that. She just looked at him for a second and then reached up to fix a strand of his hair without thinking.

Winter saw it from across the studio.

She was sitting on a metal stool, script binder open across her lap. But she wasn’t reading. Her eyes were on them, on Karina and Jeno, the closeness between them, the soft curl of Karina’s smile when she tucked his hair back.

The little things.

Winter felt something sharp and unfamiliar pinch her chest.

She told herself it was nothing.

Except, it was something.

Her hand clenched around her pencil. She hated the way Karina leaned into him so easily. The way Jeno looked at her like she belonged to him.

But what really got to her, what Winter couldn’t stop staring at, was how Karina didn’t seem to mind. Not even a little.

Her pencil slipped from her fingers.

It clattered against the concrete floor with a sharp echo.

She muttered a quiet “shit” and leaned down to grab it, but her fingers shook. Just once. She held the pencil tighter, gripped it like it would stop her thoughts from spiraling.

She looked down at the script but didn’t see any of the words.

–

After a long day, the studio cleared out slowly. Ryujin and Yeji left together, still talking. Hyunjin gave a peace sign and disappeared behind a swinging door.

Karina stayed back to help Ning reset props, stacking notebooks and folding stray blankets.

Winter lingered near the doorway, half-pretending to scroll her phone, her thumb moving in lazy swipes. She leaned against the frame like she didn’t want to leave but didn’t know how to stay.

Mark packed the camera, whistling under his breath as he waited for his girlfriend. After a few moments, he and Giselle walked by and paused, their eyes bouncing between the members left. “You three good?” she asked, checking on them before heading out.

Karina nodded. “Yeah.”

Winter just gave her a reassuring smile.

Not even two minutes later, Ning left too, and it was just them.

Karina stood by the tripod, wiping her hands with a prop cloth that smelled faintly of lemon cleaner.

Winter decided to help her out. She crouched beside a tangled coil of cords, wrapping them carefully.

They both knew they were stalling, waiting for everyone to clear out so they could be alone. Karina’s unfinished statement before Ning cut her off was hard to just leave hanging.

Karina spoke first. “Back then… on set.”

Winter looked up, dusting her palms against her thighs.

“I know what you said. But…” Karina’s fingers tightened on the cloth. “Did you mean it? The way it sounded?” She turned to face her.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” Winter said softly.

Karina stared. Her fingers stilled. The cloth crumpled in her hand.

“I just…” Winter swallowed. “I kept thinking about it. That scene.”

“Me too,” Karina admitted almost immediately. Her voice was quiet. Certain.

Winter nodded once.

They stood there. Karina could see the slight rise and fall of Winter’s chest.

Winter opened her mouth again.

Then Yeji’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Did I leave my charger in here?”

They jumped in surprise, then laughed shyly.

Karina turned away, biting the inside of her cheek. Winter rubbed the back of her neck, face tilted toward the floor.

Yeji walked in without noticing.

And the moment was gone.

Yeji called out goodbye as soon as she found her charger.

The set was dark now. Only the emergency lights near the exit glowed faint red along the floor. Winter grabbed her backpack, slinging it over one shoulder, pausing by the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, not looking back.

Karina stood in the middle of the room, frozen in place. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“Wait,” She said.

Winter turned slowly. “Huh?”

Karina crossed the space between them in four fast steps and caught Winter’s wrist before she could react. Her fingers curled gently but firmly around her.

“I’m not done talking,” Karina said.

She stepped closer and with her free hand, pushed the door shut behind Winter. The soft click echoed.

And then she kissed her.

Her lips landed on Winter’s with urgency and softness at the same time. With her hands rising to cup Winter’s face, her thumb brushing the corner of her lips.

Winter’s bag dropped to the floor with a dull thud as she kissed her back just as deep.

Their lips started moving fast, hungry.

Karina backed her into the door gently, her fingers trailing down to Winter’s sides, sliding under her shirt, like she had been wanting to do it for a long time. Her palms flattened against bare skin, smooth, toned, warm.

Winter let out a breath against Karina’s mouth. Her hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer until their hips touched.

Karina’s fingers drifted higher, slow, reverent, mapping the lines of Winter’s abs with the back of her hand. She pushed the shirt up inch by inch, her palm now resting flat just under the fabric, brushing over soft muscle.

She groaned quietly.

Winter moaned into her mouth, soft and desperate. Her back arched off the wall as Karina’s lips left hers and moved along her jaw, down her neck.

Karina’s hand slid up further, now resting just under Winter’s bra. Her thigh pressed between the other’s legs. Winter gasped, gripping the back of Karina’s neck like she couldn’t let go.

Then she stilled.

“Wait,” Winter whispered, her voice shaky but firm.

Karina froze, lips still hovering against her neck.

Winter was breathing hard. Her hands were still on Karina’s hips. “Not like this. Not here.”

Karina pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. Her voice was soft now, but her gaze was steady. “Do you wanna come home with me?”

Chapter Text

Karina kicked open the door to her dark bedroom, their mouths still locked in a kiss that had already gone on too long to stop now. They stumbled inside, laughing breathlessly between kisses like they couldn’t wait another second.

Their shoes were half-on, half-off, jackets somewhere in Karina’s living room.

Karina walked Winter backward toward the bed, kissing her like the world was ending. She gently pushed her down, their lips parting only for a second as Winter hit the mattress, chest rising and falling fast.

This time, it wasn’t like the scene they filmed. This wasn’t blocked. There was no choreography.

And Karina was on top.

She kissed Winter’s neck, until she was pulling their arms up and tugging Winter’s top and bra off in one smooth motion. Winter’s bare skin glowed in the dim light, all soft curves and sharp edges.

Karina paused only for a heartbeat, eyes wide admiring the view. She whispered, “You’re unreal.”

Then she leaned down, lips moving over Winter’s collarbone, then her chest, then lower, licking a trail below her cleavage until she reached the toned skin of her abs.

Karina kissed them like she’d been dreaming of it. Because she had.

Winter gasped, her hips twitching under Karina’s body. She reached up and tugged Karina’s shirt off, tossing it blindly aside.

Karina went lower, hands at the waistband of Winter’s jeans, looking up for permission.

Winter nodded with a serious expression, but still obviously shy.

Karina smiled and pulled them down. Her kisses followed the laced underwear as it slid off, her mouth never far from skin.

Winter’s head tilted back as Karina’s mouth found its way in between her thighs. Her hands gripped the bedsheets, fingers twisted tight in the fabric. The only sound in the room was the subtle creak of the mattress and the occasional gasp that escaped her lips.

Karina’s hands pressed gently into Winter’s hips, guiding her movements, anchoring her. Her lips moved with focus and softness, brushing lower, then lower still. Winter’s thighs trembled slightly, not from nerves, but from the teasing rhythm Karina set with her tongue.

Winter arched her back, a soft sound catching in her throat. Her hips swayed forward in small, circular motions, almost instinctual, almost desperate. Karina responded with a gentle hum, hands sliding up her sides, fingers tracing every dip and curve of Winter’s torso.

Winter’s hand slid into Karina’s hair, fingers tangling at the roots, gently pulling as she gasped. She couldn’t keep her voice down anymore. Every shift, every pass of Karina’s mouth left her undone.

Then Karina’s hand moved to where her tongue had just been, putting her ring and middle fingers in. She moved them in and almost out, slightly curled, repeatedly, while also putting her tongue back on top of the entrance.

Winter whimpered, forehead creasing as her hips jerked forward. Karina’s fingers were slow but firm, her touch full of intention.

She wasn’t in a rush.

She was memorizing her.

Winter’s whole body tightened, then softened. Karina looked up at her, wild hair, flushed cheeks, parted lips. She wanted to stay there forever.

But instead, she moved up, kissing along Winter’s stomach, chest, neck, until they were face to face again.

Karina moved beside her, chest rising fast, hand resting on the other’s thigh.

Winter propped herself up on one elbow, studying Karina’s face. “You’re so beautiful.” She said and kissed her softly, then moved down, pressing light kisses to her collarbone, then her chest, before gently sucking on one side of her chest and playing with the other using her hand. She switched to the other as soon as she felt something harden, then used her other hand as well. When she felt Karina gently thrust against her, she started trailing lower.

Karina blinked in surprise, breath catching as Winter’s lips grazed her stomach. Her hands found Winter’s shoulders, holding on like she didn’t know what was coming next.

Winter hesitated for a second. Her heart pounded. Not because she didn’t want to do it. She wanted it, bad. She’d just never done it before, but she knew what felt good for her, and she let instinct take the lead. Her hands splayed across Karina’s hips, then slid two pieces of her clothing away.

She pressed a kiss to the inside of Karina’s thigh. Then another.

The first taste surprised her. Unfamiliar but pleasant. She leaned in closer, eyes flicking up to watch Karina’s face.

Karina’s mouth dropped open with a sound that didn’t quite form words. Her hand found Winter’s hair, and her folded legs parted wider.

Winter moved carefully, then with growing confidence, adjusting her rhythm based on Karina’s breath, the soft twitch of her hips, the quiet gasps.

She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she knew what she wanted to do. And every reaction Karina gave her, only pulled her in deeper.

Karina arched her back, whispering Winter’s name like a secret. Her thighs tensed, her fingers gripped the sheets, and her chest rose in sharp, uneven breaths. Winter kept going, adjusting her movements each time she felt Karina react, chasing the sound of every gasp, the flex of every muscle.

Winter flattened her tongue and moved firmer, experimenting. Karina cried out softly, one hand pressing to her own mouth as her legs locked around Winter’s back.

The sounds Karina made lit a fire in her. Soft, aching, breathy. Winter wasn’t thinking anymore. She was just feeling. Moving. Giving.

Karina trembled under her. Her body rolled forward with each wave of pleasure, her voice breaking on Winter’s name again and again until she was barely saying anything at all.

Winter slowed down only when Karina’s legs went weak and her hand, now tangled in Winter’s hair, gently urged her up.

Their eyes met.

Karina looked wrecked in the most beautiful way, flushed, glowing, her lips red and parted. She reached for Winter like she needed her close.

Winter crawled up and kissed her, deep, like she meant every second of it.

And when it ended, Karina pulled her in and kissed her again, like she couldn’t believe she was real.

–

The morning light poured in through the cracked blinds in soft gold streaks. Winter stirred first. She blinked slowly, adjusting to the unfamiliar ceiling. Her hand was tucked beneath a pillow that didn’t belong to her. Her body was still warm, still tingling with the memory of the night before.

She turned her head slightly.

Karina was asleep on her side, one arm slung over Winter’s waist, their legs tangled beneath the blanket. Her face was relaxed in sleep, mouth parted slightly, hair a little messy, her lashes drawing thin shadows across her cheeks.

Winter stared at her for a second too long.

She wanted to stay in this.

But her chest was tight.

She slipped out of bed gently, trying not to wake her. She pulled on her underwear from the floor and reached for a shirt, pausing when she realized it wasn’t hers.

It smelled like Karina. She wore it anyway.

In the bathroom, she used her finger to brush her teeth with a dab of Karina’s mint toothpaste, catching her own reflection mid-motion. Her lips were still swollen. She looked like someone she didn’t quite recognize. Someone with spark in her eyes.

Winter went back to the room and sat on the bed. Karina stirred, eyes blinking open slowly. She groaned into the pillow.

“Morning,” Winter said.

Karina stretched an arm toward her and yawned. “You’re still here.”

“Wait, was last night supposed to be a one night stand?” Winter asked with a confused and worried expression.

Karina chuckled cutely, shaking her head sideways.

Winter smiled. “You thought I’d run?”

Karina rubbed her eyes. “I wouldn’t blame you.” She reached for her hand and planted a little kiss.

A few hours later, they arrived on set together, and things felt... different. Not tense. Not awkward. Just good, it felt like something had shifted and no one had told the rest of the room.

The studio wasn’t buzzing with nerves like it had been yesterday, or the days before that. No one was stumbling over lines. No one needed extra takes. It was quiet in that focused kind of way, where people held their breath without realizing it.

Winter and Karina hit every mark like they’d rehearsed it for years, not just hours. Every cue, every emotional beat landed with a kind of grace that was just a little too perfect.

Giselle narrowed her eyes at the monitor, pen frozen between her fingers. “Is it just me, or is the chemistry suspiciously dialed up?”

Yeji didn’t look up from her notes. “They’re doing everything in one take.”

“Right?” Ryujin added from behind a prop table. “Did someone lace the coffee or are they actually feeling things today?”

Ning didn’t say anything. She leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. Normally she yelled cut the moment something even hinted at going off-script. Now? She just let the scenes run. Watched. Let them breathe.

Scene after scene slid by like silk.

Karina’s eyes lingered longer during pauses.

Winter’s gestures, brushes of the hand, the way she helped Karina to her mark without even thinking, felt real. Unrehearsed. Natural.

Their movements were smooth, almost synced. Like their bodies were having conversations even when their mouths weren’t.

No one missed it.

The whole room noticed.

But no one wanted to be the first to say it out loud.

Chapter Text

The next day was the last day of filming, and it started the way most goodbyes do.

Quietly.

Someone had left an energy drink on top of the lighting rig, and takeout boxes were stacked beside the director’s chair. Karina arrived first, and then Winter walked in. They didn’t talk, but their faces lit up as soon as their eyes met, like seeing each other could bring world peace.

They sat close during blocking. Karina tugged her sleeves over her fingers and leaned her shoulder into Winter’s without asking. Winter didn’t move. Instead, she rested her arm along the back of the couch they were sitting on, fingertips just brushing the ends of Karina’s hair.

They split a chocolate bar before their first take. Karina made a show of measuring both halves with exaggerated scrutiny. Winter raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Karina didn’t break character, she shoved the bigger piece straight into Winter’s mouth.

Winter chewed with narrowed eyes. “I was gonna say you could have it.”

Karina smirked. “Too late.”

Their hands touched every time they reached for something. Karina’s hand lingered when she adjusted Winter’s mic. She tugged the wire gently through Winter’s neckline, then smoothed it flat against her chest with her palm. Her fingertips skimmed over Winter’s collarbone. Winter stayed still, eyes steady on Karina’s face.

Winter tied Karina’s hoodie strings into a lopsided bow, fingers quick but delicate. She leaned in closer than she needed to, flicked the knot with the tip of her finger, then stepped back.

They passed pens back and forth, bumped shoulders moving around equipment. Every excuse to touch felt natural. Easy.

During a lighting check, Giselle leaned toward Ning. “Are they best friends now?”

Ning didn’t look up. “Best friends? What are you, blind? I’m not directing a short film anymore. I’m directing lesbian porn foreplay.”

The morning rolled forward. Scenes fell into place effortlessly. Their lines came out raw. Intimate. Karina’s eyes kept dipping to Winter’s mouth during a confrontation. Winter’s voice dropped to a whisper when the script didn’t call for it.

Yeji was scribbling so fast her pen squeaked. Mark refocused a lens that didn’t need it. Ryujin let out a low whistle when they finished another flawless take.

“They’re gonna eat at the festival,” Hyunjin said.

Then Jeno walked in.

He pushed the door open with his back, balancing two iced coffees in one hand and a folded hoodie draped over his arm. His joggers were the kind that hung low on his hips, soft with wear, and his hoodie sleeves were shoved up to his elbows. His hair was still damp, pushed back messily like he’d barely towel-dried after a quick shower. His sneakers squeaked slightly against the floor as he walked in, scanning the room with the ease of someone who’d been there a few times.

He spotted Karina instantly. “There you are,” he said, walking over.

Karina looked up from the monitor she’d been adjusting. Her expression shifted, surprised first, confused, then warm. She stood a little straighter without realizing.

Jeno handed her the drink. “Your usual.”

Karina took the cup. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he said with a smile. He held up his own cup and took a sip, eyes still on her. “Last day of filming, right? I figured I’d come to support.”

Karina gave him a small smile, the kind she used when she wasn’t sure what to say but wanted to say something anyway. “Thanks.”

He looked at her for a second, a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Then, casually but with something softer underneath, he asked, “After you wrap today, want to do something? Just you and me. Nothing big. Just celebrate a little?”

Karina was taken aback, but she didn’t show it. “Tonight?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Dinner maybe. Or drinks. Something quiet. You deserve to breathe for a second.”

She hesitated, feeling that knot of guilt tightening in her stomach. “I think Giselle might be planning something for the club. You know how she gets about last days.”

Jeno tilted his head, understanding flashing across his face. “Ah. Yeah. That makes sense. She always throws a mini festival when something ends.”

“I’m not saying no,” Karina added defensively. “Just... I don’t know what the plan is yet.”

He smiled again, not disappointed, just patient. “Hey. It’s okay. Just... if things wrap up and you want something quieter, text me. I’ll be around.”

She nodded, the cup pressed gently to her bottom lip. “Okay.”

He leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips. Just a small peck. The kind of kiss that wasn’t asking for anything, just offering something steady.

Karina’s eyes closed for just a second, then she exhaled quietly and pulled back before there was any movement.

Jeno gave her a little smile. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your way. Just wanted to stop by to say good luck and let you know I’m cheering you on.”

He stepped back, sipping his coffee again as his eyes flicked over the set. “You guys are really doing something special here.”

Karina nodded slowly. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” he said, before walking off to greet a few familiar faces, casual and light, but with one last glance back at her.

A few meters behind Karina, Winter stood frozen. She hadn’t meant to stop walking. She’d just finished tying her boot, and somehow her body forgot what it was supposed to do next. Her fingers still held the edge of her script, but she wasn’t looking at the pages. Her eyes were locked on Karina.

She’d seen the whole thing. The smile. The soft bend of her shoulders when he reached out. The quick peck on the lips. The way Karina’s eyes had closed like it was something that had happened a hundred times before.

Winter’s skin felt too tight. Her jaw ached from how long she’d been clenching it. She couldn’t name the thing crawling up her spine, or the heat building beneath her collar. She didn’t want to.

Something inside her folded in a way she didn’t know how to fix.

Her hand squeezed the script tighter. The pages crumpled at the edges.

She turned away without thinking. Not because she had somewhere to be. Just because she couldn’t keep standing there, watching something that didn’t belong to her.

She didn’t know what she felt. Only that it burned. And it stuck.

—

For the next thirty minutes, Winter didn’t speak unless directly asked to. Her smile disappeared completely, replaced by a quiet tightness in her expression. Her movements grew fast, mechanical, snapping props closed too hard, brushing past people without the usual soft apologies. Her eyes moved constantly, scanning, tracking, avoiding, but never resting on Karina.

Karina noticed. It was impossible not to.

She watched Winter closely between takes, her gaze flicking toward her like a habit. She tried to meet her eyes during line checks, tried to hand her a pen just so their fingers would brush. Winter didn’t let it happen. She kept space between them like it was deliberate. Answered questions in short, polite nods. When she did smile, it looked rehearsed. Something that belonged to the role, not to Karina.

They kept filming, but the difference was jarring.

“The chemistry’s gone again,” Mark whispered, leaning toward Giselle. “These shots are really bad.”

“I know,” Giselle muttered back, her foot tapping against the floor like she was holding in more than just frustration.

Hyunjin shot Yeji a look. She shook her head slowly.

Even Ryujin, usually unbothered, was pacing behind the light board.

Giselle saw it all. She always saw it. That’s why she was club president. She glanced at Ning across the set and waited. When Ning finally looked up, Giselle gave her a short, almost imperceptible nod.

Ning caught it, then sighed and called out, “Let’s take a short break, everyone.”

People moved without mentioning anything, but everyone knew what was wrong.

–

Later, Giselle cornered Karina by the props section. The table was cluttered with spare camera lenses, masking tape rolls, and a cracked plastic clapperboard someone had accidentally stepped on last week. Giselle leaned against it, one hand gripping her half-melted iced americano, the other gesturing toward the chaos on set.

“Spill,” she said flatly.

Karina blinked, one hand idly twirling a roll of gaffer tape. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. Winter was practically glowing all morning. Then Mr. Situationship shows up, and now she’s moving like she’s got barbed wire under her skin.”

Karina hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “There’s nothing,” she said at first.

“Rina, we’ve been friends for so long. You think I don’t know you at all?”

Karina rolled her eyes, giving up, “Okay, something happened.”

“Something like what?” Giselle raised an eyebrow and leaned in slightly, confused to her very being.

Karina looked around quickly, making sure no one was looking or eavesdropping. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Let’s just say... if she could get me pregnant, she would’ve.”

Giselle choked on her coffee and coughed so hard that it almost came out of her nose. “What?!”

Karina gave a little shrug, trying and failing to hide the slight curl of a sad smile. “I know.”

Giselle just stared at her. “And now Winter’s spiraling over a coffee guy?”

“He’s not… look, he just brought me a drink.”

“But you didn’t tell Winter you weren’t actually seeing him, did you?”

Karina didn’t say anything. Her fingers started picking at the corner of tape on the table.

“Rina,” Giselle demanded her attention, her voice losing its edge.

Karina looked up. “What?”

“It’s obvious Winter makes you happy. And I know you and Jeno have been talking for quite some time already. But keeping them both orbiting around you just because there’s no label yet? That’s not fair to them.”

“But I’m not even sure if Winter really likes me back. What if she’s just in love with the moment? What if she’s just confused because of this film we’re doing?” Karina finally admitted.

Giselle stepped closer, setting her coffee down. “You think Winter’s going to stick around if she keeps having to wonder where she stands? That girl’s been bulletproof this entire shoot, and Jeno made her flinch. That should tell you everything about her feelings.”

Karina’s mouth opened like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

They stood in silence for a while. The music from the main studio thumped distantly through the walls. Karina stared at the tape again. “You’re right.”

Giselle nodded quietly, gave her a playful slap on the arm, and walked away.

—

Not long after that conversation, Giselle found Winter crouched behind the costume trailer, tucked away like she was trying to vanish into the steps. Her elbows were on her knees, arms folded so tightly they looked like armor. She stared out at the gravel, unmoving, as if watching dust settle.

Giselle didn’t announce herself. Just walked over, crunching over the dirt, and eased down beside her.

“You okay?” she asked, voice quiet but not tentative.

Winter gave a short nod without looking up. “Yeah.”

Giselle tilted her head slightly. “You sure about that?”

Winter’s jaw flexed. Her eyes didn’t move. “Just tired.”

Giselle exhaled through her nose, not quite a sigh, more like a warm breath of patience. She rested her forearms on her thighs and looked straight ahead, mirroring Winter’s posture.

“You know,” she said with genuine care, “I didn’t pull you into this club because you’re cheerful or loud. You barely speak to the members. But you’re brilliant. That kind of talent doesn’t come around often.”

Winter’s head turned, eyes narrowing, like something in Giselle’s words cut right through her fog.

Giselle caught the look and softened. “But talent means something. It’s not just a pretty thing to show off when the mood’s right. It’s responsibility. You don’t get to crumble every time someone shows up with a cup of coffee.”

Winter’s face whipped toward her, like Giselle had just said a secret she wasn’t supposed to know. The sting of those words hit, but it wasn’t anger. More like shame. Or maybe fear that Giselle had seen too much. “It’s not the coffee,” she said under her breath.

“I know,” Giselle said simply. “But whatever it is, it’s bleeding into your work. That’s not who you are. At least, not who I’ve seen.”

Winter’s throat moved like she swallowed something hard. A breath shuddered out of her, but she kept her mouth shut.

“You were on fire this morning,” Giselle went on. “Then something snapped. I know why, but I’m not asking for details. I’m just saying feel what you need to feel. Just don’t let it wreck what you’re here to do.”

Winter looked down at her hands, then at the scuffed toe of her boot. Her chest felt tight, but she wasn’t sure if it was from holding everything in or from how seen she suddenly felt.

“Thank you,” she said at last, voice low but steadier.

Giselle smiled and stood slowly, brushing the dust off her pants with quick swipes.

Winter sat there for a second longer, staring at the place Giselle had just been. Then she stood too.

And when the cameras rolled again, she didn’t just perform. She unleashed.

The final scene was a quiet goodbye. No physical touch. Just two characters standing close, barely breathing, everything said with their eyes.

When it ended, no one moved.

Then Ning whispered, “Cut.”

The area exploded with clapping, cheering, and people hugging. Camera gear almost falling over. Mark grabbed the camcorder. Yeji lifted her clipboard like it was a medal.

Karina laughed. Hugged Ryujin. High-fived Hyunjin. Winter stood at the edge of it all, quiet, arms crossed loosely over her chest, smiling.

Giselle cupped her hands around her mouth. “Party at my place tonight! Go home, get comfy, and be there by nine!”

More cheers. Someone whooped like it was already midnight. Ryujin yelled something about karaoke and Hyunjin responded with a dramatic dance move that nearly took out a light stand.

—

Giselle’s apartment pulsed with music and soft lighting. Someone had strung fairy lights across the ceiling, and they flickered like tiny stars over the chaos below. A half-deflated balloon hovered near the ceiling fan, bouncing with every gust of air. The kitchen counter was buried under snacks, drinks, and a very questionable cake Ning claimed was “art.”

Karina sat on the arm of the couch for a while, her knees tucked in tight, nursing a half-melted drink. Mark was telling a long story about a drone crash, but she wasn’t really listening. Her eyes kept drifting.

Winter had claimed the softest chair in the corner, the one shaped like a giant dumpling. She was curled into it sideways, her hoodie sleeves tugged over her palms, staring at the glow of her phone but not really scrolling. Ning offered her a drink. She smiled and accepted it.

Every now and then, Karina and Winter’s eyes would meet across the room, like magnets testing the pull. But neither of them made the first move.

Someone started a karaoke queue. Hyunjin grabbed the mic and sang an off-key power ballad with his entire chest. Ryujin howled along with him, off-tempo but enthusiastic. People threw popcorn. Someone actually cried. No one was sure if it was from laughter or secondhand embarrassment.

Karina stood up and disappeared into the kitchen. She took longer than necessary opening a soda, fingers fumbling at the tab like she was buying time. Winter stayed in her chair. When Giselle plopped down beside her and said something quietly, Winter just shook her head and smiled faintly.

The energy in the room was warm and wild, but their corner was frozen.

Then, of course, Yeji found the bottle.

It wasn’t even planned. She just spotted it on the kitchen counter, held it up like a trophy, and yelled, “Spin the bottle, losers!”

Groans. Cheers. A few groans that turned into cheers. People gathered into a rough circle, dragging cushions and rearranging limbs until it looked like the world’s messiest campfire.

Karina ended up on one side. Winter on the other. Like fate was playing a game of symmetry.

The bottle spun wildly, clacking against the hardwood floor. It landed on Yeji. She picked “truth,” and confessed she once broke Mark’s camera lens and blamed it on wind.

Mark booed. Hyunjin called her a genius.

It spun again. Mark. He chose “dare” and had to wear a cardboard box for the next three rounds. He accepted with pride.

Then the bottle spun again.

It spun. Slowed. Wobbled.

Stopped.

Karina.

The room didn’t go quiet all at once, but it dimmed. Like everyone had collectively leaned in without realizing it.

Karina gave a small, nervous smile, halfway to lifting her drink. “I’m too tipsy for a dare. Truth.”

Mark leaned forward with a grin, drunk and a little too pleased with himself. “Alright then. Do you love Jeno?”

The question got a few laughs. A groan from someone in the back. A dramatic gasp from Ryujin.

But not from Winter.

Winter didn’t laugh. She didn’t move. She just watched, waiting like someone had finally asked a question she’d been dying to know the answer to.

Karina froze. Her drink hovered in midair, ice clinking against the sides like it was echoing the sudden pounding in her chest.

She didn’t look at Mark. Or at anyone else.

She looked at the bottle. The floor. The rim of her cup.

Then she looked up.

Straight at Winter.

And her answer wasn’t soft. It wasn’t whispered or uncertain.

It was quiet. But it was clear.

“No.”

A single word. But it landed heavy. Like it had been sitting inside her ribcage, waiting to be let out.

Winter still hadn’t said a word. But her eyes, sharp, focused, locked onto Karina like they were trying to catch something slipping through the cracks.

Mark, grinning like he thought he was being clever, lifted his cup and added, “Then why are you with him?”

Another ripple of laughter. Less confident this time. A few oof-sounds. A muttered “savage.”

But Karina didn’t laugh.

Her gaze flicked, not to Mark, but to Winter’s eyes.

And everything in her face screamed what her mouth wouldn’t say.

That she didn’t know.

That she was scared.

That she hadn’t been ready to be seen like this.

So exposed, so bare, in a circle full of people pretending this was just a game.

Winter didn’t blink.

Giselle, noticing the discomfort, leaned forward with a tight smile and a too-casual voice. “Only one question at a time, remember?”

The laughter that followed was nervous. Thin. The kind that bubbled up because no one knew what else to do.

Karina looked away without answering the second question.

But the silence between them stretched taut, humming like a live wire. Even when the bottle spun again. Even when someone dared Ning to text her ex. Even when Ryujin threw popcorn across the room and declared herself “God of Karaoke.”

The game kept moving.

But Karina and Winter didn’t.

—

At 2 a.m., the party started to bleed out. People yawned into their drinks, blinked at their phones, and pulled on jackets that had been draped over kitchen chairs for hours. There were quiet goodbyes at the door, laughter that had worn itself thin, glitter stuck to socks from the spilled decorations Giselle forgot to sweep up.

Winter already had her tote bag slung over one shoulder, half-zipped, when Karina reached for hers. They looked at each other, not with smiles, not with words. Just two people silently agreeing they weren’t leaving separately.

They stepped out together, no questions asked.

Outside, the streets were dim and cold, lined with shuttered storefronts and flickering signs. They walked side by side for four blocks in silence. The space between them wasn’t wide, but it felt like it stretched across a whole city.

Winter broke it first. Her voice was quiet, like it might vanish if she said too much. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

Karina kicked a pebble ahead of them. It skittered down the sidewalk and bounced off the curb. “Maybe I want to.”

Winter gave a soft, dry laugh. It wasn’t bitter. Just worn-out. “It’s not your fault. I’m just stupid.”

Karina turned her head, but Winter kept her eyes forward.

“I knew he exists,” Winter continued, her voice low but clear. “I just didn’t think he’d show up and… kiss you like that.”

Karina didn’t stop, but her steps slowed. Like the weight of it all had finally settled in her shoes. Her hand gripped the strap of her bag. Her lips parted, then pursed.

Winter glanced at her, then looked back toward the street like it could shield her. Her voice dipped to something more fragile. “I think I let myself fall into something I don’t even have a name for. Then I watched him kiss you, and I felt like I was the one who messed up, just because I wanted something more than a mic adjustment and half a chocolate bar.”

Karina’s breath caught, sharp, like it had knocked into her ribs. She turned, meeting Winter’s eyes.

Winter looked unsteady. Not afraid. Not guilty. Just completely overwhelmed with emotion, with everything she’d said, with everything she hadn’t dared say until now.

Karina’s gaze softened. Her whole expression opened up in that quiet, unguarded way it only ever did around Winter. But still, the words didn’t come. Only the silence answered.

She took a quiet step forward, unsure, as if offering Winter the chance to back away.

But Winter stayed still.

Karina closed the space between them. She rose onto the tips of her toes and kissed her forehead, careful, like she didn’t want to spook the moment.

She wished she could make it better, that thing weighing down on Winter’s shoulders. She wished she could say what had been sitting heavy in her chest for a while now.

But she couldn’t.

Not while someone else still existed in her life. Not while she was still split in two.

So she said nothing.

She let the kiss do all the talking she couldn’t bring herself to say. And even that, somehow, didn’t feel like enough.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed in the scent of Winter’s skin. When they opened, she blinked fast, trying to catch the tears before they could fall.

She pulled back, but still close. “That’s me,” she said, nodding toward the house across the street.

Winter didn’t respond. She just nodded, glassy-eyed, like something in her had just cracked but hadn’t fallen apart yet.

Karina stepped away, crossing the street in quiet steps.

At her door, she turned. And for a moment, they simply looked at each other from opposite sides of the road.

Then Karina slipped inside.

Winter stood alone.

Her heart was heavier than it had been minutes ago, but somehow, aching all the same. She took a small step forward, ready to continue her walk home.

But the moment she moved, the tears she had held back broke loose.

And this time, she didn’t stop them.

Chapter Text

The university theater swelled with energy. Voices rising, camera flashes strobing, heels clicking against the tiled lobby floor. Event staff moved in quick bursts, adjusting tape lines and repositioning stanchions. Cast and crew gathered in clusters, snapping photos in front of the film’s poster, blown up to fill an entire wall. The poster itself had a dramatic still from the almost-kiss scene, lit in high contrast, Karina and Winter mid-breath.

Karina arrived first.

She stepped out of a black rideshare SUV, the door held open by a staff runner. Her black satin gown clung to her figure, the fabric catching the light with every slight shift of her hips. The dress dipped slightly in the back, exposing the gentle curve of her spine. Her bob-cut hair was neatly styled: sleek, polished, with a slight curve that framed her jawline just right. She wore a pair of silver earrings that flickered with every movement, and her lips were a deep plum red, applied precisely.

She held her clutch loosely in one hand, her phone in the other, checking it every thirty seconds. Her thumb hovered over her screen, scrolling through unread messages, none of them from the person she was searching for.

The whole crew was already inside. Ning waved from across the lobby with her arm full of passes. Giselle was mid-interview with a campus reporter, animatedly retelling how they managed to secure a location with zero permits. Mark and Hyunjin were on the far side of the room pretending to sword fight with collapsible light stands, laughter echoing every time Mark missed a block.

But Winter hadn’t shown up.

Karina glanced at the entrance again. Her jaw clenched lightly, a tic she didn’t realize she was doing.

Earlier that afternoon, she’d met Jeno at a quiet café just off campus. It was one of those hidden spots, the kind of place that felt too still. No music, no chatter. They sat at a small table in the corner, each with an iced Americano growing watery.

Karina stirred her drink like it could buy her more time. But the words had to come out, and when they did, she said them straight.

“I started liking someone else.”

Jeno didn’t speak right away. His face didn’t twist or crumble. But something in him sank, just enough for her to notice. Still, he nodded.

“I understand.”

She felt bad at how calm he sounded. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He gave a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. “No, it’s okay. I told you how I felt. You didn’t feel the same way. I knew that. I asked if you could try, and you said you couldn’t promise anything.”

He looked down at his drink. The ice was gone.

“And now here we are,” he said. “I’m still glad I got the chance.”

It was the calmest emotional conversation she’d ever had. And the one she most urgently wanted to run from, not because it hurt, but because she had something else she needed to say.

To someone else.

Karina was ready. Ready to tell Winter. Ready to explain everything, if Winter would show up.

The red carpet moment was minutes away. PR volunteers were already lining up talent in shooting order.

Karina checked her phone again.

Nothing.

She pressed her lips together and turned away from the door.

Then…

A hush fell through the crew by the lobby entrance.

The doors opened.

Winter stepped in.

She wore a navy-blue dress, floor-length, with thin straps and a square neckline that framed her collarbones. The gown hugged her petite frame, flowing slightly at the bottom, brushing the tops of her silver heels. Her chin-length blonde bob was tucked behind one ear, revealing small pearl earrings. She carried nothing but a black silk pouch and the weight of a hundred unspoken questions.

Her eyes scanned the room.

Then they landed on Karina.

Karina’s hand tightened on her clutch.

Winter didn’t smile. Not at first. But when Karina gave her the smallest nod, Winter’s lips curved: soft, small, almost reluctant.

But before Karina could take a step forward, a photographer clapped to gather attention.

The show had begun.

Flashbulbs popped, and organizers called the cast into place. They were pulled into photos, lined up beside each other, asked to turn this way, now that way, now look into each other’s eyes. Karina stood beside Winter for press photos, smiling on cue, angling her chin. Winter’s arm brushed lightly against hers, accidental, maybe. Maybe not.

They stood close, but not close enough. The space between them was just wide enough to hold every word Karina hadn’t said yet.

And every question Winter was still too afraid to ask.

—

Inside the theater, the film played to a full house. Folding chairs had been added to the aisles. Students stood in the back. Faculty sat in the front row with notepads.

Karina and Winter sat beside each other, front and center.

Karina’s hands rested on her lap, palms sweaty, nails pressing faint crescent moons into her skin. Her leg bounced once before she forced it still. Her gaze flicked to Winter’s profile, how still she sat, the straight line of her shoulders, the way her bottom lip sat just slightly parted.

Winter sat with her legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded neatly over her clutch. Her shoulders were tense, eyes locked on the screen like she was afraid to blink. She didn’t dare peek at Karina, even though she felt the weight of her presence like gravity.

The opening scene played. The audience laughed at the early awkwardness. Someone clapped too loudly. A few more chuckles followed, and the crowd relaxed.

Then came the bed scene.

The theater fell still.

Karina stared.

Her heart pounded as she watched her own hand reach up and brush Winter’s cheek. She watched the way her eyes had tracked Winter’s mouth, hesitant, aching, afraid of getting it wrong.

But then it happened. The kiss.

The soft press of lips. The slow slide of Karina’s fingers up Winter’s side. The way Winter tilted her head and leaned in deeper, unrehearsed. Real.

Karina remembered it all.

The warmth of Winter’s skin. The scent of her shampoo, faint and floral. The breath they shared just before contact. How her body had leaned in on instinct, not blocking.

Her stomach fluttered now as she watched it again. Her fingers flexed against her thighs. She wanted her. Not just as a scene partner. She actually wanted her.

Beside her, Winter wasn’t blinking.

She saw the moment play out, the way her eyes had fluttered closed too late, how her hand had moved to Karina’s waist. She’d told herself it was all muscle memory, that they were too deep into rehearsal to change it.

But it wasn’t that.

She wanted more. Especially now.

Watching Karina on-screen made her throat tighten. Her face, her lips, the way her jaw flexed right before the kiss, Winter had stared at that face so many times, but on-screen it was unbearable. Too intimate. Too real.

She shifted slightly in her seat, trying to breathe through the fire in her chest.

All this time... all those rehearsals. All the line reads. Every time their fingers brushed, every time they broke eye contact too fast, every time they didn’t.

They hadn’t been acting.

–

The Q&A started right after.

There was no real transition. The credits rolled, the applause shook the walls, and the cast was shepherded up onto the small stage before anyone could escape for water or a second to collect themselves.

Stage crew rushed in to clip mics onto their collars and dresses, those tiny black dots that blinked once to confirm they were live. Karina’s was fixed just beneath her collarbone. Winter’s sat at the strap of her gown, nearly hidden against her skin.

They were ushered into folding chairs under a single spotlight, facing rows of students, faculty, and guests. Phones were out. People were leaning forward. It was a Q&A that felt like a second premiere.

Karina sat still, hands locked in her lap, legs crossed too tightly. Her mic picked up the soft shift of fabric every time she adjusted. Her mouth was dry.

Winter sat beside her. Straight-backed. Still. Her dress pooled perfectly around her heels, her hands clasped like they were holding something fragile. She hadn’t looked at Karina since they sat down.

The host grinned with too much teeth and a voice that sounded like it belonged to a game show. “Let’s give it up for the cast and crew of Parallel Eyes!”

Cheers. Whistles. Karina smiled politely. Winter nodded. Everyone clapped like they hadn’t just cried through the last twenty minutes of the film.

“First question, Karina,” the host said, glancing at a note card. “Your performance was full of vulnerability. There’s this weight to your character, like she’s always two seconds from unraveling. How’d you tap into that?”

Karina exhaled slowly. “By trusting Winter,” she said simply. “She created so much space for me to just... feel. I knew she’d catch whatever I dropped. I didn’t have to fake anything. And I didn’t want to.”

Winter didn’t move, but her shoulder twitched slightly. Karina felt it. She didn’t dare glance sideways.

“And Winter,” the host continued, turning with a smile. “Your character goes through a huge emotional shift. How did you embody someone slowly discovering a version of herself she wasn’t prepared for?”

Winter hesitated. “I thought about what it would feel like to look at someone and not know what you’re feeling... then realize it was real the whole time.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then a wave of polite murmurs, as if everyone had just felt the same shiver but didn’t know what to do with it.

“And okay,” the host said with a playful grin, clearly trying to break the tension. “Let’s talk about the scene. You know the one.”

Laughter from the audience and a few exaggerated ooohs.

The host grinned. “What were you feeling in that moment? And be honest, was it... hot?”

Karina flushed.

The host wasn’t done. “Giselle, Ning, was that moment planned that way?”

Giselle chuckled, cool as ever. “Absolutely not. They went completely rogue. I was in the corner with a boom mic, screaming silently.”

The crowd laughed.

Ning shrugged dramatically. “I saw the sparks flying and decided to let God take the wheel.”

More laughter.

The host grinned like a devil. “Alright, back to you two. Karina, what went through your head during the kiss?”

Karina’s breath caught, but it wasn’t from nerves.

From memory.

She remembered wanting her.

Not for the camera. Not for the scene.

Just for her.

It had been soft. Real. Perfect. A memory that made her smile, but ache too.

“I remember thinking, well, first of all, I wasn’t thinking at all.” Karina laughed quietly. “I remember thinking... I didn’t want it to end.”

A hush fell.

Karina felt it then, Winter looking at her. That feeling of being watched by someone whose gaze was too specific to ignore.

It was the first time Winter had looked at her during this whole Q&A.

So Karina turned to her.

And smiled.

The host, sharp and too observant, leaned into the mic. “Oops. Looks like Winter wants to answer that one too.”

Winter’s eyes went wide. She waved a hand quickly and laughed, blushing. “No, no, I’m good.”

“Oh, no, no,” the host grinned, teasing. “You can’t just look at her like that and not say something.”

Winter let out a nervous breath, shoulders rising. Then she answered, voice quiet but clear.

“When I look at Karina...” she paused, then smiled shyly, “...‘gorgeous’ is an understatement. So imagine being privileged enough to kiss her. It was the most beautiful experience I’ve had so far.”

The crowd lost it.

Someone screamed. Several people clapped. One girl in the second row fanned herself with a program. Even Ning’s jaw dropped slightly. Giselle pressed her fingers to her temple like she was trying not to cackle.

The host pointed at Winter, grinning like a game show host who’d just hit the jackpot. “Okay. That was smooth. I’m officially jealous.”

Winter laughed softly and blushed harder.

Karina stared at her, stunned. A dozen things in her chest shifting all at once. Relief, disbelief, awe, longing.

Before she could respond, the host kept it rolling.

“Alright, one last question for the crew before we let you all go cry about your feelings in the hallway,” they said with a wink. “Giselle, what do you think made this project special?”

Giselle scanned, looking at her club members one by one, like a proud mother too shy to admit it. “The people. Everyone gave more than just talent. They gave trust. And it shows.”

“And Ning, any final thoughts?”

Ning blinked slowly, like she was deciding whether to be sincere or chaotic. “I still can’t believe we got away with filming half this thing with just homemade light rigs, but honestly? It’s one of the best things we’ve ever done.”

More laughter. Another small wave of applause.

The host stood. “Alright folks, that wraps the Q&A. Huge thanks to the cast, crew, and all of you for coming out tonight.”

The moment the Q&A wrapped, Karina’s smile dropped like it had been held up by strings. Applause rolled through the auditorium, the host gave their final thanks, and the curtain started to close, slow and theatrical, sealing the cast off from the sea of flashing cameras and eager voices.

When the curtain was fully closed, all Karina could think was, “Finally.”

Finally done. And finally, she could talk to Winter and tell her what she felt.

Because she hadn’t been able to breathe all night.

Not during the screening. Not during the panel. Not when Winter answered that question aimed straight at her.

The applause kept going. Someone was clapping a little too enthusiastically in the front row. Karina barely heard it.

She had been waiting hours. Dying, really. Dying to talk to Winter. To explain. To apologize for not saying anything the night when they walked home in silence, when they stood at opposite sidewalks like strangers.

She’d meant to speak then. She didn’t. Couldn’t.

But now? There was nothing in the way. No cameras. No excuses. Just a backstage hallway and Winter standing a few steps away.

Karina turned toward her.

“Winter, wait…” she said, reaching out gently.

Winter paused, one foot already headed toward the others.

Karina nodded her head toward the curtain. “Can we talk for a second?”

Winter hesitated, but followed.

They slipped behind the velvet folds, half-hidden in the narrow space between the curtain and the wall. The noise of the crowd dulled, like someone had turned the volume down on the world. Everything felt hushed. Like life itself had stepped back to give them this one quiet moment to finally speak.

Karina faced her. Her chest rose and fell like she’d been holding her breath for days.

Then she started, her voice soft but steady. “The truth is… I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling around you. At first, I thought it was just the film. Just adrenaline. Just acting.”

She let out a quiet laugh, mostly at herself.

“But then I’d go home, and I’d miss you. Like really miss you. I’d be staring at my script, trying to memorize lines, and all I could think about was you. The way you looked at me during scenes. The way you made me feel without even trying.”

She leaned in a little, eyes searching Winter’s.

“I miss your lips when I’m not kissing them. And when you’re not close, I catch myself wanting to breathe you in. Like some part of me only calms down when you’re near.”

Karina’s voice wavered. Her eyes searched Winter’s face like she was scared the words were coming too late. “Like, I don’t know, I must be crazy, but it’s like you weren’t a scene partner anymore,” she said, quieter now. “You were just… you.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that hangs heavy right before something life-altering happens.

Then…

The theater outside the curtain exploded.

Screaming. Cheering. One person shrieked so loud it echoed off the walls like a haunted house. Someone else yelled, “Oh my god,” like they’d just seen the second coming. A chair toppled. A drink hit the floor. There was actual applause.

Karina froze like she’d been hit with a strobe light.

Winter’s eyes squinted, wondering what just happened outside.

“What…” Karina started, completely bewildered.

Then they both turned at the same time and saw Giselle, standing off-stage with the most chaotic expression anyone had ever worn. Hands up. Eyes wide. Face caught between full-on horror and giddy delight.

She pointed frantically at her own chest, then at Karina, then mimed yanking something off.

It took a second.

Karina looked down.

The mic.

Still clipped to her dress.

Still blinking red.

Giselle was now mouthing, “the mics are still on,” like she was trying to summon the dead.

Winter involuntarily slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Karina’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god.” She whispered, not moving.

Outside, someone yelled, “Karina, tell her you love her, coward!”

More screaming. A wave of laughter crashed through the seats. Somebody booed dramatically, to which someone else immediately followed up with, “Winter, kiss her, you fool!”

Karina clutched the mic like it might suddenly turn off if she just seemed desperate enough.

Giselle, still frozen but now wheezing from laughter, gave them the universal shrug of, “Well, the universe decided for you, good luck with that.”

Winter groaned and covered her face. “I am going to legally change my name.”

Karina’s voice came out like a squeak, cringing really bad. “Did I just confess to the entire film department?”

Winter peeked through her fingers. “Technically, the whole theater including parents and guests.”

And then, from somewhere in the crowd, “We ship it!”

Karina stared at Winter.

Winter stared back.

And then, maybe because everything was already on fire, Winter started laughing. The kind that lit up her whole face and made Karina feel like maybe total humiliation was worth it.

And then she smiled like she accepted her fate.

Winter wiped her eyes, still laughing as she took a shaky breath. Karina watched her like she was both horrified and completely in love.

From the other side of the curtain, the chaos had only escalated. Chanting had started now. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Winter was grounded. Light. Like something inside her had finally clicked into place.

They stared at each other for a long second, the kind that makes time forget how to tick.

Then…

The curtains jerked.

Mark and Hyunjin, hiding just off the side of the backstage rig, smirked like devils as they yanked the ropes.

Karina blinked. “Wait, what are you…”

Whoosh.

Curtains. Open.

Just like that.

They were back in the spotlight.

Literally.

The crowd gasped like it was the most dramatic moment in cinematic history.

Phones everywhere. Flashes. People on their feet. Giselle had climbed onto a chair, filming. Ning was screaming. Yeji was sobbing into Ryujin’s shoulder. Someone launched a confetti cannon that no one had authorized.

Karina turned to Winter, and Winter turned to her. Both of their hearts slammed against their ribs.

No words.

Then Karina stepped in, hands gentle as she cupped Winter’s face like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it right.

And she kissed her.

Not the frantic kind. Not for show. Not for applause.

It was slow. Deep. Full of everything they hadn’t said. Everything they’d wanted to. All the tension, the almosts, the longing, poured into a kiss that felt like finally.

Winter melted into it. Her hands on Karina’s waist, holding steady. Her lips smiling against hers, even as the whole room lost its collective mind.

This kiss wasn’t about spectacle. It wasn’t performance.

It was love. Real, and terrifying, and louder than the screaming crowd.

When they pulled apart, breathless and teary-eyed, Karina whispered, just for her, “I love you.”

Winter laughed through a sniffle. “I love you too.”

The crowd? Still chanting. Still howling.

But in that spotlight, in that moment, it didn’t matter.

There was just them.

Curtain wide open. Hearts even wider.

And finally, no one pretending.

END