---
There was something strange about the way he looked at her.
Not in the way that most people looked — not in admiration or in distraction. His gaze wasn't passive. It didn't glance off and return later. No, Andres had a habit of studying her, like she was an answer to a question he hadn't yet formed but deeply needed to solve.
Ashtine noticed it for the first time when she wasn't even looking at him.
They were mid-rehearsal. The scene wasn't difficult — a light, casual moment in a school hallway where their characters shared a walk and a bag of chips between classes. Nothing romantic, barely emotional. The sort of filler scene that usually passed through rehearsals with laughter and line flubs.
But even while the director discussed blocking with the crew, even when Ashtine had stepped away to grab her water bottle off a nearby table, she could feel his eyes on her.
Like heat on skin.
Like gravity pulling.
She turned suddenly, expecting to catch him mid-thought or mid-laugh — but instead, he was just… staring.
Not blankly. Not dreamily. Like he saw something. Something beyond the actress. Something personal.
Their eyes locked, and for a second, neither of them moved.
It was barely five seconds — if that — but it settled somewhere under her skin. A fluttering awareness that lingered even after the moment passed.
She didn't say anything.
Not until later.
---
They were seated near the costume racks, both waiting for wardrobe adjustments. She was thumbing lazily through her phone, pretending to read something, but her mind was still stuck on that look.
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of air conditioning and the low murmur of staff in the next room. Andres leaned back in his chair beside her, eyes half-closed, arms crossed like he was trying to nap but failing.
She glanced at him sideways.
Then, casually, she asked, "Do you always look at people like that?"
He didn't move at first.
Didn't open his eyes.
Didn't react like someone caught.
But his voice answered, low and without hesitation. "Like what?"
"Like they're a confession you're too scared to say out loud."
He opened his eyes slowly.
And for a second, she regretted asking. Not because she was embarrassed, but because she didn't expect how seriously he would look back at her.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Only when I think I might be looking at something that matters."
Silence.
Sharp. Swift. Too loaded to ignore.
Ashtine looked down, heart kicking.
This was no longer teasing.
No longer just banter passed between lines and shared laughter.
This was dangerous. Real.
And real was terrifying.
---
When filming resumed later that afternoon, the tension didn't dissolve. If anything, it thickened — wrapped itself around the scene and refused to let go.
The set had been transformed into a campus library. Warm lighting spilled across polished wooden floors and bookshelves that lined the walls like secrets. The shot was meant to be simple: their characters seated side by side at a long oak table, flipping through notes, sneaking glances they weren't supposed to share.
Ironically, that part wasn't difficult to act.
Ashtine slid into her chair first, arranging her script into the proper notebook for continuity. Andres joined a moment later, pulling out his prop textbook and sitting beside her, just close enough to touch if they leaned an inch too far.
They didn't.
But they thought about it.
The scene began.
She turned to ask a question in character, voice low, playful. He responded, careful not to look too long.
But on the second take, he did.
His gaze flickered over her profile like he was memorizing it.
Not her lines. Not her character.
Her.
And for the first time since filming began, Ashtine flinched. Not visibly — the camera wouldn't catch it — but inwardly. A ripple in her focus, in her control.
Because when he looked at her like that, she didn't feel like a girl playing a role anymore.
She just felt like his attention had weight.
And it was all on her.
"Cut," the director called. "That was clean. We'll take it."
Ashtine exhaled quietly and set her pen down.
Andres remained still beside her. He didn't say anything, didn't look her way this time.
But she still felt it.
The weight of everything left unsaid.
---
Back in the green room, their castmates were laughing over a broken prop someone had tripped over earlier. Ashtine sat on the couch, half-listening, fingers curled loosely around a bottle of water. Andres stood a few feet away, surrounded by crew, but his eyes kept drifting.
To her.
Again.
She noticed.
And this time, she didn't pretend not to.
She got up and crossed the room, her voice low as she passed behind him.
"You know people are starting to talk, right?"
He turned his head slightly. "About what?"
"You looking at me like I'm a love song you forgot you already knew the lyrics to."
Andres smiled slowly. "Maybe they're not wrong."
She stopped walking, taken off guard by the ease of his answer. "You don't even deny it?"
"Why should I?"
Her mouth opened, then closed.
No one had ever responded like that. No one had ever said exactly what they meant without playing a game first.
He wasn't asking for anything.
But he wasn't hiding, either.
She blinked. "You're dangerous."
Andres tilted his head, amused. "You say that like you're not."
He walked past her then, back toward the makeup mirror where his stylist was waiting.
But she didn't move.
Not for a moment.
Because this wasn't just acting anymore. It wasn't even flirting.
It was inevitable.
And she wasn't ready for that.
---
Later that night, after she'd peeled off the day's makeup and tucked her hair into a loose bun, Ashtine sat curled in her hotel bed with the curtains drawn and only one lamp lit. Her phone buzzed with group chat chaos — behind-the-scenes photos, teasing jokes, fan accounts already posting side-by-side frames from today's shoot.
She ignored most of it.
Until one message stood out.
From Andres.
No caption.
Just a photo.
A blurry one, taken from across the library set earlier that afternoon — clearly by someone else, maybe crew. In it, she was leaning into her notes, unaware. And he was mid-glance, eyes on her.
Caught.
Unposed. Unscripted.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then typed back:
"Do you always look at people like that?"
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then came back.
Finally, he replied:
"No. Just you."
---