---
It was supposed to be nothing. Just a casual cup of coffee between co-stars on a break day. Something barely worth mentioning, something forgettable.
Except it wasn't.
Not the way she remembered it.
Not the way he looked at her across the chipped mug and the mismatched café table like they hadn't just spent the last three weeks rehearsing scenes of romantic tension but had been living in one.
---
The idea came up without much thought. Filming had wrapped early for the day — a lighting issue on the next set meant they were let out before lunch. Ashtine had just zipped her jacket and stepped out of the soundstage when she saw Andres lingering near the curb, tapping absently at his phone with no intention of leaving yet.
She should've just walked past him. Said goodbye like everyone else. Let the break be a break.
But instead, she stopped beside him, pulled her hoodie tighter, and said, "You're not leaving?"
He looked up, that half-smile already forming. "Didn't feel like it. You?"
She hesitated. "No."
A beat passed.
And then—
"There's a place a few blocks from here," he said, nodding toward the street. "Small, no press, kind of ugly, but the coffee's hot. Want to come?"
She didn't even pause this time.
"Yeah. Okay."
---
They walked without talking at first. The kind of silence that didn't feel heavy, just easy. Her hands were tucked into her sleeves. His jacket hung a little too perfectly, like it had been tailored to make him look slightly too effortless.
The café was exactly how he'd described it — dimly lit, faux brick walls, handwritten menu signs above the counter that hadn't been updated in years. It smelled like cheap roast and dusty cinnamon.
They ordered and slid into a booth near the back, where the window was fogged up from the weak winter sunlight outside. A quiet pop song played from an old speaker in the corner.
Andres sipped his coffee, made a face, and set the cup down. "Still awful."
She grinned, curling her fingers around her own cup. "Why do you even come here?"
He shrugged. "Habit. Nostalgia. Or maybe I just like drinking bad coffee with pretty people."
She rolled her eyes. "You're really committed to that line, huh?"
"It's not a line," he said, resting his cheek against his hand, elbow on the table. "It's just the truth. Sometimes."
She looked away, but her smile stayed. Her heart was doing that flutter thing again — the one she pretended not to feel when they were rehearsing, when the director called "cut," when he said something almost too sincere for comfort.
This wasn't set lighting or camera angles.
This wasn't a scene.
It was just… him.
---
They talked about nothing for the next half hour. About the food truck outside the lot that always smelled burnt. About the child actor on set who kept calling Andres "Tito" just to annoy him. About her high school drama club and how she used to forget lines on purpose just to stay on stage longer.
Andres laughed at that. "You really wanted the spotlight that badly?"
"No," she said. "I just hated the ending. Always hated saying goodbye."
He watched her quietly, something unreadable flickering in his expression. "Yeah. Endings suck."
Silence again.
But not empty.
More like full — so full of things they weren't saying that it felt like the table might tip from the weight of it.
---
When she excused herself to the restroom, she took a moment to stare at herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, and not just from the heat of the drink. Her reflection stared back like it knew something she didn't want to admit yet.
He was getting to her.
And not in the shallow, infatuated way some co-stars did after weeks of fake kisses and pretty dialogue. No — this was something different.
This was real-world, low-light, off-camera affection.
And she didn't know what to do with that.
---
She came back to find him scrolling through his phone again, only to tuck it away the moment she sat down.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
He nodded, tapping the rim of his coffee mug. "Just checking a message. My manager wants to talk about interviews."
"Press rounds?"
He nodded again. "They're asking if we want to do them together. You know… for the show. Build the ship hype."
She sipped her coffee, feeling the swirl of heat in her chest. "Would you?"
He looked at her.
"Only if you're okay with it," he said. "I don't want to… turn this into something that feels fake."
"This?"
He hesitated.
And then, quietly, "Us."
The word hung in the air.
Not as a label.
Not even as a question.
Just a possibility.
She looked at him, eyes steady. "You're not scared of that?"
"I am," he said. "But I think I'm more scared of pretending there's nothing there."
Her heart beat once. Hard.
She set her mug down.
Outside, a motorbike passed by, and the window vibrated faintly.
Inside, the world had gone very still.
"Andres," she said softly.
"Yeah?"
"You talk like this is already something."
He smiled again. This time, it was slower. More serious. "Isn't it?"
---
They left the café just before the sun dipped completely. The sky was that soft grey-orange blur that makes the city feel poetic even when it smells like asphalt and traffic.
Ashtine pulled her jacket tighter and walked a little slower.
Beside her, Andres kept pace.
They didn't touch.
Didn't need to.
The space between them was charged, and they both knew it.
He didn't walk her home. Just to the edge of her hotel street. Close enough.
"Thanks for the coffee," she said, even though it had been bad.
"Thanks for coming," he replied, even though he knew she wouldn't have said no.
Another pause.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I should go."
He nodded. "Yeah."
But she didn't turn.
Not yet.
Not until he reached out, gently tugged the edge of her sleeve with his fingers, and said, "Hey."
She looked up.
"You looked at me like that today too."
She blinked. "Like what?"
"Like I was a confession you were too scared to say."
She almost laughed.
But then she didn't.
Because it was true.
She stepped back, smiled small, and said, "Goodnight, Andres."
He let go.
"Goodnight, Ashtine."
---
She didn't sleep much that night.
And neither did he.
---