The apartment was already lit when Finn arrived.
Warm lights. Clean surfaces. No personal items—like no one truly lived there yet.
Leo stood by the kitchen counter, phone in hand.
"You're late," he said, without accusation.
"Sorry. Traffic."
Finn slipped off his shoes and stood there awkwardly, unsure where to go next.
The silence stretched.
Finally, Leo gestured toward the living room. "Your room is on the left."
Finn nodded. "Yours?"
"Right."
They exchanged a glance.
That was it. No smiles. No small talk.Two actors off-stage, conserving energy.
Later that night, they sat on opposite ends of the couch while a camera crew adjusted their equipment.
"Can we get you closer?" someone called out.
Leo shifted first, moving just enough.Finn followed, their shoulders brushing lightly.
The contact was brief—but Finn stiffened.
Leo noticed.
When the cameras finally left, the apartment fell quiet again.
Finn stood up. "I'm going to shower."
"Go ahead."
He stopped halfway to the hallway. "This is… weird, right?"
Leo considered the question.
"Yes," he said. "But it won't stay that way."
Finn turned. "How do you know?"
"Because nothing ever does."
That night, Finn lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling.Every sound from the other side of the wall felt too close, too real.
This wasn't a set.
And that scared him more than the cameras ever had.