It started with the thong.
Ren found it in the kitchen drawer.
Pink. Lacy. Tiny.
Definitely not his.
He stormed into Noa's room, holding it like it was contraband.
"What the hell is this doing in my spoon drawer?!"
Noa looked up from her laptop. "Oh. That's mine."
"You keep lingerie next to the spatulas?!"
"I was multitasking! Laundry and lunch!"
Ren slapped it on the table. "This is the third time this week."
Noa raised an eyebrow. "You didn't mind when I wore your hoodie to bed."
"That's different."
"Why? Because it's not touching your... precious forks?"
"No—because this—this whole setup is insane!"
---
He paced, fists clenched.
"We share a kitchen, a bathroom, a contract that literally owns our asses—and now we're sharing underwear storage?!"
Noa stared at him. "Okay, what's this really about?"
Ren stopped. Breathing heavy.
"I can't tell the difference anymore," he muttered.
"Between what?"
"Between the fake scenes and the real ones. I don't know when I'm acting and when I'm just... losing my mind."
Noa stood up slowly. "Ren…"
"We kissed yesterday. Was that the script? Or you?"
She opened her mouth—then closed it.
He laughed bitterly. "Exactly."
---
He turned away, face flushed. "I'm supposed to be a *sound guy*, Noa. I came here to hold boom mics. Not get emotionally wrecked over your strawberry pasties and bedtime voice."
Silence.
Noa whispered, "You like my bedtime voice?"
He whipped around. "Stop. Don't make a joke right now."
She stepped forward. "I wasn't joking."
Pause.
Then she added, "You think this is easy for me? Watching you flirt, touch, whisper in my ear—and then walk away like we're just coworkers?"
Ren's breath caught. "So it wasn't all fake."
She took another step. "You tell me."
---
They were inches apart now.
No scripts.
No cameras.
No cucumbers.
Noa placed her hand on his chest. "You want real? Okay. Here's real."
She looked up, gaze locked. "I've been wet in every scene—but not because of the cameras."
Ren swallowed.
She continued, voice low. "You talk in your sleep. You say my name."
He stared at her. "You fake snore at night. Then roll closer."
"I like your smell."
"I like your legs."
"I like your voice."
"I like your *face*."
Suddenly their mouths collided—desperate, messy, uncoordinated.
No choreography.
Just raw.
---
They stumbled back toward the bed, knocking over a lamp and a pile of script notes.
Clothes scattered. Breathing frantic. Hands not sure where to start.
Then—
**BEEP.**
Noa's phone lit up. Message from Cherry:
> "Tomorrow: Full scene, body doubles optional. Bring confidence & lube!"
They froze.
Ren pulled back, panting. "Do we stop?"
Noa looked at him.
Then at the bed.
Then back.
"…Yeah."
They didn't move.
They just lay side by side, staring at the ceiling.
Still half-naked.
Still overwhelmed.
---
Minutes passed.
Then Ren whispered, "What happens if we fall in love during a porno?"
Noa exhaled. "We pretend it's indie cinema."
They both laughed.
Soft. Tired. Honest.
And for once, they didn't fake a thing.