que maravilla

Miguel has acted hundreds of kisses before. He knows how to be professional when it comes to things like this, knows how to detach himself from the character. He tries to think about the logistics–would the audience like if he tilted his head like this? If he breathed just so? If he put his hand there on Peter’s neck? How should he curl his fingers into Peter’s hair to make him sigh and press into him and–

“Oh, come on! You won’t have to actually date; it’s mostly the publicity team’s job. We’ll just get a few tabloids to publish speculation, plant the seeds, then get a few behind-the-scenes shots of you guys together, and frame it as a ‘flirting on and off set!’ thing. All you have to do is play it up on the red carpet, really. It’s supposed to seem like a secret fling, so you shouldn’t have to try that hard, and then once promotion is done, you can drop the act.” Lyla talks animatedly, her hands flitting about as she talks.

“I, for one, think that sounds hilarious,” Peter reaches his arms out as he talks, stretching languidly in his chair. Miguel leans to the side to avoid getting hit.

“Easy for you to say,” Miguel scoffs. Easy for Peter, with his endless string of tabloid romances and reputation for being beloved by production crews.

“So you think I’m charming,” Peter raises his eyebrows once, twice, exaggerated and flirtatious. When Miguel finally gives into the urge to roll his eyes as a result, Peter says, “Oh, look, we’ve got our dynamic down already. This is gonna be fun, guys.”

Miguel glances around the room– Lyla and Olivia looking at him expectantly, Peter in agreement, and he knows he’s outnumbered. “...It’s not like I’ve got anything to lose,” he says, resigned.

“Is that an agreement I hear?” Lyla asks.