#simp4wom3n

You sank deeper into the couch, the once-comforting embrace now replaced with a chill that seemed to seep into your bones as you scrolled. Hate wasn’t new; you’d seen it before, learned to brace for it. Dating someone as breathtaking as Jenna pretty much guaranteed it.

But the sting never dulled.

You could feel your chest tighten as the familiar sounds of your shared apartment faded into the background. Jenna’s records spun softly from the player in the corner, their gentle crackle and melody weaving into the silence like a cruel soundtrack to the heaviness settling over you. 

From the kitchen came the faint clatter of dishes and the rhythmic hum of her moving about, noises that should have been comforting but instead only underscored the distance you felt. It was almost cinematic; her laughter and music carried on in another room while you sat anchored to the couch, drowning quietly under the weight of words she hadn’t even seen.

The sun had slipped away hours ago, leaving only the low hum of lamps to soften the shadows stretching across the room. After dinner, something you’d cooked in hopes of a quiet evening, you’d collapsed onto the couch, expecting to unwind. Instead, here you were staring at your phone screen as if you were frozen in time.

From the kitchen, Jenna’s voice carried over the faint crackle of her record, warm and melodic against the silence.

“Hey…” she tried again, softer this time, padding over toward you. “What’s with the long face?”

You blink slowly, snapping out of your haze, meeting her soft, concerned gaze. For a fleeting moment, it calmed you. “I’m fine,” you lie, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

She tilts her head, a playful, incredulous smirk tugging at her lips. “Y/n… come on, baby. You know you can tell me.” She sinks onto the edge of the couch, laying her hand gently over yours, stroking the back with comforting ease.

Her calmness—so patient, so understanding—makes something twist inside you. Why was she always like this? Why was she always so good? The thought presses against the walls of your mind, stubborn and cruel: maybe they were right.

She was too good for you.

“I said I’m fine, okay! Just…”

Her hand flinches slightly at the edge in your tone, retreating a fraction. She hesitates, lips parting and closing again, as if unsure whether to push or stay silent. Her brow furrows, a shadow of worry passing across her face. “Did I… do something?” she whispers, voice almost breaking, eyes searching yours for the truth, for the mistake she’s afraid she might have made.

“No- just… I need to shower,” you mutter, your voice sharper than intended, pushing past her as you stride toward the bedroom. Your shoulders are tense, movements brisk, each step echoing the turmoil you’re trying to shake off.

Jenna sits on the edge of the couch, frozen in place, her hand lingering in the air where yours had been moments ago. Her heart hammers painfully against her ribs, a tight, anxious rhythm she can’t quiet. She’s never known you to snap, especially not at her, not with that edge, that sudden wall rising between you.

Her eyes follow you, a mixture of hurt and confusion pooling there. For a fleeting second, she wonders if she’s done something wrong, if somehow she missed a signal, a crack in the foundation she thought was unshakable. She swallows hard, her lips pressed together as she fights the urge to follow, to reach out, to pierce the wall you’ve suddenly erected.

The soft hum of the apartment feels heavier now, weighted with silence, with unsaid words, with the invisible tension settling like dust over everything.

The hot water sluiced over you, a steady rhythm meant to wash away more than just the grime of the day. Steam curled around you in thick, suffocating clouds, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it, letting the heat and weight of it press against your shoulders. The water couldn’t wash away the gnawing ache in your chest, the sting of words from strangers echoing louder than any comfort Jenna had ever offered.

When you finally turned off the shower, you felt damp and heavy, every muscle slack with exhaustion rather than anger. You wrapped a towel around yourself, your reflection in the fogged mirror showing eyes rimmed with fatigue, a face drained of colour. Defeat settled over you like a second skin.

The bedroom door creaked as you entered. Jenna was there, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp, attentive. She didn’t speak immediately, simply letting you move around the room as you dried off, her presence a silent promise that she wasn’t going anywhere.

You wrapped the towel around your shoulders, then slipped into fresh clothes, a soft hoodie and sweatpants, the fabric comforting but doing little to ease the chill that had settled in your chest. You dropped onto the edge of the bed opposite her, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice soft, careful. “Hey… are you okay?”

You muttered back, flat and tired, “I said I’m fine.” The words carried none of the heat from before, drained of fight, hollow even to your own ears.

Jenna tilted her head, her gaze unwavering, sharp with concern. “You’re not… I’m not blind, baby. I can see when something’s bothering you. Just… if it’s something I did, please—”

“You didn’t do anything,” you cut her off quickly, the words coming out sharper than intended, and immediately, you regretted the bite.

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t back down. “Then what is it? We never go to sleep when we aren’t okay, you know that. You need to talk to me, love. Please.”

You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, frustration and exhaustion warring for dominance. “Nothing’s wrong. Really. Just… tired, I guess.” The lie slipped out without thought, but it tasted sour in your mouth.

She let out a slow breath, the faintest shake of her head betraying both patience and exasperation. “Okay… but for the record? I don’t believe you.” Her tone was firm but gentle, a tether reaching for you across the unspoken wall you’d built. “You can’t hide this from me, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed, the weight of the day pressing down heavier now that she wouldn’t let you push her away. The room felt smaller, closer, every corner pressing against your fatigue and unease. You didn’t know how to begin, didn’t know how to untangle the knot in your chest without letting her see how much it had hurt.

Jenna, sensing the shift, reached out a hand, letting it hover near yours, offering a lifeline without forcing it. “I can handle it,” she murmured softly, “whatever it is. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Your chest tightened. For a moment, the anger and defensiveness from earlier melted into something heavier, defeat, the quiet ache of vulnerability you didn’t often allow yourself to feel. Silently, you slipped under the covers, the fabric cool against your damp skin, and rolled onto your side so that you were facing her. The soft glow of the bedside lamp highlighted the concern and tenderness etched across her features, and for the first time all day, your expression softened, your eyes unclenching as you allowed yourself to be seen fully.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice low and tentative. Jenna’s lips curved into a tired, affectionate smirk. “I love you more,” she smiled softly, her voice teasing but warm, trying to coax a small laugh from you despite the heaviness of the evening.

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound trembling against her shoulder. “We’ll see about that,” you nudged her. Jenna smiled, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face, letting you linger in the quiet intimacy of the moment. But the heaviness in your chest hadn’t fully lifted, just softened enough for you to rest beside her.

The next morning arrived slowly. Sunlight crept through the blinds, streaking the room with gold, but it did little to chase away the gloom clinging to your mind. Jenna stirred first, moving with her usual quiet efficiency.

She kissed your temple lightly before heading to work, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. “Have a good day, love. Call me if you need me,” she whispered as she left, the click of the door behind her echoing ominously in the suddenly empty apartment.

The rest of the day dragged on like a storm with no end in sight. You spent the morning staring blankly at your phone, scrolling aimlessly, pausing only when a post or comment pricked at the edges of your thoughts. Every phrase seemed to magnify your self-doubt, whispering that maybe Jenna really did deserve someone better, someone less… flawed, less fragile, less you.

You eventually found the courage to move to the couch, where you stayed, curled and wrapped in your hoodie and sweatpants, moving little beyond what was necessary to survive the day. Sunlight slipped past the blinds, but it felt weak, insipid, failing to touch the heaviness pressing down on you. 

Lunch passed with you picking at a sandwich you didn’t taste. You tried watching a show, but even the laughter on the screen sounded hollow, distant. Every little sound in the apartment, your own shallow breaths, the faint creak of the floorboards, the soft hum of the refrigerator, felt amplified, emphasising your loneliness.

By mid-afternoon, your stomach twisted into knots. You sat on the floor, back against the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, and buried your face in your hands. Quiet tears leaked down, slow and steady, soaking your palms. You didn’t even bother to check the mirror; you just let yourself feel the heaviness, the suffocating ache of inadequacy that had been creeping in all night.

Hours passed. The apartment grew dim, the fading sun leaving long shadows stretching across the floor. You stayed where you were, rocking slightly, letting the despair settle deeper. It wasn’t dramatic or loud, just quiet, relentless, like water slowly wearing away stone. You couldn’t even summon the energy to hide when Jenna came home.

The door clicked, and your body stiffened. You barely had time to lift your head before she crossed the room. “Oh, love…” she murmured, sinking to the floor beside you and gathering you into her embrace. Her warmth and steady heartbeat pressed against your side, a lifeline anchoring you in reality.

You clung to her, letting the sobs finally break free, trembling against the solid reassurance of her presence. The tears ran freely, unashamed, and she held you tighter, murmuring soft reassurances that wove around your ragged breathing like a shield.

“It’s… I see the way people… they talk. About us. About me,” you choked out, your voice breaking, every word trembling on the edge of vulnerability. “And I can’t help but… wonder if maybe they’re right. That I’m… I don’t know… not enough for you.”

Jenna’s hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks with tender insistence, forcing your eyes to meet hers. Her gaze, unwavering and full of warmth, penetrated through the fog of doubt clouding your mind. “Y/n, baby… look at me. Really look at me. You are perfect for me. In fact… most of the time, I think I’m not enough for you.”

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, disbelief warring with the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

Her lips curved into a soft, exasperated smile, eyes glimmering with warmth and unwavering sincerity. “Is it so shocking to believe that I am so… so fucking in love with you?” she repeated, voice low but firm, each word resonating deep in your chest.

You stared at her, heart hammering, throat tight. Part of you wanted to shrink away, to retreat into the doubts that had plagued you all day, but the steadiness of her gaze held you in place. There was no judgment here, no pressure—only the quiet, unshakable truth that she loved you, all of you.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly, the weight of relief and lingering insecurity mingling together.

“Then don’t say anything,” she whispered, brushing a gentle thumb across your cheek. “Just feel it. Feel that I am yours, and you are mine. You are everything to me. Nothing else matters.”

Your breath hitched as the words sank in. Slowly, hesitantly, you leaned into her, pressing your forehead against hers. She mirrored you, hands resting lightly on your shoulders, grounding you in the moment.

“I’m scared… of losing you,” you confessed softly, letting the vulnerability spill out, unfiltered.

“You’re not losing me,” Jenna murmured, her voice a soothing balm. “Not ever. I’m right here. I chose you. I choose you every day, and I always will.”

Something inside you finally unclenched. You let go, wrapping your arms fully around her neck, and she leaned in closer. The space between you collapsed until your lips met in a gentle, lingering kiss.

It was a kiss that said everything: love, reassurance, devotion. A kiss that healed the doubts that had been gnawing at your chest, a kiss that anchored you in the certainty of each other. You pressed closer, letting yourself feel the warmth of her completely, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat syncing with your own.

When you finally pulled back slightly, you rested your forehead against hers, eyes half-closed, and whispered, “I love you.”

She smiled, brushing her lips against yours once more in a soft, playful peck. “I love you more,” she said, voice warm and teasing, yet full of the weight of truth.

For the first time, you let yourself truly believe it. All the doubts, the fear, the insecurities, they melted away in the quiet glow of the room, leaving only the two of you, together, safe, and undeniably in love.

The storm had passed.

And for tonight, that was more than enough.

You pictured yourself shoulder to shoulder with Hollywood’s biggest names, hardly batting an eye as they praised you for your “incredible talent,” like that sort of thing happened all the time. In your head, you’d perfected the casual wave, the tearful-yet-dignified acceptance speech, even the modest shrug you’d give when Spielberg inevitably called you a genius.

Of course, those fantasies always skipped over the fact that your savings account could barely cover a bus fare, your “signature look” was just whatever wasn’t wrinkled on the floor, and the only spotlight you’d ever stood under was the flickering fluorescent bulb in your kitchen. Reality wasn’t champagne and golden statuettes; it was Aldi wine, unpaid internships, and watching your emails get ghosted harder than your last Tinder date.

And deep down, you knew better. You weren’t stupid. The dream didn’t magically appear just because you wanted it badly enough. You were a woman in an industry still run by ego-driven men and padded by nepo babies. No connections. No famous surname. No trust fund waiting to swoop in and cover the artistic risks. Just you, your stubborn streak, and the hope that sheer talent might be enough.

So the fact you’re here now feels like a miracle.

You’d been making films for years, but submitting your latest film, Stillwater, to Cannes began as a half-joke - a why-not click on the application form, per se. You shot it in two frantic months with a skeleton crew and a budget that barely covered coffee, and yet somehow, against all odds, the film picked up momentum, popping up at festivals wherever you could afford the entry fee. But Cannes? This was a different universe. 

You were in way over your head.

The car pulls up, and you immediately regret everything. The suit you splurged on feels more like a chokehold than clothing, and the shoes (a last-minute purchase) appear to have been engineered by someone with a grudge against feet. When you step out, there's no roar of approval or camera flashes chasing you. If anything, the noise dips, the crowd clocking instantly that you’re no one worth knowing. 

That sting hits deeper than you’d like to admit. 

You tug on your jacket, as if rearranging the fabric will magically transform you into someone who belongs here, because the only thing worse than being ignored is having this disaster immortalised in unflattering paparazzi photos.

The thought of hundreds of cameras flashing in unison made your stomach flip, and you briefly considered sprinting back to the car, and hiding under the seat like a nervous raccoon.

You walk tentatively towards the carpet, running through your agent's instructions in your head like a mantra.

That’s right, you had an agent. You still weren’t sure if they’d confused you with someone else, but you weren’t about to correct them.

Smile convincingly, not creepily; look engaged, but not desperate; shake hands firmly, but don't hurt anyone; answer questions briefly, but sound interesting; keep your jacket straight, and under no circumstances, for the love of all that is holy, trip. Simple, right?

Impossible.

Everywhere you looked, someone you’d idolised for years floated past, gliding through the chaos with an ease that made your knees wobble. Your brain shrieked holy shit, that’s them! on a loop, your jaw threatening to unhinge itself in awe. You tried to breathe normally, but your chest felt like it had been replaced with a jackhammer. And just to really twist the knife, every single one of these people was here to watch your film. Your stomach lurched violently at the thought—part excitement, part terror, part pure, unadulterated panic.

Stepping onto the carpet, the photographers piled behind the barricades like caged animals, cameras firing so violently it felt like your retinas might combust on the spot. You flinched at each flash, wondering if this was what a seizure felt like.

A worker appeared out of nowhere, scribbled your name onto a whiteboard, and held it up like a lifeline in the madness. You gave a tight, awkward smile and shuffled forward, trying to convince yourself you weren’t about to keel over.

Then your eyes caught a figure ahead. Suddenly, all the noise made sense.

Jenna Ortega.

The Jenna Ortega.

She was in front of you.

Right now.

Your brain short-circuited. You had to remind yourself to keep moving, keep smiling, keep breathing, because yes, you were standing here, and yes, the paparazzi were still trying to eat your soul, and yes… she was right there, just a few steps ahead of you.

Cheeks burning and eyes probably still glazed from sensory overload, you posed as best you could. Did you look like you had a stick up your ass? Almost certainly. Were you going to Google “how to pose on a red carpet” the second you got home? Absolutely. And yet, somehow, amid the flashing lights and hushed murmurs of recognition from nearby press, you managed to give the impression, however fleeting, that you belonged here.

Even if most of the attention was stolen by the generational talent next to you.

By the time your soul had been drained dry by photographers shouting questions you didn’t understand and clicking with reckless abandon, Jenna had already melted into the crowd. Someone swooped in to guide you forward, and you practically limped along, desperate for a pause from the relentless sensory assault.

You shuffled through the crowd, funnelled toward the theatre like some reluctant migratory animal, your shoes threatening mutiny with every step.

A photographer leaned a little too far over the barricade for a close-up of your panic-stricken face, and you almost considered throwing yourself to the floor just to escape.

Finally, you rounded a corner and the noise shifted; less screaming, more murmurs, the soft shuffle of expensive shoes on polished floors. The smell of popcorn and expensive perfume hit your nostrils simultaneously, and for a moment, you felt like a human pinball bouncing between sensory overload and awe. A line of attendants motioned you forward with polite urgency, and you followed like a nervous, slightly perplexed robot.

The theatre doors opened, revealing a cavernous space of plush red seats stretching into the darkness. You paused, blinking like a deer caught in headlights, realising just how small you felt in comparison. Distinguished faces were already settling in, murmuring and laughing as if they’d done this a thousand times, as if they owned the place.

You bit your lip a little harder, tripping over your own feet once or twice as you walked down the aisle, muttering silent apologies to anyone who noticed. The weight of the moment pressed on you: this was not your typical indie screening at home, where the audience was forgiving and sleepy. All of these people were expecting something. And you were... well, you.

Your seat finally came into view, perfectly centred, giving you a commanding view of the screen but also placing you in the most exposed position imaginable. You sighed, adjusting your jacket like a suit of armour. Somewhere, a whisper of movement caught your eye, and your gaze lifted to find Jenna taking her seat a few rows ahead.

Calm, collected, untouchable.

She made it all look absurdly easy.

This was going to be a long evening.

The lights were dimmed, and the screen flickered with the final moments of the previous film. Over the last hour, the theatre had hosted a parade of festival favourites: sweeping period dramas, taut thrillers that left hands gripping armrests, and quirky experimental pieces that elicited polite, confused looks.

Each film concluded with applause, some tentative, some thunderous. Standing ovations rolled down the rows in waves, echoing off the high ceilings. You tried to breathe normally, but every cheer twisted your stomach. You shifted in your seat, tugging on your jacket as if the fabric could boost your confidence.

The nerves were never about execution.

Stillwater was meticulously crafted. Every frame and camera angle had been carefully considered. The fear came from the risk you'd taken: unusual narrative jumps, long, uncomfortable silences, and a scene where the protagonist does something morally ambiguous that you knew would divide the audience.

As the lights went completely dark, the applause from the previous film continued to echo. The screen flashed to life. The opening scene played, your carefully chosen music swelling beneath the dialogue, each sound bite perfectly placed.

You sat rigidly, hands folded, your gaze darting subtly between the screen and the audience. Every murmur, rustle of a program, and subtle nod or frown made your stomach twitch. This wasn't a casual viewing. This was Cannes, and your film, your small, risky, audacious film, was on display.

You reminded yourself to breathe. Sit up straight. Maintain your composure. Smile politely when necessary.

These people were here to observe your work, not to judge your character.

Still, each daring shot and quiet pause that defied convention felt like a tightrope walk. You had trained for this moment for years, but it didn't stop your heart from pounding.

And then it began: the scenes you were proud of and the ones that made you nervous. Your cast delivered flawlessly, your edits created the tension you desired, and the riskier choices paid off in ways you could only hope for. 

You noticed subtle reactions from the audience: a held breath here, a quiet shift forward there. A few heads cocked thoughtfully, some people's eyes flickering with curiosity, others narrowing in intrigue. You allowed yourself to relax slightly; you could still see that your gamble was working.

The first credits rolled, and there was a moment of silence. The entire room appeared to hold its collective breath. Then, like a wave breaking against the shore, applause erupted throughout the theatre.

You froze, caught between relief and disbelief as the applause erupted around you.

It was loud.

It was authentic.

People were clapping, standing, cheering, and perhaps even whooping. You weren't sure if anyone shouted your name; you hoped not, but the sound, the sheer volume, made your stomach lurch violently.

You rose slowly and awkwardly from your seat. Hands hovering as if you didn't know where to put them, you gave a stiff bow, a small wave, anything that suggested you appreciated the love without appearing completely insane. The theatre continued to roar, a tidal wave of recognition that made your brain stammer: This is happening. This is real. And, yes, you are indeed here.

Somewhere in the haze of clapping, you caught her gaze.

Her lips lifted in the faintest curve, barely there, but enough. Enough to make you straighten, to feel the air shift without a sound. You held her gaze, a reflexive smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

She didn’t look away. Her eyes lingered for a heartbeat longer than seemed polite, curious perhaps, the kind of hold that made it feel like the theatre had shrunk to just the two of you. The clapping washed around you, chaotic, unstoppable, but for a moment, it became background noise.

You responded with a nod, almost imperceptible, and the faintest tilt of your head. She mirrored it. No words. No other movement. 

Your stomach fluttered. A photographer’s flash illuminated the rows of seats, but she remained a steady point in the chaos, the only line of calm in the storm. The audience cheered, heads turned, someone coughed, and yet you stayed locked in that quiet exchange.

The final applause rolled on, and still she held it for a breath longer. Then, as if finally remembering the room existed, she glanced toward the stage again. But the faint curve of her smile lingered in your mind.

The standing ovation began to ebb, people slowly settling back into their seats. You followed, sliding down into your chair with a careful, measured motion, hands folding in your lap. The theatre had returned to its quieter rhythm, murmurs and shuffles replacing the roar of clapping.

Exhaling a breath you hadn't realised you were holding, you sank into the seat fully this time. Somewhere, a subtle excitement hummed in your chest, buried under the weight of the moment, tucked neatly away for now. You looked toward the screen, at the fading glow of the credits, and let yourself sit there, still, quietly, letting the applause’s echo linger around you.

The night was far from over, but for this one small, suspended moment, you were simply sitting, breathing, and feeling like maybe, just maybe, you belonged.

As if personally summoned by Hades himself, your alarm erupted from the bedside table, its shrill wail ricocheting off the walls and drilling straight into your skull. With a groan worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy, you roll over, half-dead and fully enraged, cursing at the sound with the conviction of someone hexing someone for three generations. 

You slapped around blindly on the nightstand, knocking over a pen, a half-empty glass of water, something else you couldn’t identify, but somehow not the alarm still shrieking like a banshee inches from your ear. Muttering a croaky ‘for fucks sake’, you cracked your eyes open, lids heavy and stinging like they’d been glued shut.

Propping yourself up on one elbow, your back let out a string of reluctant pops, a reminder that either you slept twisted like a pretzel or you were, in fact, eighty years old. You rolled your shoulders before fumbling for your phone.

The screen lit up far too bright, and you winced, squinting at the cruel little rectangle in your hand. 

“Jesus…” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes vigorously. 

Notifications stacked like bricks. Text after text from your agent Eve, people tagging you in posts, your friends sending you articles that even subtly mention you. The further you scrolled, the more it felt like you had fallen back asleep - except you didn’t know if it was a dream or a nightmare.

And then the memories started seeping back.

The afterparty.

What had started as a quick stop, one polite drink, a tentative shuffle through the room pretending to network, turned into a full-fledged social ambush. People were patting you on the back with the force of small earthquakes, sliding cocktails into your hand with the precision of a bartender who clearly had no idea you couldn't handle tequila, and bombarding you with questions so quickly that you thought your brain had applied for early retirement. Not that anyone meant harm, it was simply curiosity, but you were entirely unprepared.

Like a polite hostage, you had managed to acquiesce to every single offer of alcohol. Shots arrived uninvited, champagne flowed like tiny golden rivers, and at some point someone poured something in a glass that looked like juice, but clearly wasn’t. And of course, everyone was charming, charming, charming, like the entire room had been trained in subtle coercion and guilt-free flattery.

You didn’t remember leaving the bar area. You didn’t remember who introduced you to whom, or why someone thought it was appropriate to insist you dance to a song you’d never heard, while wearing shoes that actively plotted against your ankles. The last solid memory was a hand, someone’s, you think?, shoving a shot of tequila into your palms. 

You took it. 

You drank it. 

After that, the night became… well, you don’t know. That’s kind of the problem.

The worst of it hit when you scrolled through a few articles and froze on a single image.

Jenna. Walking out of the same building as the party.

She had been there.

You hadn’t noticed her. At least, not while conscious.

But staring at the photo now, you couldn’t look away. Her jawline cut sharply, even in the grainy pixels, her dark hair falling in an effortless frame around her face. And her eyes, good god, those eyes. Even caught mid-step, not looking at the camera, they carried the same pull you remembered from across the room. You’d only held her gaze for seconds, but it had branded itself into you, and seeing her here, casual, untouchable, brought it rushing back. 

It was maddening, the way someone could look so composed while you felt like your entire nervous system was short-circuiting just at the sight of them.

And now your stomach twisted in a way that made you want to gag, because not only had you been utterly wasted in front of nearly everyone you admired, but you had been utterly wasted in front of her.

You almost cried.

Mortified, you vaulted out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Catching your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but snort. Your hair jutted in every conceivable direction, as if you’d been electrocuted. Mascara streaks smeared across your cheeks like tragic war paint, making it look as though you’d spent the night headbanging to Black Sabbath while crying through every chorus. 

“Why am I like this?” you mumble to yourself as you make quick work of fixing your appearance. As you do, more texts light up your phone.

EVE

Surely you’re awake by now?

Check your emails ASAP!

Your heart stuttered as you read the messages on the screen. Your gaze flicked to the time. 11:48 am. Surely you hadn’t missed too much… right?

You had only been home for… 8 hours? That’s your best guess at least. 

You pulled a hoodie over your head and shuffled out of the bedroom, the floor cool against your bare feet. The apartment smelled faintly of stale coffee and the basil plant on your windowsill that was somehow still alive despite your best attempts to neglect it. The air was a little stuffy, warm enough to make you wish you’d opened a window the night before, but the hoodie stayed on; you needed the comfort more than the fresh air.

The space was small, but every corner bore your fingerprints. Posters and postcards covered the brick walls, some curling at the edges, others tacked over old paint stains you never bothered to fix. A handful of photos, friends, film sets, blurry moments you couldn’t part with, filled your shelves, next to festival lanyards you’d never thrown away. Even the kitchen, barely more than a strip of counter, carried that same lived-in touch: your collection of chipped mugs stacked unevenly, an empty glass left by the sink, the hum of the fridge louder than it should be in such a quiet room.

When you drew the curtains open, sunlight poured in, soft but unforgiving. It caught the dust in the air and made the hardwood floor look warmer than it felt under your feet. You squinted, rubbing your temples as the pounding in your head reminded you of just how little sleep you’d managed.

You scooped your laptop off the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch, exhaling sharply as the cushions sagged beneath you. The screen blinked awake, flooding your tired eyes with an unforgiving glow.

Dozens of emails stacked one after the other, the unread count climbing like a slot machine gone feral. The top half of the page was Eve’s name over and over again, each subject line louder than the last.

SCRIPT – Read ASAP

Big opportunity – URGENT

CALL ME

Script (don’t sit on this one!!!)

You frowned. What the fuck? You opened one.

The body of the email was short, frantic, almost tripping over itself:

Producers are asking for you by name. I’ve attached the script. Open it. NOW.

Attached is a PDF titled Untitled Draft – Studio Confidential. You didn’t even open it. You just blinked at the words, throat tight.

Curiosity prickled at you, so you scrolled. Another email, this one from a name you recognised, hell, everyone recognised it. A production company whose logo you’d grown up seeing before films you thought you’d never belong near. They wanted to discuss potential collaboration.

Another email: an actor you’d admired since high school. Someone whose face was on a poster still tacked above your desk. They’d love to meet after watching your short.

You slammed the laptop shut for a second, like it might bite you. Your pulse was suddenly too fast, your skin prickling with a sweat that had nothing to do with the hangover.

“This can’t be real,” you whispered to no one, heart racing. “There’s no way this is real.”

But the laptop was still humming on your knees, the weight of it undeniable. You opened it again, skimmed another subject line, then another. Each one felt heavier than the last, a strange cocktail of exhilaration and dread settling in your stomach.

Finally, you reopened your laptop and dug out your phone, thumb hovering for a moment before you hit call on Eve’s contact.

It rang once. Twice.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite new star director! Morning, sleepyhead” Her voice was so bright it almost hurt.

“Morning," you groaned ", How the hell are you this functional right now? I’m staring at the emails that you sent at two in the morning”

“That's the magic of caffeine, darling, and maybe adrenaline. You should try it sometime instead of… I don’t know, tequila?”

You groaned, flopping sideways into the couch cushions. “Low blow.”

“Not wrong though,” she singsonged. “Speaking of which, have you actually looked through them?”

“Kind of.”

“‘Kind of’?” Her voice sharpened. “What does that mean? Did you open them? Read them? Skimmed?”

You chewed your lip, staring at the laptop still glowing on the coffee table. “…As in, I read the first few, had what I think was a minor heart attack, slammed my laptop shut, and then called you.”

There was a pause, then Eve laughed so hard you had to hold the phone away from your ear.

You sat up, pulse skipping. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Of course I am,” she replied smoothly. 

You exhaled sharply, pressing the phone against your ear, willing your heartbeat to slow.

“Okay, focus,” Eve said, her tone softening slightly. “You’ve got a lot in there. Scripts, pitches, some of them really want you to look at them. You need to go through them and tell me which ones you actually like.”

You blinked at your laptop, blinking again, as if sheer will could somehow make the emails disappear. “…Read through all of them?”

“Well, not all at once, genius. Pick a handful. The ones that make you actually want to wake up in the morning instead of hiding under your bed are the ones you’re looking for.”

“Right. That sounds… manageable,” you muttered, trying not to laugh at how utterly unmanageable it actually felt.

Eve chuckled. “Anyway, you go through the scripts. Take your time. Pick out the ones you can actually see yourself working on. Then call me. We’ll talk through it, figure out what’s viable, what’s ridiculous, and what might be your next project.”

You laughed despite yourself, feeling some of the tension ease. “…Alright. I’ll start. I’ll figure it out.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to that. Now, go. Start reading.”

You hung up, the quiet click of the call ending echoing around your tiny apartment. Your laptop glared at you like an impatient teacher. With a deep breath, you clicked open the first email.

The contents made your stomach do somersaults: Horror Feature… Director Needed… WLW Characters… Pre-Production Ready.

You froze.

Your fingers hovered over the trackpad. Then another exhale. And another. And finally, slowly, cautiously, you opened the PDF and started reading.

Echoes from the Hollow

You type the title into your message to Eve, fingers trembling from hours of scrolling, clicking, and rereading. After hitting send, you let the laptop slip from your lap, sinking into the cushions of the couch with a soft thud. The sudden relief of standing makes your legs protest; you stretch, arching your back and groaning like a cat that’s been napping too long, muscles tight from sitting frozen for hours. You’re gaze drifts to the clock on the wall.

3:27 pm.

For a moment, you just stand there, letting the stretch reach your shoulders, your neck, your back. The adrenaline from the emails and the scripts still buzzes faintly in your chest. Your mind replays the titles, the lines from the horror script that made your stomach flip, the idea that someone actually wants you to direct this film.

You drifted lazily into the kitchen, opening the fridge with a soft hum. It was scarcely populated, but your eyes landed on an energy drink and a protein bar. You grab both of them, deciding the gym was the only way to burn off the lingering jitters and force your racing thoughts into something resembling calm.

You fished an outfit out of your wardrobe, throwing it on quickly and ignoring the small pile of clean-but-crumpled clothes on the floor. You slung your hoodie over your shoulders and stepped into the hallway. The apartment door clicked shut behind you.

Outside, the afternoon sun hit the street in harsh strips, warming the pavement unevenly. You adjusted your hoodie, took a deep breath, and started walking.

The world outside your apartment hummed with life: the distant honk of a car, the scrape of a garbage bin being wheeled down the alley, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the café two doors down. You let it wash over you, trying to shake the jittery energy still clinging to your chest.

By the time you reached the gym, your hoodie was sticking lightly to your back, your sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, and the faint metallic tang of the gym air filled your nose. You signed in with a flick of your key card, dropped your bag in the locker, and stretched one more time before the machines, the weights, and the rhythmic pounding of your heart took over.

Busy climbing Everest, or at least that’s how it felt with your legs burning and sweat soaking through your top, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, expecting another trivial notification or a reminder you’d promptly ignore. Instead, the screen lit up with Eve’s name.

“Hey,” you muttered, voice rough from exertion and lingering fatigue, fumbling to get the earbuds in so you could actually hear her over the whirring StairMaster.

“Well, hello there, busybody!” Eve’s voice came through, impossibly bright and full of energy. “I figured you’d still be shaking off the hangover from last night.”

You let out a short, half-laugh, half-groan, adjusting the earbuds. “You could say that. And apparently, I’ve been reading scripts for… what… five hours straight?”

“Something like that,” she said, her tone brisk but tinged with excitement. “Anyway… about that horror script you liked, Echoes from the Hollow.” Her voice sharpened suddenly, like she was leaning closer even though you couldn’t see her. “They’ve been following up. They really want you to direct. Shooting starts in two months.”

Your heart stuttered. The steps beneath your feet suddenly felt a fraction faster. “Two months? Wait, I know you said they were pre-production ready, but I figured there was still something for me to do?”

“Most of pre-production is done,” Eve replied matter-of-factly. “Cast is locked, locations booked, most sets designed. All they need is for you to step in and… make it yours, I guess. They said you’re free to adjust whatever you want.”

You tried to steady your breath, gripping the handles a little tighter. “Right… I mean, as long as I actually get creative input. I don’t want just to make someone else’s vision for free.”

“Oh, absolutely. They sounded very on board when I spoke to them. But,” she added, her voice lowering into a conspiratorial purr, “I also have some very exciting news for you.”

“Oh?” Your pulse skipped, legs almost forgetting the rhythm of the machine.

“You’ll never guess who’s in the cast…” She let it hang, as if enjoying the suspense.

“Who?” you asked, breath catching.

“Jenna Ortega.”

The StairMaster betrayed you. One foot slipped slightly, sending a jolt through your legs, your heart skipping a beat. Your chest tightened, a cold surge of panic crawling up your spine. “Sorry?!” you blurted, voice cracking, garnering you a few strange looks from bystanders.

“Oh yeah,” Eve said, laughing like she’d just told you the punchline of a cruel joke. “You’re going full Hollywood with this one.”

Sweat dripped into your eyes, but it wasn’t the workout making your hands shake; it was the thought of Jenna on set, in the same room, sharing the same creative space. Your mind spun with scenarios you had no control over. What if she hates your directing style? What if you freeze in front of her?

Lord help us all.

You pressed your palms into the handles and tried to focus, but every pulse in your body screamed at you.

“Okay… okay,” you muttered, heart hammering, forcing your voice to sound steady. “I… I’ll do it. I’m in.”

“Perfect,” Eve said. “I’ll send over the contract, you just sign it, and it’s official. But seriously, don’t fall off that machine, alright? Try to finish your workout alive.”

You exhaled sharply, gripping the handles like a lifeline, heart hammering in sync with the machine. Jenna. On set. With you. It wasn’t just exciting, it was fucking terrifying. Every part of you wanted to celebrate, but another part screamed that this was suddenly very real in a way your brain wasn’t ready for.

You forced your legs to keep moving, sweat mixing with the sudden chill of dread creeping down your spine. Every stride felt heavier, each step carrying the weight of what you had just agreed to. For the first time in hours, the noise of the gym, the clatter of weights, the hum of treadmills, the grunts and shouts around you, faded into a blur.

Because right now, nothing existed except the idea of Jenna Ortega, two months from now, waiting for you to show up and direct a film you hadn’t dared to dream could happen.

You were gonna need more than just a workout to calm you down 

Your keys jingled in the lock before you pushed the door open with your shoulder, juggling the weight of a grocery bag in one arm and a bottle of wine clutched protectively in the other.

The wine wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, you knew that. Still, tonight, it felt like the only one. A little red to cut through the restless energy buzzing under your skin. A way to remind yourself that this moment, this job, this chance, was worth celebrating, even if no one else was around to toast it with you.

You dropped the groceries onto the kitchen counter with a dull thud, promising yourself you’d unpack them later, and drifted straight into the living room. The vinyl collection sat waiting, neatly lined up in its crate. You crouched down, fingers brushing over the spines until they landed on Rumours. Classic, timeless, familiar.

Nothing paired with a bottle of wine quite like Fleetwood Mac.

You set the record on the player, the needle crackling softly before those first golden notes filled the room. The sound swelled in the still air, chasing away some of the emptiness that clung to the walls. You poured the first glass, the rich red catching the glow of the lamp, and took a long, drawling sip.

For the first time since signing the contract, the excitement began to settle into something tangible, something you could actually hold. This was real. You’d landed your first big directing gig. The panic, the adrenaline, the exhaustion, it all softened at the edges, replaced with a quieter kind of pride. Tonight wasn’t about the pressure or the deadlines. Tonight was yours. A small, private celebration, wrapped in music and wine.

But the truth lingered in the gaps between songs, in the shadows pooling at the corners of your apartment, in the meal you were cooking for one. If you let yourself think too hard, it wasn’t difficult to admit: you were lonely.

Most of your friends were still back in Australia, their lives rolling on without you. And here you were, glass in hand, trying to convince yourself that this solitary toast was enough.

You had Eve, sure, but that line between business and friendship was always there, firm and unspoken. She was your agent, and no matter how much you bantered or how well you got along, you knew you couldn’t lean on her the way you would a real friend.

Every connection you had here was tied to work, transactional at its core. And when the gigs you’d managed to land in America barely stretched beyond three months at a time, those connections fizzled out as quickly as they formed, leaving you to start from scratch all over again.

“I should really get a dog,” you muttered under your breath, plating up the simple dinner you had made and topping off your second glass of wine. The words sounded half like a joke, half like a plea. At least then, the apartment wouldn’t feel so silent all the time.

Carrying your plate to the small dining table, you set it down with a soft clink, the wine glass following. Just as you lowered yourself into the chair, your phone buzzed across the wood. You dragged it closer, thumb swiping lazily over the screen, until Eve’s name flashed at the top of the notification.

It was a link. You tapped it open, the headline appearing in bold black letters:

Y/n Y/l/n Set to Direct New Horror Feature with Jenna Ortega and Sophie Thatcher.

It was refreshing, strange, even, for a sense of pride to wash over you instead of the usual dread that accompanied anything career-related.

For once, the thought of people knowing your name didn’t send your stomach lurching. Still, your eyes lingered on the headline longer than you meant them to. The addition of Sophie’s name wasn’t something you could just skim past. As if handling one rising powerhouse actress wasn’t enough, now you had two.

Just what you needed.

The weight of it pressed against your chest. On one hand, it was exhilarating, validation that you were stepping into something real, something that mattered in the industry. On the other hand, it was terrifying. Two actresses with reputations that carried entire projects on their shoulders, and you, the newcomer, expected to hold it all together.

You let out a short laugh, though it didn’t sound entirely amused. “No pressure at all,” you muttered to yourself, taking a long sip of wine that barely took the edge off.

You speared a bite of dinner and chewed absently, your eyes fixed on the glow of your phone screen. The article stared back at you with unflinching certainty. You scrolled up and down, reread the headline, reread the names. Again. And again. As if repetition might dull the edges, make the words lose their weight, make them feel… normal. But each glance only seemed to sharpen the reality instead: this was happening, and there was no hiding from it now.

Then, a small banner slid across the top of your phone.

@jennaortega started following you.

For a split second, you froze, blinking at the notification to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. 

Your stomach dipped, the wine in your glass suddenly tasting sharper in your throat. You tapped the banner with hesitant fingers, your Instagram springing open. There it was, her name, her profile picture, the little blue tick. The words Follows you sat neatly under her bio, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

You froze. The words didn’t compute at first, like they were in a different language. Then your pulse spiked, sharp and fast, and you nearly fumbled the phone into your dinner plate.

“Oh no… oh no no no,” you whispered under your breath, voice tight, barely audible over the soft vinyl hum in the background.

Panic set in in slow, creeping waves. You flipped instinctively to your Instagram profile, scrolling frantically, like you could somehow erase or rearrange your own history before she saw it. Each tap made your heartbeat jump. 

Your opinion skewed by fear, you were now overwhelmed by cringy selfies, bad lighting, and your tongue-in-cheek jokes that now looked painfully juvenile.

Your thumb hovered over the Follow Back button, heavy with indecision. Was it too eager? Too casual? Too obviously fan-girling?

You scrolled up and down your feed again, hyper-focusing on every post, every comment, every tag. Your mind refused to let you stop. Did you post something dumb? Something embarrassing? Is this a trap?

Your hand shook slightly as you adjusted the phone in your grip, wine glass forgotten on the table beside you. You took a shallow breath and tried to calm the frantic pulse in your chest, but the room felt suddenly smaller, warmer, too loud with your own thoughts.

Minutes passed, or maybe only seconds, but it felt like hours. You scrolled again, double-checked every post, hovered over the button once more, debating with yourself as though your life depended on it.

Finally, after three long, torturous minutes and several shaky exhalations, you followed her.

The small confirmation animation popped up on your screen, and for a fraction of a second, you almost regretted it. But the panic didn’t fade. No, it only intensified. Your mind raced with possibilities and what-ifs, hands clenching the edges of the table.

You set, or more accurately, threw your phone down, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to distract yourself by sipping wine. It did little to slow the buzzing in your chest. Your thoughts were already looping: She’s following me. She knows I exist. I’m supposed to be professional. I can’t freak out. 

Then, barely minutes later, the phone buzzed again. You froze mid-sip, staring at the screen as though willing it to stay quiet.

@jennaortega sent you a message

Your pulse hit your throat. Your stomach flipped. The warmth of the apartment felt oppressive now, the soft vinyl hum and the clinking of your wine glass against the plate suddenly deafening. You picked up the phone, fingers trembling like they’d forgotten how to hold anything steady.

You stared at the notification, blinking at it. Slowly, almost cautiously, you swiped to open it.

Regina's eyes widened in pure shock as you walked into the room. With your bag casually slung over your shoulder, you make a beeline for the empty tables surrounding Regina. Ignoring the intensity of her gaze, you drop your bag and settle into the chair next to her. The faint strains of music emanated from the headphones hanging from your ears as you began organizing your belongings, only to be interrupted by the teacher.

"Y/n, if you could please stand and introduce yourself."

Your eyes flicked nervously towards the teacher, and the entire class turned to look at you. The intensity of Regina's gaze made your cheeks glow with a faint red before you sighed dejectedly and reluctantly stood up, pulling out your headphones.

"Um... Hi, I'm Y/n... not really much else to say."

The teacher nodded at you before turning around to start the lesson. Watching as you sat down, Regina's focus shifted entirely to you.

She couldn't tell whether it was because she knew nothing about you, or that you were just so damn hot.

Maybe it was both.

As soon as the bell rang, signalling the end of the class, Regina wasted no time storming off to find Gretchen. Having watched you for the entirety of the class, she was desperate to find out everything about you.

Strutting through the packed hallway, everyone staring at her in fear, Regina locked onto her target as she came into her view. "Gretchen!" she called irritatedly. The small girl quickly turned around as her eyes widened in fear. "Tell me... How is it that I don't know anything about this new Junior, Y/n? Why wasn't I informed? I need all the details now!"

Gretchen, scrambling to keep up with Regina's relentless pace, stammered out an apology. "I-I'm sorry, Regina! I didn't even know they were coming."

"God, you are useless!"

In only a week, not only had watching you become her routine, but she had even started to develop a crush on you, as painful as that was for her to admit.

She was supposed to be chased, not the one chasing.

Seeing you had become the favourite part of her day, even above having the whole school bow at her feet. She hadn't even talked to you. She just watched.

She meticulously studied your every move, subconsciously committing all of your subtle mannerisms to memory. Like the way you would take notes, or the way you would nibble at your fingers when you were focused. Or her personal favourite, when you knawed at the end of your pencil when you were nervous or stressed.

Fuck, she wishes she was that pencil.

She hated to admit it, but the thought of talking to you terrified her. Her usually overbearing confidence drained away whenever you sat in the chair next to her, your mysterious yet comforting presence causing her to malfunction.

And yet, as she sat at lunch with Gretchen and Karen, she refused to mutter a word about you to them. The furthest they pushed was when Gretchen asked about you after catching Regina staring at you, and the look Regina gave the poor girl made her shut up immediately.

The lunch tables were packed as usual, but Regina's eyes scanned the hallway beside them. She was well aware that you never sat at any of the tables, so she patiently waited for you to return to your locker, which was conveniently placed within sight of her table.

Karen and Gretchen's incessant babbling went unnoticed as you finally appeared. She couldn't help but notice your slouched posture and sluggish movements. You looked exhausted. Your headphones, which you always had on you, dangled from one ear as you forcefully opened your locker.

As if she wasn't already concerned, the table of varsity jocks had also noticed you, taking your clearly irritated mood as a green light to push even more of your buttons. From across the room, Regina watched with a clenched jaw as three of them stood from the table and made their way towards you.

Her body ached with anger as she watched them grab you by the shoulder and throw you against the lockers. Your exhausted expression turned to one of fear as they held you up against the cold metal doors. The guy forcefully snatched your headphones away, callously tossing them to the ground and obliterating them with a single forceful step.

Regina choked on a gasp. She knew how much you loved those headphones.

She was annoyingly out of earshot as she watched them continue to laugh at and berate you whilst shaking you against the lockers. Her blood was boiling. The others had noticed her expression and cast confused glances towards the commotion, which only confused them more.

The Regina they knew would be laughing.

After Regina's next victims finally let you go, your body shook as you realised that the whole school had just watched you get shamelessly belittled. As soon as your gaze locked with Regina's, your embarrassment grew unbearable, triggering you to hastily get your belongings before moving to make a swift escape.

The last Regina saw of you, you were frantically running away, desperately trying to hide your state as tears streamed down your face.

Those jocks had no idea what was coming for them.

The next time she laid eyes on you was the week after. She had already exacted her revenge on the jocks, having called their parents and telling them they all had STDs, yet when she caught sight of your weary expression as you entered the classroom, the familiar sense of triumph eluded her.

As the lesson passed and the teacher blabbered about a new group project, Regina's eyes never left you as you buried yourself in your notebook.

"Ok, listening, please." the teacher announced, garnering both of your attention. "The groups are as follows," you patiently waited for your name to be read out so you could go back to absentmindedly doodling in the margins of your book, whilst Regina similarly waited to hear the name of the poor soul who would be stuck with her. Yet, to her surprise, she wasn't disgusted by the name read beside hers.

"Y/n and Regina,"

With eyes wide and fixed on the teacher, Regina failed to notice the sudden blush that crept onto your cheeks, causing you to quickly lower your head. "You have the rest of the lesson to plan." the teacher mumbled before returning to their desk, where they sat silently.

Neither of you moved. After a second of secretly hoping Regina would make her move, you figured she wasn't interested in you or the project. Opening your computer and immediately diving into research, Regina sat at her desk, trying to build the courage to talk to you.

God, she hated being a coward.

After a few minutes and a few internal pep talks, she decided to take her one excuse to talk to you as she finally scooted her desk towards yours and turned to face you. As she inched closer, your heart began to race, sensing her gaze fixed on you. With a bashful smile, you diverted your attention from your screen and finally made eye contact with her.

She was breathtaking.

Clearing your throat, you quickly turned back to your computer as you scratched the back of your neck. "I-I'll just do it all when I get home," you spoke nervously, presuming THE Regina George would want nothing to do with you or the project.

"What makes you think I'd make you do it alone," she retorts, her tone more flirtatious than she had intended, but she wasn't mad about it. You looked back at her, lost for words for a second as you tried to scramble together a response.

"Well... I-I just presumed you wouldn't want to help." A small smile formed on her lips as you briefly glanced at her, "I mean, you hardly pay attention, so I just... figured." She softly giggles at your words, her laughter sending a flutter of excitement through your body.

Little did you know she was distracted by you.

"Come to mine later. We can do it together." Regina's unexpected display of confidence caught both of you off guard as her usual flirtatious demeanour made a comeback. Meanwhile, you stared at her in disbelief, trying to process what had just happened. "Ugh... Yeah, sure, if that's ok?"

"I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't"

As the school bell rang through the corridors, you were overwhelmed with both relief and anxiety. After enduring a tedious day at school, you were now faced with the terrifying task of not only talking to Regina but also spending hours alone with her at her house.

Walking out the doors and towards the car park, the sound of the bustling school fading into the background, your eyes catch a familiar blonde leaning up against her Jeep. Your heart began to race faster as you approached her, your bag feeling heavier with each step.

Her expression softened as she noticed you approaching, a warm smile gracing her lips, and she pushed herself off her car. "Hey," she greets softly, a soft shade of pink painting her cheeks as you both smile at each other. "Hi," you said breathlessly with a small chuckle.

Without another word, Regina moves to get in, and you follow suit, chucking your bag into the backseat next to hers before climbing into the passenger seat.

The breeze gently tousled your hair as you drove to her house, the soothing tunes of music filling the air, matching the nervous excitement between you both. Your heart beat along with the music as you snuck glances at the girl sitting next to you. With her eyes focused on the road and the wind softly brushing her skin, you were utterly mesmerised by her.

Of course, you had heard of Regina George's horror stories, but this girl was different.

Sure, you hadn't spoken till this morning, but there was something about her you couldn't quite describe. Something that brought you to school every day, comforting you as you sat in undoubtedly one of the most boring classes, and that gave life at North Shore High purpose.

Frankly, you rejected any idea of her being a heartless bitch.

When you eventually turned into her driveway, your gaze was forced away from her as you caught sight of her house, or should you say mansion. The house was almost cinematic in grandeur, your eyes growing wider by the second as you drove closer before eventually stopping at the door.

"Wow," you mumbled under your breath as you exited her car, your eyes not leaving the building as you reached for your bag. You heard Regina chuckle lightly as she led the way to her door. "My mum's not home, thank god, so we have the place to ourselves."

You nod mindlessly as you follow her through the front door. As you trailed behind her, the pristine marble floors beneath your feet echoed with each step, a stark contrast to the scuffed linoleum of the school corridors.

Just when you thought you had gotten used to it, Regina led you to her room. Stepping inside, you find yourself mesmerised by everything around you. "This is your bedroom?" you asked, clearly taken aback. Regina glanced back at you, a shy smile on her face.

"Yeah, It was my parents, but I asked them to trade me." "Right...". You couldn't help but be captivated by the array of decorations adorning the walls, taking in the posters and photos that offered a rare glimpse into her life beyond her reign as the queen of North Shore.

Sitting on her bed and removing her shoes, she motions for you to do the same. Dropping your bag next to her massive bed and grabbing everything you need, you carefully sit down next to her, leaving enough room between the two of you so you don't seem invasive.

Opening your laptop and notebook, you place them on the bed as you pull up the project materials. You can feel Regina's gaze on you even though she's trying to be subtle, and the thought instantly makes your cheeks glow softly.

"So, uh, where do you want to start?"

The next few hours flew by as you worked on the project together. Regina was surprisingly helpful, the two of you moving closer as your work drew to a close. Now that the project was over, the familiar awkwardness lingered in the air as you searched for something to talk about that wouldn't embarrass you.

"You're really good at drawing, you know." Regina compliments softly, pointing at your notebook margins before you can say anything as you blush at her words. "Thanks... I've been doing it more since-" "Your headphones broke." Regina cuts you off as you look at her surprised.

"Yeah... How did you know that?" It was Regina's turn to blush as she realised that she had just revealed herself. Stammering to find an excuse, she looks away for a second, embarrassed. "I-I'm just a very observant person."

You look at her suspiciously with a small smile gracing your lips, the thought of Regina watching you making your heart flutter.

"You're different." you find yourself blurting out, "from how everyone else describes you, I mean." you finish quickly. Regina chuckles as she smiles at you softly. "You're different too. Good different. I like it."

The tension between you grew as you stared into each other's eyes. A softness behind her pale blue eyes drew you in, and before you knew it, you were slowly leaning in. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you caught Regina glancing down at your lips, her own caught between her teeth as your faces grew closer.

"Regina, honey!" You scramble backwards as Regina's bedroom door flies open, revealing who you believe to be her mum. "Oh. Hi there!" "Mum, seriously!?" Regina yells in disbelief. Your ears begin to ring as your head pounds, thinking about what would have happened if you had not been interrupted.

"I'm sorry, honey, I didn't realise you had anyone over." While Regina's mother was apologising, you could hear Regina sighing in frustration next to you. "I'll just go to the kitchen." Her mum suggests as she begins to leave the room, but you beat her to it. "No, Ms George, it's okay. I was on my way out anyway." You offer her a smile you hope appears as genuine as you quickly throw everything into your bag.

Trying to ignore Regina's pained gaze, you threw your bag over your shoulder, grabbed your shoes, and quickly exited her bedroom, making your way out the front door. You had no plan on how to get home, but you would rather walk than have to sit in that room after what had happened.

Walking into school the next day was like walking straight into a nightmare. You already weren't fond of the school, having been called slurs and made fun of constantly, but adding to that, your usual excitement of seeing Regina had been replaced with pure fear.

In just one night, you managed to spin every interaction you ever had with the girl, leaving you incredibly embarrassed about how you had let it all happen. Who were you to think Regina might actually like you? You were probably just a pawn in some big game.

Unlocking your locker and throwing it open, already fed up with the day before it had even begun, you began to unpack your stuff, completely ignorant of the approaching jock.

Walking into school with a similarly distraught look, Regina's mind was stuck reeling over the events from last night. The question of why you ran away was all she could think about until she heard a sharp bang.

Before you could react, you were once again thrown against the lockers, an irritated grunt leaving your lips. Your eyes met the same bastard who had made bullying you their new hobby. "Back for more, dyke?" he taunted you, your fists clenching involuntarily as you awaited the verbal abuse he was undoubtedly about to unleash on you.

Regina's head immediately whipped in its direction, a new sense of anger rushing through her body as she saw your saddened figure being pinned up against the lockers. Without hesitation, she storms towards the jock holding you against the wall with a fire burning behind her eyes.

"Fuck off, asshole!"

The boy's expression quickly shifted, causing him to release his grip on you and hastily retreat in terror. You sighed in relief as you observed Regina approaching you, her face contorted with unmistakable rage.

You found it quite amusing how scary everyone found her, causing the boy who had just been full of confidence to shrink into insignificance, like a tiny ant that she was about to step on.

"Look in her direction again, and it won't just be STDs next time."

The boy's face flashed in realisation before hurriedly scrambling off. All eyes were fixed on you as Regina directed her gaze towards you, her expression instantly softening with a hint of concern in her eyes. "Are you ok?" you managed a nod as the softness of her voice filled you with a comforting warmth.

"Yeah… Thanks," you replied softly, your familiar awkward energy filling the air. She watched you momentarily as you remained silent, hopeful that you would acknowledge her. Yet, as you continued to avert your gaze away from her, she gave you a soft nod before turning to leave. Her stomach sank as the failing state of your relationship grew more and more obvious.

With an unfamiliar burn of tears behind her eyes, her pace quickened as she tried to get as far away from you as she possibly could.

But you stopped her.

"Regina, wait!"

Looking over her shoulder and meeting your sorry gaze, her heart can't help but flutter as she watches you slowly jog after her. "Sorry, I-" you hesitated, feeling a surge of nerves as you came the closest you had been to Regina since yesterday. "Did you want to maybe... hang out at yours after school again?"

"Didn't we finish the project?" She seems confused, completely missing that you wanted to spend time together outside what was needed. "No, we did. I just thought we could, you know, just watch a movie or something, but if you're not into that-"

"I would love to." She interrupts your anxious babbling with a gentle laugh, her gaze filled with admiration as you stare at her in a state of surprise and joy. "Meet me at the same place, ok?" "Yeah". Regina walks away from you with a smirk as you stand there frozen.

Holy shit, you just asked Regina George out.

The trip to Regina's after the bell finally rang was much like the day before.

She waited for you by her car, dismissing her other friends when she spotted you. Greeting each other warmly before jumping in the car, you once again listened to music whilst the wind swept through your hair, a nervous yet warm sense of anticipation falling between you.

Pulling up to her house, which you were still in awe of, you jumped out of the car and walked towards the front door behind Regina. "This time, my mum actually isn't home and won't be. I made sure of it. So we really do have the place all to ourselves."

You both laughed at her words as a small blush crept onto your cheeks. You walked behind Regina as she entered her bedroom, studying the now familiar walls as she set up everything you needed to watch a movie.

After sitting on her bed with the TV switched on and Netflix loaded up, you still remained standing in her doorway, nibbling on your pencil, which you always kept stowed away in your pocket, causing her to glance at you with a puzzled expression. "You seem distracted. Everything okay?" she asked, her voice soft yet discerning.

Snapping back into reality, offering her a sheepish smile, you replied, "Yeah, just lost in thought, I guess." taking the pencil from your lips, you slowly moved towards her bed, your eyes subconsciously scanning every inch of her body, your mind going wild seeing her so comfortable.

Her gaze fixated on you, her piercing blue eyes captivating in the sunlight pouring through the window. She laughed softly, the sound filling the room with a pleasant melody. "Lost in thought or thoughts of me?"

The comment caught you off guard, and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I… um, what makes you say that?". Regina, who reclined into her bed, gestured towards your hand, occupied by a chewed-up pencil.

"You always chew on that when you're nervous," she spoke softly. Your eyes widened in astonishment as the familiar burn returned to your cheeks. "How do you know that?" She smirked, "I notice everything." Regina's gaze never wavered as she continued watching you, a playful glint in her eyes.

"So, what's got you so nervous, Y/n?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as Regina's question hung in the air, filling the lavish room with tension. You couldn't help but fidget with your pencil, trying to find the right words to capture the overwhelming mix of emotions that Regina's presence constantly stirred within you.

"I, uh… it's just… everything, I guess. School, people, this…" You gestured vaguely between the two of you, unable to articulate the chaotic mess of feelings inside. Regina leaned up, her voice softening. "Well, you don't have to be nervous around me." Her eyes locked onto yours, a sincerity beneath the confident facade. "Now sit."

Slipping your shoes off and sitting on the bed, you move closer to Regina, who is lying against her pillows, her gaze unwavering. Eventually settling next to her, you turn to look at her, your heart fluttering as her soft eyes meet yours.

The room seemed to buzz with an unspoken energy, and all you could hear was the sound of your shared breaths. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, watching Regina's eyes analyse your face. A blush painted her cheeks, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Regina seemed hesitant, her mouth opening as if searching for the right words. "You know, I've been infatuated with you ever since you first walked into class." Your heart did a somersault at her words. A dreamy smile spread across your face, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of joy and disbelief.

"Regina George. Infatuated with me?" you teased playfully, her confession coursing adrenaline through your veins. With a gentle laugh, she hides her face briefly behind her hand before looking back at you, matching your wide smile.

"Shut up."

Leaning towards you, Regina's hands delicately wrapped around your neck, a slight shiver travelling down your spine. The room appeared to tighten as Regina held you, her touch confident and gentle. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes never leaving Regina's as she closed the distance.

Time seemed to stand still as her lips met yours.

The touch of her lips against yours was gentle, her hands brushing your neck with a mix of desire and passion. Everything else faded away as you fell into the kiss.

Her breath mingled with yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart echoing your own. The room seemed to buzz with an electrifying charge, and the only sounds that reached your ears were the shared breaths between you two.

As Regina pulled away, a shared moment of breathless silence hung in the air. Once buzzing with unspoken energy, the room was now filled with the soft sounds of your intertwined breaths. Regina's cheeks were tinted with a deeper blush, and a subtle smirk played on her lips.

Your mind still reeling from the feeling of her lips on hers, you speak with a breathless chuckle, "What's everyone else gonna think?". Regina smirked at your question, a glint of defiance in her eyes as she pulled you back in, mumbling her response on your lips.

"Let them talk."

Renee had been looking forward to this night all week, eager to see and talk to Drew again, even if it was in front of a few hundred people. The two of you had met Drew on her show about a year ago when you were doing press together for The Sex Lifes of College Girls, in which you played Renee's on-screen girlfriend.

Unbeknownst to everyone else, you had actually become each other's off-screen girlfriends around 6 months ago when Renee invited you to collaborate on a song with her for her debut album, and your relationship grew from there.

You had been inseparable since.

Hence why you were currently sitting in the quietening crowd as the lights above you began to dim and the stage became illuminated with spotlights.

The crowd erupted with cheers as Renee and Drew walked onto the stage, waving enthusiastically and smiling infectiously at the audience as the applause echoed throughout the auditorium. You couldn't help but be in awe of your girlfriend as she gracefully walked across the stage. Your eyes scanned her gorgeous figure, causing a rush of warmth to flood your cheeks as she looked out into the audience, eagerly looking for you.

As her eyes met yours, her smile grew even wider when she noticed the hat you had on. With a playful wink and a finger pressed against your lips, a blush crept onto her cheeks as she giggled, shifting her focus back to Drew as she settled into her seat.

Once they had taken their seats and the cheers from the crowd began to fade, Drew gazed out at the audience with a wide grin, "I'm proud to say that Renee and I were texting this morning and that we both showed up in pinstripes.". Cheers filled your ears as you couldn't help but be captivated by Renee's infectious laughter and radiant smile, which always managed to make your heart skip a beat. "We did, and not planned either," she said with a joyful laugh.

"Thank you, everybody, for coming tonight. I heard the bar was packed, so I like that action. That just made me so happy. I'm like, that sets a tone, let's do this." Drew enthusiastically addressed the audience, yet your focus remained on Renee. The smile she wore filled you with familiar warmth, and you couldn't help but smile giddily just looking at her.

As the conversation between the two of them began to flow, covering deep yet incredibly entertaining topics, your attention remained undivided as you proudly listened and watched your girlfriend, admiring every tiny detail.

"So the show... I've read that you are going to come back for season 3 sporadically," Your ears perked up at the mention of the show. It had been a watershed moment for you and Renee alike in your professional and personal lives. Not only was the show itself a massive accomplishment for you, but the exposure you and Renee received from it helped propel your music careers to new heights.

"Yeah. It was obviously a tough decision to make." Renee spoke thoughtfully, her teeth lightly grazing her bottom lip. "The show has given me so much, but singing was always, like, my main goal in life, so." She continued as Drew nodded along understandably.

"I feel as though, if you have multiple talents, it becomes a challenge of, like, how do you fit them all in, how do you make them work cohesively, how do you go in certain directions," Drew spoke as you listened carefully, her words striking familiar chords as Renee nodded along.

"And I think that kind of idea and way of living is very reflective of you and also of your amazing Australian co-star Y/n, who is also a singer and someone who you actually collaborated with on your album." Your eyebrows immediately raised at the mention of your name. You noticed Renee glance at you briefly as Drew spoke, a slight smirk gracing her lips as she did so.

Renee flushed slightly as she returned her gaze to Drew, "Yeah, without a doubt. Y/n and I are very similar in how we function, which I think definitely contributes to why we get along so well and why we love being around each other so much." Her nose scrunched adorably as the audience awwed at her words, a familiar red spreading across your cheeks as you melted into your seat.

"So you won't mind me asking how you and Y/n's on-screen relationship is going to go? Because, oh my god, the chemistry!" The crowd laughed as Drew fell back into her chair, her mouth agape in faux shock. You laughed along as you watched Renee hide her face behind her hands.

"If anything, being in more scenes with her is going to be what I miss most." It was your turn to hide behind your hands as Renee spoke, her eyes briefly glancing towards you. She laughed giddily as the crowd once again awwed at her comments. "That being said, though, I am really excited to continue exploring it. I love Leighton and only want what's best for her."

"Well, I'd say they're perfect for each other!" Renee laughed and thanked her as the crowd cheered in agreement. It was always heartwarming to see how much people enjoyed your work, especially when it was with your girlfriend - and even more so when it was about the two of you being in a relationship.

"I also presume that the chemistry comes off so authentic because, from what I've seen at least, you guys spend so much time together off set." The audience erupted in laughter as memories of you and Renee flashed through your mind, a big smile spreading across your lips as you admired your girlfriend on stage.

Her adorable giggles fill the air as she raises the microphone to her lips. "We do, yeah," she manages to speak from her laughter. Once her giggles had calmed down, she continued. "I am madly in love with that woman." your cheeks glow red even in the dimly lit crowd as she talks, your breathing deepening as your eyes raked over the love of your life.

"We spend basically every day we can with each other, and if we're not together, we're either texting or calling. It's great." Her cheeks flush a deep scarlet, and her grin grows wider by the second as you watch her.

"The paparazzi are certainly loving it," Drew commented, her eyebrows raising slightly. "Yeah, they are," Renee replied, a wry smile playing on her lips. "How do you feel about that?" She had grown somewhat accustomed to the constant presence of the media with their flashing cameras and relentless pursuit, but she still didn't love it, to say the least.

"I'm not a big fan of how intrusive they are and how they, like, force the whole 'public relationship' thing on people," Renee confessed, her words laced with frustration. The never-ending attention and gossip surrounding her love life had proven to be the most difficult part of her experience in the public spotlight.

Your heart skipped a beat when Renee mentioned the public relationship. Although no one had initially caught on, you knew someone would put it together in a matter of seconds, and whilst that thought scared you, it also brought a giddy smile to your lips.

You watched as the revelation hung in the air, a brief silence falling over the crowd before one of the audience members screamed excitedly, followed by several others as the realisation swept through the crowd.

"Wait… Are you guys dating?!" Drew burst out happily, unable to control her excitement as she, too, realised what Renee had alluded to.

A fierce blush spread its way across Renee's cheeks as she quickly moved to cover her wide smile and red cheeks with her hands. The crowd roared with excitement as she began giggling uncontrollably. You smiled proudly as her eyes met yours, shyly nodding for her to continue.

"Yeah,"

Screams and cheers erupted from the audience as Drew bounced in her seat. "Oh my God! You're kidding! "Tell me everything." Renee continued to laugh briefly before it faded: "We've basically been together since we worked on my song together."

The revelation hit the crowd like a wave, and your heart raced amid the uproar. The secret you and Renee had kept hidden for months was now revealed on a public stage, and you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness in the pit of your stomach. The spotlight had shifted not only to Renee but also to the secret love story that, until now, had played out behind closed doors.

Drew's exclamation mirrored the audience's sentiments, but your attention was drawn to Renee at that point. She sat there, bathed in the light from the stage lights, her eyes sparkling with a mix of vulnerability and joy. Your heart swelled with pride as she openly shared your relationship with the world, and you couldn't help but admire her.

"That's amazing! Did you like her before that?" Drew inquired, her eagerness palpable, echoing the curiosity that resonated throughout the auditorium. You held your breath, waiting to hear Renee's response.

"Of course I did. I had like the biggest crush on her the second we met." Renee confessed, her words hanging in the air like a melody that resonated with the audience as they collectively awwed. "Plus, her accent is like the cutest thing you will ever hear."

Drew leant slightly forward, her gaze fixed on Renee. "Is she here tonight?" she inquired curiously. Renee's lips curled into a mysterious smile, the stage lights reflecting the contours of her features. "She might be," she said, a small laugh escaping her lips afterwards. Her affectionate gaze moved across the dimly lit room, briefly meeting your tender gaze. She smiled softly as she spoke.

"And, to my girlfriend, who may or may not be here tonight, I love you so much, baby."

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You had been on his show once before, just before the Grammys when all of your nominations were flying in, and to say you enjoyed it would be an understatement. That being said, as you made your way to the curtains, waiting for your name to be announced, you felt the familiar buzz of your phone in your jacket pocket. Quickly grabbing it, a smile instantly grew on your lips as you saw who had texted you.

Jenna: "Good luck my love!"

Jenna: "You're going to absolutely kill it."

Jenna: "Also I can't wait to see your outfit again, you look soooooo good."

Your smile grew larger as you read her messages. Unbeknownst to the public, you and Jenna had been dating for over 2 years and even married for over a month. Ever since you had gotten engaged, the rules you two had set for your relationship in public had loosened.

You started going in public more, holding hands when walking down the street, and even occasionally sharing gentle kisses. Despite doing all of this, whilst the speculation around your relationship grew exponentially, neither of you had ever confirmed anything. The most the public had to go off were pictures of you holding hands and attending dinners.

If anything, you were shocked they hadn't figured it out yet.

Before you can reply to Jenna, you hear Jimmy start to introduce you. Swiftly turning your phone off and throwing it back in your pocket, you fix your posture and take a deep breath before you hear your cue.

"Please welcome the talented and always entertaining, Y/n L/n!"

With his words, the curtains before you open, and you take confident steps onto the brightly lit stage. The crowd roars with applause as you look at them with a warm smile, waving at them before your eyes meet a familiar face.

Looking at you with a matching smile and her bottom lip gently caught between her teeth is Jenna. Winking at her, you redirect your attention to Jimmy, who helps you get to your seat.

Taking a seat in the chair, the cheers from the crowd continue as you duck your face slightly, overwhelmed by the welcome, whilst Jimmy's contagious laugh can be heard in the background.

With the noise finally settling down, you send a grateful look to the audience before finally facing Jimmy. "Y/n! Welcome back. I feel like we saw each other just the other day." You chuckle slightly as you nod along, "Yeah, well, it has only been a few weeks.".

"But so much has happened since I last saw you. I mean, you now have five Grammys!" The crowd once again erupted with cheers as your cheeks ached with the amount you were smiling. "I do, yeah. It still doesn't feel real at all, like... I don't know. I'm still speechless about the whole thing, to be honest."

Jimmy laughs at your words with his familiar smile. "I mean, you took down the likes of Billie Eilish and Olivia Rodrigo. That's insane!" "I know! Trust me, I know. They're my idols," you respond with a giggle. The warmth that Jimmy always brought to his interviews made this so much easier for you, especially with Jenna watching you from the audience.

That being said, Jimmy's face changed to something more curious as he reached behind him to grab a board that you figured would have a photo on it. "Speaking of idols, It seems you have been getting close to someone I'm sure most of us see as an idol."

Oh, you knew where this was going.

Turning the board around, Jimmy reveals several paparazzi photos of you and Jenna outside a restaurant. The two of you can be seen holding hands and hugging on a memorable cold New York night, your anniversary, actually. A myriad of "oo's" fall from the crowd as you briefly cast a glance at Jenna, her cheeks possessing a new rosy hue. With a slight giggle, you looked back at Jimmy, who looked at you with a smirk.

"So... Tell me if I'm wrong, but it looks like someone is dating Jenna Ortega." Licking your lips in thought, the idea of revealing that she was actually your wife grew more potent by the second. With a final glance at Jenna, you smile at Jimmy with a mischievous grin. "She's my wife, actually."

Jimmy laughs, thinking it was a joke, before seeing the look on your face, to which his eyes go wide. "Wait, actually?!" It was your turn to laugh as the crowd grew louder at your revelation. "Yeah, we got married about a month ago," you spoke through your fit of laughter.

Jimmy stood up, screaming, "Oh my god!" as the crowd joined. Looking back towards your wife, who remained hidden in the audience, your eyes met as she looked at you adoringly, her cheeks redder than ever.

"You're not joking, right?" Jimmy asks as he finally moves to sit down again, out of breath from his excited rampage. "No. No, I'm not joking," you laugh at Jimmy's face, "My wife is actually in the crowd right now." pointing your hand towards the love of your life, the smile that adorns your face could easily be compared to the one you wore on your wedding day.

You finally got to show off your gorgeous wife and couldn't be happier.

Everyone gasps as they spot Jenna, and a light quickly moves in her direction. Embracing it like she does everything, she stands up and waves at everyone before blowing you a kiss. "What the... come down here, oh my god." You hear Jimmy yell excitedly as he gestures for her to walk down onto the stage.

As she starts to make her way down the steps, you get up from your chair and approach her. Offering her your arm as you meet her, she kisses your cheek softly as you lead her onto the stage, where Jimmy awaits in shock. The sound of the crowd was deafening as the two of you sat down on the chairs, your hands intertwined as Jimmy sat down behind his desk.

Laughing at the flabbergasted look on his face, his attempts to refocus don't seem to be doing much. "In shock?" you ask him with a smile, to which he quickly nods. Regaining some of his composure, he picks up the photos and points them back towards the crowd. "So then, in this photo, how long had you guys been dating?"

"Funny story actually," you start with a smile, "That was actually us going out for the first time after we got married.". The crowd 'aw'd as Jimmy smiled warmly at the two of you. "The best part is that you can actually see our rings in the photo," Jenna chimes in, which makes Jimmy quickly turn the photo around and look as closely as he can.

You laughed as his jaw dropped, "You're telling me no one noticed?". Turning the board back around so the cameras could zoom in on it, you shrugged your shoulders with a smirk, "We were just as surprised, trust me."

"Can we see the rings?". Looking at Jenna, she pulled your wedding ring from her pocket and handed it to you. As you slipped it back onto your finger, she held her hand out where her wedding and engagement ring could be seen. The crowd cheered as you matched her and held your hand out.

"I know it's early, but this has to be the best moment of 2024." Jimmy gasps as he looks at your hands. Both you and Jenna simultaneously laugh and blush at his comment, your eyes looking towards your wife in adoration.

"Well, thank you so much, Y/n and Jenna, for coming today. This has been absolutely amazing." Jimmy rounds up the interview, presumably running out of time with the unexpected addition of your wife. "Thank you so much for having us." With that, you and Jenna stand up and start making your way back to the curtains, waving to the audience as their cheers once again deafened you.

When the two of you finally made it backstage again, you had no time to think before Jenna jumped on you and tightly wrapped her arms around your neck. You giggled as you wrapped your arms around her waist and buried your face in her neck. "I can't believe we just did that," she mumbled happily into your shoulder.

Pulling back from the embrace slightly, you look into her eyes before kissing her lips tenderly. "I don't know how I managed to marry you, but I did, and there is no way I'm not showing you off," you spoke softly as you pulled away from her kiss.

Her cheeks ignited fiery red as she smiled warmly at you before pulling you in for another kiss, this time for passion. You had completely forgotten that you were still backstage as she took over your senses. Hesitantly pulling back out of breath, she mumbles against your lips.

"Let's go home."