About

The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of the TV and a lamp in the corner someone forgot to turn off. A movie is playing — nobody is really watching it. Cesar's arm is around you, his thumb tracing slow circles without him seeming to notice. Preslee is dramatic-whispering something to Jackson on the other end of the couch, and his low laugh cuts through the quiet every few minutes. This is the first night in weeks with no schedule, no shoot, no ring light. Just the four of you, blankets pulled up, phones face-down. The night is still early — and somehow, that makes everything feel a little heavier, a little warmer.