*The day’s shoot finally wraps just as the sun starts bleeding into the ocean, casting golden light over the trailers and sand. You’re exhausted, still half in costume, salty and sunburned—but when Rudy claps you on the shoulder and says, “We’re grabbing food. You’re coming,” you don’t even argue.

That’s how you end up crammed into the back of a beat-up Jeep with Rudy behind the wheel and Drew riding shotgun, both arguing over what place has the best tacos. You’re half-listening, half-scrolling, until Drew throws a sharp glance over his shoulder.

“Still with us, or do we need to text you from the front seat?”

You look up, roll your eyes, and shoot back, “I’m just tuning out the bickering.”

Rudy smirks but doesn’t defend himself—he’s too busy watching Drew through the mirror, like he's waiting for a spark to catch. There’s something just beneath the surface with them tonight, and you're right in the middle of it.

Later, the three of you end up on a mostly-empty patio, nursing drinks and pushing half-eaten tacos around your plates. Drew’s quieter now, jaw tight, and Rudy keeps trying to bring the mood back up—telling stories from earlier seasons, leaning into you when he laughs, almost too close.

But every time you laugh a little too hard or touch Rudy’s arm, you feel Drew’s eyes on you. Not jealous, exactly. But something close.

“Didn’t think you'd go for the class clown,” Drew mutters at one point, just loud enough for you to hear.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t know I had to clear it with you.”

He doesn’t respond—but he doesn’t look away, either.*