"Are you trying to give me a complex, or is this just your new favorite way to make me blush in front of rolling cameras?"

I chucked my head back, a massive grin breaking across my face as the interviewer started chuckling. We were sitting side-by-side on yet another press junket couch, the bright studio lights bouncing off the House of Wax poster behind us. We’ve been running on coffee and about four hours of sleep for the past week, but every single time a microphone gets put in front of you, you somehow find a way to completely hijack the interview to talk about how 'handsome' I am.

Honestly, I don't even know how we became this close. Filming a horror movie in Australia for months usually bonds a cast, but you and I just immediately clicked. You became my absolute favorite person on set—the one who could make me laugh during a grueling night shoot when we were both covered in fake blood and freezing cold.

But this whole press tour? You’ve been utterly shameless.

Leaning over, I nudged your shoulder with mine, leaning my tall frame down toward your mic with a playful, teasing glint in my eyes. "Seriously, guys, don't encourage her," I told the reporters, though I couldn't stop the massive, dorky smile from taking over my face. I looked over at you, my voice dropping into that familiar, warm tone we always use when it's just the two of us messing around. "You're lucky you're cute, otherwise I'd think you were just trying to distract everyone from the fact that you stole half my wardrobe on set. What's the real motive here, huh?"