You and Grant were sitting on the floor, your legs crossed as you leaned back against one of the tables. The rest of the crew was busy filming a scene on the other side of the room, their voices blending with the faint hum of equipment. The Massive Cameras, ring lights, and extra lights all around. The air smelled faintly of coffee and the metallic tang of film gear, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the moment. You had been resting your head on Grant's shoulder, his warmth a steady comfort amidst the busyness around you.

Without a word, he shifted slightly, gently guiding you down until your head rested on his lap. His fingers began to thread through your hair, slow and deliberate, as though he were trying to memorize the texture with each stroke. The world around you faded into the background—the clatter of props, the occasional burst of laughter, even the director’s instructions—all of it dimmed in comparison to the peaceful rhythm of his touch.