Chapter 17: His Hand Was on My Back. Why Didn’t I Move?

I could've stepped back.

I should've.

But I didn't.

Because when Ren's hand slid across my back, fingers slow and warm, the only thing I could think was:

"Finally."

---

We weren't kissing anymore.

But we were still too close.

Close enough for my skin to remember exactly where his lips had been.

His palm rested just under my shoulder blade. Not moving. Not demanding.

Just **there**.

Steady.

Heavy.

Intentional.

I wasn't even sure when he'd put it there.

All I knew was—I didn't want him to take it away.

---

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, barely audible.

I should've said yes.

Because we were interns.

In a room we weren't supposed to be in.

At 2:41 AM.

With a call time in four hours.

And zero self-control.

But instead, I said:

"No."

---

Ren didn't move, but something in him changed.

Like the switch flipped.

His fingers slid down, tracing the curve of my spine, making me shiver like I was hearing his voice in surround sound.

I should've pulled away.

But instead—I leaned in.

My face in his neck.

His hoodie smelled like mint and aftershave and something stupidly addictive.

He held me like I wasn't going anywhere.

And I didn't want to.

---

"We should stop," I mumbled against his chest.

"I know."

"But we're not gonna."

"Nope."

"Cool."

"Very."

---

We didn't talk after that.

We just sat like that.

His hand on my back.

Mine curled in the fabric of his sleeve.

Breathing.

Existing.

Pretending this was normal.

---

Then his phone buzzed.

We both ignored it.

Then mine buzzed.

**5 missed calls.**

Ren groaned. "We're gonna get yelled at."

"Worth it."

We finally stood. Awkwardly. Like two criminals who just robbed a candy store and ate the evidence.

---

As he reached for the door, he paused.

"Next time?"

"Hm?"

"I'm not stopping at just your back."

My brain exploded.

I slammed the door after shoving him out.

Then I screamed into a pillow for 45 minutes straight.

---

At 6:00 AM, we walked onto set.

Everyone stared.

Ren looked calm.

I looked like I'd lost a fight to my own hormones.

"Did something happen last night?" Naya asked.

I blinked. "Define 'something.'"

She narrowed her eyes. "Your hoodie's inside out."

I died internally.

---

And as if the day couldn't get worse?

The director yelled: "Alright! Couple shoot on set!"

Oh yeah.

The kiss scene.

After everything last night?

We still had to fake it.

In front of cameras.

---

Great.

Just great.

There are dangerous things in life.

Sharp knives. Broken glass.

And Ren Kurosawa's voice at close range.

Especially when he's whispering.

Especially when the director says, "Get closer. Look intimate."

I was already sweating.

---

We were filming the couple ad scene today.

The one where we're supposed to sit on a couch, hold hands, lean in, and say romantic lines like we mean it.

Plot twist:

We **do** mean it.

Which makes it worse.

Because we're not supposed to.

---

"Mic check," the sound guy says.

I nod. Try not to look at Ren.

He's sitting next to me, relaxed, legs spread, one arm along the couch.

Like this isn't the same guy who whispered death sentences into my neck twelve hours ago.

The director claps. "Okay, Ren, bring your face a little closer to Noa. Look like you're about to say something private."

Bad idea.

Terrible idea.

But Ren obeys.

His lips hover near my ear.

And then—

He whispers.

---

"You smell like my hoodie."

I freeze.

The camera hasn't even rolled yet.

My brain explodes in five languages.

I turn to him slowly. "Stop."

He raises a brow. "Stop what?"

"You know what."

He leans closer.

Whispers again.

"You still wearing it under that jacket?"

I SCREAM INTERNALLY.

---

The camera starts rolling. I'm supposed to say my line.

I forget my own name.

He's still looking at me like he owns the air I'm trying to breathe.

"Cut!" the director yells. "Noa, you okay? You looked… dazed."

I nod too fast. "Yeah. Just… acting."

Ren chuckles under his breath. "Sure."

---

Second take.

Same setup.

The line is: *"I want to stay like this a little longer."*

Easy, right?

Except when Ren murmurs, right before the cue:

"I dreamed of this last night."

WHAT???

"Cut!"

---

Third take.

I try to focus.

Ren's hand slips into mine, like it's scripted.

(It's not.)

"Ready?" the director asks.

I nod.

Then Ren leans in and **exhales**—soft and deliberate—on my cheek.

I see God.

"CUT! Noa, stop flinching!"

"I'M NOT FLINCHING, I'M ASCENDING."

---

We take a break.

I run to the bathroom and slap cold water on my face.

Intern salary: not enough.

For this?

I need hazard pay.

I need therapy.

I need holy water.

---

Back on set.

Ren sees me from across the room. Smirks.

He walks over casually.

"You okay?"

"No."

"You look flushed."

"Your voice is illegal."

He leans in. "Then arrest me."

"Ren."

"Yes?"

"Shut. Up."

He doesn't.

---

Final take.

Camera rolls.

I look at him, deliver the line:

**"I want to stay like this a little longer."**

He doesn't respond immediately.

Then, off-script, eyes locked on me, he says:

**"Then don't go anywhere."**

Director: "That wasn't the line but… DAMN. Print it."

I nearly faint.

---

Shoot ends.

Everyone claps.

Ren squeezes my hand discreetly.

No one notices.

Except Naya.

Who whispers as I pass her:

"You're screwed, girl."

She's right.

And I don't even care.