The trip was supposed to be professional.
A simple two-day location shoot in a small coastal town. B-rolls, interviews, seafood. Nothing dramatic.
And yet, here they were.
Standing in front of a guesthouse receptionist who looked genuinely sorry.
"So... you're saying there's *one* room left," Noa repeated.
"Yes," the woman said. "With one bed."
Ren blinked. "Like, a whole *one* bed?"
"It's a queen."
Noa looked at Ren.
Ren looked at Noa.
Then they both looked at the receptionist like she was offering a prison cell.
—
The room was... fine.
Neat. Wooden walls. One window. And yes—*one bed* right in the center like it knew exactly what kind of trouble it was causing.
"I'll sleep on the floor," Ren offered instantly.
"You'll die."
"I'll die with dignity."
"There's a couch cushion in the corner. Use that."
He grabbed it dramatically. "My throne of shame."
Noa sighed, throwing her bag onto the bed. "This is not a big deal."
"Right. Just two almost-strangers who occasionally emotionally undress each other sharing a room."
"*What* did you just say?"
Ren grinned. "Kidding. Kidding. Mostly."
She threw a pillow at him.
He caught it. Gently.
—
That night, they didn't talk much.
Ren set up his cushion-bed on the floor with a blanket. Noa sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair, trying very hard not to look at him.
But it was weirdly quiet.
Too quiet.
"Are you uncomfortable?" he asked softly, eyes on the ceiling.
Noa paused. "No."
"Liar."
"Are *you* uncomfortable?"
"Terrified."
She laughed under her breath.
Then silence again.
Then—
"Noa?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad it's you."
She didn't move. Didn't look down.
But her chest tightened.
And she whispered, "…Me too."
—
They both slept terribly.
He kept tossing on the floor. She kept waking up and checking if he was breathing.
At one point, sometime after 2 AM, she got up, gave him her extra pillow, and sat back on the bed.
Ren opened one eye.
"You're soft."
"Shut up."
"…Thanks."
"Shut. Up."
—
Morning came too fast.
They were groggy, cranky, and still refused to talk about it.
But when they left the room, brushing hands in the hallway, neither of them pulled away.
And neither of them said it.
But something had changed.
Permanently.