The sound of rain pattering against the windows filled the quiet living room.
Zack sat curled up on the couch, a book in his hands, while Kieran sprawled out on the other end, scrolling through his phone.
It had been a surprisingly peaceful day, with no interviews, no events, and no paparazzi lurking outside the gates.
For once, Zack felt like he could breathe.
"You always look so serious when you read," Kieran said, breaking the silence.
Zack glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just an observation," Kieran said with a smirk, setting his phone aside.
"You're all furrowed brows and concentrated frowns. It's cute."
Zack rolled his eyes, though his cheeks warmed. "You think everything's cute."
"Not everything," Kieran replied, his voice low and teasing.
Zack quickly looked back at his book, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest.
Why does he have to say things like that?
It's like he knows exactly how to get under my skin.
And the worst part is… I don't even mind.
Kieran stood, stretching before disappearing into another room.
Zack tried to focus on his book, but his mind kept drifting to the way Kieran had looked at him—like he was more than just a part of the charade.
When Kieran returned, he was holding a small wooden box.
He sat down beside Zack, the faintest hint of hesitation in his movements.
"What's that?" Zack asked, setting his book down.
"Something I want to show you," Kieran said quietly.
Zack watched as Kieran opened the box, revealing a stack of old photographs and a few trinkets.
"These are from when I was a kid," Kieran said, pulling out a photo and handing it to Zack.
The picture showed a younger Kieran, maybe ten or eleven years old, sitting on the front steps of a modest house.
He was grinning widely, his hair messy and his clothes slightly too big.
"You were adorable," Zack said, smiling.
"Was?" Kieran teased, but there was a softness in his voice that Zack hadn't heard before.
I've never seen him like this.
He's always so polished, so confident. But this… this is real.
Kieran pulled out another photo, this one of him with an older woman Zack guessed was his mother.
They were standing in a garden, the sunlight filtering through the trees behind them.
"That's my mom," Kieran said, his voice quieter now. "She passed away when I was nineteen."
Zack's heart clenched. "I'm sorry."
Kieran shook his head, offering a small smile. "It was a long time ago. But she's the reason I got into acting. She used to say I had a knack for making people believe in magic, even if it was just pretend."
"She sounds amazing," Zack said softly.
"She was," Kieran said, his gaze distant.
"She always believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself."
Zack didn't know what to say, so he reached out, placing a hand on Kieran's arm.
The gesture was small, but it seemed to ground Kieran, who looked at Zack with a faint smile.
"Thanks for letting me see this," Zack said.
"Thanks for… being here," Kieran replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Why does it feel like he means more than just sitting on this couch with him?
And why does part of me want him to?
The moment stretched between them, the sound of rain softening into the background.
Zack could feel the weight of Kieran's gaze on him, and for a brief, terrifying second, he thought Kieran might lean closer.
But then Kieran closed the box, breaking the spell.
"Sorry," Kieran said with a small laugh. "Didn't mean to get all sentimental on you."
"I don't mind," Zack said quickly, his voice earnest.
Kieran smiled, and for the first time that day, it reached his eyes.
"Good," Kieran said. "Because there's a lot more where that came from."
Zack chuckled, leaning back against the couch. "I'll hold you to that."
I don't know what's happening between us, but for the first time, I'm not sure I want to stop it.
They spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing, the box of memories sitting between them.
For Zack, the line between fake and real had never felt blurrier.
And for Kieran, it had never felt more right.