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Chapter Text

There's something about returning to work after a long break that makes you notice things you might have overlooked before—like the way Alex Horne won't quite meet my eyes.

"Right, so we've got tents arranged by contestants, plus yours and mine at the far end of the clearing," he says, clipboard clutched to his chest like a shield as we survey the woodland filming location. His voice has that clipped, professional tone I haven't heard directed at me in years.

The production team bustles around us, setting up equipment while the contestants explore their temporary home with varying degrees of enthusiasm. This special camping edition of Taskmaster was my idea—Six weeks in the wilderness, tasks designed around survival skills and outdoor challenges. I thought it would be fun.

What I didn't anticipate was Alex treating me like a stranger.

"Everything okay?" I ask, stepping closer to him. "You seem a bit... tense."

He takes a half-step back, "Fine. Absolutely fine. Just, you know, rather a lot to organize. Twenty-three items on today's checklist are still uncompleted, including making sure none of the contestants accidentally poison themselves with wild mushrooms or set fire to protected woodland."

I frown. "We've handled bigger logistical nightmares than this."

"Yes, well." He shuffles some papers unnecessarily. "That was before you disappeared to New Zealand for three months without so much as a text message."

Ah. So that's it.

"I sent postcards," I offered weakly.

"Yes. Very informative. 'Weather's lovely, wish you were here.' Practically Shakespearean in emotional depth." The corner of his mouth twitches downward. "Anyway, I should check on the task materials. The water challenge starts in forty minutes."

Before I can respond, he's striding away, clipboard still held tight against his chest. I watch him go, that familiar ache intensifying beneath my ribs. Three months lying on beaches, hiking through forests, and trying to forget the way my stomach flips when Alex laughs—and here I am, right back where I started.

Loving someone who clearly wants nothing to do with me.

I sigh and turn to help one of the production assistants with a crate of props. Maybe I should have called him during my break. Or sent more meaningful messages. But what would I have said? "Hey Alex, just wanted to let you know I've been trying to get over my completely inappropriate feelings for you by fleeing the country, but it's not working"?

The afternoon passes in a blur of activity. I watch from a distance as Alex efficiently orchestrates the first challenge, something involving buckets, a small inflatable pool, and what appears to be a collection of rubber ducks. He's in his element when directing others, his lanky frame moving with purpose, hands gesturing precisely as he explains the rules. The contestants laugh at his deadpan delivery, and I feel that familiar warmth spread through my chest.

It's only when he glances over and catches me watching that his demeanor changes. His shoulders tense, his smile falters, and he quickly looks away.

By evening, the first day of filming has wrapped. The crew and contestants gather around a massive bonfire, sharing drinks and stories. I hover at the edge of the circle, nursing a hard cider, watching Alex methodically check items off his list by the light of a headlamp.

"Fuck it," I mutter, gathering my courage. I cross the clearing to where he's sitting alone on a log.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask.

He looks up, startled. "I—yes. I mean, no. I don't mind."

I sit beside him, leaving enough space that it doesn't feel invasive. He returns to his list, pen moving with careful precision.

"I missed you," I say simply.

His pen pauses. "Did you?"

"Of course I did."

Alex sets his clipboard down with deliberate care. "You have an interesting way of showing it."

"I needed some time away," I admit. "To clear my head. Rest up a bit."

"And did you? Clear your head?"

I stare into the darkness beyond the fire's glow. "Not really."

The silence between us stretches, filled with the crackling of the bonfire and distant laughter from the others. I can feel the weight of unspoken words pressing down on us both.

"I thought perhaps you were avoiding me," Alex finally says, his voice so quiet I almost miss it.

"Why would I avoid you?"

He adjusts his sleeves, a nervous habit I've always found endearing. "I don't know. Perhaps because of what happened at the wrap party. Before you left."

My heart stutters. The wrap party. The one where we'd both had too much to drink, where we'd ended up sitting too close on a balcony overlooking the city, where I'd almost—almost—told him everything.

"I didn't leave because of that," I say, though it's not entirely true.

"No?" There's something vulnerable in his expression now, a crack in the professional veneer he's been maintaining all day.

"Well, not entirely," I amend. "I just needed to sort some things out."

"And have you? Sorted things out?"

I look at him—really look at him—for the first time since I've been back. The familiar lines of his face, the way his brow furrows slightly when he's concerned, the precise way he holds himself even when sitting on a log in the middle of the woods.

"No," I admit. "I'm still working on it."

Alex shifts on the log, putting another inch of distance between us. His fingers tap nervously against the clipboard.

"Well, I hope your... sorting... goes well," he says, voice strained. "We should probably get some rest. Early start tomorrow."

"Alex," I say, reaching out before I can stop myself. My fingers brush his sleeve, and he freezes. "What's really going on? We've been friends for years. I know when something's bothering you."

He stares at my hand on his arm for a long moment before gently extracting himself.

"Nothing's 'going on,'" he says, making air quotes with his long fingers. "I'm simply trying to maintain a professional atmosphere during what is already a logistically complex shoot. Twenty-seven contestants in the wilderness with limited facilities and potentially dangerous implements requires a certain level of focus that I'm attempting to maintain."

"There are five contestants, Alex."

"Yes, well, they're particularly troublesome ones."

Despite everything, I laugh. A small smile flickers across his face before disappearing again.

"You didn't call," he says suddenly, voice so low I almost miss it beneath the crackle of the fire. "Not once in three months."

The hurt in his voice makes my chest ache. "I thought... I didn't think you'd want me to."

"Why wouldn't I want you to call?" His eyes finally meet mine, reflecting the dancing flames. "We speak nearly every day when we're working. Did you think I only tolerate your company when contractually obligated?"

"No, of course not," I say quickly. "I just... I should have called," I admit. "I'm sorry."

He nods once, sharply. "Apology accepted. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finalize tomorrow's schedule."

Before I can respond, he stands and walks away, his tall frame disappearing into the darkness beyond the fire's glow. I watch him go, feeling the distance between us like a physical ache.

Greg drops down beside me, offering a flask. "Trouble in paradise?"

I accept the flask without looking at him. "There is no paradise. Just a very complicated friendship."

"If you say so." He nudges my shoulder. "For what it's worth, he spent half of your vacation talking about you. "When Y/n comes back' this' and “Y/n would find this funny' that."

My heart does a complicated little dance in my chest. "Really?"

"Really. Though he stopped the minute we heard you were coming back. Got all formal and weird. More than usual, I mean."

I take a long swig from the flask, welcoming the burn. "Thanks for telling me."

"No problem. Just don't let him slip away, yeah? Some of us have money riding on you two."

Greg wanders off before I can process this information. The crew has betting pools about us? Am I really that transparent?

I stare into the fire, thinking about Alex and his clipboard and his walls and his hurt feelings. Three months of trying to forget him, and all I've accomplished is making things worse.

In the distance, I can see the outline of our tents—his and mine, set slightly apart from the others. For the next three weeks, we'll be living side by side in this forest, working together every day, navigating whatever this tension is between us.

I drain the last of the flask's contents and stand, brushing off my jeans. If Alex wants walls between us, fine. But walls can be climbed. Or knocked down. Or tunneled under.

And I've never been one to back down from a challenge.

TBC

Chapter Text

If Alex wants walls between us, fine. But walls can be climbed. Or knocked down. Or tunneled under.

And I've never been one to back down from a challenge.

Morning arrives with the chirping of birds and the distant sound of a production assistant dropping something heavy. I groan and roll over in my sleeping bag, reaching blindly for my phone. Six-thirty. Too early for someone who spent half the night staring at the canvas ceiling, replaying every awkward interaction with Alex.

I drag myself out of my tent, pulling on a sweatshirt against the morning chill. The campsite is just beginning to stir, a few crew members moving around with steaming mugs of coffee. And there, already fully dressed and examining a map pinned to a tree, is Alex.

"Morning," I called, trying to sound cheerful as I approached.

He glances up, his expression carefully neutral. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," I lied. "If that baby was being slowly eaten by mosquitoes while lying on what felt like every rock in England."

The corner of his mouth twitches. For a second, I think I might get a real smile, but then he's looking back at his map, walls firmly in place.

"We've adjusted the schedule," he says. "The stream challenge is being moved to tomorrow. Today we'll do the foraging task instead. Less chance of hypothermia."

"Thoughtful of you."

"Well, we can't have contestants dying on camera. Think of the paperwork."

There it is—a glimpse of the old Alex, the one who would joke with me over coffee while we planned increasingly ridiculous tasks. But just as quickly, he's gone again, replaced by this formal, distant version.

"Alex—" I start, but I'm interrupted by the arrival of Ed Gamble, one of our contestants for this special.

"Morning, campers," Ed says brightly, looking far too well-rested for someone who spent the night in a tent. "Y/n, you're looking particularly wilderness-chic today."

I glance down at my rumpled sweatshirt and leggings. "If by 'wilderness-chic' you mean 'possibly slept in a hedge,' then thank you."

Ed laughs, stepping closer than strictly necessary. "It works for you. Very... natural."

I feel a flush creeping up my neck at the unmistakable appreciation in his voice. Ed's always been flirty, but there's something more direct about it now.

"Right," Alex says abruptly. "If you'll excuse me, I need to check on the task materials." He strides away without waiting for a response, shoulders rigid.

Ed watches him go with a raised eyebrow. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the sleeping bag."

"He's just... focused," I say, feeling oddly defensive. "There's a lot to organize."

"Mmm." Ed hands me a mug I hadn't noticed he was carrying. "Brought you coffee. Maple Syrup, splash of milk, just how you like it."

I accepted the mug, surprised. "You remembered how I take my coffee?"

"I remember a lot of things about you, Y/n." His smile is warm, genuine in a way that makes my stomach do a little flip. "Like how you always laugh at my jokes, even the terrible ones. Especially the terrible ones."

"That's because I'm professionally obligated to humor the talent," I say, but I'm smiling too.

"Is that what I am? The talent?" He steps closer, voice dropping. "And here I thought I was the guy who's been trying to ask you out for the past year."

I nearly choke on my coffee. "What?"

"Too direct?" Ed grins, unrepentant. "Sorry. Six weeks in the woods with you seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally make my intentions clear. Especially since you're no longer avoiding everyone by hiding in New Zealand."

"I wasn't hiding," I protested weakly.

"Of course not. Just happened to take an extended holiday right after I asked if you wanted to grab dinner sometime."

Had he? I vaguely remember him suggesting we get food after a recording, but I'd been distracted by Alex that day—Alex, who'd been laughing with the makeup artist, his head thrown back, his whole face transformed by joy.

"I didn't realize you were actually asking me out," I admit.

"Well, I'm asking now." Ed's eyes hold mine, humor giving way to something more serious. "When we're done with this woodland adventure, have dinner with me. Proper dinner, at a restaurant with walls and a roof and everything."

Before I can answer, there's a commotion from the main camp area—sounds like one of the contestants has discovered something alarming in their tent. Probably a spider. Or Greg, who has a habit of hiding in unexpected places.

"Saved by the bell," Ed says with a wink. "Think about it, yeah? No pressure." He squeezes my arm gently before heading toward the noise.

I stand there, coffee cooling in my hands, mind reeling. Ed Gamble wants to date me. Ed, who is charming and funny and looks at me like I'm something special. Ed, who isn't putting up walls or treating me like a stranger.

Ed, who isn't Alex.

The morning passes in a blur of filming. The foraging task is predictably chaotic—five comedians let loose in the woods with baskets and a vague list of items to find. I spend most of my time making sure no one eats anything poisonous or wanders off a cliff, while Alex observes from a distance, clipboard in hand.

Every time I try to get a moment alone with him, something interrupts—a contestant needs clarification, a camera needs adjusting, or Ed appears with a wild mushroom and an even wilder theory about its culinary potential.

By the afternoon, I'm frustrated and tired. When Alex announces he's going to check the perimeter of our filming area before lunch, I seize my chance.

"I'll come with you," I say, falling into step beside him before he can object. "Two sets of eyes are better than one."

He gives me a sidelong glance but doesn't protest. We walk in silence for several minutes, the sounds of the camp fading behind us. The forest is beautiful in the late afternoon light, sunbeams filtering through the canopy, casting everything in a golden glow.

"So," I say finally. "Are we going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" His tone is carefully neutral.

"About why you're treating me like I'm a stranger. About why it feels like you've built these walls around yourself that I don't know how to climb."

Alex stops walking, his gaze fixed on some distant point between the trees. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Bullshit," I say, surprising myself with the force of it. "You've barely looked at me since I got back. You're so formal I half expect you to start calling me 'Ms. Y/L/Nt.' This isn't us, Alex."

"Perhaps I'm simply maintaining appropriate professional boundaries."

"Since when have we ever had 'appropriate professional boundaries'? We've spent the last eight years practically living in each other's pockets."

He adjusts his sleeves, his nervous gesture I know well. "Yes, well, perhaps that's the problem."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Alex inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I just mean... three months is a long time, Y/n. Things change. People change."

"I was on vacation, not having a personality transplant," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the hurt building in my chest. "What's really going on?"

He finally looks at me, really looks at me, and there's something raw in his expression that makes my breath catch.

"You left," he says simply. "One day we were working side by side, and the next you were gone. Months with barely a word."

"I told you I needed a break—"

"From what? From the show? From..." he hesitates, "from me?"

The vulnerability in his question catches me off guard. "No, not from you…"

"Then why?" His voice drops lower. "Why did it feel like you were running away?"

I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close we're standing, how alone we are among the trees. The truth hovers on my tongue— because I couldn't bear being near you every day, loving you while you saw me as nothing more than a friend and colleague.

"I needed space to think," I say instead.

Something shifts in his expression, a softening around the eyes, and for a moment I think he might step closer. But then a voice calls through the trees.

"Y/n? Alex? Lunch is ready, and Greg's threatening to eat everyone's portions!"

It's Ed, his cheerful voice breaking the tension between us. Alex steps back immediately, the walls slamming back into place.

"We should head back," he says, professional mask firmly in place. "Can't have the contestants starving."

He turns and walks away before I can respond, leaving me standing alone among the trees, the moment—whatever it was—shattered.

When I reach the campsite, Alex is already deep in conversation with one of the producers, clipboard back in hand. Ed waves me over to where he's sitting with a couple of the other contestants.

"Saved you a sandwich," he says, patting the log beside him. "Had to fight Greg for it. I think I may have promised him my firstborn child."

"Worth it," I say, accepting the slightly squashed sandwich. "I'm starving."

"Find anything interesting on your perimeter check?" Ed asks, his shoulder brushing mine as I sit.

"Just trees. Lots and lots of trees." And whatever that moment with Alex was supposed to be.

"Trees are good. Very... vertical. Sturdy." Ed grins at me. "Speaking of sturdy things in the woods, I was thinking of taking a hike after filming wraps today. Care to join me? I found a pretty amazing view yesterday."

I glance across the clearing. Alex is still deep in conversation, his back to us, but his shoulders look tense.

"Sure," I say, making a sudden decision. "A hike sounds nice."

Ed's smile widens. "Brilliant. It's a date."

"It's a hike," I correct him, but I'm smiling too.

"Hike, date, whatever you want to call it. As long as it involves you, me, and potentially holding hands while navigating treacherous terrain."

I laugh despite myself. Ed has always been charming, but I've never really let myself notice before. It's... nice. Uncomplicated. The opposite of whatever is happening with Alex.

The afternoon's filming goes smoothly, though Alex maintains his professional distance. Every time I catch his eye, he quickly looks away, focusing on his clipboard or the contestants. By the time we wrap for the day, I'm emotionally exhausted.

"Ready for that hike?" Ed appears at my side as I'm packing up equipment.

"Let me change first," I say. "Meet you by the fire pit in ten?"

My tent feels like a sanctuary after the tension of the day. I change quickly into jeans and a warmer sweater, running a brush through my hair and adding a touch of tinted lip balm before I can question why I'm bothering.

When I emerge, I spot Alex standing near the edge of the clearing, watching as Ed waits by the fire pit. There's something in his posture—a rigidity, a stillness—that makes me pause.

For a moment, I considered going to him instead. Trying again to break through those walls. But then he turns away, disappearing into his tent without a backward glance.

Fine. If he wants distance, I'll give him distance.

Ed's face lights up when he sees me approaching. "There you are. Ready for adventure?"

"Lead the way," I say, forcing brightness into my tone.

The forest is beautiful in the early evening light, golden rays filtering through the leaves. Ed keeps the conversation flowing easily as we walk, telling stories about his recent tour and asking questions about New Zealand. His hand occasionally brushes mine, and I find I don't mind the contact.

"Here we are," he says finally, as we emerge onto a rocky outcropping overlooking a valley. The view is stunning—rolling hills stretching to the horizon, painted in the warm hues of sunset.

"Wow," I breathe. "This is gorgeous."

"Told you." Ed looks pleased. "Worth the climb, right?"

We sit on a relatively flat rock, shoulders touching as we take in the view. The silence between us is comfortable, easy in a way things haven't been with Alex since I returned.

"So," Ed says after a while. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I turned to him, surprised. "Talk about what?"

"The Alex-shaped elephant in the room." His tone is gentle, not accusatory. "The reason you've been looking like someone kicked your puppy all day."

I feel my cheeks flush. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who's been watching you." He smiles ruefully. "Which I have been. Quite a lot, actually."

"I'm sorry," I say, not entirely sure what I'm apologizing for.

Ed shakes his head. "Don't be. I knew what I was getting into. You and Alex... there's history there. Complicated history, from the looks of it."

"It's not... we're not..." I struggle to find the words. "We've never been together, if that's what you're thinking."

"But you want to be," he says simply.

I look away, back to the sunset. "It doesn't matter what I want. He's made it pretty clear where we stand."

"Has he?" Ed sounds genuinely curious. "Because from where I'm sitting, he looks like a man who's terrified of losing something important."

"Then why push me away? Why go out of his way to avoid me after not seeing me for so long?"

Ed's shoulder bumps mine gently. "Maybe for the same reason you ran off to New Zealand? Fear is a powerful motivator for doing stupid things."

I laugh softly. "When did you get so insightful?"

"I contain multitudes," he says with a grin. "I'm not just a pretty face and excellent comic timing, you know."

We sit in silence for a moment, watching as the sun dips lower on the horizon.

"So where does that leave things?" I finally ask.

Ed turns to face me, his expression serious but kind. "That depends on you.. Look, I really like you, Y/n. A lot. But I'm not interested in being someone's second choice or consolation prize."

"You wouldn't be—"

"Let me finish," he says gently. "That being said, I won't stop myself from shamelessly flirting with you in front of Alex.. Might get the fire going for him."

The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. "That's... very helpful of you."

"Well, I am pretty amazing," he says with a dramatic sigh. "It's a burden I bear."

I laugh, grateful for the break in tension. "And so humble, too."

"Humility is my middle name. Edward Humility Gamble."

"I thought it was Stephenson."

"That too. I have many middle names. All virtues. Edward Humility Stephenson Patience Kindness Gamble."

I'm still laughing when he reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle.

"For what it's worth," he says, "if I were Alex, I wouldn't be building walls. I'd be tearing them down."

His words hang between us, heavy with meaning. For a moment, I think he might kiss me, and part of me wants him to—wants the simplicity of it, the clarity.

But instead, he stands and offers me his hand. "We should head back before it gets dark. I promised the production team I wouldn't get you eaten by wolves."

"Are there wolves in these woods?" I ask, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet.

"Probably not. But I'd rather not test the theory with you."

The walk back is quieter, both of us lost in our own thoughts. As we approach the campsite, I can see the glow of the bonfire and hear laughter. Ed squeezes my hand once before letting go.

"Think about what I said," he tells me. "And know that whatever you decide, we're good."

I watch him join the others by the fire, immediately falling into easy conversation. Then I turn toward the tents, needing a moment alone to process everything.

But as I approach my tent, I see a tall figure pacing nearby—Alex, his silhouette unmistakable in the gathering darkness.

He stops when he sees me. "You're back."

"Evidently," I say, suddenly wary.

"I was..." he hesitates, "concerned. It's getting dark. These woods can be dangerous at night."

"I had Ed with me. I was perfectly safe."

Something flickers across his face at the mention of Ed's name. "Yes, well. Good."

We stand in awkward silence, the sounds of the campfire party a distant backdrop.

"Did you need something?" I finally ask.

Alex shifts his weight, hands fidgeting at his sides. "I wanted to apologize. For earlier. And for... how I've been since you got back."

"Okay," I say cautiously.

"I haven't been fair to you," he continues, words coming faster now. "It's just... when you left, it was... difficult."

"For you?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice.

"Yes, for me," he says, a hint of frustration breaking through. "Contrary to popular belief, I do have feelings, Y/n. And when my best friend suddenly disappears for three months with barely a word, those feelings tend to be hurt ones."

The rawness in his voice makes my chest ache. "I'm sorry. I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't," he cuts me off. "You didn't think that maybe I'd miss you. That maybe our daily conversations were the highlight of my day. That maybe I'd be left wondering what I did wrong to make you want to get as far away from me as geographically possible."

I stare at him, stunned by the outburst. "Alex..."

"And then you come back," he continues, running a hand through his hair, "and I don't know how to act or what to say because everything feels different, and I'm terrified of saying the wrong thing and watching you disappear again. So yes, I've been off. And I’m sorry for that.”

The silence between us stretches taut as a wire. My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it. For once, Alex isn't hiding behind his clipboard or his professional demeanor. He's just... Alex. Raw and honest and hurting.

"I didn't leave because of you," I say softly. "I left because of me."

"What does that even mean?" His voice cracks with frustration.

I take a deep breath. This is it—the moment to tell him everything. To lay my heart bare and risk destroying our friendship forever.

But before I can find the words, a voice calls from the campfire.

"Y/n! Alex! Come join us! Greg's telling the story about the time he got stuck in that revolving door with the Queen's corgi!"

Alex steps back, the vulnerability in his expression vanishing like smoke. "We should join the others."

"Alex, wait—"

"It's fine," he says, not meeting my eyes. "We can talk another time."

He walks away, shoulders stiff, and I watch him go with a sinking feeling in my stomach. The moment—our moment—is gone again.

When I finally join the group, Ed scoots over to make room for me on his log. Alex sits across the fire, his face half in shadow. He watches as Ed casually drapes a blanket over both our shoulders.

"You looked cold," Ed murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

"Thanks," I say, hyper-aware of Alex's gaze on us.

The evening progresses with stories and laughter. Ed keeps his arm loosely around my shoulders, a warm, comforting presence. Every time I glance at Alex, he's looking away, his expression unreadable in the firelight.

"I'm turning in," Alex announces abruptly, standing. "Early start tomorrow. The mud challenge requires quite a bit of setup."

"Mud challenge?" one of the contestants groans. "Why is it always something disgusting?"

"Because watching comedians maintain their dignity doesn't make for compelling television," Alex replies, his professional mask firmly in place. "Goodnight, everyone."

His eyes meet mine briefly before he turns away. There's something in his gaze—something beyond the hurt and frustration from earlier—that makes my breath catch.

"I should turn in too," I say, standing and slipping out from under Ed's blanket. "Goodnight, all."

Ed catches my hand as I pass. "Sweet dreams," he says, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze.

I can feel Alex watching us as I extricate myself and head toward my tent. The weight of his gaze follows me across the clearing.

My tent feels both like a sanctuary and a prison as I change into sleep clothes and crawl into my sleeping bag. Through the canvas walls, I can hear the continued murmur of conversation from the campfire, occasional bursts of laughter punctuating the night.

I lie awake, replaying Alex's words. The highlight of his day. Terrified of saying the wrong thing. What did it all mean? And why couldn't we ever seem to finish a conversation without being interrupted?

Sleep eludes me for hours. When I finally drift off, my dreams are a confused jumble of Alex's hurt expression and Ed's warm smile.

Chapter Text

When I finally drift off, my dreams are a confused jumble of Alex's hurt expression and Ed's warm smile.

I groan and check my phone. Five-thirty— my vacation spoiled me, I think bitterly to myself. The rain sounds steady but not heavy. Perfect for today's mud challenge, I suppose.

I dress quickly and emerge from my tent to find the campsite quiet, most people still sleeping. But there, huddled under a tarp rigging up some complicated pulley system, is Alex.

"Need a hand?" I call, pulling my rain jacket tighter as I approach.

He glances up, surprise flashing across his face. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep," I admit, stepping under the tarp. "What's all this?"

"Part of today's task. The contestants will have to construct a similar pulley system to retrieve objects from the mud pit without stepping in it themselves."

"Sounds messy."

"That's rather the point." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Hand me that rope?"

I pass him the coil of rope, our fingers brushing briefly. The contact sends a small jolt through me that I try desperately to ignore.

We work in companionable silence for a while, the rain creating a soothing backdrop. It feels almost normal—the two of us setting up a task together, anticipating the chaos that will ensue when the contestants attempt it.

"About last night," I finally say, holding a knot steady while he secures it.

Alex's hands pause momentarily before continuing their work. "What about it?"

"You said we could talk another time. It's another time."

He finishes the knot before straightening to face me. "Y/n..."

"No, please," I say quickly. "Let me say this. I didn't leave because of anything you did. I left because I needed to figure some things out. About myself. About..." I hesitate, "...about us."

"Us?" His voice is carefully neutral, but I see the way his hands tighten on the rope.

"Our friendship," I clarify, suddenly losing courage. "It's important to me. You're important to me. And I'm sorry if I hurt you by leaving the way I did."

Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of what might be disappointment before it's gone. "Apology accepted. Again."

The formality in his tone stings. "Why do you keep doing that? One minute you're telling me I'm the highlight of your day, and the next you're acting like we barely know each other."

"I'm not-," he starts to say, turning back to the pulley system. "I'm simply maintaining appropriate—"

"Professional boundaries. Yes, you've mentioned that." I step closer, forcing him to look at me. "But why? What happened while I was gone to make you decide we suddenly need boundaries?"

Alex meets my gaze, and for a moment I see a flash of something unguarded in his eyes. "Nothing happened. I just realized certain things would be... simpler... with clearer delineations between our personal and professional relationships."

"Simpler for who?"

"For everyone involved."

"That's not an answer, Alex."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Why does it matter? You're clearly moving on to... other interests." His eyes flick briefly toward Ed's tent.

I stare at him, realization dawning. "Are you jealous? Of Ed?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he says too quickly. "I simply observed that you two seem to be developing a... connection."

"A connection," I repeat slowly.

"Yes. Which is fine. Good, even. Ed is..." he hesitates, as if the words pain him, "...a good man. Funny. Successful. Clearly interested in you."

"And that bothers you?"

"It doesn't 'bother' me. I'm merely making an observation."

I step closer, heart pounding. "You know what I observe? That you can't even look me in the eye when you say that."

Alex's gaze snaps to mine, defiant. "I'm looking at you now."

"Yes, you are." Our faces are inches apart now. I can see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes, the slight stubble on his jaw. "What do you see, Alex?"

For a breathless moment, something raw and honest crosses his face—a longing so intense it makes my heart stutter. His eyes drop to my lips, and I think, finally, finally...

"Good morning, campers!" Greg's booming voice shatters the moment. "Oh ho, what have we here? A little early morning canoodling under the tarp?"

Alex steps back so quickly he nearly trips over a bucket. "We're setting up the challenge," he says, voice strained.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Greg winks at me. "Don't mind me, just looking for coffee. Carry on with your... 'challenge setup.'"

He ambles away, chuckling to himself. The moment is well and truly broken.

"I should check if the production team needs help with breakfast," Alex says, not meeting my eyes.

"Alex—"

"Later," he says, and this time it sounds like a genuine promise rather than a dismissal. "We'll talk later."

I watch him walk away, my emotions a tangled mess. What just happened? What almost happened? And why does every significant conversation we start seem doomed to interruption?

The campsite gradually comes to life as people emerge from their tents. Ed appears, looking rumpled and adorable, and makes a beeline for me.

"Morning, sunshine," he says, handing me a steaming mug. "Coffee, black as your soul."

I accept it gratefully. "How did you know my soul was black?" I teased.

"Lucky guess." He grins, glancing at the pulley system. "What's all this then? Some new medieval torture device?"

"Today's challenge. You'll be retrieving objects from a mud pit without getting muddy yourself."

"Ah, so definitely a torture device." He sips his own coffee, studying me. "You okay? You look... intense."

"Just tired," I lied. "Didn't sleep well."

"Was it the wolves? I told you they were theoretical."

I laugh despite myself. "No wolves. Just a busy mind."

"Anything I can help with?" His offer is sincere, his eyes kind.

Before I can answer, Alex's voice calls from across the camp. "Contestants, gather round! Time to explain today's task."

Ed gives me a rueful smile. "Duty calls. Save me a seat at breakfast?"

"Sure," I say, watching as he jogs over to join the other contestants.

The morning passes in controlled chaos. The mud challenge is predictably messy, with contestants getting progressively more covered in mud despite the objective being to stay clean. Alex maintains his professional demeanor throughout, though I catch him watching me a few times when he thinks I'm not looking.

By lunchtime, everyone is muddy, tired, and laughing. The rain has stopped, leaving behind a fresh, earthy smell and patches of blue sky between the clouds.

"That was brilliant," Ed says, dropping down beside me on a log as we eat sandwiches. He's still got mud streaked across his forehead despite attempts to clean up. "Though I think I've got mud in places mud should never be."

"Too much information," I laugh, reaching up to wipe a spot of mud from his cheek.

He catches my hand, holding it against his face for a moment. "I like making you laugh," he says softly. "It's a good sound."

Across the clearing, I see Alex watching us, his expression carefully blank before he turns away.

"Ed," I start, gently extracting my hand. "About what we discussed yesterday..."

"You don't need to say anything," he interrupts kindly. "I meant what I said. No pressure."

"I know, but—"

"Y/n!" One of the production assistants calls. "Phone call for you. It's the network."

I sigh, standing. "Never a moment's peace. Save my sandwich?"

"With my life," Ed promises solemnly.

The call is brief but important—the network wants to add an extra challenge to the final day, something involving local wildlife experts. I make notes, ask questions, and promise to work out the logistics.

When I return to the campsite, Ed is engaged in animated conversation with Greg, gesturing wildly as they both laugh. My half-eaten sandwich sits protected under a napkin. The thoughtfulness of this small gesture makes me smile.

I scan the clearing for Alex and spot him by the equipment tent, deep in conversation with a production assistant. His brow is furrowed in that way it gets when he's concerned about something, and he's gesturing at his clipboard with sharp, precise movements.

"Everything okay with the network?" Ed asks as I reclaim my spot beside him.

"Just some last-minute additions to the final challenge," I say, picking up my sandwich. "Nothing we can't handle."

"We?" Ed raises an eyebrow. "Meaning you and..." His eyes drift meaningfully toward Alex.

"The production team," I clarify, though we both know that's not entirely true. Traditionally, Alex and I work out all challenge logistics together.

"Right." Ed takes a swig from his water bottle. "You know, for someone who's supposedly your best friend and work partner, he's doing a remarkable job of avoiding you."

I follow his gaze to where Alex is now deliberately walking in the opposite direction, though the most direct path to the storage shed would have brought him right past us.

"He's just busy," I say automatically, though the excuse sounds hollow even to my own ears.

"Y/n." Ed's voice is gentle but firm. "I've known you and Alex for years. I've seen you two work together countless times. This isn't 'busy.' This is avoidance."

I sigh, setting down my sandwich as my appetite vanishes. "I know."

"Have you tried, I don't know, locking yourselves in a tent until you sort it out? Because this tension is getting ridiculous. Even Greg's noticed, and he's about as emotionally perceptive as a potato."

Despite everything, I laugh. "I'm not sure forced confinement is the answer."

"It works for romantic comedies," Ed points out. "Though I suppose there's usually a snowstorm involved. Or an elevator malfunction."

"I'll put in a request for the next freak blizzard in June."

Ed's expression softens. "Seriously though. Talk to him. Whatever's going on, it's clearly eating at both of you."

I nod, knowing he's right.

****

"Alex," I call, jogging to catch up with him as he heads toward the equipment tent. "Got a minute?"

He pauses. "I'm rather busy at the moment. The rain has set us behind schedule, and tomorrow's challenge requires—"

"It's about the network call," I interrupt, playing my trump card. Work is the one thing he can't use as an excuse to avoid me.

His shoulders slump slightly. "Fine. What did they want?"

"Let's discuss it in the tent," I suggest, gesturing to the equipment tent.

Alex hesitates, then nods, following me into the large canvas structure. The tent is filled with shelves of props, cameras, and miscellaneous filming equipment. It smells of damp canvas and the faint metallic scent of camera gear.

I close the flap behind us, plunging the space into dim, filtered light.

"So," Alex says, standing stiffly near the entrance. "The network?"

"They want to add a wildlife expert segment to the final challenge," I say, moving deeper into the tent. "Something about local fauna."

"That shouldn't be difficult to arrange. I can make some calls tomorrow."

"Great." I turn to face him, crossing my arms. "Are we ok?"

Alex blinks, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "I don't know what you mean."

I let out a frustrated sigh. It feels like we just go in circles with the little conversation we have, "Yes, you do. You've been weird with me, like I said before." I try not to roll my eyes.

He shifts uncomfortably, glancing toward the tent flap as if planning an escape. "I have not been ‘weird’ with you. I've simply been focused on ensuring this shoot goes smoothly."

I step forward. "We've worked together for years, Alex. I know when you're lying to me."

His jaw tightens. "Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think."

"Or perhaps I know you better than you'd like." I take another step forward. "Something has changed, Alex. You can’t keep denying it."

"Nothing changed," he says too quickly. "Everything's fine."

"Everything is clearly not fine. You can barely look at me. You flinch when I get too close. You find excuses to walk away every time we start to have a real conversation."

Alex runs a hand through his hair, agitation visible in every line of his body. "What do you want from me, Y/n?"

"The truth," I say simply. "I want my friend back."

Something flashes in his eyes—pain, frustration, something deeper I can't quite name. "Your friend," he repeats, the word sounding strangely hollow.

"Yes, my friend. My best friend. The person I've shared every major moment of my career with. The person I..." I stop, swallowing the words I can't say.

Alex is watching me now, really watching me, his blue eyes intense. "The person you what?"

My heart hammers against my ribs. This is it—the moment to be honest, to lay everything bare. But fear grips me, choking the words before they can escape.

"The person I missed," I say instead, the truth but not the whole truth. "Every day I was gone."

His expression softens almost imperceptibly. "You didn't act like it."

"What was I supposed to do? Call you every day? Send you hourly updates? 'Dear Alex, still in New Zealand. Still confused. Still trying to figure out how to be around you without wanting more than what you can give me.'"

The words slip out before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us like a live grenade.

Alex goes very still. "What did you just say?"

Panic floods me. "Nothing. Forget it."

"No." He steps closer, his voice low and intense. "What did you mean by 'more than I can give'?"

I back up until I feel shelving behind me. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." Another step closer. He's close enough now that I can smell his cologne, see the faint stubble on his jaw. "Y/n, what are you saying?"

The air between us feels charged, electric with possibility and danger. My heart is racing so fast I feel lightheaded.

Again, this is the moment I've been waiting for. Yet, I falter. Why does it feel so difficult? I'm a grown woman; I should be capable of expressing my feelings!

"I'm saying that I left because I couldn't handle being around you every day, pretending that what I feel for you is just friendship," I whisper, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm saying that I’m-"

Alex's face goes through a series of expressions—shock, confusion, something that might be hope. He opens his mouth, closes it, then stares at me like I've just started speaking a foreign language.

"You're... what?" His voice is barely audible.

“In love with you," I finally say, voice stronger now that the words are out. "Completely, hopelessly, pathetically in love with you. And I know you don't feel the same way, which is why I needed space to figure out how to—"

"Stop," Alex interrupts, his voice rough. "Just... stop talking for a moment."

He runs both hands through his hair, pacing the small confines of the tent like a caged animal. I watch him, my heart sinking with each second of silence.

"This is exactly what I was afraid of," he mutters, more to himself than to me.

The words hit me like a slap. "Afraid of?"

He stops pacing, his eyes meeting mine. "Afraid that if we kept blurring the lines between personal and professional, one of us would..." He gestures helplessly between us.

"Would what? Develop feelings? Catch feelings like they're some kind of disease?" My voice rises with hurt and anger. "Sorry to inconvenience you with my emotions, Alex."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Then what did you mean?" I demand, stepping away from the shelving. "Because it sounds like you're saying my feelings are something to be bothered by."

"They are," he says quietly, and the honesty in his voice stops me cold. "Because I don't know what to do with them."

We stare at each other across the small space. My heart breaks with each beat. The tent feels even smaller now, the air thick with tension and unspoken words.

"You don't have to do anything with them," I say finally. "They're my feelings. My problem to deal with."

"Are they?" Alex's voice is strained. "Because they're affecting both of us. They're affecting our work, our friendship, our entire dynamic."

"So what are you suggesting? That I quit? Find another job so you don't have to be uncomfortable around me?"

"No!" The word explodes from him with surprising force. "God, no. That's the last thing I want."

"Then what do you want, Alex?" I'm exhausted by the circular nature of this conversation, by the way he keeps deflecting and avoiding. "Just tell me what you want."

He looks at me for a long moment, something vulnerable and desperate in his expression. "I want things to go back to the way they were before."

The words land like a physical blow. "Before I told you how I feel? Or before I developed feelings at all?"

"Before everything got so complicated," he says quietly.

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Well, I'm afraid I can't help you there. I can't just erase what I feel. I can't forget what I know about myself."

"What you know about yourself?"

"That I'm in love with someone who finds my feelings 'complicated' and 'something to be bothered by,'" I say, moving toward the tent flap. "Message received, loud and clear."

"Y/n, wait—"

But I'm already pushing through the flap, desperate to escape the suffocating confines of the tent and Alex's rejection. The afternoon air feels cool against my flushed cheeks as I stride across the campsite, not caring who might be watching.

"Hey," Ed's voice stops me as I pass the fire pit. "You look like you could use a drink."

He's sitting alone, whittling a piece of wood with a small knife. His expression is kind, concerned, and completely uncomplicated.

"It's three in the afternoon," I point out.

"It's five o'clock somewhere," he says with a gentle smile. "Besides, I was thinking more along the lines of tea. Or hot chocolate. Something warm and comforting."

The kindness in his voice nearly undoes me. "That sounds nice."

He sets down his whittling and stands, dusting off his hands. "Come on then. I saw some hot chocolate packets in the supply tent."

As we walk toward the supply tent, I glance back to see Alex emerging from the equipment tent. He's standing very still, watching us go, his expression unreadable from this distance.

"Want to talk about it?" Ed asks as he rummages through boxes of supplies.

"Not really," I admit. "But thank you for asking."

"Fair enough." He holds up two packets of hot chocolate triumphantly. "Found them. Fancy a walk while we drink these? There's a nice spot by that stream."

I nod, grateful for his easy presence. As we prepare the drinks with hot water from the thermos, I'm acutely aware of Alex's continued presence across the campsite. He's moved to his usual spot with his clipboard, but his attention seems divided.

The walk to the stream is quiet, comfortable. Ed doesn't push for conversation, content to let me process whatever I need to process. When we reach the water's edge, he settles on a fallen log and pats the space beside him.

I collapsed down next to him, and that’s when I finally let myself cry. It's a deep, raw, gut-wrenching cry that feels like it might never end. Ed patiently waits without saying a word; a steadfast anchor in my turbulent sea of emotions, grounding me with the steady, reassuring pressure of his hand drawing small, soothing circles on my back.

"Better?" he asks as he hands me my mug as I start to steady my crying.

"Getting there," I say raspily, taking a sip of the overly sweet drink. "Thank you. For this. For not asking questions."

"Everyone needs a friend sometimes," he says simply. "No questions required."

We sit in companionable silence, listening to the gentle babble of the stream. The forest around us is peaceful, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil I've just escaped.

"Can I ask you something?" I say eventually.

"Shoot."

"Yesterday, when you said you'd been trying to ask me out for a year... Did you mean that?"

Ed turns to study my face. "Every word. Why?"

"I just... I need to know that someone finds me worth pursuing. Even if I'm too much of a mess to see it clearly right now."

His expression softens. "Y/n, you're brilliant. You're funny and kind and incredibly talented. Any man would be lucky to have your attention."

"Even when I'm clearly hung up on someone else?"

"Especially then," he says with a rueful smile. "Because it means you love deeply. That's not a flaw, it's a gift."

I feel tears prick at my eyes. "I don't feel like a gift right now. I feel like a complication."

"Someone told you that?"

I don't answer, but my silence is answer enough.

"Well, they're an idiot," Ed says firmly. "And I don't say that lightly about Alex, because I generally think he's quite clever."

I look at him in mock surprise. "You knew we were talking about Alex?"

"It's not exactly a secret, love. The way you two look at each other... or rather, the way you look at each other when you think no one's watching."

"He doesn't look at me in any particular way," I protest.

Ed snorts. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England."

"Your Majesty," I say with a weak smile.

"That's better." He bumps my shoulder with his. "For what it's worth, I think you're both idiots. But particularly him, if he can't see what's right in front of him."

"He sees it," I say quietly. "He just doesn't want it."

"Are you sure about that?"

I think about Alex's expression in the tent, the way he'd stepped closer, the vulnerability in his voice when he talked about being afraid. "No," I admit. "I'm not sure about anything anymore."

"Then maybe it's worth finding out for certain," Ed suggests gently.

"I think I just did. And the answer was pretty clear."

Ed is quiet for a moment, considering. "You know, I've been watching Alex all day. And for someone who supposedly doesn't want your feelings, he's been awfully interested in where you are and who you're with."

"That's just... concern. Friendship."

"Is it?" Ed stands, offering me his hand. "Come on. Let's head back before they send out a search party."

As we walk back to camp, I catch sight of Alex pacing near the equipment tent, his phone pressed to his ear. Even from a distance, his agitation is obvious.

"Looks like someone's having a day," Ed observes.

When we get closer, I can hear fragments of Alex's conversation.

"...yes, I understand the implications... no, that's not acceptable... there has to be another solution..."

He ends the call and immediately dials another number, his movements sharp and frustrated.

"Everything alright?" I ask, approaching despite my earlier resolve to give him space, hoping he doesn’t notice that I’ve been crying.

Alex looks up, his expression harried. "The wildlife expert for tomorrow's challenge has just cancelled. Apparently his mother is ill and he needs to travel to Scotland immediately."

"Can we postpone?" I ask, automatically slipping into work mode.

"The network has already scheduled the announcement. We need to find a replacement by tomorrow morning or we'll have to scrap the entire challenge."

I pull out my own phone. "I know someone who might be able to help. Dr.Sophie at the wildlife sanctuary about an hour north of here. We worked with her on a nature documentary last year."

Alex's face lights up with relief. "Could you call her?"

"Already on it," I say, dialing the number.

For the next hour, we worked together to sort out the logistics—confirming Dr.Sophie's availability, arranging transport, adjusting the challenge parameters to work with her expertise. It's like old times, the two of us problem-solving in perfect sync, finishing each other's sentences and anticipating each other's needs.

"That should do it," Alex says finally, making a note on his clipboard. "Dr. Sophie will arrive at eight tomorrow morning with three different species for the contestants to work with."

"And the safety protocols are updated," I add, closing my notebook. "I think we're sorted."

"Yes," Alex says, then pauses. "Thank you. For the contact, and for... helping sort this out."

"Of course," I say. "It's my job."

Something flickers across his face. "Right. Your job."

The moment stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words. I'm acutely aware that this is the longest we've worked together without tension since I returned from New Zealand.

"Y/n," Alex starts, his voice uncertain.

"There you are!" Greg's voice booms across the campsite. "Dinner's ready, and Ed's been asking where you've gotten to."

I glance toward the fire pit, where Ed is indeed looking in our direction with a questioning expression.

"I should go," I say to Alex. "Early morning tomorrow."

"Yes," he agrees, but he doesn't move away. "Y/n, about earlier—"

"It's fine," I interrupt, suddenly unable to bear another rejection. "Like you said, professional boundaries. Let's just focus on getting through the shoot."

I walk away before he can respond, but I feel his eyes on me as I join the others for dinner.

Ed makes room for me beside him, his arm settling naturally around my shoulders as I sit down. It's a casual gesture, but I'm mindful of Alex watching from across the fire.

"All sorted?" Ed asks quietly.

"For now," I reply, accepting the plate of food he hands me. "Crisis averted, thanks to some creative problem-solving."

"That's what you're good at," Ed says, his voice warm with admiration. "Finding solutions when everyone else is panicking."

I glance across the fire to where Alex sits alone, methodically eating his dinner while reviewing notes by headlamp light. Even surrounded by people, he manages to isolate himself.

"He works too hard," I murmured without thinking.

Ed follows my gaze. "Worried about him?"

"Always," I admit. "It's a hard habit to break."

Ed's arm tightens slightly around my shoulders. "Even when he's being an absolute tosser?"

Despite everything, I laugh. "Especially then."

The evening progresses with the usual mix of stories and gentle ribbing among the contestants. Ed keeps me laughing with increasingly ridiculous theories about tomorrow's wildlife challenge, ranging from "definitely involves wrestling a badger" to "Y/n's secretly arranged for us to meet the Queen's corgis."

"I can neither confirm nor deny the corgi theory," I say solemnly.

"Aha! So it's definitely corgis then," Ed declares triumphantly.

Across the fire, I catch Alex watching us with an unreadable expression. When our eyes meet, he quickly looks away, returning his attention to his notes with unnecessary intensity.

"Right then," Greg announces, stretching dramatically. "I'm off to bed before someone decides we need to practice surviving in the dark or some such nonsense."

"That's actually not a terrible idea for a future challenge," I muse.

"Don't give them ideas!" one of the other contestants groans.

The group gradually disperses, people heading to their tents with various complaints about aching backs and the inadequacy of camping as a lifestyle choice. Soon it's just Ed, Alex, and me remaining by the dying fire.

Alex closes his notebook with a decisive snap. "I should turn in as well. Long day tomorrow."

He stands, then hesitates, looking like he wants to say something. But Ed chooses that moment to shift closer to me, his hand finding mine in the space between us.

"Sleep well, Alex," Ed says pleasantly, his fingers intertwining with mine.

Alex's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Yes. You too. Both of you."

He walks away, his back rigid, leaving Ed and me alone by the fire.

"That was deliberate," I observe quietly.

"Completely," Ed admits without shame. "Sometimes a man needs a little motivation to recognize what he's about to lose."

"And if he doesn't? If this just pushes him further away?"

Ed turns to face me, his expression serious in the firelight. "Then at least you'll know for certain where you stand. And you can stop torturing yourself with what-ifs."

His thumb traces across my knuckles, the touch gentle and warm. "Besides," he adds with a softer smile, "if he's stupid enough to let you slip away, that's his loss and my gain."

"Ed..."

"I know," he says, releasing my hand. "You're not ready. But when you are—if you are—I'll be here."

He presses a quick kiss to my temple before standing. "Goodnight, Y/n. Sweet dreams."

I sit alone by the dying fire, my thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and longing. Through the canvas walls of his tent, I can see Alex's silhouette as he moves around inside, probably organizing tomorrow's schedule with his usual meticulous precision.

What am I doing? I've laid my heart bare to someone who called my feelings "complicated," and now I'm letting another man—a good man—hope for something I'm not sure I can give.

By the time I finally make it to my own tent, the campsite has fallen quiet except for the usual forest sounds and someone's gentle snoring from a nearby tent. I change into my sleep clothes and crawl into my sleeping bag, but sleep feels impossible.

I'm still staring at the canvas ceiling when I hear it—the soft sound of a tent zipper, followed by careful footsteps. Through the thin walls of my tent, I can see a tall figure silhouetted by moonlight, pacing slowly around the perimeter of the camp.

Alex. Of course he can't sleep either.

I lie there for what feels like hours, listening to his restless movements. Part of me wants to go out there, to force another conversation, to demand clarity. But I'm emotionally exhausted, wrung out from the day's revelations and rejections.

Eventually, the footsteps stop. I hear his tent zipper again, and then silence.

****

Morning comes too soon, announced by Dr. Sophie's arrival in a van filled with the most unusual collection of animal carriers I've ever seen. She's exactly as I remember—enthusiastic, knowledgeable, and completely unfazed by the chaos that surrounds a Taskmaster filming.

"Y/n!" she calls, climbing out of the van with a beaming smile. "Lovely to see you again. I've brought some wonderful creatures for your contestants to meet."

"Dr. Sophie, this is Alex Horne," I say, gesturing to where Alex approaches with his clipboard and his professional smile. "Alex, Dr. Sophie runs the wildlife sanctuary I mentioned."

"Pleasure to meet you," Alex says, shaking her hand. "We're incredibly grateful you could help us on such short notice."

"Oh, it's my pleasure. Always happy to help with education and conservation efforts." She turns back to me. "Though I have to ask—how dangerous are these contestants? Should I be worried about anyone trying to eat my animals?"

"Only Greg," I assure her. "And we'll keep him well-fed beforehand."

Alex's mouth quirks in what might be the beginning of a smile before he catches himself. "Right, shall we discuss the logistics? The contestants will need to—"

"Actually," Dr. Sophie interrupts, "I'd prefer to explain the challenge myself, if that's alright. These animals require very specific handling, and I want to ensure everyone understands the safety protocols."

"Of course," Alex agrees, making a note. "Whatever you think is best."

The morning passes in a blur of preparation. Dr. Sophie sets up her portable enclosures while explaining the care requirements for each animal—a barn owl, a fox kit being rehabilitated, and a particularly dignified hedgehog named Sir Reginald.

"The challenge," she explains to the gathered contestants, "is to create an enrichment activity for each animal using only the materials provided. You'll be judged on creativity, appropriateness for the species, and how much the animals actually engage with your creation."

"What if they don't like what we make?" one contestant asks nervously.

"Then you fail spectacularly," I say cheerfully. "But don't worry—we'll get it all on camera."

The task itself is delightful chaos. Watching comedians attempt to understand animal psychology while crafting toys from cardboard and string and other odds ‘n ends provides exactly the kind of absurd entertainment Taskmaster is known for. Ed creates an elaborate maze for Sir Reginald, complete with multiple dead ends and what he calls "motivational hedgehog signage."

I find myself laughing genuinely for the first time since returning from New Zealand, caught up in the joy of watching creative people solve ridiculous problems. Even Alex seems more relaxed, his professional demeanor softening as he watches the contestants' increasingly desperate attempts to please their animal judges.

"That's rather brilliant, actually," he murmurs as we watch one contestant construct what appears to be a fox-sized obstacle course.

"She's always been creative," I reply, then realize we're standing close together, united in our appreciation of the unfolding chaos.

Alex glances at me, and for a moment the walls between us seem thinner. "You were right to suggest Dr. Sophie. This is working perfectly."

"We make a good team," I say quietly.

Something shifts in his expression. "Yes," he says, his voice softer than it's been in days. "We do."

The moment stretches between us, fragile and full of possibility. Then Ed calls out from across the clearing.

"Y/n! Come settle a debate—is Sir Reginald judging my maze or planning his escape?"

The spell breaks. Alex steps back, professional distance reasserting itself.

"You should go," he says. "They need their producer."

But as I walk away, I catch him watching me with an expression I can't quite decipher—something between longing and resignation that makes my heart ache.

The afternoon wraps smoothly, with Dr. Sophie declaring the challenge a success and the animals apparently none the worse for their television debut. As she packs up her carriers, I help load them into her van.

"Lovely working with you again," she says warmly. "That young man of yours seems very dedicated."

"My young man?"

"Alex, of course. The way he watches you work—very attentive. Clearly thinks the world of you."

I glance over to where Alex is indeed watching us, though he quickly looks away when he realizes he's been spotted.

"We're just colleagues," I say automatically.

Dr. Sophie gives me a look that suggests she's not buying it for a second. "If you say so, dear. But in my experience, colleagues don't usually look at each other like that."

"Like what?"

"Like they're trying to memorize every detail in case they never get the chance again."

Her words stay with me as we wave goodbye and return to breaking down the day's setup. Is that what I've been seeing in Alex's glances? Not discomfort or annoyance, but something closer to longing?

The evening settles into familiar patterns—dinner around the fire, stories and laughter, the gradual migration toward tents as people prepare for another night on the hard ground. But tonight feels different somehow, charged with an undercurrent of tension I can't quite place.

Ed sits beside me as usual, his presence warm and comfortable, but I find myself aware of Alex's position across the fire. Every time I laugh at Ed's jokes, Alex's shoulders tense slightly. When Ed's hand brushes mine reaching for his drink, Alex's grip tightens on his mug.

"Everything alright?" Ed murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath tickles my ear.

"Just tired," I reply, but my attention is fixed on Alex, who's now staring into the fire with an intensity that suggests he's trying to set it ablaze through willpower alone.

"Perhaps we should call it a night," Ed suggests, his voice carrying clearly across the fire. "Big day tomorrow— last challenge before our mini break in filming."

"The break already?" I realize with surprise.

"Time flies when you're having fun," Ed says, standing and offering me his hand. "Walk you to your tent?"

I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. "Such a gentleman."

"I have my moments."

As we walk across the clearing, I'm acutely aware of Alex watching us. When we reach my tent, Ed doesn't immediately let go of my hand.

He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. The gesture is sweet, romantic, and completely visible to anyone who might be watching from across the campsite.

"Goodnight," he murmurs, releasing my hand.

"Goodnight, Ed."

I slip inside my tent, heart racing from the tender gesture. Through the canvas, I can make out Ed's silhouette as he walks away, his confident stride carrying him back toward the fire. Part of me wonders if this is fair—letting him show affection when my heart is so tangled up in someone else.

Sighing, I change into my pajamas and crawl into my sleeping bag. Sleep feels impossible with my mind replaying the day's events on an endless loop. Dr. Sophie's words echo in my head: "Like they're trying to memorize every detail in case they never get the chance again."

Could she be right? Is that what I've been seeing in Alex's glances?

A soft rustling outside my tent startles me from my thoughts. Footsteps approach, hesitate, then continue past. I hold my breath, listening as they circle back, pause again outside my tent, then finally retreat.

The dance continues.

Chapter Text

Morning arrives with a gentle drizzle pattering against my tent. I groan, as my mind is already racing with the day ahead. Today's challenge is the last before our scheduled three-day break, when most of the crew will head back to London for a brief respite from woodland living.

Three days away from this campsite. Three days away from Alex.

Maybe that's exactly what we both need—space to breathe, to think clearly without the constant pressure of proximity.

I dress quickly and emerge to find the campsite quiet except for a few early risers huddled under tarps with steaming mugs. Alex isn't among them, but his tent flap is open, sleeping bag neatly rolled. Always the early bird.

I grab coffee from the communal pot and scan the clearing, finally spotting him at the edge of the woods, phone pressed to his ear as he paces. Even from a distance, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand gestures sharply as he speaks.

Something's wrong.

I hesitate, torn between giving him space and the instinct to help that's become second nature after years of working together. Before I can decide, he ends the call and stands motionless, staring into the trees with a defeated slump to his posture that makes my heart ache.

"Fuck it," I mutter, setting down my mug and crossing the clearing.

"Everything okay?" I ask, approaching cautiously.

Alex startles, turning to face me with an expression that cycles rapidly from surprise to something like relief before settling into careful neutrality.

"Network issues," he says, tucking his phone into his pocket. "The usual last-minute changes and impossible demands."

"Anything I can help with?"

He hesitates, and I see the internal debate play across his face—maintain distance or accept help.

"Actually, yes," he says finally. "They want to add a night challenge for tomorrow evening."

"But tomorrow's our break day," I point out. "Half the crew is planning to head back to London."

"Exactly." His frustration is palpable. "I've told them it's logistically impossible, but they're insisting. Something about social media engagement being highest in the evenings."

I step closer, automatically slipping into problem-solving mode. "What kind of challenge are they thinking?"

"Something with glow-in-the-dark elements. They're calling it the 'Midnight Taskmaster Special.'"

Despite everything, I laugh. "That's actually not a terrible idea."

"It is when we have no supplies, half a crew, and less than thirty-six hours to prepare."

"We've managed with less," I remind him. "Remember the Christmas special when the snow machine broke and we had to improvise with shredded paper and industrial fans?"

A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. "We did make it snow indoors in under three hours."

"Exactly. We can handle this." I pull out my phone. "Let me call some contacts, see what we can pull together on short notice."

For the next hour, we work side by side, making calls, adjusting schedules, and figuring out how to create a night challenge with minimal resources. It feels almost normal—the easy rhythm of our collaboration, the shorthand we've developed over years of working together.

"I think that might actually work," Alex says finally, reviewing our hastily assembled plan. "Though we'll need to convince at least four crew members to stay."

"Leave that to me," I say confidently. "I've got dirt on most of them."

His eyebrows rise. "Blackmail, Ms. Y/l/n? I'm shocked."

"I prefer to call it 'leveraging personal information for professional gain,'" I reply primly.

He laughs then—a genuine laugh that transforms his face and sends a warm flutter through my chest. God, I've missed that sound.

Our eyes meet, and for a moment everything else falls away—the campsite, the impending challenge, the tension of the past days. It's just us, Alex and Y/n, the way we've always been.

"I've missed this," he says softly, echoing my thoughts.

My heart stutters. "Me too."

The moment stretches between us, fragile and full of possibility. Then a shout from the campsite breaks the spell—the contestants are emerging, demanding breakfast and information about the day's challenge.

Alex steps back, clearing his throat. "We should join the others."

"Right," I agree, though neither of us moves immediately.

"Y/n..." he starts, then stops, seeming to struggle with words. "Thank you. For helping with this."

"Of course. It's what we do."

His expression shifts subtly. "Is it?"

Before I can ask what he means, he's walking back toward camp, clipboard in hand, professional mask firmly in place. I watch him go, that familiar ache returning to my chest.

One step forward, two steps back.

The day's challenge unfolds with surprising smoothness. Despite the early tension, Alex and I work together seamlessly, directing contestants through an elaborate obstacle course involving blindfolds, rubber ducks, and what Greg describes as "an unholy amount of shaving cream."

By late afternoon, we're wrapping up filming. I'm collecting scorecards when Ed bounds over, his face flushed with excitement.

"Y/n! I did it!" he exclaims, practically vibrating with energy.

"Did what?" I laugh, caught off guard by his enthusiasm.

"Won the episode! Greg just tallied the scores—I'm actually winning something on this show for once!"

Before I can respond, Ed's hands cup my face and his lips are on mine. The kiss is spontaneous, joyful, and surprisingly tender. For a heartbeat, I'm too shocked to react. Then, without conscious decision, I find myself kissing him back, my clipboard forgotten at my feet.

The world narrows to the warmth of his lips, the gentle pressure of his hands on my face, the surprising rightness of it. I'm vaguely aware of whoops and cheers from the contestants, someone's wolf whistle cutting through the air.

When we finally break apart, Ed's eyes are wide with surprise at his own actions, though his smile remains unrepentant. My cheeks burn as I become acutely aware that everyone is watching us—including Alex, who stands frozen by the equipment tent, his clipboard gripped so tightly his knuckles have gone white.

Our eyes lock across the clearing. His expression is unreadable for a moment before he turns abruptly and walks away, disappearing into the woods without a word.

"I, um..." I stammer, still dazed from the kiss.

"Sorry," Ed whispers, though he doesn't look particularly sorry. "Got carried away."

Greg's voice booms across the clearing. "Well, well! Seems Ed's found a prize better than points! Though I'm not sure that's regulation behavior, Y/n—fraternizing with the contestants?"

The crew laughs, but I barely hear them. My eyes are fixed on the spot where Alex vanished into the trees.

"I should..." I gesture vaguely toward the woods.

Ed's smile fades slightly as he follows my gaze. "Right. Of course."

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. Alex returns eventually, his professional mask firmly in place, clipboard clutched to his chest like armor. He speaks to everyone except me, his movements stiff and deliberate as he directs the crew in breaking down equipment.

By mid-afternoon, the campfire is lit and everyone gathers for a break, excitement building about tomorrow's break. I sit beside Ed, with Alex across the fire, determinedly engaged in conversation with one of the sound technicians.

"Want to take a walk?" Ed asks quietly as the crew winds down.

I nod, grateful for the escape. As we stand to leave, I feel Alex's eyes on us but don't dare look back.

The forest is peaceful in the dropping sunlight, the sounds of the camp fading as we follow a well-worn path toward the stream. When we reach the fallen log that's become our unofficial spot, Ed gestures for me to sit.

"So," he says, settling beside me. "That wasn't exactly how I planned our first kiss."

Despite everything, I laugh. "You had a plan?"

"Of course. Moonlight, romantic music, perhaps a dramatic declaration of my feelings." He shrugs, smiling ruefully. "Instead, I attacked you in front of the entire crew because I scored well in a task involving rubber ducks."

"It was a nice kiss," I admit, my cheeks warming at the memory.

"Just nice?" He clutches his chest in mock horror. "You wound me deeply."

"Better than nice," I amend, smiling despite myself. "But..."

"But you feel guilty," he finishes for me. "Because of Alex."

I look down at my hands. "Is it that obvious?"

"You’re a good person, Y/n. It’s only natural." His voice is gentle, free of judgment. "You enjoyed kissing me, but you feel terrible because of your still present feelings for Alex."

"I'm a mess," I confess. "I shouldn't have kissed you back. It's not fair to you when I'm so... confused."

Ed takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "Can I tell you something? With complete honesty?"

I nod, bracing myself.

"I knew exactly what I was doing when I kissed you," he says quietly. "I saw an opportunity and I took it. Not just because I've wanted to kiss you for ages—though I have—but because sometimes people need a push to recognize what they really want."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Alex has been watching you like a hawk since we arrived here. And today, when I kissed you, he looked like someone had punched him in the stomach." Ed's eyes hold mine. "That's not the reaction of a man who just wants to be friends."

My heart races at his words. "You kissed me to make Alex jealous?"

"I kissed you because I wanted to," he corrects. "Making Alex jealous was a bonus."

"That's... manipulative," I say, though there's no real heat in my words.

"Strategic," he counters with a wink. "Besides, you did say you enjoyed it."

I blush, remembering the warmth that had spread through me during that kiss. "That's not the point."

"Isn't it?" Ed's voice softens. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I don't want more with you. But I'm also not blind. I see how he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching."

"He made it pretty clear my feelings are a complication he doesn't want to deal with," I say, the hurt resurfacing.

Ed snorts. "And you believed him? The man who just stormed off into the woods because he saw us kissing?"

Put that way, it does seem contradictory. "I don't know what to believe anymore."

"Here's what I believe," Ed says, shifting to face me fully. "I believe you're extraordinary. I believe you deserve someone who isn't afraid to show how they feel about you. And I believe that if Alex can't get his head out of his arse long enough to see what's right in front of him, then he doesn't deserve you."

His sincerity leaves me speechless.

"And if," he continues, his voice dropping lower, "you want to use me to help you forget about him for a while... well, I'm not opposed to being used in that particular way."

My eyes widen. "Ed!"

"What?" He grins, unrepentant. "I'm just saying, I'm available for further kissing experiments. For science."

Despite everything, I laugh. "You're incorrigible."

"Part of my charm." He stands, offering me his hand. "Come on. We should head back before they send out a search party."

As we walk back toward camp, arm in arm, I find myself wondering what it would be like to let myself fall for Ed. To choose the uncomplicated joy he offers instead of the tangled mess of my feelings for Alex.

But as we approach the camp, my eyes automatically seek out Alex's tall figure—and find him watching us, his expression a complex mixture of hurt and resignation that makes my heart twist painfully in my chest.

Ed follows my gaze and sighs softly. "Like I said. Not the reaction of a man who just wants to be friends."

He squeezes my hand once before letting go. "Think about what I said. All of it."

I watch him join the others by the fire, immediately falling into easy conversation with Greg. Then I glance back at Alex, who's now staring intently into the flames, his posture rigid with tension.

I take a deep breath and walk toward him, settling on the log beside him despite the way his shoulders tense at my approach.

"Alex," I say quietly, my voice nearly lost in the crackling of the fire.

He doesn't look at me, just stares into the flames with an intensity that could melt steel. "Congratulations," he says finally, his voice carefully neutral. "Ed seems... pleased with himself."

"It wasn't planned," I say, though I'm not sure why I feel the need to explain.

"No, I imagine it wasn't." His jaw works silently for a moment. "Spontaneous displays of affection rarely are."

The formal tone stings. "Are you angry with me?"

"Angry?" He finally turns to look at me, and there's something raw in his expression that makes my breath catch. "Why would I be angry? You're free to kiss whomever you choose."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Alex adjusts his sleeves, "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Y/n. You've made your position clear, and now you're... exploring other options. It's perfectly reasonable."

"My position?" I stare at him in disbelief. "You're the one who said my feelings were complicated and something to be afraid of."

"I said they were complicated because they are," he shoots back, his composure cracking slightly. "Because I don't know what to do with them. Because I'm terrified of ruining the best friendship I've ever had."

"So instead you'd rather pretend nothing's changed?"

"Yes!" The word explodes from him with surprising force. "Because at least then I still have you in my life, even if it's not... even if it's not everything I want."

The admission hangs between us like a confession. My heart pounds so hard I'm certain he can hear it.

"Everything you want?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. "What exactly is it that you want, Alex?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with possibility. His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think he might finally say it—whatever truth he's been holding back. But then Greg's voice booms across the clearing.

"Alright, you lot! Special announcement!"

Alex's gaze drops, the moment shattered. He stands abruptly. "We should join the others."

Before I can protest, he's walking away, leaving me alone with unanswered questions and a heart that feels too large for my chest.

I follow slowly, settling on a log near Ed, who gives me a questioning look. I shake my head slightly—no progress. His hand finds mine in the gathering darkness, a silent gesture of support.

Greg stands at the center of our circle, firelight dancing across his face. "In celebration of our successful first week and tomorrow's well-deserved break, I've convinced production to provide us with..." He pauses dramatically before producing several bottles from behind his back. "Proper alcohol!"

Cheers erupt from the crew and contestants. Greg begins distributing cups and pouring generous measures of whiskey, rum, and wine.

"To Taskmaster in the wilderness," he toasts when everyone has a drink. "May we all survive with minimal psychological scarring!"

"Hear, hear!" The group laughs, glasses raised.

The atmosphere shifts as the alcohol flows freely. Stories become more outrageous, laughter more frequent. I sip my hard cider, watching Alex across the fire. He nurses a single whiskey, smiling politely at Greg's increasingly ridiculous tales but never fully engaging.

Ed leans close, his breath warm against my ear. "You okay?"

"Just thinking," I murmur.

"Dangerous pastime," he teases, refilling my cup. "Try drinking instead. Much more effective."

I laugh despite myself. "Is that your professional recommendation?"

"Absolutely. Doctor's orders." He clinks his glass against mine. "To temporary escapes."

"To temporary escapes," I echo, taking a larger sip than intended.

The night progresses in a blur of warmth and laughter. Ed keeps me laughing with increasingly outrageous stories from his touring days. Each time I glance across the fire, Alex is watching us, his expression unreadable in the flickering light.

After my second cider, Ed stands suddenly. "Right! I think this celebration needs music."

He disappears into his tent, returning moments later with a small portable speaker. Soon, upbeat music fills the clearing, drawing cheers from the increasingly tipsy crew.

"Dance with me," Ed says, offering his hand with a dramatic flourish.

"I don't dance," I protest weakly.

"Everyone dances," he insists. "Some just do it with more grace than others."

Before I can argue further, he pulls me to my feet and into an impromptu spin that leaves me laughing breathlessly against his chest. Other crew members join in, the space around the fire becoming an unlikely dance floor.

Ed is a surprisingly good dancer, leading me through playful twirls and dips that have me giggling like a teenager. The cider buzzes pleasantly through my system, making it easy to forget complications and just enjoy the moment.

During a particularly enthusiastic spin, I catch sight of Alex watching us, his expression a complex mixture of longing and resignation that makes my heart twist painfully. But then Ed pulls me close again, and I lose sight of him in the swirl of movement.

"Having fun?" Ed asks, his smile warm in the firelight.

"Yes," I admit, surprised to find it's true. "Thank you for this."

"For what?"

"For making me laugh. For being so..." I struggle to find the right word. "Understanding. And less complicated."

Ed's smile softens. "I aim to please. Though I should warn you—I can be very complicated when the situation calls for it."

The suggestive note in his voice sends a flush of heat through me that has nothing to do with the fire or the cider. Before I can respond, the music changes to something slower, more intimate.

"May I?" Ed asks, his hands settling gently on my waist.

I nod, stepping closer as his arms encircle me. We sway together, my head resting against his shoulder, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek. It feels good—safe and warm and uncomplicated.

"He's still watching, you know," Ed murmurs against my hair.

I don't need to ask who he means. "I know."

"Does that bother you?"

I consider the question, surprised by my answer. "No. It should, but it doesn't."

Ed chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. "You're an interesting woman, Y/n Y/l/n."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Absolutely." His hand traces a gentle pattern on my lower back. "I find everything about you fascinating."

I pull back slightly to look at him, searching his face in the firelight. There's no guile there, no hidden agenda—just open appreciation that makes me feel both vulnerable and powerful.

"Why?" I ask softly. "Why me? I’m nothing special.."

"Why not you?" he counters. "You're brilliant, funny, kind. You see the absurdity in everything but never mock it—you celebrate it. And you care so deeply about everyone around you."

His sincerity leaves me speechless.

"Also," he adds with a mischievous grin, "you have fantastic legs."

I laugh, shoving his shoulder playfully. "And you were doing so well with the compliments."

"Just being thorough," he says innocently. "I appreciate all aspects of you—intellectual, emotional, and yes, physical."

The music shifts again to something more upbeat. Around us, the crew's dancing becomes more energetic, more abandoned. Ed spins me again, and I let myself get lost in the simple joy of movement, of connection without expectation.

As the night wears on, people gradually drift back to their tents, exhausted from the day's filming and the unexpected celebration. Soon, only a handful remain around the dying fire, including Ed, Alex, and me.

Alex stands abruptly. "I should turn in. Early start tomorrow, even with the break."

"Sleep well," I say, but he's already walking away, his back rigid with tension.

Ed watches him go, then turns to me with a raised eyebrow. "And then there were two."

"Seems that way," I agree, suddenly aware of how alone we are.

"Walk you to your tent?" he offers, his voice gentle.

I nod, accepting his hand as we navigate the darkened campsite. When we reach my tent, he doesn't immediately let go.

"Thank you for tonight," I say softly. "I needed it more than I realized."

"Happy to be of service." His thumb traces circles on my palm. "Though I should apologize again for earlier. The kiss. It was presumptuous."

"It was unexpected," I correct him. "But not unwelcome."

Something shifts in his expression—surprise giving way to cautious hope. "No?"

"No." I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. "In fact, I wouldn't mind if you did it again."

Ed's eyes widen slightly. "Are you sure? Because I don't want to be—"

"A distraction?" I finished for him. "Maybe that's exactly what I need right now."

He studies my face in the moonlight. "Y/n..."

"I know what I'm doing," I say, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. "I'm not promising anything beyond tonight. But I enjoyed kissing you, and I'd like to do it again. If you want to."

Ed steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "I want to," he says softly. "But I need you to be sure. Because while I'm happy to help you forget about Alex for a while, I don't want either of us to regret this in the morning."

His consideration only makes me want him more. "I'm sure."

For a heartbeat, he hesitates. Then his lips are on mine, gentle at first, then with growing intensity as I respond. Unlike our first kiss, this one is deliberate, unhurried. His hands frame my face with surprising tenderness, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he deepens the kiss.

I lose myself in the sensation, in the warmth of his mouth and the solid presence of his body against mine. It's good—so good—and for precious moments, I don't think about Alex or complications or the tangled mess of my heart.

When we finally break apart, both breathless, Ed rests his forehead against mine. "That was..."

"Yeah," I agree, unable to form more coherent thoughts.

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his expression soft in the moonlight. "I should go. Before I don't want to."

The implication sends a flutter of heat through me. "You could stay."

The offer hangs between us, heavy with possibility. Ed closes his eyes briefly, as if gathering strength.

"Not tonight," he says finally, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "Not like this."

"Because of Alex?" I can't keep the hint of frustration from my voice.

"Because of you," he corrects gently. "Because when—if—we go there, I want it to be because you want me, not because you're trying to forget someone else."

His words hit me with unexpected force. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "That wasn’t fair to you to ask.."

"Hey." He tilts my chin up, making me meet his eyes. "Don't apologize for being honest. I'd rather have truth between us than comfortable lies."

"When did you get so wise?" I ask, managing a small smile.

"I've always been wise," he says with mock seriousness. "It's just usually overshadowed by my devastating good looks and charm."

I laugh, grateful for the break in tension. "And your humility, of course."

"That goes without saying." He steps back, though his hand lingers on mine. "Goodnight, Y/n. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, Ed."

I watch him walk away, conflicting emotions swirling through me. Guilt that I'd used him, however willing he might be. Confusion about my own feelings. And beneath it all, a persistent ache that has everything to do with Alex.

Inside my tent, I change quickly and crawl into my sleeping bag, but sleep feels impossible. My lips still tingle from Ed's kiss, my mind still races with unanswered questions.

What am I doing? Using one good man to forget another? And what had Alex meant when he said "at least then I still have you in my life, even if it's not everything I want"?

The canvas walls of my tent feel suddenly confining, the air too thick to breathe properly. I need space, clarity, a moment alone to sort through the tangle of my thoughts.

Quietly, I slip out of my tent into the cool night air. The campsite is silent now, the fire reduced to glowing embers. I wrap my arms around myself against the chill and walk toward the edge of the clearing, seeking the solitude of the trees.

But as I approach, I realize I'm not alone. A tall figure stands in the shadows, staring out into the darkness—Alex, his silhouette unmistakable in the moonlight.

For a moment, I consider retreating back to my tent. But something pulls me forward, some invisible thread that's always drawn me to him, even when it might be wiser to stay away.

"Alex," I say softly, stopping a few feet away.

He turns, startled. In the moonlight, his face is all sharp angles and shadows. "Y/n. I thought everyone had gone to bed."

"Couldn't sleep," I admit. "Too much on my mind."

"That makes two of us." He turns back to the darkness, his profile stark against the night sky.

We stand in silence for a long moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. I want to ask what he meant earlier, to demand clarity about everything that's happened since I returned. But the words stick in my throat.

"I saw you," he says finally, his voice so quiet I have to strain to hear it. "With Ed. Outside your tent."

My stomach drops. "Alex—"

"You don't owe me an explanation," he interrupts, still not looking at me. "As I said before, you're free to kiss whomever you choose."

"Then why bring it up?" I challenge, frustration building in my chest.

He doesn't answer immediately. When he does, his voice sounds hollow. "I don't know."

The admission hangs in the air between us. I step closer, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides.

"Tell me what you want, Alex," I say softly. "Just be honest with me. Please."

He turns to face me then, moonlight catching in his eyes. For a heartbeat, I think he might finally say it—whatever truth he's been holding back. I see something raw and vulnerable flash across his face.

But then he steps back, walls slamming into place. "What I want doesn't matter. It's clear you've moved on."

"That's not fair," I protest. "You can't keep doing this—pushing me away and then acting hurt when I try to find happiness elsewhere."

"Is that what Ed is? Happiness?" The question sounds genuine, not accusatory.

"I don't know," I admit. "But at least he's honest about what he wants. At least he's not afraid to show it."

Alex flinches as if I've struck him. "I should go. It's late, and we both need rest."

"Of course," I say, disappointment bitter on my tongue. "Run away. Again."

He pauses, halfway turned to leave. "That's not what I'm doing."

"Isn't it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like that."

For a moment, I think he might argue—might finally fight for whatever is between us. But then his shoulders slump, defeat written in every line of his body.

"Goodnight, Y/n," he says quietly, and walks away.

I watch him go, tears of frustration burning behind my eyes. Three months away, and nothing has changed. Alex is still building walls, still running away from whatever he feels. And I'm still letting him break my heart.

Sleep eludes me for hours. When I finally drift off, my dreams are a confused jumble of Alex's pained expression and Ed's gentle hands.

****

Morning comes too soon, announced by birdsong and the distant sound of pots clanging as someone prepares breakfast. My head is pounding slightly from last night's cider and emotional exhaustion.

One more challenge, then three days away from this campsite, away from Alex and the constant ache of his proximity. Maybe distance will provide clarity for both of us.

I emerge from my tent to find the campsite already bustling with activity. Crew members pack equipment while contestants mill around the breakfast area, nursing mugs of coffee and comparing notes on woodland survival techniques.

Ed spots me and waves, his smile warm and uncomplicated. I make my way over, accepting the mug he offers.

"Morning, sunshine," he says cheerfully. "You look like you could use this."

"That obvious, huh?" I take a grateful sip of the strong coffee.

"Let's just say I've seen fresher-looking zombies." His eyes search mine with gentle concern. "Sleep troubles?"

"Something like that."

His hand brushes mine briefly. "Do you want to go for a stroll when we have a minute? Might cheer you up a bit."

Before I can answer, Alex's voice cuts through the morning chatter.

"Everyone gather round, please! Today's challenge begins in thirty minutes."

Ed squeezes my hand. "Later, yeah?"

I nod, watching as he joins the other contestants. Across the clearing, Alex is all business, clipboard in hand as he directs crew members with precise efficiency. His eyes meet mine briefly before skittering away, his expression carefully blank.

The morning passes in organized chaos. Today's challenge involves contestants building shelters from natural materials, with Greg acting as "wilderness survival expert" despite his obvious disdain for nature in all its forms.

"If you can't build something that keeps me dry and relatively free of woodland creatures," he announces, "you automatically lose all points accumulated thus far for the day."

The contestants scatter to gather materials, leaving the crew to set up cameras and prepare for what will inevitably be hours of comedians struggling with branches and leaves.

I find myself working alongside Alex out of necessity, though he maintains a professional distance that feels like a physical barrier between us. We communicate in clipped sentences about camera angles and timing, never straying into personal territory.

By mid-afternoon, the shelters are complete—ranging from surprisingly sturdy lean-tos to what Ed proudly calls his "avant-garde interpretation of shelter as concept rather than reality," which appears to be little more than a pile of sticks with a leaf on top.

"It's minimalist," he explains seriously to Greg, who looks deeply unimpressed.

"It's shit," Greg replies bluntly. "Zero points, and I may actually deduct points from your previous scores for insulting the concept of shelter."

The crew laughs, and even I can't help smiling at Ed's exaggerated look of offense. He catches my eye and winks, his good humor infectious despite the disaster of his shelter.

The final judging wraps up as the sun begins to set. Greg declares a winner—not Ed, unsurprisingly—and announces that our three-day break officially begins.

"Freedom!" one of the sound technicians cheers, already packing up equipment.

"Remember, everyone back here by noon on Thursday," I call out as people begin dispersing. "And those staying for tomorrow's night challenge, we'll meet at seven for setup."

The campsite gradually empties as crew members and contestants head toward the parking area where vans wait to transport them back to civilization. I supervise the equipment breakdown, making notes of what we'll need for tomorrow's hastily arranged night challenge.

"Y/n," Ed's voice draws my attention. He's standing nearby, overnight bag slung over his shoulder. "Got a minute?"

I nod, setting down my clipboard. "Heading out?"

"Yeah, need to grab some clean clothes and check that my flat hasn't been reclaimed by nature in my absence." He shifts his weight, suddenly looking uncharacteristically uncertain. "I was wondering... would you like to get dinner tonight? In a real restaurant with walls and everything?"

The invitation catches me off guard. "Oh, I..."

"Just dinner," he clarifies quickly. "No pressure, no expectations. Just two people enjoying food that wasn't cooked over a campfire."

I hesitate, glancing around the now-quiet campsite. Most people have already left, including Alex, who departed without a word almost immediately after the challenge ended.

"I'd like that," I decided suddenly. "But I need to shower first. Two weeks in the wilderness has not been kind to my personal hygiene."

Ed grins. "Same. Meet at that Italian place near the hotel at eight?"

"Perfect."

He steps closer, his voice dropping slightly. "And Y/n? About last night..."

"It's okay," I say quickly. "We don't have to talk about it."

"Maybe not," he agrees. "But I want you to know I meant what I said. No regrets, no pressure."

His sincerity touches me. "Thank you."

Impulsively, I lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek. His stubble is rough against my lips, his scent a mix of woodsmoke and something distinctly him.

"See you at eight," I say, stepping back.

His smile is warm, genuine. "Looking forward to it."

I watch him walk away, a strange mix of emotions swirling in my chest—anticipation, guilt, confusion. Maybe dinner with Ed is exactly what I need—a few hours away from the campsite, away from thoughts of Alex and what might have been.

The hotel room feels like luxury after two weeks in a tent. I stand under the shower for nearly forty minutes, washing away layers of dirt and tension until my skin is pink and tingling. Clean clothes feel like a revelation, as does the ability to properly style my hair and apply makeup.

By the time I enter the restaurant, I feel almost human again. Ed is already waiting, freshly showered and changed into a button-down shirt that makes him look both more sophisticated and somehow more approachable than his woodland attire.

His face lights up when he sees me. "You clean up nice," he says, standing to greet me.

"You sound surprised," I tease, accepting his quick kiss on the cheek.

"Not surprised. Just appreciative." He pulls out my chair with a flourish. "Two weeks in the woods, and you still managed to look beautiful. Now, in civilization, you're positively radiant."

The compliment warms me. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"I'm counting on it," he says with a wink.

Dinner is delightful—real food, real wine, and conversation that flows easily from work to travel to childhood memories. Ed is charming, attentive, and genuinely interested in everything I have to say. He makes me laugh with stories from his touring days and listens intently when I talk about my time in New Zealand.

"So why did you really go?" he asks as we share a tiramisu. "If you don't mind me asking."

I take a sip of wine, considering my answer. "I needed perspective. Space to think."

"About Alex?"

There's no judgment in his voice, just gentle curiosity. I nod, unable to deny it.

"We've been friends for eight years," I explain. "Worked together almost every day. Somewhere along the line, I... well, you know."

"Fell in love with him," Ed supplies simply.

"Yes." The admission comes easier now, after having said it to Alex himself. "But he never gave any indication he felt the same way. So I just... carried on, pretending everything was normal."

"Until you couldn't anymore," Ed guesses.

"Until I couldn't anymore," I agree. "I thought distance might help me get over it. Clearly, that was a roaring success."

Ed's hand covers mine on the table. "For what it's worth, I think he feels the same way about you."

"You keep saying that," I sigh. "But if he does, why won't he just say it?"

"Fear, probably," Ed says thoughtfully. "The man's built his entire identity around being in control, being the one who makes the rules and knows all the answers. Love doesn't work that way."

"No, it doesn't," I agree softly.

Ed studies me for a moment, his expression gentle. "You know, I meant what I said last night. About being willing to help you forget about him."

Heat rises to my cheeks at the memory of our kiss, the implication in his words. "I remember."

"The offer still stands," he says, his voice dropping slightly. "No strings, no expectations. Just... a temporary distraction."

The invitation hangs between us, tempting in its simplicity. For a moment, I consider it—the uncomplicated pleasure of being with someone who wants me openly, honestly.

"I should probably get back," I say instead, not quite ready to make that decision. "Early start tomorrow with the night challenge setup."

Ed nods, understanding in his eyes as he signals for the check. "Of course."

The walk back to the hotel is quiet, comfortable. When we reach my door, Ed pauses.

"Thank you for dinner," I say softly. "It was exactly what I needed."

"My pleasure." His eyes search mine. "Y/n, whatever you decide—about Alex, about me, about anything—I'm here. As a friend, as more, as whatever you need."

His sincerity touches me deeply. "You're a good man, Ed Gamble."

"I have my moments." He leans in slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away, and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. "Goodnight."

I watch him walk away, conflicting emotions swirling in my chest. Then I slip into my room, alone with my thoughts and the memory of his kindness.

****

Morning comes with blessed silence—no birdsong, no crew members clattering equipment, just the soft hum of the hotel's air conditioning. I stretch luxuriously in the real bed, savoring the absence of rocks digging into my back.

By seven, I'm back at the campsite with the skeleton crew who stayed for the night challenge. We work steadily through the afternoon, rigging lights and setting up the elaborate glow-in-the-dark obstacle course that will form the centerpiece of tonight's task.

"This is actually coming together nicely," says Mitch, one of the camera operators, as we test the black lights. "The network's going to love it."

"Let's hope so," I reply, checking items off my list. "It was a last-minute scramble."

"Speaking of last-minute," Mitch says, glancing toward the path, "look who's decided to join us."

I turn to see Alex approaching, clipboard in hand as always. My heart does its usual complicated dance at the sight of him.

"I thought you'd gone back to London," I say as he reaches us.

"Change of plans," he replies, not quite meeting my eyes. "Thought you might need an extra pair of hands."

The rest of the afternoon passes in careful collaboration. Alex and I work together efficiently, professionally, never straying into personal territory. By evening, everything is ready for tomorrow's filming.

"Nice work, everyone," I call out as the crew packs up for the day. "See you all again tomorrow at seven."

People disperse quickly, eager to enjoy their one night of relative freedom. Soon, only Alex and I remain, standing awkwardly by the equipment tent.

"Dinner?" he asks suddenly. "There's a pub in the village that's supposed to be decent."

The invitation surprises me. "Sure," I agree cautiously. "Just let me grab my jacket."

The pub is cozy, warm with golden light and the scent of good food. We find a quiet corner table, ordering beers and shepherd's pie. For a while, we talk about work—tomorrow's challenge, the remaining filming schedule, network expectations.

"How was your dinner last night?" Alex asks abruptly, the question catching me off guard.

"With Ed? It was nice. Good food, good company."

Alex nods, his expression carefully neutral. "That's... good."

"Is it?" I can't help asking.

He doesn't answer immediately, his fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on his glass. "I don't know," he admits finally. "I want you to be happy. I just..." He trails off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought.

I wait, hoping he'll continue, but he changes the subject, asking about technical details for tomorrow's shoot. The moment—whatever it might have been—passes, and we slip back into safe, professional territory.

By the time we get back to the hotel, the careful distance between us has been restored. We part in the lobby with polite goodnights, and I watch him disappear into the elevator, wondering if we'll ever find our way back to honest conversation.

****

The night challenge unfolds perfectly the next evening. The contestants navigate the glowing obstacle course with varying degrees of success, their neon-painted faces expressions of concentration and bewilderment. Ed, who returned with the others at noon, approaches each task with his usual good-natured enthusiasm.

"This is brilliant," he tells me during a break in filming. "Though I'm fairly certain I'll be finding glow paint in uncomfortable places for weeks."

I laugh, grateful for his ability to lighten any moment. "Occupational hazard of Taskmaster. At least it's not the fish task from series three."

"Small mercies," he agrees with a dramatic shudder.

Across the clearing, Alex watches our interaction with an unreadable expression before turning away to confer with a camera operator.

The night concludes with Greg declaring Ed the winner of the challenge, awarding him an absurd number of points "for embracing the spirit of glowing ridiculousness with such enthusiasm."

"I'd like to thank the academy," Ed announces, accepting his points with mock solemnity. "And also whatever chemical compound makes things glow in the dark. Without you, none of this would be possible."

Everyone laughs, the sound echoing through the darkened woods. Ed's face is alight with genuine joy, his smile so infectious that the entire crew is grinning along with him.

And then, as if stuck in a weird déjà vu moment, he closes the distance between us, and kisses me full on the mouth in front of everyone.

Nervous laughter ripples through the crew. Ed's hands are still framing my face, his eyes wide with his own boldness.

"Sorry," he whispers, though his smile suggests he's not entirely repentant. "Got carried away- again."

Before I can respond, Alex turns abruptly and walks away, disappearing into the darkness beyond the glow of our lights. The sight of his retreating back sends a pang through my chest.

I find myself trying to find Alex in the darkness but I can’t see him. I glance back at Ed and he is giving me a smile I can’t quite read.

Ed nods, understanding immediately. "Go. We'll talk later."

But Alex is nowhere to be found. I search the perimeter of the camp, calling his name softly, but receive no answer. Eventually, I return to the clearing, where the crew is packing up equipment for the night.

"Looking for Alex?" Greg asks, appearing beside me with unusual seriousness. "He took one of the production cars back to the hotel. Looked like he needed some space."

The drive back to the hotel is quiet, my mind replaying the kiss and Alex's reaction on an endless loop. When I reach my room, I'm surprised to find Ed waiting in the hallway.

"Hey," he says softly. "Thought we should talk."

I nod, unlocking my door and gesturing for him to enter. The hotel room feels suddenly small with his presence.

"I'm not sorry," Ed says simply. "But I am sorry if it created more complications for you."

I sink onto the edge of the bed, emotionally exhausted. "I didn’t mind it," I say. "But I still feel guilty about that."

Ed sits beside me, careful to maintain a respectful distance. "Y/n, I meant what I said before. I'm here for whatever you need—whether that's a friend, a distraction, or something more."

"A distraction," I repeat, the word hanging between us.

"Sometimes distractions are exactly what we need." His voice is gentle, free of judgment. "If you want to use me to try to forget about Alex for a while... I'm okay with that."

The offer is tempting in its simplicity—the chance to lose myself in someone who wants me openly, honestly, without complication.

"I don't want to hurt you," I say softly.

"You won't." His confidence is reassuring. "I'm a big boy, Y/n. I know what I'm offering and what I'm risking."

He reaches out slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "No pressure. No expectations. Just... whatever you need, whenever you need it."

Our eyes meet, and I see nothing but sincerity in his. For a moment, I consider leaning into him, accepting the comfort he offers so freely.

But the image of Alex's face—that flash of raw hurt before he turned away—holds me back.

"I need time," I say finally. "To figure things out."

Ed nods, standing. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here."

He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead before heading to the door. "For what it's worth," he says, pausing with his hand on the doorknob, "I think he'll come around eventually. But in the meantime, don't forget to live your life."

After he leaves, I stand by the window, staring out at the night sky. Below, in the hotel parking lot, I catch a glimpse of a familiar tall figure pacing beside a car, head bowed as if deep in thought.

Alex, unable to find peace even away from the campsite.

For a moment, I consider going down to him, forcing the conversation we've been dancing around for days. But something holds me back—the memory of all the times he's walked away, all the walls he's built between us.

Maybe Ed is right. Maybe Alex will come around eventually. But how long am I willing to wait?

I turn away from the window, from the sight of Alex's solitary figure in the darkness. Whatever happens tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, I can't keep putting my life on hold for someone who won't even admit what he feels.

It's time to start living for myself.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawns bright and clear, perfect weather for our return to filming. I arrive at the campsite early, determined to focus on work rather than the tangle of my personal life.

Alex is already there, clipboard in hand as he directs the setup for today's challenge. When he sees me, he nods once, professionally, before turning back to his task.

The wall between us has never felt higher.

Throughout the day, we orbit each other carefully, never quite connecting despite working side by side. Ed watches our dance with knowing eyes, maintaining a respectful distance while still finding small ways to show his support—a coffee appearing when I need it most, a reassuring smile across the clearing, a gentle touch to my shoulder as he passes.

I'm emotionally exhausted from maintaining the careful balance between professionalism and the feelings that simmer beneath the surface. As the crew gathers around the campfire, I find myself sitting between Ed and Alex, acutely aware of both their presences.

"Quite a day," Ed comments, passing me a plate of food.

"Thanks," I say, accepting the plate with a grateful smile. The warmth of the fire feels good against the evening chill, but it does nothing to ease the tension radiating from Alex on my other side.

He sits rigidly, eyes fixed on his own plate as he methodically separates his food into neat sections. I've watched him do this countless times over the years—this careful organization that betrays his need for control when everything else feels chaotic.

"You alright?" I ask softly, the question meant only for him.

Alex glances up, surprise flickering across his face before his expression smooths into careful neutrality. "Fine," he says. "Just planning tomorrow's challenge."

"Even during dinner?" I can't keep the exasperation from my voice. "You need to rest sometimes, you know."

"Says the woman who answered emails at three in the morning during the Edinburgh run," he counters, a hint of the old familiarity creeping into his tone.

I feel Ed shift beside me, listening while pretending not to. "That was different," I protest. "That was an emergency."

"The prop department running out of rubber ducks hardly constitutes an emergency, Y/n."

The sound of my name on his lips sends a small shiver through me. It's been days since he's said it with that particular inflection—slightly exasperated, slightly fond.

"It was twenty-seven rubber ducks," I remind him. "Essential to the integrity of the challenge."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Yes, well. Your dedication to waterfowl-based comedy is unmatched."

For a moment, it feels like us again—the easy banter, the shared history. But then Greg's voice booms across the campfire, shattering the fragile connection.

"I propose a game!" he announces, already several drinks into the evening. "Truth or dare, wilderness edition!"

Groans and cheers erupt around the circle. Alex immediately tenses beside me.

"I should check on the equipment," he mutters, starting to rise.

Without thinking, I catch his wrist. "Stay," I say. "It's just a silly game."

He looks down at my hand on his arm, something complicated passing across his face. For a heartbeat, I think he might pull away. Then, slowly, he settles back onto the log.

"Fine," he says. "But I'm choosing truth every time. I have no desire to lick a tree or whatever nonsense Greg has planned."

Ed chuckles on my other side. "Wise man. Last time I played truth or dare with Greg, I ended up naked in a fountain singing the national anthem."

"That explains so much about you," Alex says dryly.

I glance between them, surprised by the almost friendly exchange. Ed catches my eye and winks, as if to say, See? I can play nice .

The game begins innocuously enough—embarrassing stories from childhood, harmless dares involving marshmallow-eating contests. I choose truth when my turn comes, enduring Greg's probing about my most embarrassing on-set moment with minimal blushing.

Then it's Alex's turn, and Greg's eyes gleam with mischief.

"Truth or dare, Alexander?"

"Truth," Alex says predictably, adjusting his sleeve.

Greg leans forward, his voice dropping dramatically. "What is the thing you want most right now, in this very moment, but are too afraid to ask for?"

The question lands like a stone in still water, ripples of tension spreading outward. The campfire crackles in the sudden silence. Beside me, Alex goes completely still.

"That's rather philosophical for a drinking game, Greg," he says finally, his voice carefully even.

"Humor me," Greg insists. "I'm feeling profound tonight."

Alex stares into the fire, his profile sharp against the darkness. I hold my breath, acutely aware that everyone is watching him—watching us.

"Peace," he says finally. "What I want most is peace."

It's both an answer and not an answer. Greg looks disappointed by its ambiguity, but I feel the weight of it, the truth hidden beneath the simple word.

"Boring," Greg declares. "But I'll accept it. Ed! Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Ed says immediately, ever the showman. "Give me your worst."

Greg's grin turns wicked. "I dare you to kiss the person in this circle you find most attractive."

The air shifts, charged with sudden tension. Ed glances at me, a question in his eyes. I feel Alex go rigid beside me, his knuckles white where he grips his knees.

"Well," Ed says, drawing out the moment with theatrical consideration, "that's hardly a challenge."

He stands, and for a heartbeat, I think he's going to kiss me again. But instead, he crosses the circle with exaggerated swagger and plants a loud, smacking kiss on Greg's cheek.

"You're the prettiest princess at the ball, Gregory," he declares.

The circle erupts in laughter and catcalls. Relief and something like disappointment mingle in my chest as Ed returns to his seat beside me.

"Coward," I whisper with a tease, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Strategic," he corrects with a subtle nod toward Alex. "I can read a room."

The game continues, growing increasingly rowdy as more alcohol flows. I find myself relaxing despite everything, laughing at the ridiculous dares and heartfelt confessions. Even Alex seems to unwind slightly, offering genuine chuckles at particularly outrageous moments.

As the night progresses, people gradually drift away to their tents, exhausted from the day's filming and tomorrow's early call. Soon, only a handful remain around the dying fire—me, Alex, Ed, and a sound technician who's fallen asleep against a log.

"I should wake him," Alex says, nodding toward the snoring technician.

"Let him sleep," I reply. "The ground's probably more comfortable than those camp beds anyway."

Ed stretches beside me, his arm brushing mine. "Speaking of sleep, I should turn in. Early start tomorrow."

He stands, his hand squeezing my shoulder briefly. "Goodnight, Y/n." His eyes flick to Alex. "Horne."

"Gamble," Alex replies with a nod that's almost cordial.

We watch Ed walk away, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness beyond the fire's glow. Then it's just us, sitting side by side in the flickering light, closer than we've been in days.

"He's a good man," Alex says suddenly, his voice so low I almost miss it beneath the crackle of the fire.

"Yes," I agree, surprised by the admission. "He is."

Alex nods, still staring into the flames. "He'd be good for you."

The words hit me as if I'd been punched. "Is that what you think?"

"Isn't it obvious?" His voice is carefully neutral. "He makes you laugh. He's not afraid to show how he feels. He's... uncomplicated."

"And you think I need uncomplicated?" I can't keep the edge from my voice.

Alex finally turns to look at me, the firelight catching in his eyes. "I think you deserve someone who doesn't make everything harder than it needs to be."

"Maybe I don't want easy," I say quietly. "Maybe I want real."

Something shifts in his expression—a crack in the careful mask he's been wearing. "Y/n..."

"What did you mean?" I ask suddenly. "When you told Greg that what you wanted most was peace. What did you really mean?"

He looks away, back to the safety of the flames. "Exactly what I said."

"No," I press, tired of the evasion, the half-truths. "Tell me the truth, Alex. For once, just tell me what you're really thinking."

The silence stretches between us, heavy with all the words we've never said. Just when I think he won't answer, he speaks, his voice barely audible.

"I meant that I'm tired of fighting with myself. Of wanting something I can't have without risking everything that matters."

My heart pounds so loudly I'm certain he can hear it. "What is it you think you can't have?"

His eyes meet mine, and for once, there are no walls, no careful distance—just raw, unguarded emotion that steals my breath.

"You," he says simply. "Us. This... whatever this is between us that I've been trying so hard to ignore."

The confession hangs in the air between us, fragile and enormous. I stare at him, unable to form words, my mind racing to catch up with what I'm hearing.

"You..." I start, then stop, swallowing hard. "You've been pushing me away because you want me?"

"I've been pushing you away because I'm terrified," he corrects quietly. "Because I don't know how to be what you deserve. Because I've spent eight years building this friendship, this partnership, and the thought of losing it is unbearable."

"Who says you'd lose it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't be naive, Y/n," he says, though there's no bite to the words. "You know as well as I do how these things can end. The awkward conversations, the careful distance, the professional smiles that don't reach your eyes. I've seen it happen too many times."

"So you decided for both of us that it wasn't worth the risk? Even though you are already doing that now?”

He flinches slightly. "I thought I was protecting what we already had."

"By pushing me away? By making me think you didn't care?"

"I never said I didn't care," he protests. "I care too much. That's the problem."

I shake my head, frustration building. "The problem is that you never asked what I wanted. You just assumed."

"And what do you want?" he asks, so quietly I have to lean closer to hear him.

The question hangs between us, heavy with possibility. I take a deep breath, gathering my courage.

"I want you to stop running away," I say finally. "I want you to be honest with me, and with yourself. I want..." I hesitate, then push forward. "I want you to fight for us, instead of against us."

Alex's eyes search mine, vulnerability written across his face. "And if I do? If I stop running? What then?"

"Then we figure it out," I say simply. "Together."

For a long moment, he just looks at me. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and takes my hand.

His touch is gentle, almost tentative, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. It's such a small gesture, but it feels monumental—a first step across the chasm we've created between us.

"I don't know how to do this," he admits, his voice rough. "I don't know how to be what you need."

"I don't need you to be anything other than who you are," I tell him, squeezing his hand. "I just need you to be honest. With me, and with yourself."

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "I can try."

It's not a declaration of love, not a sweeping promise of forever. But coming from Alex—cautious, controlled Alex who plans for every contingency and guards his heart behind walls of professionalism—it feels like the most honest thing he's ever said to me.

"That's all I'm asking," I say softly.

We sit in silence for a while, hands still linked, watching the fire die down to glowing embers. There's so much more to say, so many questions and fears and hopes to navigate, but for now, this feels like enough—the simple connection of our hands, the quiet acknowledgment of what's been simmering between us for so long.

"I should probably head back," I say eventually, though I make no move to let go of his hand.

"Probably," he agrees, but his thumb continues its gentle pattern on my palm. "Early start tomorrow."

"Yes," I murmur, though neither of us moves.

The dying fire casts dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair falls across his forehead. I want to reach out and brush it back, to trace the familiar contours of his face with my fingertips.

"Y/n," he says softly, and there's something in the way he says my name that makes my breath catch.

"Yes?"

He turns to face me fully, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For pushing you away, for making you think I didn't care, for being such a coward."

"Alex—"

"No, let me finish." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, the touch feather-light. "You were right. I was running away. I've been running away from this for months, maybe years. And I'm tired of it."

My heart pounds against my ribs. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't want to run anymore," he says, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "I'm saying that I really do want to try. We can figure it all out."

The words I've been waiting to hear for so long hang between us, precious and fragile. I lean into his touch, closing my eyes briefly.

"And what about Ed?" I ask quietly.

Alex's hand stills on my cheek. "What about him?"

"He's... we've been..." I struggle to find the words. "I don't want to hurt him."

"Have you made him any promises?" Alex asks, his voice carefully neutral.

"No," I admit. "But he's been kind to me. Patient. He deserves honesty."

Alex nods slowly. "Yes, he does. And so do you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you need to decide what you want," he says gently. "Not what you think you should want, or what would be easier, or what would hurt fewer people. What you actually want."

The question hangs in the air between us. I know the answer—I've known it for months, maybe years. But saying it out loud feels like stepping off a cliff.

"I want you," I whisper, the words barely audible over the crackling embers. "I've always wanted you."

His expression changes slightly—relief, hope, something that might be joy. His other hand comes up to frame my face, and suddenly we're so close I can feel his breath on my lips.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"I'm sure," I breathe, and then his lips are on mine.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he's afraid I might disappear. But when I respond, my hands fisting his shirt to pull him closer, he deepens it, eight years of suppressed longing pouring into the contact.

He tastes like whiskey and possibility, like coming home after a long journey. When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine.

"Christ," he mutters, his voice shaky. "We should have done that years ago."

I laugh breathlessly. "Yes, we should have."

"I was such an idiot," he says, pressing another soft kiss to my lips. "All that time wasted."

"We're here now," I remind him, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "That's what matters."

He nods, pulling back slightly to look at me. In the dying firelight, his eyes are soft, unguarded in a way I've never seen before.

"So what happens now?" he asks.

"Now we go slowly," I say, though every nerve in my body is screaming for more contact, more connection. "We figure it out as we go."

"Together," he says, echoing my earlier words.

"Together," I confirm.

A comfortable silence settles between us, the tension of the past weeks finally easing. But then a twig snaps in the darkness beyond the fire, and we both freeze.

"Just a deer," Alex murmurs, but we both know it could be anyone—a crew member unable to sleep, someone coming back from the facilities.

"I should go," I say reluctantly, though every fiber of my being wants to stay here, in this moment, with his hands on my face and the taste of him on my lips.

"I know," he says, but he doesn't immediately let go. "Tomorrow, though. We'll talk properly tomorrow."

"Yes," I agree, standing slowly. He rises with me, his hand catching mine as I step away.

"Y/n," he says, and there's something urgent in his voice. "I meant what I said. About trying. About not running away."

"I know," I say softly. "I trust you."

The words seem to mean something to him, because his grip on my hand tightens briefly before he lets go.

"Goodnight," he says.

"Goodnight, Alex."

I walk away on unsteady legs, the feeling of his eyes on me as I cross the clearing. When I reach my tent, I turn back to see him still standing by the dying fire, hands in his pockets, watching me with an expression I can't quite read.

Inside my tent, I change into my pajamas with shaking hands, my mind reeling from what just happened. Alex kissed me. Alex wants to try. After months of careful distance and professional barriers, we've finally acknowledged what's been building between us.

I lie awake for hours, replaying every moment, every word, every touch. The memory of his lips on mine, the gentle way he'd held my face, the vulnerability in his voice when he admitted his fears—it all feels too precious to be real.

But it is real. And tomorrow, we'll have to figure out what it means.

The thought of Ed crosses my mind, bringing with it a stab of guilt. He's been nothing but kind to me, patient and understanding even when I've been obviously conflicted. He deserves better than to be caught in the middle of whatever this is between Alex and me.

I'll have to talk to him, be honest about what's changed. The thought makes my stomach clench with anxiety, but it's the right thing to do.

Eventually, exhaustion wins out over my racing thoughts, and I drift into restless sleep filled with dreams of firelight and gentle hands and the promise of tomorrow.

****

The crew is preparing for today's challenge, and contestants mill around the breakfast area with their usual mix of excitement and dread.

I scan the crowd for Alex, finding him near the equipment tent, clipboard in hand as he discusses something with one of the camera operators. When he sees me, he pauses mid-sentence, his eyes meeting mine across the clearing.

The memory of last night floods back—his hands on my face, the taste of his lips, the raw honesty in his voice. A flush of heat spreads through me, and I see something similar flicker in his expression before he turns back to his conversation.

"Morning, sunshine," Ed's voice draws my attention. He's approaching with two cups of coffee, his smile warm.

"Thanks," I say, accepting the mug gratefully. The coffee is strong and bitter, exactly what I need to clear my head.

"Sleep well?" he asks, and there's something in his tone that makes me look at him more carefully.

"I slept okay," I admit. "Still too much on my mind."

Ed nods knowingly. "I saw you and Alex by the fire last night. Looked like you were having quite the conversation."

My cheeks burn. "You saw us?"

"I went for a walk," he says simply. "Couldn't sleep either. Didn't mean to spy, but..." He shrugs. "It was hard to miss."

The implication hangs between us. Ed knows what happened—or at least, he knows something happened.

"Ed, I—"

"It's okay," he interrupts gently. "I told you I could read a room, remember? And last night, the room was pretty clear."

I stare at him, surprised by his calm acceptance. "You're not upset?"

"Disappointed, maybe," he admits with a rueful smile. "But not surprised. I've been watching you two dance around each other for ages. It was only a matter of time."

"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it. "You've been so kind, and I—"

"Y/n." He places a gentle hand on my arm. "Stop apologizing. I knew what I was getting into. I knew your heart was elsewhere."

"But still—"

"I still tried," he adds. "Because I think you're worth trying for. And because I hoped that maybe, given time, you might see what was right in front of you."

The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. "You're a good man, Ed Gamble."

"So you keep telling me," he says with a self-deprecating laugh. "Doesn't make it sting any less, but I'll survive."

"Are we okay?" I ask, suddenly worried about the awkwardness this might create for the rest of the filming.

"We're fine," he assures me. "Friends?"

"Friends," I agree, relief flooding through me.

Ed raises his coffee cup in a mock toast. "To being friends with excellent taste in comedic timing."

I laugh despite myself. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Among other things," he says with a wink. "Now, shall we go watch today's victims—I mean, contestants—attempt whatever torture Alex has devised for them?"

We join the gathering crowd as Alex begins explaining the day's challenge. It involves constructing a tower from various household items while blindfolded, with points awarded for both height and structural integrity.

"Simple enough," Alex says, his mute demeanor firmly in place. "Though I should mention that your teammate will be providing verbal guidance while standing on a rotating platform."

Groans and nervous laughter ripple through the contestants. I find myself watching Alex as he speaks, noting the way his hands move as he gestures, the slight smile that tugs at his lips when someone makes a particularly outraged comment about the rotating platform.

Our eyes meet briefly, and I see something warm and intimate in his gaze before he looks away, returning to his explanation.

The challenge unfolds with predictable mess. Contestants struggle to build towers while their dizzy teammates shout increasingly incoherent instructions. I find myself genuinely laughing at the absurdity of it all, caught up in the joy of watching creative people tackle impossible tasks.

"That's rather odd, but brilliant," Alex murmurs, appearing beside me as we watch one contestant create an unexpectedly stable tower using a series of interlocking coat hangers.

"She's always been good at spatial reasoning," I reply, hyperaware of his proximity.

"Mmm," he agrees, and there's something in his tone that makes me glance at him. He's watching me, not the challenge.

"What?" I ask, my cheeks warming under his steady gaze.

"Nothing," he says, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just... you."

 Before I can respond, he's called away to adjudicate a dispute about whether balancing a spoon on a lampshade constitutes "structural integrity."

I watch him go, the professional mask sliding back into place as he approaches the contestants. But there's a lightness to his movements that wasn't there before, a subtle difference only someone who knows him as well as I do would notice.

****

Throughout the day, we orbit each other carefully, maintaining professional distance while filming but finding small moments of connection—his hand brushing mine as we pass equipment, a private smile across the clearing, the weight of his gaze when he thinks no one is watching.

By late afternoon, the challenge wraps up with Greg declaring a winner amid much protesting from the other contestants. As the crew begins breaking down equipment, Alex approaches me, clipboard clutched to his chest like a shield.

"A word?" he asks, his voice carefully technical despite the warmth in his eyes.

I nod, following him toward the equipment tent. Inside, surrounded by cameras and props, he sets down his clipboard and turns to face me.

"Hi," he says simply.

"Hi," I reply, suddenly shy despite everything that passed between us last night.

"I've been thinking about what you said," he continues, taking a step closer. "About going slowly. About figuring things out together."

"And?" My heart races as he moves closer still.

"And I think you're right," he says, his voice dropping lower. "We should take our time. Be careful. Consider all the implications."

"Right," I agree, though disappointment flickers through me. "That's... sensible."

A smile tugs at his lips. "Always the sensible ones, aren't we? Planning for every contingency."

"Someone has to," I point out.

"True." He takes another step forward, close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "But sometimes, Y/n, I think we plan too much. Calculate too carefully."

My breath catches as his hand comes up to cup my cheek, a mirror of last night's gesture. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I've spent eight years overthinking this," he murmurs, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "And I don't want to waste any more time."

Before I can respond, his lips are on mine, more confident than last night, more certain. I melt into him, my hands sliding up his chest to curl around his shoulders as he deepens the kiss.

He tastes like coffee and possibility, his hands gentle but insistent as they frame my face. When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine.

"Was that okay?" he asks, and there's something in his voice that makes my heart ache.

"More than okay," I assure him, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Though not exactly what I'd call 'going slowly.'"

He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through me where our bodies touch. "I'm trying a new approach. Less overthinking, more action."

"I like this approach," I admit, pressing another quick kiss to his lips simply because I can.

The tent flap rustles, and we spring apart just as one of the sound technicians pokes his head in.

"Oh, sorry," he says, clearly noting our flushed faces and guilty expressions. "Just looking for the boom mic extension."

"Left side, third shelf," Alex says, his voice remarkably steady despite the circumstances.

The technician grabs the equipment and leaves, but the moment has been broken. Alex runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I recognize as self-soothing.

"We should probably rejoin the others," he says reluctantly.

I nod, though every part of me wants to stay in this tent, in this moment, with him. "Probably."

He hesitates, then reaches for my hand, squeezing it briefly. "Tonight, though. After everyone's asleep. We could... talk."

The way he says "talk" makes it clear that conversation might not be the only thing on his mind. Heat pools low in my belly at the thought.

"Yes," I agree, perhaps too quickly. "Talking would be good."

A smile spreads across his face—not his usual polite, professional smile, but something warmer, more genuine. "Until tonight, then."

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of anticipation. I go through the motions of my job—directing crew, coordinating with Greg, ensuring everything runs smoothly—but my mind keeps returning to the feel of Alex's lips on mine, the promise in his eyes when he said "tonight."

By the time we gather around the campfire for dinner, I'm a bundle of nerves and excitement. Alex sits across from me, maintaining a careful distance that does nothing to diminish the electricity that seems to arc between us whenever our eyes meet.

Ed settles beside me, his presence surprisingly comfortable despite our earlier conversation. "You look happy," he observes quietly.

"Do I?" I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips.

"Radiant, actually." There's no bitterness in his voice, just gentle observation. "It suits you."

I glance across the fire to where Alex is engaged in conversation with Greg, his profile sharp against the flames. "Thanks, Ed."

"Don't mention it." He bumps my shoulder lightly with his. "Just promise me one thing?"

"What's that?"

"Don't let him overthink you out of happiness," he says seriously. "That man's brain is both his greatest asset and his biggest liability."

I laugh softly. "I'll keep that in mind."

The evening progresses with the usual mix of stories and gentle ribbing. As people gradually drift toward their tents, exhausted from the day's filming, I find myself growing increasingly aware of Alex's presence, of the weight of our unspoken plans.

"Turning in," Ed announces, standing and stretching dramatically. "Need my beauty sleep if I'm going to maintain my position as most handsome contestant."

"That's a low bar," Greg calls from across the fire. "The competition includes a man who wore the same socks for a week because he thought they were lucky."

Laughter ripples through the remaining group. Ed bows with exaggerated dignity before bidding everyone goodnight, his eyes meeting mine briefly with understanding before he walks away.

One by one, others follow suit until only a handful remain—me, Alex, Greg, and a couple of crew members engaged in a heated debate about the best way to toast marshmallows.

"Right, I'm done," Greg declares finally, standing with a groan. "If I have to listen to one more word about the 'proper marshmallow toasting technique,' I might commit a crime."

He ambles away, leaving just Alex and me with the marshmallow enthusiasts, who are too engrossed in their debate to pay us any attention.

"I should check the equipment one last time," Alex says, his voice carrying just enough for me to hear. "Make sure everything's secure for the night."

Our eyes meet across the dying fire, and the invitation is clear in his gaze. I nod slightly, heart racing.

"I'll come with you," I say, standing. "Two sets of eyes are better than one."

The marshmallow debaters barely acknowledge our departure, too invested in their argument about golden-brown versus charred edges.

We walk in silence toward the equipment tent, maintaining a careful distance that belies the anticipation humming between us. The night is clear and cool, stars scattered across the sky like diamonds.

Inside the tent, Alex turns on a small lantern, casting soft golden light across the stacked equipment. For a moment, we simply look at each other, the weight of eight years of friendship and unspoken longing hanging in the air between us.

"Hi," he says softly, echoing our earlier greeting.

"Hi," I reply, with a smile and a barely contained giggle.

He takes a step toward me, then stops, uncertainty flickering across his face. "I've been thinking about this all day," he admits. "About you. About us."

"Me too," I confess, closing the distance between us. "I haven't been able to focus on anything else."

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch gentle as if I might break or disappear. "I'm still terrified, you know," he says quietly. "Of ruining what we have. Of not being enough."

"I'm scared too," I admit, leaning into his touch. "But I think... I think some things are worth being scared for."

Something shifts in his expression—vulnerability giving way to determination. "You're worth it," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "You've always been worth it."

And then his lips are on mine, the kiss deeper and more urgent than before. I respond immediately, my hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair as he pulls me closer, eliminating any space between us.

His mouth is insistent, demanding in a way I've never associated with careful, controlled Alex. He kisses like a man making up for lost time, his hands roaming my back, my hips, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

When we break apart for air, his eyes are dark with desire, his breathing ragged. "Christ, Y/n," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this? Like, properly do this?"

"Tell me," I whisper, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

"Years," he admits, the word like a confession. "So many years I've lost count."

The admission sends a thrill through me. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Fear," he says simply. "Of losing you. Of changing what we had. Of not being able to go back if it all went wrong."

"And now?" I ask, searching his face in the soft lantern light.

"Now I'm more afraid of never knowing what we could be," he says, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "Of watching you walk away again and wondering what might have happened if I'd been brave enough to try."

His honesty leaves me breathless. I pull him down for another kiss, pouring everything I feel into the contact—the longing, the frustration, the tenderness that's been building between us for so long.

His hands slide lower, gripping my hips to pull me against him. I gasp at the contact, at the evidence of his desire pressed against me through layers of clothing.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my neck, his voice strained. "If this is too fast, if you're not sure—"

"Don't stop," I interrupt, my hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "Please, Alex. Don't stop."

Something breaks in him at my words—the last of his careful control snapping as he backs me against the equipment table, his mouth hungry on mine. His hands are everywhere, sliding beneath my shirt to trace the curve of my waist, the outline of my bra.

I arch into his touch, my own hands working to free him from his shirt. When I finally succeed, I take a moment to admire the lean planes of his chest, the surprising definition of his arms that's always hidden beneath crisp button-downs.

"You're beautiful," I whisper, trailing my fingers across his skin.

He laughs, the sound rough with desire. "That's my line."

His hands find the hem of my shirt, a question in his eyes. I nod, and he pulls it over my head, his breath catching as he takes in the sight of me in my plain cotton bra. There's nothing particularly seductive about it—it's practical, comfortable, chosen for a camping trip rather than seduction—but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm wearing the finest lace.

"God, Y/n," he breathes, his hands hovering just above my skin as if afraid to touch. "You're..."

Words seem to fail him, and instead, he leans down to press his lips to my collarbone, trailing kisses along the curve of my shoulder. His hands finally make contact, skimming up my ribs to cup my breasts through the fabric of my bra. I gasp at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against my skin.

"More than okay," I assure him, reaching behind to unclasp my bra. His eyes widen as I let it fall away, exposing myself fully to his gaze.

For a moment, he just looks at me, something like reverence in his expression. Then his hands replace his eyes, gentle but insistent as they explore newly revealed skin. His thumbs brush across my nipples, drawing a soft moan from my lips.

"I've dreamed about this," he confesses, his voice rough with desire. "About you. Like this."

The admission sends heat pooling low in my belly. "Show me," I whisper, pulling him closer. "Show me what you've dreamt."

His lips capture mine again, more urgent now, as his hands continue their exploration. When his mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, my collarbone, lower still, I tangle my fingers in his hair, encouraging him.

The first touch of his lips on my breast draws a gasp from me. He takes his time, learning what makes me sigh, what makes me moan, what makes my fingers tighten in his hair. His usual methodical nature is apparent even in this—he's studying me, cataloging my responses with the same careful attention he brings to everything.

"Alex," I breathe, my hips moving restlessly against his. "Please."

He looks up, his eyes dark with desire. "Please what?"

"Touch me," I whisper, guiding his hand to the waistband of my jeans. "I need you to touch me."

His breath hitches, but his hands remain steady as they work the button of my jeans, sliding the zipper down with deliberate slowness. When his fingers finally slip beneath the fabric, brushing against me through my underwear, we both groan at the contact.

"You're so wet," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder.

"For you," I tell him, my hips pressing into his touch. "Always for you."

Something flashes in his eyes—possession, desire, something deeper I can't quite name. His fingers grow bolder, pushing aside the fabric to touch me directly. I gasp at the sensation, my head falling back as he explores me with the same careful attention he's shown the rest of my body.

"Tell me what you like," he says, his voice surprisingly steady despite the flush spreading across his chest. "I want to make this good for you, too."

The vulnerability in his request touches me deeply. Even now, he's thinking of me, of my pleasure. I guide his hand, showing him the rhythm, the pressure that makes my breath catch.

"Like this," I whisper, moving against his fingers. "Just like this."

He's a quick learner, adapting to my responses, finding exactly what makes me gasp and arch. When he slides a finger inside me, his thumb still working in circles, I cry out, my hands gripping his shoulders for support.

"That's it," he encourages, his eyes never leaving my face. "Let me really see you."

The intensity of his gaze, combined with the skilled movement of his hand, pushes me closer to the edge. When he adds a second finger, curling them just so, I shatter, waves of pleasure washing over me as I cry out his name.

He holds me through it, his touch gentling as I come down, his lips pressing soft kisses to my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. When I can focus again, I find him watching me with something like awe.

"You're extraordinary," he murmurs, brushing hair from my face. "So beautiful."

I reach for him, my hand pressing against the obvious bulge in his trousers. "Your turn," I say, relishing the way his breath catches at my touch.

But he captures my hand, bringing it to his lips instead. "We don't have to," he says, his voice strained despite his words. "This was about you."

"I want to," I insist, my fingers working at his belt. "I want to touch you, too. I want to taste you. I want everything, Alex."

His control visibly frays at my words. When I finally free him from his trousers, taking him in hand, he groans, his head falling forward against my shoulder.

"Y/n," he breathes, the word somewhere between a prayer and a plea.

I stroke him slowly, learning the feel of him, what makes his breath hitch, what makes his hips jerk forward involuntarily. When I sink to my knees before him, his eyes widen, his hand coming to rest gently on my hair.

"You don't have to," he says again, though his voice breaks on the words.

"I know," I reply, looking up at him. "I want to."

The first taste of him draws groans from both of us. I take my time, learning him just as thoroughly as he learned me. His hands are gentle in my hair, guiding but never pushing, his voice breaking on my name as I take him deeper.

"Stop," he gasps finally, tugging me back. "I'm too close. And I want... I need..."

I understand without him having to say the words. Rising to my feet, I kiss him deeply, letting him taste himself on my tongue. His hands fumble with the rest of my clothing, and I help him, both of us eager now to eliminate any remaining barriers.

When we're finally skin to skin, he pauses, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice rough with desire but still careful, still considerate.

"I've never been more sure of anything," I tell him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I want this. I want you."

He lifts me onto the edge of the equipment table, stepping between my spread thighs. The position brings us perfectly aligned, his hardness pressing against my core.

"Protection," he murmurs, his forehead resting against mine.

"I'm on birth control," I assure him. "And I'm clean. You?"

"Clean," he confirms. "I haven't been with anyone in... a while."

The admission shouldn't surprise me—Alex has always been private about his personal life—but somehow it does. I kiss him softly, touched by the vulnerability in his voice.

"Then we're good," I whisper against his lips. "Please, Alex."

He enters me slowly, both of us gasping at the sensation. When he's fully seated, he pauses, his forehead pressed to mine still, his breathing ragged.

"Okay?" he asks, his voice strained.

"Perfect," I assure him, my legs wrapping around his waist to draw him closer. "Move, please."

He does, establishing a rhythm that starts slow and deliberate but gradually increases in intensity as our bodies learn each other. His hands grip my hips, guiding me to meet each thrust, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You feel incredible," he breathes, his voice breaking on the words. "So good, Y/n. So perfect."

His praise washes over me, adding to the building pleasure. I cling to him, my nails digging into his shoulders as the tension builds once more.

"Alex," I gasp, feeling myself getting close again. "I'm going to—"

"Yes," he encourages, one hand sliding between us to where we're joined. "Come for me again. Let me feel you."

His touch is all it takes to send me over the edge, waves of pleasure crashing through me as I cry out his name. My release triggers his own—he buries his face in my neck, his hips jerking erratically as he follows me into bliss.

For a long moment, we stay like that, tangled together, breathing hard, his weight a comforting pressure against me. When he finally pulls back to look at me, there's something vulnerable and open in his expression that makes my heart swell.

"That was..." he begins, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Yeah," I agree, understanding completely. "It was."

He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through both of us where we're still joined. Carefully, he helps me down from the table, both of us wincing slightly as he slips free of my body.

"I didn't plan for this to happen when I brought you in here," he says as we begin gathering our scattered clothing. "Not like this, anyway. Not in an equipment tent surrounded by cameras and props."

I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. "It's rather fitting, though, isn't it? Our whole relationship has been built around this show, this work."

He considers this as he pulls on his trousers. "I suppose you're right. Though next time, I'd prefer a proper bed. And perhaps fewer opportunities for someone to walk in on us."

"Next time," I repeat, warmth spreading through me at the casual way he says it, as if there's no question that this will happen again.

"If you want there to be a next time," he adds quickly, suddenly uncertain.

I step into his space, still gloriously naked from the waist up, and press a soft kiss to his lips. "I want there to be many next times, Alex Horne."

Relief and joy flash across his face. "Good," he says simply. "That's... good."

We finish dressing in comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at each other like teenagers after their first time. When we're both presentable again, Alex reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together.

"What happens now?" he asks, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.

"Now we go back to our tents," I say practically. "Before someone comes looking for us and finds us in a very compromising position."

He laughs, but there's a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we do our jobs," I tell him. "We're professionals, after all."

"And after that?" There's a vulnerability in the question that tugs at my heart.

"After that, we figure it out," I say, echoing our earlier conversation. "Together."

He nods, bringing our joined hands to his lips. "I like the sound of that."

We leave the tent hand in hand, though we reluctantly separate as we approach the campsite. Most of the tents are dark now, their occupants presumably asleep. The fire has burned down to embers, casting a soft glow across the clearing.

"Goodnight, Y/n," Alex says softly as we reach my tent.

"Goodnight, Alex," I reply, stretching up to press one last kiss to his lips.

As I watch him walk away toward his own tent, a sense of peace settles over me. There's still so much to figure out, so many complications to navigate. But for the first time in months—perhaps years—I feel like we're moving in the right direction.

Together.

Chapter Text

 But for the first time in months—perhaps years—I feel like we're moving in the right direction.

Together.

Six weeks after our return from the wilderness shoot, I find myself staring at a mountain of takeout containers on Alex's kitchen counter.

"I think we've eaten at every restaurant within walking distance of the studio," I say, adding our empty pad thai containers to the pile. "Maybe we should try cooking sometime."

"Bold of you to assume I own cookware," Alex replies, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His lips find that spot on my neck that makes me shiver.

"You must have something. A pan? A pot? Anything?"

"I have a kettle for tea and a toaster that only burns things on one side. Does that count?"

I laugh, turning in his arms to face him. "How have you survived this long?"

"Takeout. And a very understanding mother who sends me home with leftovers every Sunday."

"Adorable," I murmur, kissing him softly. "But not sustainable."

"Speaking of sustainability..." He pulls back slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. "We're heading into that three-week filming block starting Monday."

I groan, dropping my head to his chest. "Don't remind me. Sixteen-hour days, back-to-back episodes."

"Which is precisely why I wanted to suggest something," he says, fingers tracing idle patterns on my back. "Stay with me. For the three weeks. It would save you the commute, and we could actually see each other despite the schedule."

The offer surprises me, though perhaps it shouldn't. We've been practically inseparable since returning from the wilderness shoot—lunch dates between meetings, evenings spent talking for hours, lazy weekends exploring the city hand-in-hand. Still, this feels like a step.

"I'd love to," I say, "but my place is closer to the studio."

"Actually," Alex says, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice, "I was thinking we could stay somewhere else...."

"You have another flat I don't know about?" I tease.

He shifts, looking slightly uncomfortable. "In a manner of speaking. There's something I need to show you. Can you get your coat?"

Twenty minutes later, we're in a cab heading toward Notting Hill. Alex is uncharacteristically quiet, his fingers tapping nervously against his knee.

"Are you taking me to a surprise dinner?" I ask, trying to decipher his mood.

"Not exactly." He gives me a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just... trust me?"

The cab stops in front of a beautiful Victorian building with large bay windows and an ornate entrance. Alex pays the driver and leads me up the steps, producing a key I've never seen before.

"Alex, what is this place?"

Instead of answering, he unlocks the door and guides me inside. We climb to the third floor, where he unlocks another door. My confusion only grows as we step into a spacious, sunlit flat that's partially furnished with pieces I don't recognize.

"Welcome to..." he hesitates, "our bolt-hole. If you want it to be."

I turn to him, bewildered. "Our what?"

Alex runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I've come to recognize as his tell when he's nervous. "I bought it. About a month before you left for New Zealand, actually."

"You bought a flat? For the both of us?"

"It sounds a bit mad," he admits. "I was going to tell you, but then you announced you were leaving, and it seemed... well, pointless."

I walk slowly around the space, taking in the high ceilings, the built-in bookshelves, the bay window with a window seat overlooking a small garden below.

"Why?" I ask, turning back to him. "Why did you buy this place?"

“At first it was for work. A convenience for us, I thought…” Alex takes a deep breath. "But really it’s because I was in love with you, even though I couldn't admit it to myself. Because I kept imagining what it would be like if we had a place that was just ours—somewhere away from work, away from everyone else. Somewhere we could just... be."

"So you bought us an apartment," I say slowly, "before we were even together."

"It sounds completely unhinged when you put it like that," he says with a self-deprecating laugh. "I told myself it was an investment property. That I'd rent it out if nothing ever happened between us."

I walk over to the window seat and sit down, trying to process this revelation. "All those months I was trying to get over you in New Zealand, and you had already bought us a place to live together."

"I wouldn't say I bought it for us to live together," he clarifies quickly. "More like... a sanctuary. A place where we could escape when work got too intense."

"A bolt-hole," I repeat his earlier words.

"Exactly." He sits beside me, careful to leave space between us. "I understand if this is too much. If you think I've completely lost the plot. We can forget about it, stay at my place, or yours, or—"

I cut him off with a kiss, my hands cupping his face. When I pull back, he looks dazed.

"You are absolutely mad," I tell him, "and I love you for it."

Relief floods his features. "You're not freaked out?"

"Oh, I'm definitely freaked out," I assure him with a laugh. "But in the best possible way."

He takes my hand, squeezing it gently. "So I was thinking... maybe we could stay here during the filming block. See how it feels. And if it works..."

"Are you asking me to move in with you, Alex Horne?"

"I suppose I am," he says, a tentative smile spreading across his face. "Though technically, I'm asking us both to move into a place that's already ours. Or could be ours. If you want."

I look around the flat—at the built-in shelves waiting for our books, the large couch that would be perfect for Sunday afternoons, the kitchen where we could learn to cook together.

"It's a big step," I say carefully.

"Huge," he agrees. "Possibly premature. Definitely terrifying."

"But?"

His smile widens. "But I've wasted enough time being afraid of what I feel for you. I don't want to waste any more."

I lean in, resting my forehead against his. "Show me the rest of our bolt-hole."

The tour is brief but revealing. The flat is larger than it first appeared—two bedrooms (one Alex has already set up as a home office), a spacious bathroom with both a shower and a claw-foot tub, and a kitchen that, unlike his current place, actually contains cooking equipment.

"I had no idea you were so domestic," I tease, opening cupboards to find matching dishes and glassware.

"I'm not," he admits. "My mother helped with this part. She was thrilled when I told her I was buying a proper place."

"Did you tell her why?"

Alex flushes slightly. "I may have mentioned I was hoping to share it with someone special someday."

"And what did she say to that?"

"She asked if it was you." His blush deepens. "Apparently I talked about you so much she had her suspicions long before I figured it out myself."

I laugh, delighted by this insight. "Smart woman."

"She wants to meet you properly," he says. "As my girlfriend, not just my colleague and friend."

"I'd like that." I move closer, wrapping my arms around his waist. "So, when can we move in?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "You mean—you want to?"

"For the filming block, definitely. After that..." I smile up at him. "Let's see how it goes."

The relief and joy on his face makes my heart swell. "I was so nervous about showing you this place. I thought you might think I was completely mental."

"Oh, I definitely think you're mental," I assure him. "But in the best possible way."

He laughs, pulling me closer. "I'll take it."

****

That weekend is a flurry of activity as we move essential items into the Notting Hill flat. Alex insists on carrying my suitcases despite nearly toppling backward down the stairs, and I discover he's hopeless at organizing kitchen items but meticulous about arranging books.

"They need to be alphabetized by author," he explains, carefully sorting through the box of books I've brought. "Though there's an argument to be made for organizing by genre first, then author."

"You're adorably weird," I tell him, kissing the top of his head as he sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by literature.

By Sunday evening, the flat has transformed from a beautiful but impersonal space to something that feels surprisingly like home. My throw pillows add color to the sofa, Alex's record player sits in the corner with our combined vinyl collection, and the refrigerator holds actual groceries instead of just condiments and beer.

"I think we did it," I say, collapsing onto the sofa beside him. "We've created a functioning adult living space."

"Don't sound so surprised," he protests, pulling me against his side. "I am in my forties. I can adult when necessary."

"Says the man who didn't own a saucepan until yesterday."

"A minor oversight." He nuzzles my neck, his voice dropping lower. "Want to christen the new place properly?"

"Alexander Horne," I gasp in mock scandal, "are you propositioning me in our bolt-hole?"

"Absolutely," he murmurs against my skin. "On every surface, if you're amenable."

I turn to face him, straddling his lap. "Let's start with this one and work our way through the flat."

His hands settle on my hips, eyes darkening. "I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you."

"My brilliant organizational skills?"

"Among other qualities," he says, pulling me down for a kiss that quickly deepens into something more urgent.

I moan softly as his lips trail down my neck, his hands sliding under my shirt to caress the skin of my lower back. There's something different about tonight—a new intensity, a significance that comes from knowing this is our place. Ours.

"Bedroom?" he murmurs against my collarbone.

"Too far," I breathe, rocking my hips against him. "Here. Now."

Alex groans, his fingers tightening on my waist. "You're sure?"

In answer, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it aside, reveling in the way his eyes darken as they roam over my body. Weeks of being together, and his gaze still makes me feel like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"God, you're gorgeous," he whispers, reverent hands sliding up to cup my breasts through my bra.

His thumb brushes over the sensitive peak, drawing a gasp from my lips. I arch into his touch, desperate for more. My fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, revealing the pale expanse of his chest inch by tantalizing inch.

"Off," I command, tugging at the fabric.

Alex complies, shrugging out of his shirt with an eagerness that makes me smile. I lean down to press my lips to his chest, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling his heart race beneath my mouth.

"Y/n," he moans as I trail lower, my tongue tracing patterns across his stomach. His hands tangle in my hair, not guiding, just connecting.

I reach for his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. Our clothes disappear piece by piece, scattered across our new living room floor like breadcrumbs marking our path to pleasure.

When we're both naked, I straddle him again, hovering just above where he wants me most. His eyes are heavy-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed with desire.

"I love you," I whisper, lowering myself slowly onto him.

"I love you too," he gasps as I take him fully inside me. "God, Y/n, I love you so much."

We move together in perfect rhythm, finding that synchronicity that makes us so effective as partners in every arena. His hands guide my hips, mine brace against his chest. Each thrust builds the tension coiling inside me, each gasp and moan a counterpoint to our synchronized breathing.

Alex watches me with wonder, like he still can't believe this is real. "You're everything," he murmurs, reaching up to brush hair from my face. "Everything I've ever wanted."

The tenderness in his voice pushes me closer to the edge. I lean down to kiss him deeply, changing the angle and drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

"Close," I whisper against his lips. "So close."

"Let go," he urges, his hand slipping between us to where we're joined. "I've got you."

His fingers find that perfect spot, and the tension breaks. I cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash over me, my body clenching around him. He follows moments later, his release triggering aftershocks of my own.

I collapse against his chest, both of us breathing hard. His arms wrap around me, holding me close as our heartbeats gradually slow.

"That was..." I start.

"A very successful christening," he finishes, pressing a kiss to my temple.

I laugh softly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "One room down."

"Several more to go," he says, his voice a delicious mix of satisfaction and anticipation. "Though perhaps after a brief intermission."

"Intermission sounds good." I trace lazy patterns on his chest, content to stay exactly where I am for the moment.

We lie tangled together on the sofa, naked and peaceful in our new sanctuary. Through the window, I can see stars appearing in the darkening sky, a rare clear night in London.

"I never thought we'd be here," Alex says softly, his fingers trailing up and down my spine. "For so long, I convinced myself it was impossible."

"Which part? The flat or us?"

"Both. Either." He sighs, the sound content rather than troubled. "I spent years telling myself I couldn't have what I wanted. That wanting it at all was a mistake."

I prop myself up to look at him. "And now?"

His smile is soft, vulnerable in a way that still makes my heart skip. "Now I'm wondering what else I've been wrong about. What other impossible things might actually be possible."

"Like cooking?" I tease gently.

"Let's not get carried away," he laughs, pulling me back down against him. "One miracle at a time."

Later, we make it to the bedroom, where round two is slower, more deliberate—a proper christening for the room where we'll spend our nights. Afterward, we shower together in our new bathroom (christening number three), before collapsing into bed, exhausted and utterly content.

"Ready for tomorrow?" Alex asks, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep.

"Sixteen-hour filming day? Can't wait," I murmur dryly, snuggling closer to him.

"At least we'll come home to this." His arm tightens around me. "To us."

Home. The word settles in my chest, warm and right. This flat with its high ceilings and bay windows. This man with his crooked glasses and careful hands. This is home.

"To us," I agree, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

I fall asleep listening to his steady breathing, dreaming of all the surfaces we have yet to christen.

****

The filming block is every bit as grueling as expected. Sixteen-hour days blend into each other, a blur of contestants and challenges and production meetings. But coming home to our bolt-hole each night makes it bearable—more than bearable.

There's something magical about sharing space with Alex, about discovering his habits and quirks in this intimate new context. He's meticulously tidy with his work things but leaves half-empty mugs of tea everywhere. He sings in the shower—quietly, as if he thinks I can't hear him. He sleeps deeply but wakes at the slightest sound of distress from me.

By the end of the first week, we've settled into a comfortable routine. Mornings are a choreographed dance of shared bathroom time and quick breakfasts. Evenings are takeout dinners and comparing notes on the day's filming, followed by falling into bed together, sometimes too exhausted for anything but sleep, sometimes finding energy for more intimate activities.

"I could get used to this," I murmur one night as we lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his fingers playing with my hair.

"Good," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Because I have no intention of letting you go."

The casual certainty in his voice makes my heart swell. For someone who spent years afraid to acknowledge his feelings, Alex has embraced our relationship with surprising confidence. He introduces me as "my partner, Y/n" at industry events, holds my hand openly at work, and talks about our future as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Alex," I say, propping myself up to look at him. "Are you happy?"

The question seems to surprise him. "Unbelievably so. Why do you ask?"

"Sometimes it just feels too good to be true. Like I'm going to wake up and find out it was all a dream."

His expression softens. "I know exactly what you mean. I spent three years convincing myself this could never happen, and now..." He gestures to our entwined bodies, our shared bed, our home. "Now I have everything I want. It's terrifying."

"Terrifying?" I laugh softly. "That's not the word most people would use to describe happiness."

"I'm not most people," he reminds me. "And it is terrifying, but beautiful at the same time. Because now I have something precious to lose."

I lean down to kiss him, trying to pour all my feelings into the gesture. "You're not going to lose me."

"Promise?" he asks against my lips.

"Promise."

****

The second week of filming brings unexpected complications. Ed returns as a guest contestant, his first appearance since the wilderness shoot. I haven't seen him since Alex and I got together, though we've exchanged a few friendly texts.

"This is going to be awkward, isn't it?" Alex asks as we get ready for work that morning.

"Only if we make it awkward," I say, though I'm not as confident as I sound. "Ed's a professional. And he knew how I felt about you."

"Still, I basically stole the woman he was pursuing."

I turn from the mirror to face him. "You didn't 'steal' me. I was never Ed's to begin with. Not really."

"You know what I mean." Alex adjusts his tie nervously. "I just don't want things to be uncomfortable."

"It'll be fine," I assure him, straightening his collar. "Ed's a good guy. And he's dating that actress now—the one from that period drama."

"Is he?" Alex looks relieved. "That's... good. Great, actually."

I kiss him quickly. "See? Nothing to worry about."

But when we arrive at the studio, I find myself unaccountably nervous. Ed is already there, chatting animatedly with Greg and the other contestants. He looks good—relaxed and happy, his smile as warm as ever.

"Y/n!" he calls when he spots me. "Just the person I wanted to see."

I brace myself as he approaches, aware of Alex tensing slightly beside me.

"Ed," I smile, genuinely glad to see him despite the awkwardness. "Great to have you back."

"Great to be back," he says, then turns to Alex with an extended hand. "Alex! Heard the good news from Greg. About time, mate."

Alex blinks in surprise before accepting the handshake. "Thanks. It's, um, fairly recent."

"Two months isn't that recent," Ed says with a knowing grin. "Though I suppose in Alex-time, that's practically spontaneous."

"You're not..." Alex hesitates. "I mean, I thought it might be..."

"Awkward?" Ed supplies helpfully. "Only if you make it awkward, mate. I'm genuinely happy for you both. Even if it did cost me twenty quid in the comedy circle pool."

"There was a comedy circle pool?" He asks, mortified.

"Oh, massive. Greg's been running it for years. Though to be fair, most people had their money on you two getting together much sooner."

I look at Alex, who appears as stunned as I feel. "Years?"

"Apparently we were the last to know," Alex says dryly.

Ed laughs. "Definitely. Anyway, I wanted to invite you both to dinner next week. With me and Sophia. Double date sort of thing."

"The actress?" Alex asks.

"That's the one. Though she'd prefer 'award-winning thespian,'" Ed says with a fond eye-roll. "She's brilliant. You'll love her."

The knot of tension in my chest dissolves. "We'd love to come to dinner."

"Excellent! I'll text you the details." Ed glances over his shoulder as a production assistant calls his name. "Duty calls. See you on set."

As he walks away, Alex and I exchange

"Well," Alex says after a moment. "That went better than expected."

"Much better," I agree, feeling the last of my anxiety fade. "I told you Ed was a good guy."

"You did. I should have trusted your judgment." He pauses, watching Ed joke with the other contestants. "An office pool, though? Really?"

"Apparently we were more transparent than we thought."

Alex shakes his head, a rueful smile playing at his lips. "All that time we spent trying to hide our feelings, and everyone knew anyway."

"Not everyone," I point out. "We didn't know."

"Fair point." He glances around the bustling studio, then leans closer. "Speaking of things everyone knows—Greg's been giving me looks all morning. I think he's planning something."

As if summoned by his name, Greg appears beside us with his trademark mischievous grin.

"Well, well, well," he says, looking between us with obvious delight. "If it isn't the happy couple. How's domestic life treating you?"

"Fine, thank you," Alex replies carefully, clearly wary of whatever Greg has planned.

"Just fine? That's disappointing. I was hoping for more enthusiasm from someone who just moved in with the love of his life."

I feel my cheeks warm. "Greg—"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to embarrass you. Much." Greg's grin widens. "Though I do have a small surprise for you both."

Alex and I exchange worried glances. Greg's surprises are legendary, and rarely result in anything resembling dignity for those involved.

"What kind of surprise?" I ask cautiously.

"The kind that involves champagne and a cake with both your faces on it," Greg announces proudly. "The crew wanted to celebrate your relationship properly. Apparently there's been quite a lot of betting on when you'd finally get together."

"More betting?" Alex looks pained.

"Oh yes. I won a fortune when you finally kissed. Though technically, Sarah from wardrobe won the biggest pot—she had money on 'during a work crisis in a tent.'"

I stare at him. "How could she possibly have known that?"

"Lucky guess. Or possibly she's psychic. Either way, she's treating everyone to drinks tonight." Greg claps Alex on the shoulder. "Congratulations, by the way. You two are disgustingly perfect for each other."

Before either of us can respond, he's swept away by a production assistant, leaving us standing there slightly shell-shocked.

"A cake with our faces on it," Alex repeats faintly.

"Could be worse," I offer. "Remember last year when they got that cake with Greg's face on it for his birthday? The decorator made him look like he was constipated."

Alex snorts with laughter. "True. At least we'll be constipated together."

The day proceeds with typical Taskmaster chaos, but there's something different about working alongside Alex now that our relationship is public knowledge. The casual touches that we used to be so careful about—his hand on my back as he leans over to check my notes, my fingers brushing his as we pass equipment—feel natural, unrestricted.

During lunch, we find ourselves alone in one of the smaller production offices, reviewing footage from the morning's tasks.

"This bit with Ed and the inflatable flamingo is gold," I say, pausing the video on a particularly ridiculous frame.

"Agreed. Though I think we should cut to his reaction shot here—" Alex leans over my shoulder to point at the screen, his chest pressing against my back.

The casual contact sends a familiar shiver through me. Even after weeks together, his proximity still affects me.

"Like this?" I ask, making the edit he suggested.

"Perfect." His voice is lower now, his breath warm against my ear. "You're brilliant at this, you know."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I murmur, leaning back against him.

His arms circle my waist from behind. "I was hoping you'd say that."

I turn in his arms, intending to steal a quick kiss, but the look in his eyes stops me. There's something intense there, something that makes my pulse quicken.

"What?" I ask softly.

"Nothing. Just..." He cups my face in his hands, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "I love you. I love this—us working together, going home together, being together. I love that I don't have to hide how I feel anymore."

The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight with emotion. "I love you too. More than I ever thought possible."

He kisses me then, soft and sweet and full of promise. I lose myself in the familiar taste of him, the way he holds me like I'm something precious.

A knock on the door breaks us apart.

"Sorry to interrupt," calls a voice from the hallway, "but we need you both on set in five minutes."

"Coming," I call back, my voice slightly breathless.

Alex rests his forehead against mine. "To be continued?"

"Definitely."

The afternoon passes quickly, and soon we're wrapping for the day. True to Greg's word, there's indeed a cake waiting in the green room—and it does feature both our faces, though thankfully the decorator has been kind to our likenesses.

"Speech!" someone calls as the crew gathers around.

"No speeches," Alex says quickly, but he's smiling as he says it.

"Come on," Greg encourages. "Just a few words about how you finally pulled your heads out of your arses and realized you were mad about each other."

I look at Alex, who nods slightly.

"Alright," I say, accepting the glass of champagne someone presses into my hand. "Just to say thank you. For the cake, for the support, and for apparently betting on us for years without us knowing."

Laughter ripples through the group.

"Working with all of you has been one of the best parts of my career," I continue. "And getting to work alongside Alex every day... well, that's been the best part of everything."

"Hear, hear!" Greg raises his glass, and the others follow suit.

Alex takes my hand, squeezing gently. "What she said," he adds, earning more laughter. "Though I'd like to add that Y/n makes everything better—the show, the work, my life. I'm the luckiest man alive."

The sentiment is so genuine, so openly affectionate, that I feel tears prick my eyes. This is Alex—my Alex—declaring his feelings in front of our colleagues without reservation.

"Right then," Greg announces, "enough of this sappy nonsense. Who wants cake?"

The celebration continues for another hour, filled with good-natured teasing and genuine warmth from our colleagues. By the time we finally escape, I'm exhausted but happy.

"That went well," Alex says as we settle into a taxi home.

"Better than well. You were... God, Alex, the way you talked about me in there..."

He takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. "I meant every word. I spent too many years hiding how I felt. I don't want to hide anymore."

"Good," I say, lifting our joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles. "Because I like this version of you. Confident. Open. Unafraid."

"I'm still afraid sometimes," he admits. "But not of loving you. Not anymore."

The taxi pulls up outside our building, and we make our way up to the flat. It's become such a natural routine—keys, lights, shoes kicked off in the hallway. Home.

"I have something for you," Alex says as I head toward the kitchen.

I turn, surprised. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. Just..." He disappears into the bedroom for a moment, returning with a small wrapped package. "I saw it and thought of you."

I accepted the gift, curious. It's clearly a book—the right size and weight—wrapped in brown paper.

"Alex, you don't need to buy me things."

"I know. But I wanted to." He sits beside me on the sofa, watching as I carefully unwrap the package.

It's a first edition of one of my favorite novels, the cover slightly worn but beautiful. Inside the front cover, there's an inscription in Alex's careful handwriting: "For Y/n—my partner in crime, in work, and in life. All my love, A."

"Alex..." I breathe, running my fingers over the inscription. "This is beautiful. But it must have cost a fortune."

"Worth every penny to see that look on your face."

I set the book carefully aside and throw my arms around him. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too," he murmurs against my hair. "More than I know how to say."

We hold each other in comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling around us. Tomorrow there will be more filming, more challenges, more of the controlled chaos that is our work life. But tonight, there's just us.

"Hungry?" I ask eventually.

"Starving. Indian from that place around the corner?"

"Perfect." I start to get up, but Alex's arms tighten around me.

"In a minute," he says. "I just want to hold you for a moment longer."

I settle back against him, content to stay exactly where I am. Through the bay window, London twinkles in the growing darkness, but inside our bolt-hole, everything is warm and peaceful and exactly as it should be.

"Alex?"

"Mmm?"

"Thank you. For this place. For taking the leap. For buying us a home before we even knew we needed one."

His arms tighten around me. "Thank you for coming home to it. For making it ours."

I turn in his arms to face him. "I love our life together."

"Even the takeout dinners and sixteen-hour filming days?"

"Especially those," I assure him. "Though I still think we should learn to properly cook."

"One domestic milestone at a time," he says, kissing my forehead. "We've got all the time in the world to figure it out."

All the time in the world. The phrase settles in my chest, warm and reassuring. We do have time—time to learn each other's habits, time to create traditions, time to build something beautiful together.

"I'm going to hold you to that cooking promise," I warned him.

"I'm counting on it," he replies, and kisses me properly, tasting of champagne and cake and the promise of everything good to come.

Outside, the city moves and breathes around us, but inside our sanctuary, time seems to slow. This is happiness, I realize—not the grand gestures or dramatic moments, but this: Alex's arms around me, our book-lined shelves, the comfortable weight of shared contentment.

This is home. This is love. This is everything I never knew I was looking for, found at last in the most unlikely place—in the arms of the man who was beside me all along.