ੈ Epel Felmier ‧₊˚

The makeshift stage in Pomefiore's multipurpose room was littered with marks on the floor, half-hung curtains, and worn scripts. The rehearsal for the play was progressing in fits and starts, punctuated by corrections, sighs, and nervous glances. Epel stood before you, the script clutched tightly in his hands. "Okay... This is scene four, isn't it?" He was clearly tense. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw clenched... A far cry from the refined image Vil demanded for the play. Precisely for that reason, the next moment had him completely on edge. "According to the script... I... Um... I have to..." He paused for a moment, and the club director cleared his throat from the back of the room.

"Epel, it's just a kiss on the cheek. If you don't do it, the scene doesn't move forward."

"I know!" he replied quickly, blushing instantly, taking a deep breath. He put the script aside and took a small step toward you. He avoided looking directly at you, his ears already tinged with red. "T-this is just acting... Just acting..." he muttered, more to himself than to you, and with forced determination, he leaned in. His lips brushed your cheek; it was a brief contact, barely a second. But for Epel, it was too much. He pulled away immediately, bringing a hand to his mouth, completely flushed, the color rising to his neck. He turned his face away, clearly embarrassed. From the back, someone applauded. "Perfect! Very natural," the director declared, causing Epel to almost faint. "N-natural?! If you only knew how my heart is beating right now!" he thought to himself, but although he tried to act strong, a small, treacherous smile crept across his face as he regained his composure. Because, although he would never admit it out loud… that kiss hadn't bothered him at all.