Lost In Your Words

Chapter 5: Liam Off-Script — Liam’s POV

I don’t mess up.

Not like this.

Lines are easy. Timing is easy. Once I’ve got something down, it stays there—locked in, reliable.

Predictable.

That’s kind of the point.

So when I say the wrong line—

I know immediately.

It’s subtle. Not enough to completely derail the scene, but enough that it doesn’t match. Enough that it throws something off.

I hear it the second it leaves my mouth.

And for half a second, everything just… stops.

“—sorry,” I add quickly, trying to correct it, flipping back to the right line.

“It’s fine,” Luna says.

But it’s not.

Because I know why it happened.

I glance at her—just for a second—and that’s the problem.

It’s always the problem.

“Again from that line,” someone calls from offstage.

I nod, even though my focus isn’t where it’s supposed to be.

It should be on the script.

On the scene.

On literally anything else.

“Ready?” Luna asks quietly.

I look at her again.

That’s mistake number one.

“Yeah,” I say, even though I’m not.

We start over.

I get through the first few lines fine. Steady. Controlled. Back where I should be.

Then she looks at me.

Not in a big way. Not obvious.

Just enough.

And suddenly I’m not thinking about the scene anymore.

I’m thinking about the way she almost missed her cue earlier. The way she said “sorry” too quickly, like she didn’t want it to be a thing.

I’m thinking about how she won’t hold eye contact for more than a second.

I’m thinking about why I keep noticing that.

And then—

I miss my mark.

Not by a lot.

Just enough that I’m standing slightly off, just enough that it throws off the spacing.

“Liam,” Noah says from somewhere in the seats, his voice way too casual. “You’re drifting.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, stepping back into place. “Got it.”

I don’t look at him.

I don’t look at anyone.

I definitely don’t look at her.

We keep going.

And this time, I force it.

Every line is deliberate. Every movement is exact. I stick to what I know, what I’ve practiced, what I should be doing.

It works.

Mostly.

Until we hit that part of the scene.

The quieter part.

The one where everything slows down.

I know this part. I’ve run it enough times that I could do it without thinking.

Which is probably why I do think.

My gaze lifts to hers—because it’s supposed to.

That’s part of it.

That’s normal.

What’s not normal is the way it lingers.

Half a second too long.

Long enough that I forget the next line.

It’s there.

I know it’s there.

I just… can’t reach it.

There’s a pause.

Too long.

And I know everyone hears it.

“—Liam?” Luna says softly, just barely breaking character.

Right.

The line.

“Sorry,” I say again, quieter this time. “I—uh…”

I glance down at my script, even though I shouldn’t need to.

Even though I don’t need to.

“Let’s take five,” someone calls out, saving me from having to keep going.

I nod immediately, stepping back like I’ve just been given an exit.

Which I have.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling under my breath.

That shouldn’t have happened.

None of that should’ve happened.

“Dude.”

I don’t even have to look to know it’s Noah.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically.

“Didn’t ask if you were fine,” he replies, dropping into the seat next to me. “I’m asking what that was.”

“Nothing.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

I stay quiet.

Because there isn’t a good answer.

Because I don’t have an answer.

Because I know exactly what it is, and I don’t want to say it out loud.

Noah leans back in his seat, stretching his arms out like he’s got all the time in the world.

“You missed a line,” he says.

“I know.”

“You missed a mark.”

“I know.”

“You never do that.”

I glance at him. “There a point here?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his head slightly. “You’re distracted.”

“I’m not.”

He just looks at me.

And that’s the problem with Noah—he doesn’t need you to admit anything. He’ll just sit there until the silence does it for you.

I look away first.

“I just messed up,” I say. “It happens.”

“Not like that.”

I don’t respond.

Because he’s right.

And I hate that he’s right.

Across the room, Luna’s sitting with Sofia and Maya, talking about something I can’t hear.

She laughs.

It’s quick. Natural.

Like earlier didn’t happen.

Like this isn’t a thing.

Which is good.

That’s good.

That’s what it should be.

So why does that make it worse?

“You’re staring,” Noah says.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I drag my gaze away immediately, focusing on literally anything else.

The stage. The lights. The floor.

“Drop it,” I mutter.

Noah doesn’t respond right away.

Then—

“You like her.”

It’s not a question.

I let out a short breath, something sharp and quiet. “No.”

“Liam.”

“Noah.”

Another pause.

Then he shrugs slightly. “Alright.”

But the way he says it makes it very clear he doesn’t believe me.

I don’t care.

I don’t need him to believe me.

Because it’s not—

It’s not like that.

It can’t be like that.

That would complicate things.

And I don’t do complicated.

“Five’s up,” someone calls.

I stand up immediately, like I’ve been waiting for that.

“Right,” I say. “Back to it.”

Noah watches me for a second, then stands too.

We head back toward the stage.

I don’t look at Luna.

I don’t think about the missed lines.

I don’t think about the way everything felt off the second I started paying attention to her instead of the scene.

I just focus.

On the script.

On the routine.

On getting it right this time.

Because that’s what I do.

I get it right.

And whatever this is—

It’s not going to mess that up again.