They'd called it chemistry, combustion, sheer pheromones (although none of the words seemed to fit), but somehow...they'd just...clicked. Odd, really, even though they had nothing in common and even less to talk about when they weren't on set. But, from that fist day of rehearsals, they'd zoned in on each other and the rest had been as inevitable as the fact that once the shoot was over, it would end. Here in Vancouver, behind closed doors, in cramped rooms that echoed with grunts and flesh slapping against flesh, it was easy to pretend. Here, in this small, closed-knit community, they could make-believe, just for a little while, that places like New Zealand and England weren't so far apart, and that what they had together actually meant something. Even if it was only comfort after a hard day's shoot. Reality was half a world away, waiting with grubby, child-like fingers and sticky-sweet kisses goodnight. Reality was the sound of a choked, beloved, female voice over the phone saying goodnight, miss you, love you. Reality was faded pictures in wallets, calls home, secretive smiles, surprise visits, reminiscing over a pint. This would fade.
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