"No, you can't!" he screamed. "I can't say something like that! How could I?"
"It's sweet. It's romantic." The man gave him an encouraging wink. "And the ladies will love it."
"But I can't say such things!" he protested, and – for the first time since he was just a lad – wished he could curl up and sob. "Not with the past you gave me."
A nonchalant shrug dismissed his argument. "I am the director. You are my character. I can do whatever I want with you."
"But I can't–"
"Cut it out! The final scene stays as it is!"
........"Watch the skies. Every star that falls brings my heart back to you."
"Maybe it's canon, but it is so uncharacteristic of you. I loathe it."
His eyes widened. He trembled somewhere between flight and approach. "You wouldn't...?" he asked hesitatingly, fighting to keep the tremor out of his voice.
Still, it was noticed. "I'll never use such garbage for you." Slender fingers, long accustomed to a keyboard, brushed a golden strand of hair out of his face. "Promise."
He sighed, releasing a tension that was built over fifteen years ago. "Where were you when they invented Wolf Den?"
"In school," she replied.