“We once played lovers before we truly understood what it meant to love each other…”

The studio lights shone directly into Phuwin’s eyes, making him squint slightly. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn’t wipe it away. The camera was rolling on the final scene of the teaser for their new BL series and he had to look perfect.

“Cut! Great job. Phuwin, your eyes held the emotion really well. Pond, your timing is much better than yesterday.” The director’s voice echoed, unusually satisfied.

Pond gave a slight nod, his gaze drifting toward Phuwin standing a few steps away. He didn’t speak, but the feeling was familiar – the kind that crept in every time he stood close to Phuwin, acting like lovers, only to walk away as strangers once the cameras stopped.

Three years ago, they were the most shipped couple in their company. Photo shoots, fan meetings, backstage smiles, lingering eye contact – everything felt real, even to themselves.

And then, a silent breakup.

The company suddenly decided to pull back on promoting their pairing, opting for a new PR strategy. Pond didn’t explain. Phuwin didn’t ask. They parted ways – colleagues on the surface, unfinished business beneath.

The shoot wrapped up. Pond stepped outside, gripping a bottle of water, eyes quietly following Phuwin as he sat getting his makeup retouched for a behind-the-scenes shoot.

“You’re still watching him, huh?” A calm voice spoke beside him. Joong.

Pond shrugged – neither confirming nor denying. Joong sat beside him on the long bench backstage, his expression calm as always.

“You know,” Joong said, “I don’t think we ever really escape each other. We just take on new roles. Co-stars, colleagues, exes…”

Pond gave a dry laugh. “And what about you? Dunk’s been avoiding you a lot lately.”

Joong didn’t answer right away. He pulled out his phone, scrolling to a behind-the-scenes photo. Dunk was smiling brightly as Aou teased him, while Joong stood behind, watching with an unreadable expression.

“Dunk needs time to figure out the difference between real feelings and fan expectations,” Joong said softly. “I respect that. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Pond said nothing. Everyone here was the same. Expected to perform, to love, then to hide it all away. Sometimes, even the people involved forgot what was real and what was just part of the script.

In the dressing room nearby, Phuwin was adjusting his shirt in front of the mirror when the door opened. Boom peeked in.

“Phuwin, hey – want to grab dinner later? Aou’s planning buffet. Joong and Dunk are coming too.”

Phuwin smiled lightly. “Sure, just let me get changed.”

Boom eyed him for a moment before whispering, “Pond’s… different lately. Seems like he hasn’t really moved on.”

Phuwin froze slightly. His fingers paused at his collar. “That’s old news.”

“Old news, but you still sigh every time you act with him.” Boom grinned, teasing.

Phuwin chuckled. “We’ve been friends too long. You see everything.”

Boom blinked, wide-eyed like a kid. “Because we’re the same. I still haven’t moved on from Aou either.”

The air in the room turned still. They exchanged glances – soft, understanding. People in showbiz learned how to hide well – unless they were with someone who saw through it all.

That evening, they gathered at a cozy Japanese restaurant. Six of them – three couples in various stages of something.

Aou gently placed sashimi on Boom’s plate, his cold exterior softened by his careful hands. Joong poured tea for Dunk, who kept his eyes on the menu, pretending not to notice. Pond, meanwhile, glanced occasionally at Phuwin laughing beside Boom, his eyes flickering.

“This is the first time we’re all acting together again, huh?” Aou said casually.

“Yeah, remember that old mini-series? We were all fighting over lines,” Boom laughed.

“I had to hug Dunk in our first scene even though we weren’t even close back then.” Joong added, making the whole table burst into laughter.

Pond smiled faintly, then asked suddenly, “Has anyone ever… gotten their real feelings mixed up with acting?”

The table fell silent for a beat. The air, once light, now carried a subtle weight.

Phuwin looked at Pond. A short glance – but deep. “That’s when you realize… being a good actor isn’t always a good thing.”

Joong nodded. “It’s also when you learn whether to stop… or move forward.”

Pond turned his tea cup slowly. He thought back to today’s scene – how Phuwin’s eyes had looked into his, so gently it hurt. That wasn’t acting. He was sure of it.

And for the first time in three years, he realized: his feelings hadn’t gone anywhere.

After dinner, the group dispersed. Phuwin was about to call a ride when Pond approached him.

“Need a ride? I drove here.” Pond’s voice was quiet but firm.

Phuwin hesitated. “I thought you were avoiding me,” Pond added softly.

Phuwin sighed. “I wasn’t avoiding. I just… didn’t know how to face you.”

Pond smiled lopsidedly. “Then let’s start over. Like our very first role together.”

Phuwin looked at him, long enough that time seemed to pause. Then he nodded – just barely.

In the car, they didn’t speak. Only the streetlights passed by the windshield in silence, and two hearts beating in a rhythm they both thought they’d lost.

“On screen, we know exactly what to say.

Off screen, even silence speaks louder than words.”

The hum of the air conditioner filled the car, mingling with the distant city sounds as Pond drove through the quiet streets of Bangkok. The atmosphere inside the vehicle was tense but not uncomfortable – like the silence between two people who once knew everything about each other… and now were unsure where to begin again.

Phuwin sat in the passenger seat, hands resting on his lap. He stared out the window, watching neon lights blur into streaks of color. He could feel Pond glancing at him now and then, but neither of them had said anything since leaving the restaurant.

Finally, Pond broke the silence.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

Phuwin blinked, then turned slightly toward him. “At the audition?”

Pond smiled. “No. Before that. At that workshop. You were wearing this ridiculous pink hoodie.”

Phuwin laughed softly. “It wasn’t ridiculous. It was cute. Everyone said so.”

“I didn’t.” Pond grinned. “I thought it was distracting. I couldn’t focus on anything else the whole day.”

That made Phuwin smile wider, but his voice softened. “You used to say that about a lot of things. Then you stopped saying anything.”

Pond’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “I didn’t stop because I wanted to.”

“Then why did you?” Phuwin asked, not accusatory – just curious. Tired, maybe.

Pond didn’t answer right away. He turned onto a quieter street, then pulled over near Phuwin’s condo building. The car idled in silence.

“Because the company said it was better for both of us,” he finally said. “Because I thought… maybe giving you distance would help. That you’d move on faster if I didn’t get in your way.”

Phuwin looked down. “You didn’t even ask me what I wanted.”

“Would you have stayed?” Pond asked.

Phuwin looked at him then, really looked. “Yes.”

The word landed with the weight of three years of silence.

Meanwhile, at a nearby rooftop café, Joong and Dunk sat across from each other. The city skyline sprawled behind them, the glow of traffic like veins of light through the dark.

Joong stirred his coffee, watching Dunk over the rim of his cup.

“You didn’t have to come,” Dunk muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“I wanted to,” Joong said simply.

“Even if people see us? Think we’re dating again?”

Joong shrugged. “We were never really not dating. We just never said it out loud.”

Dunk looked at him then, eyes sharp. “That’s the problem. You never say anything. You just… stand there. Smile. Pour tea. Look at me like you know what I’m thinking.”

“I usually do,” Joong said, his smile gentle.

“And yet you never say it. Never admit it.”

Joong put down his cup. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet but firm. “Fine. I’ll say it now.”

Dunk froze.

“I liked you, Dunk. I still do. Not because the fans wanted it. Not because the script told me to. Because… somewhere between the first scene and the last, you stopped being a co-star and became the only person I looked for after every take.”

Dunk’s lips parted, but no sound came. His eyes glistened – not with tears, but confusion. Fear. Maybe hope.

Before he could speak, his phone buzzed. A notification lit up the screen: “New fan post: ‘JoongDunk spotted again last night!’”

Dunk sighed. “It’s always like this. We take one step closer, and the world drags us back two steps.”

Joong leaned forward, voice lower. “Then let’s walk faster. So the world can’t catch up.”

Back in Pond’s car, the silence had shifted.

Phuwin turned slightly. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Pond looked at him, heart thudding. “Pretend what?”

“That we’re just co-stars. That we’re just acting. That none of it meant anything.”

He paused. “Because it did. It still does.”

Pond reached over, slowly, brushing his fingers against Phuwin’s hand. “Then let’s stop pretending.”

Phuwin didn’t pull away.

Not this time.

Outside, the city kept spinning. Cameras kept rolling. Scripts kept being written.

But somewhere between take one and take forever, something real had returned – quietly, surely, and ready to face the lights again.

Together.

“There are things we were never told to say,

but our eyes said them anyway.”

The morning after felt… quieter.

Phuwin woke up to a beam of sunlight cutting through the window blinds, slicing across his bed like a spotlight. He lay still, letting the warmth rest on his face, eyes closed – not asleep, but not entirely awake either.

Pond’s voice from the night before still echoed in his mind.

“Then let’s stop pretending.”

He could still feel the ghost of Pond’s fingers brushing against his hand. So soft. So real.

For the first time in a long while, Phuwin wasn’t sure whether what he felt was relief, fear, or something in between.

Downstairs, Boom was already sitting at their usual café spot, sipping on a matcha latte and scrolling through Twitter half-heartedly. The hashtag #PondPhuwinComeback had been trending all morning.

Aou slid into the seat across from him, black coffee in hand, sunglasses still on even though they were indoors.

“You’re late,” Boom said without looking up.

“You’re early,” Aou countered, smirking.

Boom rolled his eyes. “We had the same call time. That means we should arrive at the same time.”

“I had to detour. Manager called,” Aou said casually, taking a sip of coffee. “You know how it is. Drama, contract stuff, minor crises.”

Boom looked up, narrowing his eyes. “You always have an excuse.”

Aou leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You always need a reason to be mad.”

Boom blinked, then sighed. “I’m not mad. I just – never mind.”

There was a pause. The kind that hung between two people with unfinished business and too many unsent messages.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Aou said finally.

“You’ve been busy acting like nothing ever happened,” Boom shot back.

The words landed heavy.

Aou didn’t respond right away. His fingers tapped lightly on his coffee cup. “It was one night, Boom. We were drunk. Emotional. Wrapped up in filming.”

Boom scoffed, eyes flashing. “So it meant nothing to you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

Silence.

Boom stood, grabbing his drink. “I’m going to the studio. Don’t be late again.”

As he turned to leave, Aou said, more quietly this time, “I remember everything about that night.”

Boom froze, but didn’t turn around.

“Even the way you said my name like you meant it.”

At the studio, the cast had gathered for a full rehearsal. Today was the first day they’d be reading through the entire script together – line by line, scene by scene.

Phuwin sat beside Pond, scripts open, highlighters ready. Their elbows brushed once or twice, and neither moved away.

Across the room, Joong and Dunk sat two chairs apart. Aou came in late, as expected, and Boom didn’t even look at him.

The director cleared his throat. “Let’s begin. Scene one: introduction. Emotions raw, tension unresolved. Remember, this isn’t just a love story – it’s about timing, about what we say and what we don’t.”

Phuwin flipped to the first page. His eyes skimmed the lines he was supposed to read – words he would say on screen, under lights, in front of cameras.

But some of those lines… he’d already said in real life.

Some, he wished he had.

Scene five. A confrontation. Pond’s character confesses he’s always loved Phuwin’s character but couldn’t say it back then.

Phuwin read the script in silence.

When it was his turn, his voice trembled slightly – whether from the script or from himself, no one knew.

“I waited,” he read. “I waited for you to come back. But all I got was silence.”

Across from him, Pond delivered his line without even looking at the paper.

“I thought silence would hurt less than rejection. I was wrong.”

The room went still. Even the director paused before calling cut.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Let’s… take five.”

Everyone shuffled to grab water or check their phones, but Phuwin stayed seated.

Pond leaned toward him. “That line. The last one. I meant it.”

Phuwin looked at him, eyes soft but steady. “I know.”

He didn’t say I forgive you.

He didn’t need to.

Some things were clearer when unsaid.

Later that afternoon, as Boom waited for his scene, he sat alone in the hallway. Aou walked past him, paused, and sat beside him without asking.

Boom didn’t look at him. “You’re persistent.”

“I’m trying,” Aou said simply. “Even if I’m not good at it.”

Boom took a long breath. “I’m tired of pretending we’re just co-stars.”

Aou smiled faintly. “So don’t.”

Boom turned to him, eyes wide. “It’s not that easy.”

“No,” Aou said. “But I’m not afraid anymore.”

Boom’s heart skipped.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t only lines in a script they were rehearsing.

Maybe they were finally speaking their own truth.