Chapter 10: Situation, Closer to the edge

Ming woke up earlier than Kao. The sun was already high. She glanced at her phone — it was almost eight in the morning.

She stepped into the bathroom. Warm water from the shower crawled across her skin. After cleaning up, she walked slowly to the side of the bed and gently kissed Kao’s forehead — he was still fast asleep.

Then she headed to the kitchen. She reheated the meal. They hadn’t touched last night. Her delicate hands reached a pot and a wooden spoon. She stirred the soup as it slowly warmed over a small flame.

After a while, she began to hum. She always sang when she felt safe. But suddenly, the sound died in her throat. She remembered something that made her heart rustled.

She felt it, Kao’s kiss from last night.

Something had changed. Something subtle, but sharp. The kiss had been rushed — like someone running out of time… or trying to escape something. It didn’t feel like it was hers.

Usually, Kao’s kisses carried trust. They had warmth, sincerity, and assurance. But last night, it felt like he was trying to assert who he was. There was hesitation, a guardedness against something. She couldn’t see it — but she felt the presence of an unpleasant fog.

Maybe he’s just tired… maybe I’m overthinking this…

Ming tried to reassure herself. But her mind spun like a spider’s web, catching fear from the tiniest corners.

Soft footsteps echoed behind her.

“Ming. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Ming turned. Kao was already seated at the dining table, his hair tousled, face still half-dreaming. But his eyes… something about them felt distant. As if he was looking at something not in this room.

She smiled — a smile well-practiced to hide her doubts.

“You were sleeping so deeply. And you’ve got two days off, right? I didn’t want to disturb you. You need the rest.”

Kao nodded, avoiding her gaze — even if only for a second. And when he finally looked at her, there was a shadow in his eyes — a guilt that had yet to be named.

“Want breakfast? I reheated our dinner last night.”

Kao flinched slightly. He paused. “Sorry. I…”

Ming stepped closer, her hand touching his cheek as if to say, It’s okay.

She kissed his lips. A light kiss.

“You were amazing,” she whispered.

Kao smiled. But there was no warmth behind it. She knew she had just lied — to him, and to herself.

“I’ll take a shower,” Kao said.

She only nodded. Kao kissed the back of her hand before walking away into the bathroom. As she watched his back disappear behind the door, that feeling returned — the sense that she was slowly losing Kao.

She tried to smile. I’m just being sensitive. It was only a kiss.

But deep down, Ming knew it wasn’t just a kiss. It was the first crack in something she thought would last.

Kao returned to the dining table after his shower. Everything seemed normal.

They ate together. Shared a few small laughs, passed each other dishes, also light stories.

After the meal, they continued to have a little chat while washing the dishes together. This is their habit.

“So, how’s the new film crew? Are they easy to work with?” Ming asked while rinsing a glass.

“Mm… yeah, they’re nice,” Kao replied. His voice was quiet but composed—each word seemed filtered, as if to make sure no secret could slip through.

“Are you comfortable with the new genre? Not feeling too exposed?”

Ming asked casually, but her heart was holding its breath for the answer.

“After doing it, I think I’m okay. I have to be professional.”

Kao answered too quickly. Too neatly. Too carefully.

Ming knew responses like that usually came from someone hiding something. Her gut twisted with suspicion.

“If anything ever feels off, you can always tell me. You know your secrets are always safe with me.”

The dishes were done. Both dried their hands with a clean towel.

“Don’t worry. I can handle it,” Kao said as he ruffled Ming’s hair with a tenderness that almost felt like regret.

Ming said nothing. Because sometimes love means waiting for someone to be honest—even when you know that honesty could shatter you.

Time passed quickly. Kao said goodbye to Ming—he had to head to the filming location. He needed to catch the flight that would take him there

This time on an island. It was a popular tourist destination.

The sea reflected the golden-orange hues of sunset. In the distance, the sound of waves and soft wind blended together, creating a deceptive calm. Today's scene was the emotional climax of episode seven. In that episode, Jos and Kao’s characters finally confessed their feelings to each other.

The final take was done. The crew applauded. The director looked satisfied. The nearly-sunken sun cast their silhouettes, standing still at the edge where sand met sea.

Jos turned to Kao, who was still staring at the waves, the script loosely rolled in his hand.

“If we keep doing scenes like this… I might forget it's just acting,” Jos said softly, nearly swallowed by the wind.

Kao didn’t look at him. “Isn’t that the goal? To convince others.”

“And yourself?” Jos asked quickly, probing.

Kao turned his head slowly. Their eyes met. There, in the fading light, something lingered in the air. Unspoken. Uninvited. But undeniably present.

“You know they’ve asked us to be seen together more often, right?” Jos continued, his voice gentler than usual. “They said it helps the audience get immersed… feel the chemistry.”

“I heard,” Kao replied flatly, trying to maintain distance.

“What if we had dinner? I can book a place near the inn, if you’re up for it,” Jos offered, casually. But his gaze was anything but.

Kao looked back at the sea. Then said quietly, almost like a whisper, “You always know where to press, don’t you?”

Jos smiled faintly. “Not a weak spot. An honest one.”

Dusk had fully fallen.

The restaurant was small, semi-open, facing the quiet, dark ocean.

A warm, golden pendant lamp hung low over their table, casting a soft glow. The clink of glasses, cutlery, and murmur of nearby conversations became a muted backdrop—not disruptive, but just enough to remind them they weren’t entirely alone.

Jos ordered two simple dishes—seafood soup and chicken salad. Kao barely spoke, sipping lemon tea as he looked out toward the shore, now barely visible. The ocean breeze carried its usual salt-scented air, framing the moment in a strange, comforting stillness.

“So here we are, sitting like this, and fans will think we’re building chemistry,” Jos said softly, spinning his spoon in his water glass.

Kao turned to him. “Isn’t that what they want?”

At some point, Kao had started to feel uncomfortable knowing fans were nearby.

Jos rested his chin on one hand. “I’m not sure it’s just about them.”

Before Kao could respond, a group of diners at the next table started whispering. One of them, a young woman in a hoodie printed with the name of their drama, looked like she was barely containing her excitement as she subtly raised her phone.

Both Jos and Kao noticed. But only Jos saw the discreet way she positioned her camera. Without a word, he scooted his chair closer, leaning in slightly toward Kao. Their elbows touched.

“Look at me, but not too quickly,” Jos whispered.

Kao obeyed, glancing toward him and locking eyes. Those eyes were calm, but carried a very clear signal.

“Our fans are working,” Jos murmured. “Give them what they want.”

Kao swallowed. It felt like stepping into a role that was far too close to reality. He offered a faint smile, leaning just a little closer. Jos responded with a soft laugh that sounded far too real.

A short video was captured by the fan’s phone. There was also the faint sound of a camera shutter from the table behind.

They both knew. But neither looked away.

Jos picked up his chopsticks, offering Kao a piece of shrimp. “Try this. It’s sweet,” he said.

Kao took it hesitantly, then tasted it. “You love controlling the mood,” he muttered, half-teasing.

“Of course. It’s part of my job as an actor,” Jos replied lightly. But the way he looked at Kao—lingering longer than he should—said something else.

Kao knew very well this wasn’t all acting.

That night, their dinner video went viral.

The tagged post read:

“Kao and Jos on a private dinner date? Their chemistry is unreal! #JOSKAOReal #IslandDinnerDate”

More photos followed. Their shoulders brushing. A captured gaze. Jos offering Kao food. Kao smiling faintly.

Some thought it was PR.

Some swore it was real.

The trending tags climbed fast. By midnight, their names were on the front page of every fan account.

The manager’s group chat exploded with screenshots and urgent texts.

“We’re gaining traction. Use it.”

“Don’t confirm, don’t deny.”

“Keep the mystery.”

But Kao felt cold. Even in the warm bed of his inn room, with the sea wind pressing against the windows, he couldn’t sleep.

He could still feel Jos’s gaze from across the table. The moment replayed over and over—like a scene looping in his mind.

It wasn’t about the fans.

Or the career.

It was about something stirring beneath the surface. Something he didn’t want to name.

He turned on his phone and stared at the hashtag.

#JOSKAOReal

Real.

The word echoed in his head like a curse.

It whispered:

“He saw you. And you let him.”

Kao pressed a hand to his chest. The room suddenly felt smaller, as if the shadows were closing in.

His fingers trembled slightly.

He reached for his phone, not to scroll, but to text Ming.

But then he stopped.

She hadn’t replied to his last message either.

She’d gone quiet.

And now… he was drifting. Closer to the edge.

The thing is… Ming saw the hashtag.

From the darkest corner of her chest, something moved.

The monster.

The monster wasn’t jealous.

It wasn’t love either.

It was something else.

The need to destroy anything that got too close to Kao.