Chapter 5

SCENE 1: IN DENIAL.

Matt was here. Brice was here. Jake was here. Zeke was eating chips like it was a movie night. Luther was trying not to knock over my succulents. And Miles—oh Miles—was dressed in oversized denim.

"Okay," Miles grinned like a gremlin, kicking his legs up on the coffee table. "Since y'all are 'publicly dating' now, I think it's time for the ultimate test—Boyfriend Tag Challenge."

Matt choked on his iced coffee.

I dropped a popcorn kernel from my mouth.

"No," I said.

"Yes," Brice said immediately, recording without consent.

"Do it!" Luther cheered from the floor, halfway into a throw pillow.

"Peer pressure is unhealthy," I mumbled, panicking.

"Lights, camera, tension," Jake muttered, sipping his soda like this was the best show of the week.

Matt looked at me with a raised brow. "Are we seriously doing this?"

"I don't know," I hissed. "Are you gonna say weird stuff again like how I tripped on a mic cable and screamed like a goat?"

"You did scream like a goat."

"I screamed like a concerned civilian, okay?!"

But Miles had already turned the ring light on and shoved my phone into a tripod.

"Rolling in three... two... Nate, fix your hair... one—ACTION!"

Matt and I sat side by side on my couch, surrounded by these gremlins pretending to be our support group.

"Hey guys," I said to the camera, doing my best fake influencer smile, "We're doing the Boyfriend Tag Challenge because apparently, my humiliation is a group activity."

Matt waved, expression painfully neutral. "Hi. I'm here against my will."

Brice whispered, "Smile, hotcakes," like this was a wedding photo.

I cleared my throat. "First question: Where did we first meet?"

Matt smirked. "At my gig. He made an entrance. Tripped. Nearly brought the speaker down with him."

"I'm going to leave."

"He screamed," Zeke chimed in helpfully, still chewing chips.

"Like a goat!" Brice cackled.

"I'm going to fight all of you," I declared, flipping my hair dramatically.

We moved on. Who said 'I love you' first? Cue everyone holding their breath like it was a k-drama climax.

"I said I love—" Matt began.

I slapped my hand on his thigh. "A croissant. You said you loved a croissant. Not me. Don't start!"

He grinned, leaning closer. "But you looked at me like I said it to you."

Zeke gasped. Luther clutched his pearls. Brice fainted (dramatically onto my throw pillow).

"Next question!" I screamed.

Who's more dramatic? Matt pointed at me. I pointed at me. The universe pointed at me.

"Next," I mumbled.

Who gets jealous more easily?

"I'm not answering that," Matt muttered.

"That's a yes," Jake chimed in, sipping again like this was award-winning television.

"And who's more clingy?" Miles asked, not even pretending this wasn't chaos.

Matt pointed at me.

I stared at him. "Excuse me?! You literally texted me 'good morning' before I even woke up!"

"I was being polite."

"It was 4AM!"

Then came the big one.

"Describe each other in one word," Zeke read aloud like he was officiating a wedding.

Matt didn't even hesitate. "Unpredictable."

My heart flipped. My brain screamed. My mouth?

"...Moisturised."

Jake spat his soda. Brice screamed. Matt blinked. "Did you say moisturised?"

"I panicked!" I hissed. "You're always glowy!"

The room exploded in laughter. Miles slammed the couch arm like a judge hitting a gavel.

"Okay! I'm convinced. They're fake but they're thriving."

"End the video before I confess something real," I muttered, swatting the camera off.

As the ring light dimmed and the chaos settled, Matt looked at me with the softest smile.

And for a fake boyfriend?

He sure knew how to make my heart skip like it forgot it was acting.

________

I am not a morning person. Not even close. My body was up at 4 a.m. and already ready to sue me.

My suitcase was half-packed with outfits I think look like a struggling artist in Seoul, and half-packed with snacks because I'm a simple man with anxiety and a need for salted chips at all times.

And now here I am, sitting shotgun while Matt drives like we're in Fast & the Emotionally Confused.

"Slow down, Angry Bird! This is not an action scene!" I shrieked, gripping the door handle like it owed me loyalty.

Matt glanced over, completely unbothered. "You said your call time is tight."

"Yes, but I didn't say drift through corners like Tokyo Drift!"

He just smirked. Rude. And hot. Ugh.

The sun was barely peeking over the skyline, and yet there was this quietness between us that made me feel... too aware. Like the road was longer than it actually was.

"You know," I mumbled, fidgeting with the sleeves of my hoodie, "you didn't have to drive me. You could've just sent Jake or Zeke to throw me into the departure gate."

"Yeah, well... they don't have a license," Matt muttered, eyes on the road.

Liar.

"You care," I sing-songed like a smug little gremlin.

"I just don't trust you to wake up and Uber yourself without accidentally flying to the wrong country."

"Okay, that's fair."

We reached the airport entrance too fast for my liking. My heart sank a little as I saw the departure signs. My movie scenes in Korea were scheduled for four days. Not that long. But long enough to make things weird.

Matt pulled the car over and helped me with my suitcase. Classic boyfriend move—even if we were fake-dating. Still felt like a scene from a K-drama.

"Thanks for the ride," I said, suddenly too shy to meet his eyes.

Matt nodded. "Message me when you land, okay?"

"You really care."

"I care that you don't get kidnapped by your own clumsiness," he deadpanned.

I laughed, then fiddled with the zipper of my bag just to stall. "You sure you'll survive without me? Who's gonna bother you now? Who's gonna steal your hoodies and drink all your oat milk?"

"Jake's still around. And I'm pretty sure Brice is already planning to rearrange my studio."

We both paused.

This was fake.

Just for PR. Just until the buzz died down. Just until...

Matt suddenly stepped closer and reached out to fix my tangled hoodie strings. "Stay safe, okay?"

I looked up. He wasn't smirking this time.

My chest did that stupid flutter thing.

I swallowed. "I'll bring you something weird from the convenience store. Maybe... shrimp chips."

"I hate shrimp chips."

"Perfect."

He laughed.

And that was it.

I walked into the terminal, but I swear I could still feel his stare following me even after the glass doors slid shut behind me.

And for a fake relationship, that moment felt a little too real.

_______

Being away from home and stuck in Korea for work felt like being in a teen drama set in Seoul. Which sounds cute, until you're jetlagged, running on vending machine coffee, and trying not to sweat through your costume under fifteen layers of fake snow.

Still, I was surviving—mostly thanks to one very persistent, very annoying, and surprisingly caring guy who kept popping into my phone like a sponsored ad I accidentally subscribed to.

Matt.

It started off simple.

Matt [9:42 AM]:

Don't forget to eat breakfast. And no, three mints and a coffee don't count.

Me [9:43 AM]:

I eat like a real adult now. Today I had a rice triangle. Very balanced.

Matt [9:44 AM]:

That's one triangle. Your blood sugar is crying.

I laughed while reading that, standing behind the set lights, trying not to look like a guy who was smiling at his phone like he had a secret boyfriend.

Well. Technically fake. But my chest hadn't gotten the memo lately.

We ended up calling each other every night. Sometimes I'd be in my hotel bed, wrapped in blankets like a sad sushi roll, and Matt would be pacing around his studio, trying to figure out the right chord for his upcoming gig.

"Are you sure you're okay with me performing that song?" he asked one night over video call. His face was lit softly from his desk lamp, hair messy, glasses slightly crooked.

"You mean 'They Don't Know About Us?' The song that broke the internet with our face close-ups?" I teased.

Matt chuckled. "It's just... it fits. And I might be writing a new one, too."

"Another breakup ballad?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe something... different."

We stared at each other a beat too long. I zoomed in on his nose on purpose.

"Wow. You've got pores like everyone else."

"Nate, if you don't stop zooming, I will revoke your fake boyfriend privileges."

"You can't! I'm a national treasure!"

Meanwhile, our fans were going feral.

@fanofvillanueva:

OMG Matt just commented "sleep well troublemaker 🫶" on Nate's post????

@shipshipgo:

We are FEASTING this fake dating era is getting too real 💀

@limwalker93:

Wait... is this real real or soft launch real or fake real pretending to be real—

And I didn't help, obviously.

I posted a mirror selfie in my coat with the caption:

"Missin' home. Missin' noise. Missin'... shrimp chips."

Matt commented:

"I left them on your desk. Come back before I eat them all."

Zeke replied under him:

"We all know you hate shrimp chips, Matt. Stop flirting."

Luther added:

"Drop the song you're writing. We know it's about him."

Even Brice shared a story of me laughing during a video call with the caption:

"My client pretending his 'business partner' didn't make him giggle at 2AM."

Jake, of course, reposted it and added:

"I've seen romcoms start this way. Just saying."

On the third night, I was pacing my hotel room, rehearsing lines, when Matt called again.

"Are you free tomorrow night?" he asked.

"I think so. Why?"

"My gig's happening. Small stage, mostly industry people. But I want you to watch."

"Ohhh, this is a 'support me emotionally' call."

"It's a 'I-want-you-to-hear-the-new-song' call. I want your honest opinion."

I flopped onto the bed. "Will I cry? Because I didn't bring tissues."

"Maybe. Or maybe you'll finally admit that I can sing better than you."

"Now I'm bringing rotten tomatoes."

He laughed, but his voice softened. "Seriously, Nate. I want you to see this part of my world."

And that... did something strange to my stomach. I wasn't sure what it was. Butterflies? Guilt? Shrimp chips?

But I nodded, even if he couldn't see it. "I'll be there. Virtually. With popcorn and judgement."

Every message, every call, every like... they were adding up. Like breadcrumbs I kept following, not sure if I was headed to a fairytale or a trap.

All I knew was—I wasn't alone anymore.

And maybe, just maybe... neither was Matt.

I rolled over in bed and stared at the calendar on my phone. Matt's gig was tomorrow night. I promised I'd be there. Virtually, yes. But maybe... maybe I didn't want to be a blurry square on a screen anymore.

I wanted to show up. For him.

Should I fly back early?

I tapped my notes app and started planning the most chaotic last-minute itinerary imaginable. Morning flight. Arrive in Bangkok just before the show. Dramatic entrance. Romantic tension. Possibly faint from exhaustion. Very drama of me.

I was halfway through checking flight options when my phone buzzed.

Boss Lau [6:48 AM]:

Good morning, Nate. Reminder we're doing final scene reshoots today. There's some delay with the equipment, so expect late wrap. Probably won't fly until midnight.

I stared at the message like it just slapped me in the face.

Seriously?! Of all days?! Equipment delay? The universe really said "Not on your fake boyfriend watch."

I flopped back into bed dramatically.

"Kill me now," I groaned into my pillow.

Then I sat back up and texted Matt:

Me [6:53 AM]:

Bad news. I might miss your gig in person. Still in Korea. Boss Lau pulled a 'just one more scene' move.

He replied instantly.

Matt [6:54 AM]:

Just one more scene = 10 hours of crying in a field in the rain?

Me:

Honestly, yes.

Matt:

I'll save you a front row seat. Even if it's digital. You're still showing up. That counts.

My fingers hovered over the screen. He made it sound like it wasn't a big deal.

But it was. At least to me.

Me:

I'll try. If the universe lets me, I'll be there.

I meant it.

Even if it meant flying across the sky like a sleep-deprived cupid with emotional baggage.

________

Matt's POV

I scanned the front rows instinctively, even though I already knew.

No Nate.

Not in person. Not even in the screen panel we set up in case he tuned in virtually. His square remained blank. My chest felt heavier than the mic in my hand.

He said he'd try. I knew he meant it. But Boss Lau had him locked in filming hell in Korea. I told myself not to expect anything—but apparently, my heart didn't get the memo.

Jake shot me a subtle look from the wings. A quiet you okay?

I nodded, swallowed the lump in my throat, and raised the mic. "This one's a special request."

The crowd screamed as the opening chords of "They Don't Know About Us" by One Direction filled the air.

I began to sing.

🎵 "People say we shouldn't be together..." 🎵

Each note hit harder than usual. Maybe it was because the lyrics suddenly felt more personal. Too personal. Because this wasn't just for the fans anymore. It was for someone who wasn't here—someone who turned a fake relationship into the most real thing I've felt in years.

🎵 "Too young, to know about forever" 🎵

And then, it happened.

Mid-chorus.

Mid-heartache.

From the side entrance of the stage, in a ridiculous oversized hoodie and a face mask halfway off his chin, there he was.

Nate Rae Villanueva. Sweaty. Breathless. And glowing like someone just dropped a disco ball in human form.

I literally missed three lyrics.

He wasn't even trying to be subtle. He was marching past security with a VIP pass in his hand and chaos in his aura. The crowd started to scream louder—half recognizing him, half reacting to me completely freezing onstage.

Our eyes locked.

He smiled—sheepishly, like he knew he was dramatic. And I smiled—like a total idiot.

The music continued. My voice came back, this time shakier, more raw. I kept singing, but every word was now for him.

🎵 "They don't know what we do best, that's between me and you, our little secret..." 🎵

He stood off to the side, watching like it was his first time seeing me perform. And something about that made my chest tighten in the most delicious, terrifying way.

When the final song ended, and I bowed to the roaring crowd, I didn't even say goodbye properly. I just ran offstage like a man with a mission.

Straight to him.

"NATE!" I yelled over the noise.

He turned, and I pulled him into the tightest hug I could give without knocking us both over. The world dimmed around us—the flashing lights, the applause, the chaos—it all disappeared for a second.

"Welcome home," I whispered into his shoulder.

He hugged back, just as tight. "You better be glad I like you."

I pulled back and looked at him, half laughing, half crying. "How the hell did you even make it?"

He gave a proud little smirk. "I faked a stomach ache on set, pretended to puke, told Boss Lau I needed to rest at the hotel. Had a cab waiting at the back. Flight got delayed. I begged the flight attendant to let me off first. Ran across the terminal like it was the Hunger Games. Bribed a customs officer with my signed photocard. Got here just in time for your sad-boy concert ballad."

My jaw dropped. "You bribed a customs officer with your photocard?!"

He shrugged like it was totally normal. "I'm limited edition."

I laughed. Loud. Unfiltered. The kind that shakes out the tension and makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—everything's gonna be okay.

"You're unbelievable," I said.

"And yet... I'm here," he winked.

I reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it.

"Let's go say hi to the fans. You earned your spot on the stage."

He grinned. "Let's give 'em a love story they'll never see coming."

And with that, we walked out together—fake dating, real feelings, and the entire universe watching. But for the first time, I didn't care about the noise.

He was here.

That was all I needed.

//