Chapter 6

SCENE STEALERS

Some actors wait their whole lives for scenes like this.

Romantic tension. Candlelight mood. A slow-build flirt that ends with a "will-they-won't-they" almost-kiss.

Me?

I was mostly worried about my breath and whether my co-actor Kyle could tell I'd had garlic rice for breakfast.

We were midway through the scene. Kyle leaned in, his fingers gently brushing the collar of my shirt like we were in a GMMTV special. His eyes were soft, his breath minty (how? why?), and we were—according to the script—this close to pretending we were in love.

And then I felt it.

You know when someone walks into a room and doesn't do anything, but their energy is like an incoming earthquake? That.

My skin prickled.

I looked up.

Standing just behind the cameras, arms crossed, expression unreadable, sunglasses still on indoors like a celebrity with secrets, was Matt Cohen Reyes.

Just watching.

Calm.

Too calm.

Too still.

Like a cat waiting for a bird to make one wrong move.

I nearly forgot my line.

"Cut!" the director shouted. "That was great! But Nate, try not to look like you've seen a ghost in the next take."

I turned back to Kyle and awkwardly smiled. "Sorry. Got distracted."

"By your boyfriend?" he said under his breath with a teasing smirk.

"Not my boyfriend," I mumbled. "Technically."

Out of the corner of my eye, Brice, who had no business being on set but was definitely here for the drama, leaned toward Matt and whispered way too loudly:

"Wow, look at that. He's about to be kissed by Thailand's hottest export. How do you feel, Angry Bird?"

Matt said nothing.

He didn't blink.

He didn't breathe.

He just kept watching like he was calculating how many ways he could flip a light stand.

Brice wasn't done.

"Your man's out here building chemistry in real time. Whew! I felt that sexual tension. You okay there, Mattie?"

Matt's jaw twitched.

He took off his sunglasses with the slow, deliberate energy of a man who would be petty but decided to stay mysterious instead.

"I'm great," he replied. "Acting's acting. I trust him."

"Oh," Brice raised a brow. "So no jealousy?"

"Nope."

"Not even a little bit of rage under that designer hoodie?"

Matt casually sipped his iced coffee. "I only rage when I'm out of oat milk."

Brice leaned closer. "So you're saying, if Kyle and Nate kiss in this take, you'll just...watch?"

Matt tilted his head, eyes narrowed. "Brice."

"Yes?"

"Do you want to be thrown into a sound booth again? Because I remember where the trapdoor is."

Brice burst into giggles and skipped away to "check the lighting," which meant hovering near the gossip without being caught.

Meanwhile, I stood there sandwiched between Kyle—who was now practicing smoldering gazes into his reflection—and Matt, who was definitely trying to look chill but held his coffee like it had personally betrayed him.

"Alright! Let's go for another take!" the director called out.

I looked at Kyle.

Then I looked at Matt.

Then I cleared my throat.

"Director, can we—uh—take five?" I asked, raising my hand like a high schooler with a stomach ache.

"Five? Again?" the director groaned. "Nate, if you keep stalling, the studio's gonna charge me emotional tax."

But he waved us off anyway.

I immediately made my way over to Matt, who didn't move.

"You good?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"I'm amazing," he replied with that fake smile that said, I am five seconds from reenacting a soap opera meltdown.

"You sure? You're gripping that coffee like it owes you child support."

Matt finally exhaled, eyes softening just a little. "Just here to support. No big deal."

I smiled and reached for his hand. "Want to stay for the next scene?"

He looked at me, then looked at Kyle—who was now stretching his jaw like he was preparing for an Olympic kiss—and deadpanned, "Absolutely not."

He turned around, walking away coolly like a jealous Bond villain hiding a soft spot.

Brice popped back into frame like a demon summoned by drama. "Okay but... that exit? 10/10. Jealous but make it fashion."

I laughed and shook my head. The scene may have been about fake flirting...

But what was happening off-camera?

That was dangerously ready.

Lunch with Matt was supposed to be chill.

After the taping ended—thankfully with no actual kissing thanks to my conveniently timed "sweaty lips" excuse—I invited Matt to grab something to eat. He said yes with his usual nonchalance, but I noticed the way he avoided eye contact when he got in the car.

Now here we were, sitting across each other in a cozy corner booth at some fancy Korean fusion place in the mall. My bibimbap was steaming. His ramen had gone tragically untouched. And Matt? Matt was pouting into his iced tea like it called him ugly.

"You okay?" I asked casually, pretending not to notice he'd been stirring his drink for five minutes straight.

"I'm fine," he muttered, eyes locked on a dumpling like it betrayed him in a past life.

I leaned forward, fighting the urge to smile. "You sure? Because you're acting like someone just cancelled Taylor Swift's discography."

He raised a brow. "I'm literally just eating."

"You haven't touched your food."

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"The economy," he deadpanned.

I burst out laughing. "You are so sulky right now. It's kind of cute."

Matt frowned deeper. "I'm not sulky."

"Okay, but if you sulk any harder, this table might slide into a black hole," I teased, leaning my chin on my palm. "Wait... are you... jealous?"

He snapped his eyes to mine. "What? No."

I grinned wider. "Oh my gosh. You are. Matt Cohen Reyes is jealous of an acting scene. That wasn't even a real kiss!"

"I'm not jealous!" he said louder this time, which definitely made the lady two tables over look at us weird.

I snickered, then reached over and poked his side. He flinched. Noted: ticklish.

"Oh my God. Are you blushing?" I gasped dramatically. "You're blushing!"

"I'm not— Nate!" he yelped as I poked him again, this time with full intent. "Stop that!"

"Nope. Not until you admit you were jealous!" I laughed, launching a full-on tickle attack. Matt squirmed, swatting at my hands while trying to keep a straight face.

"You're gonna get us banned from this restaurant," he hissed through laughter.

"Say it. Say you were jealous of Jisoo!" I demanded like a playful dictator.

"Never!" he grinned, trying to dodge me, but the booth corner betrayed him. "You're evil!"

I paused, letting the laughter die down as I leaned back, catching my breath.

And then, like someone flipped a switch, the energy shifted.

Matt's smile faded slowly. His eyes flicked to mine, a little softer, a little too serious.

"Why would I be jealous, Nate?" he said, voice low. "It's a fake relationship, remember?"

My chest did this weird little jolt. Like I forgot how to sit still.

I swallowed, suddenly aware of how loud the mall had become. The chatter, the clinking of dishes, the way Matt's gaze felt a little too real now.

"Yeah," I said, quieter. "Just fake."

We stared at each other. Not smiling. Not joking. Just two idiots stuck in a game that was starting to feel a little too real to both of us.

Matt looked away first, pretending to take a sip of his drink. But he didn't actually drink it.

I didn't push it.

I just sat there, my stomach suddenly forgetting how hunger works.

Because if this was all fake...

Then why did I want him to be jealous?

And why did he look like he didn't want it to be fake anymore?

__________

Friday night was supposed to be just another hangout.

Nothing dramatic. No unresolved tension. Just me, my fabulous trio—Brice, Luther, and Zeke—lounging in a dimly lit resto-bar with overpriced cocktails, ambient indie pop, and enough neon to make your retinas cry.

"I want a mojito," Brice announced dramatically, tossing his sunglasses on the table even though it was 8PM.

"You always want a mojito," Zeke deadpanned.

"Mojitos are self-care, Zeke. Let me live," Brice shot back, already waving down the waiter.

I sat back, sipping my drink quietly, pretending I was vibing, but really, my mind was stuck in rerun mode—playing that lunch with Matt like it was my own personal telenovela. That line. That look. The awkward silence after. And now, we hadn't talked properly in three days.

We'd sent a few dry messages. Reacted to each other's stories. Blamed it on our schedules. But we both knew it was more than that.

I was still mentally spiraling when I heard Brice gasp.

"Incoming hot boy alert. And unfortunately, yours."

I looked up just in time to see Matt walking into the bar.

Jake, Ciandrei, and Miles were with him, all looking unfairly attractive and slightly wind-blown like they were in a music video about heartbreak and expensive cologne.

Matt's eyes scanned the room and landed on me—briefly. We made eye contact. For half a second. Then we both looked away like teenagers with crushes and unresolved feelings.

Great. This night just got a lot more complicated.

To avoid imploding, I turned to Brice. "Shot?"

"Shot," he nodded.

Luther raised his glass. "To emotionally repressed heartthrobs."

"Cheers," we all clinked.

A little later, the owner of the resto-bar, a flamboyant man named Jay, got on stage with a microphone and the energy of a talk show host on triple espresso.

"GOOD EVENING BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE OF BANGKOK!" he boomed. "Tonight, we have a little game night special and the winners will get an all-expense paid trip to MAYA BAY! That's right, the island! The beach! The vibes!"

The bar erupted into applause and excited squeals.

"We'll start with team games! Gather your friends and join up front! And don't forget—the final round is our Couple Showdown!"

Brice was already yanking me up. "C'mon, we're winning that beach trip. I need new thirst traps for my feed."

"Wait, did you say couple—?" I started, but Zeke and Luther were already dragging me forward.

To my dismay, Matt and his group joined in too, assembling across from us like the rival gang in a rom-com musical.

We competed in silly games like "Guess That 2000s Song," charades, and a memory game involving fruit emojis and an alarmingly chaotic host.

And of course, my team—the chaotic gays and me—were tied neck-and-neck with Matt's team.

Tito Jay grinned. "AND NOW... for the FINAL ROUND! We need one couple from each team to play the Couple Showdown!"

I blinked. "Wait, WHAT?"

"You and Matt," Brice said immediately.

"Absolutely not."

"You two are literally fake dating. This is what fake dating is for, darling," Brice stage-whispered.

"We're not even talking right now!"

Zeke shrugged. "All the more reason to make it weird and spicy."

On the other side, I could see Jake whispering something to Matt, who looked... conflicted. But then he nodded.

Suddenly, all eyes were on us.

"Looks like our fan-favorite couple is joining!" Jay beamed.

Matt walked toward me slowly. His expression was unreadable. I forced a smile that probably looked like I was in pain.

"Ready to fake-date for a trip to the beach?" he said under his breath.

"Only if you promise not to look that hot while we lose."

He chuckled. "Deal."

The Couple Showdown was ridiculous.

Jay asked questions like:

Who said "I love you" first?

Who takes longer in the shower?

Who snores?

Who gets jealous easier?

We answered using mini whiteboards.

To our horror—we got every single one right.

Every. Single. One.

When he asked who gets jealous easier, we both hesitated.

I wrote "Matt."

He wrote "Me."

We held up the boards at the same time.

Laughter. A few dramatic gasps.

Matt looked at me. Smiled.

Something in my chest did a backflip.

Final question:

"What's your partner's favorite love song?"

I scribbled mine immediately.

Matt hesitated. Wrote. Bit his lip.

"AND REVEAL!"

I held up: They Don't Know About Us - One Direction.

Matt held up: They Don't Know About Us - One Direction.

Cue chaos.

The bar exploded into applause. Tito Jay was screaming. Brice was weeping. Jake looked like he wanted to fist bump someone.

We won.

Matt and I just stood there awkwardly, holding our little fake relationship boards like war survivors.

"Trip to Maya Bay, baby!" Luther shouted.

"You two better post matching swimsuits," Zeke added.

Matt turned to me. Quietly. Gently.

"We should talk soon," he said.

I nodded.

And for the first time in days, I felt like maybe we would.

_________

The photoshoot prep room was its own brand of battlefield — an explosion of fashion, wires, caffeine, and creative tension. Stylists darted between racks of clothes. Interns tripped over light cords. Somewhere in the chaos, Nate and Matt were being ushered toward a leather-themed editorial shoot that was already running twenty minutes behind schedule.

Brice stood near the accessories table, meticulously arranging chokers and rings with the deadly focus of someone who'd bite you if you touched the wrong necklace. His mesh top sparkled under the studio lighting, and his brow was furrowed — not in stress, but judgment.

Across the room, Jake swiped through an iPad, adjusting lighting cues and muttering things about saturation and mood palettes. They hadn't looked at each other since call time.

Until now.

Brice's gaze snapped to Jake, scanning the setup with clear disapproval. "Why is the lighting so dramatic?" he scoffed, loud enough for the room to hear. "Are we shooting a music video or a vampire funeral?"

Jake didn't even flinch. "It's called mood, Brice. Not everything has to be soaked in glitter and drag queen drama."

Brice gasped like he'd been slapped with a sequin glove. "Drag queen drama is culture, you artless man."

Jake sighed and finally approached, holding up a leather jacket with casual confidence. "Matt should wear this in the third layout. It screams bad boy with emotional depth."

Brice blinked. "Absolutely not. That color will swallow him whole. He's pale, not a ghost." He grabbed the jacket at the same time, and suddenly the two were locked in a silent tug-of-war, teeth clenched and arms stiff.

"You always have to disagree with me, huh?" Jake said through gritted teeth.

"You always have to be wrong," Brice shot back, refusing to let go.

They were now inches apart, faces tense, bodies rigid like co-captains in a fashion war.

"You're impossible," Jake hissed.

"You're intolerable," Brice snapped.

Across the room, Nate watched the scene unfold with Matt beside him, both half-dressed and entirely entertained.

"Should we leave them alone or throw water on them?" Nate asked.

Matt smirked. "Nah. This is better than the drama on the actual shoot schedule."

Back at the accessory battlefield, Brice finally yanked the jacket back with a huff. "Fine! Let Matt wear your tacky emotional-trauma jacket and look like he's starring in a breakup documentary."

Jake folded his arms. "Oh, I'm sorry, should we dress him like a human disco ball again? Maybe throw in a feather boa and a fog machine?"

Brice let out a sound halfway between a growl and a scoff. "I will end you with a bedazzler, I swear."

Jake chuckled — genuinely this time — a low, easy laugh that made Brice freeze for a moment.

"You used to love my taste," Jake said softly.

Brice faltered. His mouth opened, then closed again. "That was before you started wearing cargo pants again."

Jake burst out laughing, but Brice spun on his heel and started to walk away — only to trip slightly on a stray rhinestone on the floor. He stumbled forward with a curse, but Jake reached out instinctively, grabbing his arm before he could fall.

"Careful," Jake said, steadying him. "You're dramatic, not immortal."

Brice didn't move right away. His eyes flicked up to Jake's. And for a brief second, it was quiet. Just tension and history, hanging between them like a song they'd both forgotten the words to.

"Let go," Brice said finally, his voice lower. "Or I'll tell everyone you cried watching To All the Boys I've Loved Before."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "You promised that was sacred."

Across the studio, Nate cupped his hands like a megaphone. "GUYS! Are we staging a love scene or a custody battle?"

As if snapped out of a trance, Brice yanked his arm back and stomped away. Jake stepped back too, rubbing the back of his neck like he hadn't just caught feelings in the middle of a wardrobe debate.

Matt leaned toward Nate and whispered, "If they don't make out by the end of this campaign, I'm giving up on love."

Nate took a sip of his iced coffee. "Honestly? Same."

And just like that, the photoshoot continued — with leather jackets, glitter, and one unresolved romantic rivalry waiting for its cue.

//