SHOWBIZ COMEBACK
I was peacefully buttering my toast and pretending everything was totally normal, like I hadn't just woken up wrapped in Matt's arms with his stupidly warm breath on my neck and his even more stupidly cute bedhead pressed against my cheek.
Totally. Normal.
Until Brice opened his mouth.
"So," he chirped with the grin of a demon, "who slept well last night? Or, y'know... didn't sleep at all?"
I froze mid-bite. Matt choked on his orange juice. Zeke let out a snort so loud it scared one of the cats. Luther literally clapped.
"I slept great," Matt said, voice three pitches too high. "Nothing unusual. Just... REM sleep. Very restorative."
"Oh? Funny," Brice leaned across the table, eyes sparkling. "Because I distinctly remember walking in on two very flustered boys at 7 a.m. practically launching themselves across the room like startled raccoons."
"I WAS LOOKING FOR MY—UM—SLIPPERS!" I argued, turning an unfortunate shade of red. "AND MATT WAS—he was just already up. Being... weird."
"Slippers?" Luther echoed. "Wearing what? Each other?"
Zeke nearly spit out his coffee.
Across the table, Gabriel stirred his cereal in silence. I noticed he hadn't smiled once since we sat down. When I glanced his way, he gave me a small, tight smile and looked back down.
Cue internal guilt spiral.
"Brice," I hissed. "Cool it. It's just breakfast."
"Yeah, but it's giving brunch. And I'm starving—for gossip."
Matt groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Can we eat in peace? My trauma's already on the plate."
Everyone laughed except Gabriel, who quietly stood up and mumbled something about needing to check on his grandma. Which made zero sense because his grandma was literally at the table doing a sudoku puzzle.
I excused myself quickly, my heart beating faster than it had any right to.
I caught up to him by the garden. He was kicking at a pebble like it had wronged him in a past life.
"Gab," I said gently.
He glanced at me, brows raised. "So... you and Matt?"
The breeze shifted. I swallowed. "It's complicated."
"Is it fake?" he asked, too quickly.
I hesitated. "It was. At first."
He nodded slowly. "But it's not anymore, is it?"
I didn't answer. He looked away, smiled without humor, and said, "I guess I missed my chance again."
There it was.
The ache of something that almost happened. Something I used to wish for—but maybe not anymore.
__________
It started with a ping. Then two. Then thirty.
I was sprawled out on the bamboo bench outside our house, sipping iced tea and trying to mentally recover from a morning filled with Brice's teasing and Matt's… Mattness.
Then my phone exploded.
[@LanternHeart23 just posted a video: "Matt Cohen Reyes sings unreleased love song in small Thai village 😭"]
The thumbnail was blurry, but unmistakable—Matt, seated on a wooden stool in front of our local community center, acoustic guitar in hand, singing like the stars themselves were listening.
My stomach flipped. I clicked play.
It was that moment from the other night. The soft glow of lanterns behind him, our neighbors gathered with wide eyes and gentle smiles. I remembered standing at the back of the crowd, arms crossed, trying so hard to look disinterested even though every lyric sounded like it had been carved out of my own chest.
The comments were already pouring in.
"HE WROTE THIS FOR NATE DIDN'T HE 😭😭"
"I'm sobbing. His voice. His eyes. The way he looked at him."
"Matt's Redemption Song. He's in love. Period."
Redemption song?
I blinked, watching the video loop again, and for the first time, I saw myself. Literally—me, standing in the crowd, caught on camera with the softest, stupidest look on my face.
"Oh my god," I muttered, dragging a palm down my face.
That's when I got tagged in something else.
An old video.
I froze.
It was a fan-cam from a year ago. I remembered it instantly—I was at a friend's condo, still new to acting, and we were recording reaction videos for fun. And there I was, grinning like a dork, reacting to one of Matt's earlier music videos.
"He's so good," younger me said in the video. "I swear if I ever meet this man, I'll combust. The way he writes songs? It's like he can read minds."
The irony hit me like a truck full of destiny and bad decisions.
Because now I had met him.
And not only did I combust—publicly, repeatedly, emotionally—but I'd also kissed him, fought with him, hated him, missed him, and maybe… just maybe, fallen for him.
The internet didn't care about our messy timeline.
They were already renaming our ship:
#CohenVillanuevaReboot
#MattRaeEndgame
#HeWasAFanFirst
That last one made my throat tighten.
Because they were right.
Before I was anything to Matt Cohen Reyes, I was already someone who believed in him.
And I didn't know what to do with that truth now.
I made a mistake.
A grave, irreversible mistake.
I showed the video to Brice.
Well, technically, he snatched my phone after seeing the panic on my face—but now it was blasting full volume in our living room while he, Luther, and Zeke cackled like cartoon villains high on drama.
"YOU—" Brice wheezed. "—YOU WERE A STAN!"
"I wasn't a stan," I deadpanned, attempting to bury my entire face in a pillow. "It was a casual appreciation—"
"You literally said, and I quote," Luther scrolled on his phone, "'If I ever meet him, I'll combust.'"
"It was a joke!"
"Sure," Zeke grinned. "A joke that aged like fine wine and emotional trauma."
Before I could defend myself, the door creaked open.
And in walked Matt. Of course.
Wearing a smug grin, holding a basket of mangoes like he didn't just see the internet combusting over him, and asking with the confidence of a man who absolutely knew he was the main character:
"Did I hear... someone combusting over me?"
I considered throwing the mango at his head.
Instead, I stared at the floor. "Who let you in?"
"Your mom. She said something about helping cut mangoes for dessert, but I think the real treat's in here," he said, pointing at himself.
Brice clapped. "Oh, he's good."
Matt sat down across from me, reached over, and gently nudged my knee. "So... you liked me first?"
"I'm choosing nonviolence," I muttered, refusing to look at him.
"But it's so poetic," he continued, clearly enjoying himself. "A fan falls in love with the artist. A chaotic, sarcastic fan who said they'd combust—"
"Would you like to combust right now?" I hissed, grabbing the throw pillow and aiming for his head.
He caught it—of course he did—and laughed. "I mean, I knew you liked me. But this? This is history."
Zeke and Luther were rolling. Brice had tears in his eyes.
Even Gabriel, who'd been sitting quietly on the other side of the room, let out a soft chuckle.
But when I glanced at him—ready for another layer of teasing—I paused.
His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
He looked at me, then at Matt.
And for the first time, he didn't try to cut in. Didn't reach for a witty retort. He just leaned back on the couch, watching with a kind of quiet acceptance I wasn't expecting.
It didn't feel awkward. It didn't feel tense.
It just… felt like Gabriel finally understood.
That whatever this chaos was—me and Matt, the fake thing turned too-real-too-fast thing—it wasn't ending anytime soon.
And somehow, he was okay with that.
"I'll go help your mom with the mangoes," Gabriel said softly, getting up.
I watched him go. A twinge of guilt pinched my chest. But before I could overthink it, Matt leaned closer, voice low.
"So... is this where you officially admit you've always had a thing for me?"
I glared. "If I admit it, will you shut up?"
"Not a chance," he grinned. "But I might kiss you later."
Brice let out a dramatic gagging sound. "Get a villa!"
"Already did," Matt shot back smugly.
And just like that, my face was hotter than the viral video.
I was lying in bed, tracing lazy shapes in the ceiling with my eyes, trying not to overthink the ridiculous viral tags like #MattWasFramed and #TeamNateRae, when my phone buzzed beside me.
Unknown Number.Well, not really unknown—I just never saved my manager's number because I liked living dangerously.
I swiped.
"Hello?"
"Nate Rae, baby!" My manager's voice crackled with too much excitement for a rural afternoon. "You've been trending positively since the village concert. And the performance video? Emotional, organic, perfect. We want you back."
I sat up. "Back...?"
"A soft reentry," she said. "One TV guesting. Just a talk show. No interviews about the scandal—just vibes, career talk, your new smile. We'll manage everything. You're ready."
My mouth went dry. "Right. Ready."
My thumb hovered over the red 'end call' button. She was still talking, probably throwing around phrases like media redemption arc or public sentiment, but I was already somewhere else.
Scene: Backyard | That Evening
Matt was helping my dad clean old bamboo poles. He looked relaxed, wind in his hair, sleeves pushed up. It should've been illegal how he looked in the golden hour.
"Hey," I said quietly, approaching. "Can I talk to you?"
He straightened, instantly attentive. "Everything okay?"
"I got a call from my agency," I said. "They want to bring me back. TV guesting. Just one. They said... I'm trending positively."
Matt's smile widened, but it was soft. "That's amazing."
I shrugged. "I don't know if I should go. What if the questions come back? What if they dig everything up again?"
He stepped closer, eyes locked on mine. "Nate... it's time they see you shine again. This time without hiding. Not behind fake smiles or a contract. Just you. The version I get to see."
I blinked.
"And if you need support," he added, "I'll drive you back. I'll be your annoying emotional support human."
I laughed. "Annoying is right."
_________
The SUV was packed, the heat rising off the road in shimmering waves. Brice was already hoarding the snacks in the backseat like a squirrel. Zeke wore sunglasses indoors, and Luther was doing last-minute stretches like he was about to run a marathon instead of sit for five hours.
But inside the house, it was quieter. Slower. Like time didn't really want to move.
Matt stood at the threshold, looking sheepish as he held a small paper bag—his version of pasalubong for the family.
Nate's mom stood in front of him, hands on her hips, smiling warmly. "You sure you don't want to stay longer? I still haven't taught you how to cook Nate's favorite dish."
"I might burn down your kitchen," Matt replied with a soft laugh. "But… thank you. For everything, really."
"You're welcome anytime, Matthew," she said, patting his arm gently. "But next time, come back as his boyfriend, not just the mystery man carrying groceries."
Matt blushed. "I'll try my best, ma'am."
Nate's dad joined them, a cap shielding his eyes from the sun. He extended a hand. "Take care on the road. You've got good people with you."
Matt took the hand, firm grip, eyes sincere. "Thank you, sir. And I'll take care of Nate, too. Always."
"Don't say things like that too smoothly," the dad chuckled. "You'll give me hope."
From behind them, Nate's little cousin clung to Matt's leg. "Bye, kuya Matt! Come back soon!"
Matt crouched down, ruffled the kid's hair. "Only if you promise to beat me at Uno next time."
"I always win!" the kid grinned proudly.
"Exactly," Matt said, feigning defeat.
Just as things were winding down, Nate stepped outside too—with Gabriel.
They were standing by the garden, talking quietly. Gabriel, calm but clearly a little off, offered Nate a small smile.
"So," Gabriel said, hands in his pockets, "you're really leaving?"
Nate nodded. "Work calls. Plus… the city's waiting."
There was a pause. Then Gabriel reached out, pulling Nate into a hug—quick and firm. "I'm happy for you. For whatever this is… or becomes."
"Thank you, Gab," Nate murmured. "For being here."
Gab grinned, pulling back. "I'll miss you. Even if you were kinda mean growing up."
"I was a delight and you know it."
Matt, watching from the car, subtly turned away, pretending to organize the trunk. Brice watched him like a hawk.
"You good?" Brice asked, shoving a granola bar into Matt's hand.
"I'm fine," Matt muttered. "I think my stomach just hates feelings."
With everyone now outside, the air turned a little more chaotic again.
"Wait, wait! Group photo!" Luther yelled, pulling everyone into frame.
Zeke set the timer on Nate's phone while Brice squeezed between Nate and Matt with exaggerated force.
Click.
Then one with just the family. Then one with the chicken that randomly walked by.
"Your province energy is unmatched," Brice declared, dramatically dabbing sweat from his forehead. "Goodbye fresh air, hello traffic."
Nate turned to his mom for a final hug. "I'll call when I land."
"Call when you stop to pee," she corrected.
He laughed. "Yes, mom."
Then finally, Matt turned to Nate's parents once more, bowing politely. "Thank you, again. For letting me stay. For… not throwing me out when I showed up in a helicopter."
Nate's dad chuckled. "Just make sure the next landing doesn't come with drama."
"I'll do my best, sir."
As the SUV rolled out onto the dusty road, everyone waved—Nate's mom holding a lunchbox she insisted they take, Gabriel waving quietly from the gate, and the little cousin shouting something about not forgetting the Uno cards.
Inside the car, Nate leaned against the window. Quiet.
Matt, sitting beside him, nudged his shoulder. "You okay?"
Nate gave a lopsided smile. "Yeah… just full of emotions and carbs."
Brice, from the backseat, hollered, "Let's play a game! Every time someone says something dramatic, we throw a snack at them."
Matt grinned, reaching for the chips. "So basically, target Nate."
"I will throw you out of this car," Nate deadpanned.
But behind the sass, there was peace—and something dangerously close to hope.
_________
The green room smelled like hairspray, nervous energy, and way too many snack wrappers. Nate sat on the couch, staring at his reflection in the giant vanity mirror, hands clasped together on his lap. His outfit was sleek: an all-black tailored suit with subtle silver stitching, just enough to say I'm back, but not please panic.
Brice popped his head in. "Makeup on point. Hair divine. Face—slappable, but hot. You're good."
"Thanks," Nate deadpanned. "That really cured my anxiety."
"Don't be dramatic. You've faced worse. Like Twitter threads."
Zeke came in next, handing him a bottle of water. "Your name's already trending and the show hasn't even started."
"Why does that feel like a threat?" Nate mumbled.
"Because it is," Luther added as he entered last, wearing sunglasses indoors, holding a "GO NATE RAE" fan he definitely made himself.
The door opened again—this time softer.
Matt.
Dressed in a simple white button-down and slacks, he entered with a single nod. "You ready?"
Nate looked at him through the mirror, heart doing cartwheels behind his cool exterior. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Brice cleared his throat. "Okay, lovers. No kissing in the green room. HR exists."
Matt smirked, walking closer. "Hey," he said, voice low just for Nate. "You've got this. Just be you. No act. No pressure. Everyone else will see what I've always seen."
Nate turned to face him. "You're being too charming again."
"Just speaking the truth."
Someone knocked on the door. "Nate, five minutes to standby!"
The butterflies suddenly rioted in his stomach.
Matt squeezed his hand once. "I'll be out there. Watching."
The set was glowing. Literally. Spotlights, LED screens, live audience.
The host, P'Mayra, smiled wide. "Tonight, we welcome a very special guest, someone who's made us laugh, cry, and trend for all the right reasons… Please welcome back—Nate Rae Villanueva!"
The applause was thunderous.
Nate stepped out, smiling, hands surprisingly steady. The crowd roared louder than he expected. He waved, bowed politely, then took his seat on the stylish beige couch across the host.
"You look amazing!" P'Mayra said.
"I had help," Nate replied, flashing a quick smile. Somewhere in the audience, he knew Matt was smiling too.
The questions began. Some easy. Some teasing.
"How was the province life? What did you do while you were away?"
"Planted rice. Fought feelings. Typical."
"Rumor has it someone special visited you there?"
"I had a lot of visitors. Chickens. Friends. Maybe a few heart attacks."
Laughter. Cheers.
Then came the deeper questions.
"Your fans want to know—what did you learn from everything that happened?"
Nate exhaled slowly. "I learned… that silence doesn't heal everything. That running away doesn't fix what's broken. But most of all—I learned I'm allowed to start again. Even if it's messy. Even if I'm scared."
The crowd softened. Eyes misted. P'Mayra nodded with quiet respect.
"And are you seeing anyone now?"
Nate smiled, heart thumping.
"Let's just say... I'm not faking anything anymore."
The crowd gasped. Matt, from the third row, blinked—and smiled.
Nate returned to the green room, collapsing on the couch. The applause was still echoing in his ears.
The door opened again—Matt stepped in.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi."
"That line... the one about not faking anymore..."
"I meant it," Nate said, looking up at him. "You were right. It's time they saw me. The real me."
Matt stepped closer, slow and careful, but sure. "And who exactly is that?"
Nate grinned. "The guy who survived fake dating you, fell in love, and somehow didn't die of secondhand embarrassment."
Matt laughed, then leaned down, brushing their foreheads together. "Welcome back, superstar."
________
The studio doors slid open with dramatic flair.
Matt and I stepped out side by side, basking in the afterglow of surviving my comeback interview. It felt peaceful—until it wasn't.
"OH MY GOD! IT'S THEM!"
"NAATTEEEE!"
"IS THAT MATT COHEN?!"
Like cockroaches sensing crumbs, the crowd of fans—armed with lightsticks, banners, and unhinged emotional investment—swarmed.
"I thought they said soft reentry," I muttered, gripping Matt's arm.
"Soft?" he laughed. "This feels like a K-drama flash mob."
A girl shoved a poster in my face. "NATE, SIGN MY FOREHEAD!"
Another one pointed at Matt, eyes teary. "HE REALLY REDEEMED HIMSELF LIKE A PROTAGONIST!"
Security tried their best, but the crowd had already created a fanmade mosh pit around us.
"WE SHIP YOU!" someone screamed.
Matt leaned toward me, deadpan. "Do I look shippable right now? Because my shoe's untied and I might die."
"I'm more worried about the person who's about to hand me their baby."
A woman did attempt to do that.
In the chaos, someone yelled, "KISS FOR THE CAM!"
Matt froze. "Don't you dare—"
I turned, grinning. "If we kiss now, it's for survival."
He snorted. "You'd love the drama."
"You are the drama."
Before we could reply, Brice's voice called from the van, "IF YOU DON'T GET IN THE CAR RIGHT NOW, I'M FAKING A BREAKUP FOR YOU!"
We ran like action stars through the crowd, ducked inside the van, and slammed the doors shut as cameras clicked wildly outside.
Matt, out of breath, looked at me. "Next time you trend, I want a helmet."
I wheezed. "Next time I trend, we're sending a body double."
//