OFFCIAL
After everything—the chaos, the fake dating, the scandals, the heartbreaks—it was almost laughable how normal things had become.
Jake and Brice were, to no one's surprise, finally official. Brice pretended it was casual; Jake told everyone within a 10-meter radius they were "soft-launching their soulmate era."
Zeke and Luther were thriving too, bouncing between low-key influencer gigs and chaotic TikToks that involved too much glitter and not enough boundaries.
And Matt and I?
Well, we were... fine. No more scandals. No more viral meltdowns. Just two people learning how to breathe again.
Until we got the call.
"It's a limited series," my manager said. "Romantic drama. And they want you and Matt as the leads."
Cue the existential panic.
Day One on Set
We arrived separately, because professionalism. But our eyes met across the studio lot, and there was a beat—just one second too long—before we both looked away and acted like we weren't replaying a thousand memories.
The script was terrifyingly familiar.
Two people pretending to date. Until the pretending became too real.
Art imitating life? Life imitating trauma? Hard to say.
The director was thrilled. "The chemistry between you two? Crackling. Like, 'let's-break-the-internet' level."
Matt smirked. "Guess we have practice."
I rolled my eyes. "You mean from acting or fighting?"
Week Three: Scene 14 – The Almost Kiss
The scene was simple: We were supposed to fight, then almost kiss, but pull away before it happened.
But something shifted.
The lights. The silence. His eyes on mine.
The script said, "They stop, breathing heavy. The air changes."
But it was already changed.
Matt leaned in—too slow, too real—and I felt my pulse betray me. I pulled back right on cue, but my heart didn't.
When the director yelled cut, neither of us spoke.
Not even during lunch.
Week Five: The Rain Scene
Scene 27. A confession under the rain. The dramatic centerpiece of the entire series.
"Let's make it real," the director said. "Hold nothing back."
They drenched the set. Rain machines. Dim lights. Thunder in the background.
Matt stood across from me, already soaked, hair falling over his eyes. We were supposed to argue. I was supposed to yell.
But the second I saw his face, I forgot the lines.
He stepped forward, voice shaking in a way that wasn't acting.
"I didn't know when it stopped being fake. Maybe after the third coffee. Or the way you teased me when I burned eggs at your place. But I just know now—"
"I love you, Nate."
The cameras kept rolling.
I blinked. The rain hid nothing.
"Matt…" I said, breathless. "Is this in the script?"
"No," he whispered. "This is me."
The director, somewhere behind the monitors, gasped audibly.
I stared at him, completely thrown. The lines. The blocking. Everything blurred.
But then—I smiled.
And didn't say anything.
Because for once, I wanted him to sit in the silence.
He just confessed. For real. In front of everyone.
And I wasn't ready to hand it over that easy.
After the Take
The crew applauded like it was the Oscars.
"Keep that take," the director said. "It's perfect."
Matt looked at me as we walked off set, still soaked, still stunned.
"Did I just ruin everything?" he asked, voice low.
I shrugged, towel around my shoulders. "Depends."
"On what?"
I turned to him. "Whether you meant it."
He looked me straight in the eyes.
"I did."
I didn't answer.
But I didn't look away either.
Later That Night
I watched the take again in the monitor room—alone.
I watched his eyes as he said the words. The way he broke on "love."
And something cracked open in me too.
Because no matter how much we tried to act our way through it...
This?
This was real now.
And maybe—just maybe—I was ready to stop pretending, too.
________
The studio emptied out slowly after the rain scene wrapped. The lights dimmed. The crew buzz dulled to a soft hum outside. But I stayed behind.
I don't know why.
Maybe I was waiting for the echo of what he said.
"I love you, Nate."
The words still lingered in the air. Not scripted. Not rehearsed. Just real.
I heard footsteps behind me, then the familiar rustle of his denim jacket. He always wore it when he was nervous.
I didn't turn around. Not yet.
"I thought you left," I said, eyes fixed on the blank set.
"I was going to," Matt answered, voice steady but careful. "But something told me you'd still be here."
A beat.
Then I turned, finally meeting his gaze.
"I watched the scene again," I said. "Three times."
"Did it hold up?" he tried to joke, but there was an ache behind his smile.
"You meant it."
I said it like a fact. Not a question.
He didn't deny it. "I did."
I stepped closer, just a breath away now. The studio felt too quiet. Like it was holding its breath for us.
"I was always scared," I admitted. "Scared you were still chasing someone else. That I was just a substitute. A storyline."
Matt's brows knit together. "Nate, you were never—"
"I know now," I cut him off, gently. "Because no one fakes the way you look at me when I'm not even looking at you."
Silence.
And then I smiled—tired, soft, the kind I hadn't let myself feel in a long time.
"I love you too."
It was the first time I said it.
Matt blinked, like he needed to be sure he heard it right.
And I said it again. Louder this time. "I love you too, Matt."
He didn't wait.
He didn't ask.
He just kissed me.
Not like the scene we rehearsed. Not careful or performative or camera-ready.
It was messy and breathless, like two people who had waited too long to stop pretending.
My hand curled around his jacket. His fingers gently found the nape of my neck.
And the world? It vanished.
Just us. In this quiet, empty studio. Like every fake moment had led to this real one.
We pulled away only when we had to breathe.
Matt rested his forehead against mine, still catching his breath. "So... do we tell the director this wasn't acting either?"
I laughed.
"He's gonna figure it out," I whispered. "Once he sees how bad we mess up all the kisses after this one."
Matt grinned. "Worth it."
The Cinema Night
"We could finally sit in the back row like a normal couple," Matt whispered, nudging my elbow as we bought tickets for an old French film playing downtown.
It was our first real date—no hidden deals, no hashtag collabs. Just me, him, and a bucket of overpriced popcorn.
The theater was dim, filled with that buttery smell and soft mumblings of people shuffling into seats. I noticed Matt didn't bring a hoodie or hat. No more disguises.
When the film started, he reached out and held my hand without looking. I squeezed back.
Halfway through the movie, he leaned closer and whispered, "I don't know what the hell is going on in this film, but I'm loving the vibe."
I laughed softly. "Same. Feels like we're in one."
We kissed when the credits rolled.
The Museum
"This sculpture looks like how I felt when I first met you," Matt said, pointing at a twisted figure of metal and stone.
"You mean confused and on fire?" I teased.
He smirked. "Exactly."
We wandered through rows of modern art, ancient tapestries, and bizarre installations. No paparazzi, no viral posts. Just the clicking of our shoes echoing in empty marble halls.
At one point, we sat on a bench under a skylight, sunlight pouring in like a blessing.
"You make everything feel like a first," he said.
And for once, I didn't respond with sass. I just leaned on his shoulder and let the moment exist.
Beach Day, but Real This Time
It wasn't a photoshoot. No matching outfits. Just sunscreen, ugly sunglasses, and the loudest patterned towel Brice could lend us.
Matt and I chased each other through the water like teenagers. We played frisbee with strangers. We ate too much seafood and drank coconut juice straight from the shell.
When we lay down side by side, sun-kissed and tired, I looked at him—really looked.
"You're glowing," I said.
"So are you," he replied. "Inside out."
He kissed my salty cheek.
And I didn't care who saw.
Random Nights Out
One Friday, Matt picked me up at 10 p.m.
"Get in loser, we're doing nothing productive," he said.
We ended up at a 24-hour diner, laughing over pancakes and spilling syrup on each other. Then we drove to the empty parking lot of a closed amusement park and slow danced to music playing from the car.
Another time, we joined Brice, Zeke, and Jake at a rooftop bar. Someone shouted our names. Someone took a photo.
And we didn't flinch.
We just smiled.
Home, Finally
Matt and I fell asleep on his couch after watching a horror movie neither of us had the guts to finish. Our legs tangled. My cheek on his chest. His hand on my hair.
No plans. No projects. No pretending.
Just peace.
And maybe this is what it means to love without edits.
To love without PR.
To love without fear.
________
THREE WEEKS LATER
The studio was a furnace.
Bright lights bore down like an unforgiving sun, the air thick with heat and urgency. Fans buzzed uselessly in the corners while crew members darted around with clipboards, water bottles, makeup kits. Nate stood center stage, already halfway into another emotional scene, the fifteenth take that day. Sweat clung to his skin, soaking through his shirt. His breath came quick—but he waved away the concern of the staff.
"I'm good," he had told the assistant director earlier. "Just tired."
But that wasn't quite the truth.
He hadn't slept properly in three days, hadn't eaten a full meal since yesterday, and this morning, his vision had blurred as he buttoned up his costume in front of the mirror. He dismissed it then. Just nerves. Just adrenaline.
But now, under these lights, under these expectations, his body started to feel like it was melting into itself. His head buzzed, ears rang faintly.
The director called for action.
Nate delivered his line—strong, emotional, his voice cracking at just the right moment—and everyone in the room was on the edge of their seat. He gave everything. And then, just as the last word left his lips...
The floor tilted.
A flash of white exploded behind his eyes. Nate stumbled once, trying to catch his balance, blinking fast. His vision pixelated. Someone called his name—he thought it was the boom mic guy—but it was too late.
He collapsed.
Hard.
A sickening thud echoed across the studio as his body hit the floor.
The first scream came from wardrobe. Then the cameras stopped rolling. People rushed forward. The director jumped down from his seat, dropping his headset.
"Nate?! Nate!"
The assistant director was already calling for medics.
"He's not responding—get help, now! Someone call an ambulance!"
Crew members fumbled for phones. Water bottles clattered to the floor. The makeup artist was crying. Everyone's voice seemed to blur into a high-pitched static. Someone checked his pulse. Still there, but faint. Too faint.
_______
Matt was across the city, headphones wrapped around his neck, hunched over his laptop at the soundboard. He was editing the final track for Nate's surprise debut showcase—a soft acoustic version of the song he'd written for him.
He didn't know yet.
Not until Jake burst into the room, breathless and panicked, phone in hand.
"Matt—you need to see this."
Matt looked up, frowning. "What?"
Jake shoved the phone into his hands. A Twitter update was on-screen, already blowing up. It was a shaky video. A studio. Nate… collapsing.
Matt's heart dropped.
"What the hell—?"
"They're rushing him to the hospital," Jake said, voice tight. "Studio crew confirmed it. He just—he passed out on set."
Matt was already grabbing his keys. "Which hospital?"
Red lights flashed like sirens in Matt's head.
The car ride was a blur. By the time he arrived at the emergency entrance, Nate was already inside. Medics had wheeled him past double doors. Staff refused to give full details yet.
"Family only," the nurse said, politely but firmly.
"He's— He's my boyfriend"
He stood in the hallway, hand covering his mouth, heart hammering in his chest. His mind was racing with questions. Was Nate conscious now? Was he okay? Did he hit his head?
Minutes felt like hours. Jake and Ciandrei arrived next, breathless and pale, just in time to see Matt slowly slump into one of the plastic chairs, eyes fixed on the hallway ahead like it would swallow him whole.
Inside, behind sterile white walls, Nate lay unconscious.
Machines beeped. A nurse adjusted his IV.
The doctor whispered, "Severe exhaustion. Dehydration. He's lucky he didn't crack his skull from the fall. He needs to rest—for real this time."
Outside, Matt clenched his fists.
"You always push yourself too far, Rae," he whispered. "Always trying to be everything. Even when no one asks you to."
But Matt had asked.
Even indirectly, even silently—he knew Nate always felt like he had to prove he deserved the spotlight. That he deserved to be back.
And now, he was lying in a hospital bed because of it.
And Matt wasn't there to stop it.
He remembered it clearly now. All the little things.
The way Nate laughed off dizziness on the rooftop of the recording studio.
"Just too much caffeine," he said, waving it off, even though he hadn't eaten lunch that day.
Or the time during rehearsals when Nate skipped dinner entirely because he wanted to "tighten the dance sequence."
Or the bags under his eyes during their last video shoot, insisting he was just fine, brushing off concern with that same tired smile.
"Don't worry. I'm used to it."
He should've said something more. Done something more.
Matt pressed his palm to his forehead, groaning quietly. "Damn it, Nate…"
_________
The room was dim and quiet. A soft monitor beeped steadily beside Nate's bed. The IV line was attached to the back of his hand. His skin looked pale against the white sheets.
Matt walked in slowly, his throat tight.
He pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down, not saying anything for a while. Just… looking.
Nate's chest rose and fell gently, his brows relaxed. For once, he looked peaceful. Like a boy again. Not a public figure. Not someone carrying the weight of the industry on his shoulders.
Matt exhaled shakily and reached forward, brushing his fingers gently along Nate's hand before wrapping them around it.
It was cold. He held it tighter.
"You don't always have to prove yourself, Nate," he whispered, voice cracking. "Not to them. Not to me."
His thumb brushed over Nate's knuckles, slow and gentle.
"You're already everything. Just… come back. Okay?"
He blinked back the sting in his eyes, bowed his head, and stayed like that—hand in hand with him—until the monitors became the only sound in the room again.
__________
The soft golden light of dawn filtered gently through the blinds, casting warm stripes across the room. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was calm now, rhythmic. Peaceful.
Nate stirred slowly, eyelids fluttering open as consciousness crept in like a reluctant tide. His body ached—a dull heaviness settling in his limbs—but the sheets were warm, the room still.
He blinked again.
And that's when he saw him.
Matt was curled up awkwardly in the hospital chair beside the bed, hoodie pulled over his head, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. One arm was draped over the bed's edge, hand loosely holding Nate's. His fingers twitched, even in sleep, as though reaching out for reassurance.
Nate's heart clenched.
He was here.
Nate weakly shifted, his fingers brushing against Matt's knuckles.
Matt stirred instantly. His head snapped up, eyes puffy and red—but alert. "Rae?"
Nate's lips curled into the faintest smile. "Hey."
Matt sat forward, eyes wide and glossy. "You scared me," he said, voice cracking. He let out a breathy laugh, one hand dragging down his face. "God, you scared the hell out of me."
Nate closed his eyes for a moment, letting the comfort of Matt's presence sink in. "Wasn't planning to make it a habit," he mumbled, throat scratchy. "But… I guess I'm a little dramatic."
Matt let out a laugh that turned into a sniff. "Yeah, well, you've made your point. Next time you want attention, maybe just text me instead of collapsing."
Nate chuckled softly, then winced. "Okay, okay—laughing hurts."
They both fell quiet for a moment. The sun continued its slow crawl across the bedspread.
Finally, Nate turned his head, looking at Matt. "I thought… if I kept moving, kept working… people wouldn't forget me."
Matt's smile faded, his eyes darkening with something deeper. "Is that what you think?"
Nate didn't answer immediately.
"I'm always scared," he said after a pause. "That if I stop, even just for a second… I'll disappear. Like I never mattered."
Matt's voice was quiet, but resolute. "They won't forget you."
Nate blinked.
"And if they do," Matt added, "I never will."
The room grew still.
No dramatic music. No grand gestures.
Just the warmth of a shared silence. Just two people, hands intertwined between beeping monitors and early morning light.
Matt's thumb moved gently over Nate's knuckles. "I'm here," he whispered.
Nate didn't reply—but he didn't need to.
They just sat there, fingers laced, heads close, the world outside the hospital slowly starting to wake up.
But in that moment, neither of them moved.
They didn't need to.
They just… existed. Together.
//