Chapter Text
The offer slid into Naru’s inbox at 2:47 a.m.—the exact hour when most bad decisions and bold opportunities sneak in together, giggling. Naru, with his eternally sunny soul and the emotional filter of a pancake, read the subject line: *Lead role offer: BL drama project*. He didn’t even wait to read the fine print before hitting "accept."
When Naru accepted the role, he didn't even bother to read the project brief.
It was a BL. That much he caught. And it was 18+. That part was glossed over by his manager with a vague “you’ll be fine,” which, in retrospect, should have been his first clue something spicy was simmering.
But Naru was twenty now. Legally allowed to drink, drive, and apparently get railed on camera.
He was desperate for work, sure. But more than that, he missed the stage lights, the feeling of becoming someone else, and okay—yes—he also missed being doted on by makeup artists and fed fruit chunks like some kind of tropical prince.
So, he showed up to the meeting the next afternoon in a satchel bursting with printouts about BL genre trends, ideas for character backstories, and—bless his heart—a handwritten letter of gratitude to the director for the opportunity.
Not that he knew any of that walking into the conference room of Studio 5, still bright-eyed, freshly moisturized, and smiling like he’d just stepped out of a skincare commercial. His hair was the color of spring wheat, softly curling over his brows, his shirt half-buttoned in that trendy effortless way stylists lost sleep over.
“Hi!” he chirped as he entered, clasping his hands and bowing to the line of serious-looking men in polo shirts and designer specs.
The producers glanced up from their coffee, one of them raising a brow. The director gave him a polite nod. His manager hovered near the door like a man anticipating fire.
He had no idea what he’d just walked into.
The conference room was aggressively modern. The glass table could probably land a spaceship. The producer, a sleek man with an omega-watch tan line and eyes like a predator pretending to be bored, greeted him with a smile so tight it might’ve been Botox.
“Nong Naru,” he purred. “Right on time.”
The director, a woman with half a cigarette and a whole attitude, barely looked up from her phone. “Kid looks younger than his file pic.”
“I moisturize,” Naru said earnestly, bowing. “Also—hi! Thank you for this opportunity. I brought muffins!”
He placed a paper bag on the table with the confidence of someone who thought this was still a PG-rated showbiz lunch.
Then the door opened again—and in walked someone who made the room flicker.
Johnny.
Hair freshly dyed ash-brown, silver hoop in one ear, lip bitten in boredom as he leaned against the doorframe like sin had just evolved into a human and learned how to smirk.
Naru blinked. His brain short-circuited for a second. *Johnny?*
The Johnny he’d met two years ago had been a lanky 23-year-old with a resting face that said “I hate everyone including myself.” He'd been to one of his plays with Akin the most famous actor. Johnny hadn’t spoken much, but he’d given Naru an extra souvenir when the play had ended.
Naru had spent two years wondering if that meant something.
“JOHNNY!!” Naru practically shouted, launching toward him with the energy of a golden retriever who just saw its long-lost tennis ball.
Johnny’s expression soured instantly.
“No. Nope. Not this,” he muttered under his breath and turned to leave.
“Wait—are you my co-actor?!” Naru called after him, bright eyes and soft confusion swirling on his face. “I didn’t know that! This is so cool! I haven’t seen you since the shoot! Remember that souvenir? And you gave me an extra one! It looked like sunshine and happiness!”
The door clicked shut behind Johnny.
“Is he… leaving?” Naru blinked, muffins still untouched on the table.
The producer looked vaguely entertained. The director groaned. “Just ignore him. He’ll come back. He always throws a fit first.”
“He’s our lead,” the producer said. “We’re calling it Velvet Collision. 18+ BL. Your characters hate each other, fall into a questionable situationship, and—well, the rest is behind a paywall.”
Naru smiled brightly. “Oh! I didn’t know it was... adult.” He looked around. “Like, adult-adult? Or just emotionally complicated with kissing?”
Silence.
“I mean—I can do kissing!” he rushed on. “And like... if there’s groping, I’ll be professional about it! But should I shave my chest? I don’t really have much hair, just three strands that curl when I’m nervous—”
“Kid,” the director said slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Naru beamed. “Thank you! My mom says that too.”
Johnny was halfway down the stairwell, muttering about why the hell he even agreed to this project when he knew the producer just wanted him shirtless and the director hated his guts, when—
“JOHNNY!”
He froze. Naru’s footsteps were cartoonishly loud.
“Can we walk together? I brought muffins! They’re banana-choco-chip. I can’t eat gluten but I still bake!”
“I’m not eating your muffins,” Johnny grumbled.
“But they’re moist,” Naru offered with devastating sincerity.
Johnny looked like someone had just stabbed him in the soul with a sparkle.
“You’re following me?”
“I was hoping to catch up! It’s been two years and I’ve always wondered what happened to you. People talk a lot about you but I think most of it is jealousy! Or miscommunication!”
Johnny whirled on him. “You don’t know anything, sunshine boy. This isn’t a playground. You wanna survive in this industry? Stop assuming people are nice.”
“But you’re nice.”
Johnny blinked.
“I mean, you were nice to me,” Naru said, almost shyly. “That time with the souvenir? I was soo impressed with the whole play and you didn’t even say anything, just gave it to me and walked off. Like a grumpy anime side character.”
Johnny was very still.
Then he scoffed, turning away. “I probably just didn’t want you to die on set. Would’ve delayed the shoot.”
Naru grinned. “You do care!”
“I don’t! Go back upstairs!”
“I’d rather walk with you.”
“I’m going to the smoking zone.”
“I brought mints.”
Johnny stopped. Spun slowly.
“What the hell are you?”
“Optimistic,” Naru said simply. “Also mildly lactose intolerant.”
Johnny stared at him for another long moment, then pushed the door open to the terrace, muttering, “You’re going to regret this gig, kid.”
But Naru followed him anyway, like a sunflower chasing an incoming storm.
Back inside, the director lit another cigarette and leaned toward the producer.
“You cast that as his co-lead? Seriously?”
The producer shrugged. “Innocence versus corruption. Angel versus demon. Hot mess potential. Viewers are going to eat this up.”
“He’s a puppy.”
“He’s a hot puppy. And Johnny needs a leash.”
The sun was setting by the time Naru and Johnny came back inside. Johnny looked more tired, Naru looked exactly the same—like he hadn’t registered a single insult as anything but playful teasing.
“Hey,” Naru said to the director, “I’ll read the script properly tonight. But just one question—do our characters actually, you know… do it?”
“You mean sex?”
Naru nodded, cheeks pink.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Do we need to practice?”
Johnny audibly choked on his cigarette.
The producer laughed so hard he had to sit down.
“I just meant—like rehearsals! Blocking! Body doubles?” Naru looked around helplessly. “This is my first 18+ thing!”
Johnny looked skyward. “God help me.”
Later that night, as Naru walked home with a script under his arm and a bounce in his step, he called his best friend.
“They cast me in an adult BL!” he whispered excitedly. “And guess what—remember Johnny? He’s the lead!”
“No way. The guy you had a crush on after that gum shoot?”
“It wasn’t a crush. I just liked his vibes.”
“His vibes were literally ‘go die quietly.’”
“Well, I like spicy people.”
“Be careful. The industry chews up people like you.”
Naru just smiled.
“Maybe. But I want to believe even chewed-up people can be sweet inside.”
Meanwhile, Johnny sat in a bar booth with the producer, who was slowly caressing his thigh.
“I did you a favor, Johnny,” the producer murmured. “The kid’s pure. It'll balance your edge.”
“He’s annoying,” Johnny muttered.
“You’ll get used to it. Or maybe he’ll rub off on you.”
Johnny took a swig of his drink and muttered, “If he rubs anything, I’m suing.”
But his mind—traitorous and tired—lingered on the sound of Naru’s laugh. How warm it had been. How honest.
He shivered.
And not from the cold.