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Chapter Text

Sylus Qin lived by a simple motto: No Zayne, no acting.

It wasn’t something he said out loud to the public—they’d eat him alive for it—but in the deepest corners of his very dramatic heart, it was the truth.

If Zayne Li wasn’t the one directing, Sylus didn’t see the point in acting at all.

What was the joy of suffering through thirty takes of fake crying if the man behind the camera wasn’t watching with that terrifying, soul-piercing gaze of his?

Exactly. None.

Which was why Sylus now found himself in a scene that required him to kiss his co-star like the fate of the universe depended on it.

“Action.”

The moment Zayne said the word, Sylus switched gears.

His hand cupped the actress’s cheek, his lips pressing to hers in what could only be described as a scene destined to be replayed a thousand times in slow-motion by fangirls everywhere. His eyes glistened, his voice dropped into a husky tone that made the boom mic operator blush.

The actress, to her credit, kept up. Professional. Steamy. The perfect co-star.

“Cut.”

Zayne’s voice carried across the set, calm and smooth as always. He didn’t shout. He never shouted. And yet, somehow, the single syllable echoed louder than a thunderclap.

Sylus pulled away, licking his lips in what was definitely not for show—just, you know, method acting. He turned, awaiting his fate.

Zayne didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He just stared at the monitor, his sharp profile illuminated by the glow of the screen. “Good.”

And that one word? Oh, that was enough.

Sylus felt his chest swell like he’d just been handed an Oscar. He could die happy.

The crew erupted into applause, because if the Ice Cube Director himself had said good, then history had just been made.

“Damn, Sylus,” Rafayel Qi, his stylist, swept in immediately, adjusting Sylus’s hair with a dramatic flick of his comb. “If you kissed me like that, I’d be pregnant.”

Sylus smirked. “Raf, don’t tempt me. We can’t let Director Li think I’m cheating on him.”

Rafayel groaned so loud the sound guy flinched. “You’re insufferable.”

Meanwhile, Xavier Shen, the second assistant camera, snapped the clapboard shut with a flourish. “Scene twenty-four, take one—legendary.” He gave Sylus a thumbs-up, eyes sparkling with the smugness of a man who had just witnessed history.

Caleb Xia, behind the camera, adjusted his equipment with all the seriousness in the world, though his ears were red. “Could you not… make it so realistic next time? Some of us are trying to work.”

Sylus gasped, clutching his chest. “Are you saying my acting is too powerful, Caleb?”

“I’m saying you’re a menace,” Caleb muttered.

Zayne, still at the monitor, didn’t move. He simply gave the screen one last glance, nodded once, and turned to the crew. “Reset for the next shot.”

That was it. No praise. No smile. Just a nod.

And yet Sylus grinned like an idiot, practically glowing. Because from Zayne, that was basically a love confession.

---

Later, during the short break, Sylus collapsed dramatically into his chair, throwing his arm over his eyes like a Shakespearean heroine. “Ah, to be approved by Director Li… what a rush. I’ll never recover.”

Rafayel rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. “You’re acting like you haven’t been in every single one of his dramas for the past five years. Get over yourself.”

“Exactly!” Sylus shot up, pointing a finger in the air like he’d discovered the cure for cancer. “Five years! Do you know how much loyalty that is? No Zayne, no acting. It’s my creed. My philosophy. My religion.”

Xavier leaned on the clapboard, smirking. “Pretty sure that’s called stalking, bro.”

Caleb deadpanned from the camera, “Cult behavior.”

Sylus gasped, wounded. “How dare you. This is true devotion.”

Across the set, Zayne was giving notes to the lighting crew, his expression as cold and untouchable as ever. His dark eyes flicked over once—just once—in Sylus’s direction.

Sylus immediately straightened, smoothing his shirt like he hadn’t just been making a fool of himself in front of his friends. “See that? He looked at me. He cares.”

Rafayel snorted. “He looked at you because you’re loud.”

“No, no, no,” Sylus insisted, grinning ear to ear. “That was a look of affection. Mark my words—one day, he’ll admit it.”

Xavier shook his head. “Delusional.”

Caleb muttered, “Hopeless.”

But Sylus just leaned back in his chair, smug and satisfied. Because as long as Zayne Li was the one behind the camera, Sylus Qin would act his heart out—even if it meant kissing every actress in the country.

After all, No Zayne, no acting.

And so far? Zayne hadn’t let him down.

Chapter Text

Team dinners were supposed to be relaxing. A bonding activity.

A chance to eat good food, share a few laughs, and temporarily forget the fact that Zayne Li had made half the crew cry earlier in the week with a single, soul-crushing “Again.”

But of course, Sylus Qin had other plans.

The second they stepped into the restaurant—a cozy private room already booked by the production team—Sylus had one goal: sit next to Zayne.

Mission: Proximity to Director Li.

He executed the plan flawlessly, sliding into the seat at Zayne’s side with the grace of a cat and the subtlety of a marching band.

“Evening, Director,” Sylus said smoothly, leaning just a little too close. “Hope you don’t mind me keeping you company tonight.”

Zayne’s eyes flicked toward him, cool and unimpressed. “Sit wherever you like.”

Sylus grinned. “Perfect. I like here.”

Across the table, Rafayel dropped his chopsticks. “Of course you do.”

Xavier snorted. “Can’t believe we let him off the leash in public.”

Caleb muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “hopeless romantic.”

Dinner began, the waiters bringing out steaming dishes one after another. The crew laughed, talked, and clinked glasses—everyone except Zayne, who sat perfectly upright, sipping tea like he was at a board meeting.

Sylus, naturally, tried to melt into his personal bubble. “So, Zayne—”

“Tomorrow we’ll shoot the rooftop scene,” Zayne interrupted, eyes still on his teacup. “Be prepared.”

Sylus blinked, then recovered with a grin. “Ah yes, work talk. My favorite dinner topic.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You know, most directors would ask their actors about hobbies, or maybe how their day went.”

Zayne finally glanced at him. “Did you practice your lines?”

Sylus slapped a hand over his heart. “Cold. So cold.”

Rafayel snickered behind his glass of wine. “You walked straight into that one.”

Undeterred, Sylus kept at it. Between bites of braised beef and stolen glances at Zayne’s stoic profile, he peppered the man with questions.

“Zayne, what’s your favorite food?”

“…Doesn’t matter.”

“Do you like cats or dogs?”

“Neither.”

“What’s your type?”

Zayne’s chopsticks paused for half a second. “…Professional.”

Sylus gasped. “That’s me!”

The table erupted in laughter. Xavier nearly choked on his rice, Rafayel wheezed, and Caleb looked seconds away from pouring his beer over Sylus’s head.

Zayne, to his credit, didn’t react—though Sylus swore he saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

As the meal went on, the others kept the conversation lively, gossiping about the day’s bloopers and teasing Sylus for his dramatic takes. But every so often, without fail, Zayne would add a word here and there—about schedules, adjustments, and camera work.

And always, somehow, directed toward Sylus.

“Make sure you rest tonight.”

“Don’t eat too heavy, you’ll look tired tomorrow.”

“Remember the emotional tone we discussed.”

The crew exchanged knowing looks, because for a man who allegedly never mixed personal with professional, Zayne Li sure spent a lot of energy micromanaging Sylus’s existence.

Sylus, of course, latched onto every word like it was a love poem. “See that? He cares,” he whispered to Rafayel when Zayne ordered an extra soup placed near him.

Rafayel pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s making sure you don’t faint on set, dumbass.”

But Sylus only leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Because cold words or not, Zayne hadn’t once told him to move away. And in Sylus’s book, that was basically an invitation to stay forever.

By the end of dinner, when the plates were cleared and everyone was standing to leave, Sylus stretched dramatically and declared, “What a lovely evening with my beloved team. And, of course, my dearest Director Li.”

Zayne gave him a single, unimpressed look. “Be on time tomorrow.”

And walked out.

Sylus clutched his chest, swooning. “Ah, sweet nothings. He spoils me.”

Xavier groaned. “We’re doomed.”

Rafayel muttered, “I’m changing my name and moving to another country.”

Caleb shook his head. “Cult behavior. Absolutely cult behavior.”

But Sylus only followed after Zayne, grinning like an idiot. Because in the world of Sylus Qin, no amount of coldness could put out the fire.

After all, No Zayne, no acting. And now? No Zayne, no dinner.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin woke up to find himself trending.

Not unusual.

He trended for breathing too handsomely once. For tripping over a cat. For accidentally calling a reporter “mom” at a press junket.

But this—this was a new flavor of chaos.

Because the hashtags currently dominating the internet read:

#SylusQinTheKingOfTheBed

#ActingOrReal

#ZayneLiApproved

Sylus blinked at his phone, then scrolled. Fan edits. Slow-motion gifs of last night’s spicy scene. A thread titled “Why Sylus Qin is the Only Man Who Can Save Historical Dramas From Extinction.” A particularly detailed essay breaking down the angle of his hand placement during the kiss.

He grinned. “King of the bed, huh? Has a nice ring to it.”

“More like King of being annoying,” Rafayel muttered, already scrolling through the same tags on his phone while fixing Sylus’s hair. “You’re unbearable before coffee. This isn’t helping.”

Sylus winked at the mirror. “Can’t help being the people’s prince. Or king. Whatever royalty they want me to be.”

Xavier sauntered past holding the clapboard, smirking. “King of the Bed, huh? Should we start bowing before you enter set?”

Caleb, adjusting the camera rig, deadpanned, “Please don’t encourage him.”

---

By the time they got to set, everyone had heard. Crew members whispered behind their hands, interns giggled into their sleeves, and even the boom operator dared to whisper “Your Majesty” as Sylus walked by.

Sylus, of course, leaned into it. “Yes, yes, my loyal subjects. I accept your adoration. No need to kneel.”

Rafayel smacked him upside the head.

And then—like thunder rolling in on a sunny day—Zayne Li entered.

The room quieted instantly. The storm cloud himself. Dressed in black, expression unreadable, clipboard in hand. Everyone straightened like schoolchildren caught gossiping.

Sylus, however, grinned wider. “Director Li! Have you seen the news? Apparently, I’m King of the Bed now. Historic moment.”

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. The crew collectively held their breath, waiting for Zayne to shut him down.

This was it. The moment Sylus would be obliterated with a single frosty glance.

Zayne looked at him. Expression still neutral. Then, smoothly—too smoothly—he said:

“King of the Bed, hm? I'm a visual learner by the way. Prove it properly."

The room exploded.

Gasps. Choked laughter. Someone actually dropped a tray of props.

Rafayel’s jaw hit the floor. Xavier’s eyes bugged out. Caleb nearly knocked over the camera.

And Sylus? Sylus froze, brain short-circuiting. “…Wait. Did you—did you just tease me?”

Zayne turned back to the monitor like nothing happened. “Scene twenty-seven. Get ready.”

The crew was buzzing like caffeinated bees. Director Li teased him. He actually teased him. The myth, the legend, the iceberg himself had cracked.

And suddenly, as if the world had tilted on its axis, the entire set was electric.

They recorded five scenes that day. Five. With minimal NGs. Everyone was laser-focused, energized, practically glowing. Even the lighting guy hummed cheerfully as he adjusted the rig.

Sylus nailed every take, riding the high of Zayne’s rare jab like a man possessed.

Between shots, Rafayel leaned in and whispered, “Do you realize what just happened? The Ice King himself acknowledged your dumb nickname. We’re living in the end times.”

Xavier clutched the clapboard dramatically. “The sun is shining, the birds are singing, Director Li is in a good mood. Truly, a miracle.”

Caleb, still pale, muttered, “I don’t trust it. Storms come after sunshine.”

But Sylus wasn’t listening. He was too busy grinning like an idiot every time Zayne glanced at him—because clearly, clearly, this was progress.

By the end of the day, when the last shot wrapped and Zayne gave his rare approving nod, the crew applauded like they’d just survived a natural disaster.

Sylus, chest puffed with pride, threw his arms wide. “Thank you, thank you. All hail the King of the Bed, blessed by Director Li himself!”

Zayne brushed past him, voice calm as ever. “Don’t be late tomorrow.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Sylus swooned after him anyway. “Ah, my cold and distant muse. One day, you’ll call me your king too.”

The crew groaned in unison, but they couldn’t deny it—workdays were easier when Sylus trended, and Director Li didn’t bring the storm.

Chapter Text

It started, as most disasters did, with Rafayel Qi.

Specifically, Rafayel posting a photo in the group chat at 2 a.m. with zero context.

The photo: Sylus Qin sprawled across a monochrome Calvin Klein campaign shot. Abs, lines sharper than a katana. Boxers low on his hips. A smirk that could cause national power outages.

The caption: lmao imagine working with this clown every day

Sylus saw it the next morning while shoving toast in his mouth. He nearly spit crumbs all over his phone.

“Ah yes,” he announced to his reflection in the mirror. “The golden era of Sylus Qin: underwear edition.”

By the time he arrived on set, Xavier and Caleb had already weaponized it.

Xavier, smirking: “So, Mr. Calvin Klein, do you need us to dim the lights so your abs can have their own spotlight?”

Caleb, deadpan: “I’ll have to recalibrate the camera. Too much glare off your ego.”

Sylus, dramatically flipping his hair: “Please, one at a time. The line for autographs is over there.”

Rafayel, not looking up from his styling kit: “Your parents must be so proud. Or traumatized.”

That got Sylus thinking.

“Hey, actually—maybe I should send this to my parents.” He held his phone up, thumb hovering. “You know, like a ‘look Ma, I made it’ moment.”

Xavier and Caleb exchanged a look. “This is a terrible idea,” Caleb said flatly.

Sylus ignored them.

He tapped forward, scrolled through contacts, hit send. Toast crumbs still in his mouth, confidence sky-high.

…Until two seconds later, when his phone buzzed.

Message delivered to: HUSBAND DIRECTOR ZAYNE LI

Sylus stared at the screen. Blinked. Stared again.

“No,” he whispered. “No no no no no—”

Xavier peered over his shoulder, then howled. “YOU SENT IT TO THE DIRECTOR?!”

Caleb choked on his water. Rafayel actually dropped his brush.

Sylus, panicking, fumbled with his phone. “Maybe if I unsend—oh god, he’s already seen it, there’s two ticks—”

As if summoned by fate, Zayne Li walked onto set at that exact moment.

The crew collectively froze.

Sylus felt his soul leave his body.

Zayne approached calmly, clipboard in hand, expression unreadable as ever. He stopped directly in front of Sylus, met his wide, terrified eyes—

And said, evenly: “Posture could be better.”

Then walked away.

The set exploded.

Xavier dropped to the floor laughing. Caleb buried his face in his hands. Rafayel actually screamed into a pillow.

Sylus, meanwhile, was still frozen in place, face redder than a stop sign. “…He—he commented on my posture.”

“BRO,” Xavier wheezed, tears streaming down his face. “DIRECTOR LI JUST CRITIQUED YOUR UNDERWEAR ADS LIKE IT WAS A FILM TAKE.”

Caleb groaned. “This is it. We’ve reached peak insanity.”

But Sylus? Sylus straightened, smoothing his shirt, and beamed like the idiot he was.

“He saw it,” Sylus whispered, clutching his chest like it was a love letter. “He actually saw it.”

Rafayel groaned. “We are never hearing the end of this.”

And indeed, they didn’t. For the rest of the day, Sylus was a whirlwind of smug chaos, every other sentence beginning with “Well, when Zayne saw my Calvin Klein campaign—”

But for the crew, there was no denying it: Sylus Qin had just survived the most mortifying accident of his career.

And Zayne Li? He hadn’t stormed. He hadn’t scolded. He’d just… critiqued.

It was official. The world was upside down.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the Calvin Klein Incident still lingered like a ghost over set.

Sylus arrived unusually quiet (which meant he only greeted six people dramatically instead of twelve). His usual grin was dialed down to guilty puppy smile.

He caught Zayne by the monitors, clutching his script like a peace offering. “Director… about yesterday. The, uh, photo. I didn’t mean to—”

Zayne didn’t even look up. “Doesn’t matter.”

Sylus blinked. “It doesn’t?”

“Focus on today’s scenes.”

And that was that. No storm. No lecture.

Just a calm dismissal, as if Sylus hadn’t accidentally sexted his boss via Calvin Klein ads campaign.

Which should have been a relief. But somehow, it made Sylus more nervous.

---

Nerves, unfortunately, translated into chaos.

Take one: he flubbed his line.

Take two: he tripped on a prop rug.

Take three: his emotional crying scene turned into what could only be described as “ugly seal noises.”

By take six, Zayne finally said, “…Again,” with the faintest crease of his brow.

The crew was stunned. Sylus rarely bombed takes like this. He was a chaos gremlin, yes, but a professional chaos gremlin.

By take nine, Sylus was on the floor, clutching his chest like a soldier in battle. “I can’t do it. I’ve lost my spark. Director Li’s faith in me has shattered. My career is over. Cancel my fan club.”

Rafayel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god, he’s actually having a breakdown.”

Xavier muttered, “I’m getting popcorn.”

Caleb just sighed. “Pathetic.”

---

Then, in the middle of Sylus’s floor performance, something completely unexpected happened.

A shadow fell over him. A cold voice said, “Get up.”

Sylus looked up—and nearly screamed. Zayne was crouching beside him. Actually crouching.

And in his hand… was a plastic cup of boba tea.

Sylus blinked. “…What?”

Zayne set the cup down in front of him. “Drink.”

Sylus stared. “Is this—are you—are you giving me boba therapy right now?”

Zayne didn’t respond. He just stayed crouched there, arms resting on his knees, looking entirely serious. As if this was the most logical solution in the world.

The crew, of course, froze. Xavier actually dropped the clapboard. Rafayel’s jaw hit the floor. Caleb whispered, “Holy shit.”

Sylus, on the verge of tears (for real this time), clutched the cup like it was a lifeline. “You… you care.”

Zayne blinked, deadpan. “You need sugar. You’re useless when you spiral.”

Sylus gasped. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

And there they were: Sylus and Zayne, crouched in the corner of the set, sharing a cup of boba like two idiots at a middle school sleepover.

The crew watched in stunned silence as Sylus slurped happily, leaning closer to Zayne with each sip, while Zayne sat motionless, staring ahead like he’d made a deal with the devil.

Finally, Rafayel muttered, “We’re in hell.”

Xavier nodded solemnly. “A hell with boba.”

Caleb shook his head. “I’m never touching boba tea after this.”

---

Miraculously, after the boba intervention, Sylus nailed the next three takes. His lines were sharp, his expressions perfect, his energy unstoppable.

And when the final scene wrapped, Zayne simply nodded once. “Better.”

Sylus lit up like the sun. “All thanks to you, my dearest Director!”

Zayne stood, already walking away. “Don’t spill on your costume next time.”

But Sylus heard: I’ll always be here to catch you when you fall.

The crew heard: Zayne Li voluntarily bought him bubble tea.

And the legend of the Boba Incident was born.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin was in crisis. Again.

It had been three days since the Boba Incident and he hadn’t slept properly since.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it—Zayne crouched beside him, calm, steady, handing him a cup of milk tea like it was the cure to all his problems.

“Kind,” Sylus whispered to himself in the makeup chair, staring dramatically into the mirror. “He’s secretly kind.”

Rafayel, armed with a comb, paused mid-stroke. “…What?”

Sylus turned, eyes wide with conviction. “Zayne Li is kind. He hides it under the cold exterior, but I’ve seen it.”

Across the room, Xavier nearly choked on his coffee. “Kind? Director Li? The same guy who once made us re-shoot a two-second scene seventeen times because the clapboard wasn’t straight?”

Rafayel jumped in immediately, voice rising. “Yeah, and let’s talk about wardrobe. Do you know how picky he is? Last week he rejected four costumes because ‘the shade of red wasn’t emotionally accurate.’ Do you know what that means? Because I don’t!”

Caleb, lugging the camera rig onto his shoulder, scoffed. “Don’t get me started. Every time I set up an angle, he tilts his head like, ‘hmm, slightly to the left.’ Bro, I’m carrying fifty pounds of equipment. My chiropractor loves him. My spine doesn’t.”

Sylus waved his arms, exasperated. “But don’t you see? He’s tough on you guys, but with me—”

Xavier cut in immediately. “Oh god, here we go.”

“No, listen!” Sylus insisted, leaning forward like a conspiracy theorist unveiling the truth. “With me, it’s different. I mess up lines? He doesn’t scold me. I trip on props? Nothing. I cry like an ugly seal on camera? Not a word. He just… tells me to focus. Or hands me boba.”

Rafayel slapped his forehead. “That’s not kindness, that’s resignation.”

Caleb muttered, “He probably thinks yelling at you is pointless.”

Xavier nodded sagely. “You’re like a puppy. If he scolds you, you’ll just wag your tail and come back.”

Sylus gasped, scandalized. “How dare you compare me to a dog!”

“Golden retriever energy,” Caleb said, deadpan.

“Fine, but a handsome retriever,” Sylus sniffed, flipping his hair. “My point stands: Zayne is kind. Deep down. Hidden layers. Like an iceberg with a warm gooey center.”

The three of them stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

Rafayel finally groaned. “You’re delusional.”

Xavier added, “Completely.”

Caleb sealed the verdict: “Cult behavior.”

Sylus slammed his fist on the makeup counter. “Call me what you want, but I know what I felt! He bought me boba. He crouched with me in solidarity. You can’t fake that kind of intimacy.”

“Or,” Rafayel muttered, “he just wanted you to shut up and finish the scene.”

Sylus clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “You cruel, faithless men! You wouldn’t recognize love if it hit you with a camera crane!”

The door creaked open.

Everyone froze.

Zayne Li stepped into the room, expression as unreadable as ever. He looked at Sylus for a single, weighted moment before speaking. “You’re late for rehearsal.”

And then he left.

Sylus turned back to the group, eyes shining. “Did you hear that? He came here himself to fetch me. He cares.”

Rafayel groaned into his hands.

Xavier buried his face in a script.

Caleb whispered, “We’re doomed.”

Sylus, however, marched out with a victorious grin, his dramatic crisis forgotten.

Because in his mind, Zayne Li wasn’t just an iceberg.

He was an iceberg that secretly loved him.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin was trending again.

Nothing unusual.

He trended every week—sometimes for his acting, sometimes for his looks, sometimes because a blurry photo of him eating noodles looked “too sexy” (his words, not the fandom’s).

But today’s trend was different.

“#KingOfTheBed” had been replaced by:

✨ #SylusAndShuyi4Ever✨

✨ #PerfectCoupleOnScreenAndOff✨

✨ #WhenWillTheyAnnounceIt ✨

And the accompanying tweets were lethal:

“Their chemistry is insane, no way they’re not dating IRL.”

“Imagine them married and raising kids who inherit their cheekbones.”

“Director Li knew what he was doing pairing them together. Genius.”

Sylus stared at his phone, blinking. “…What the hell do they mean ‘married with kids’—we only filmed two bed scenes!”

Across the room, Rafayel scrolled on his tablet. “Congrats, you’re married now.”

Xavier clapped the clapboard like a gavel. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Caleb adjusted the camera with a smirk. “Do we need to shoot the wedding or just the honeymoon?”

Sylus groaned, throwing his head back. “Why is everyone against me? I’ve dedicated my entire career to Zayne Li, and this is how I’m repaid? By being fake-married to my co-star?”

No one answered, because at that exact moment, Zayne walked onto set.

And Zayne… looked murderous.

Well, murderous in his usual “expressionless ice statue” way. Which meant no furrowed brows, no scowls—just an aura so cold the air conditioning felt redundant.

Sylus, sensing danger, bounded over with his signature golden-retriever grin. “Director Li! Lunch later? My treat. Hotpot? Sushi? Korean barbecue? I’ll even let you steal my boba this time.”

Zayne didn’t even blink. He walked past him, straight to Caleb’s camera setup, and said in his perfectly flat tone, “Angles are off by two degrees.”

Caleb mouthed help me as he adjusted the tripod.

Sylus frowned, trailing behind like a puppy ignored. “Hey, did you hear me? Lunch? Dinner? A midnight snack? A romantic candlelit breakfast?”

Zayne: “Lighting is inconsistent. Rafayel, fix the wardrobe glare.”

Rafayel, busy adjusting sequins, smirked at Sylus. “Ouch. Brutal.”

Sylus gaped. “He’s ignoring me.”

Xavier, smacking the clapboard into place, muttered, “Welcome to the club.”

But Sylus wasn’t used to this.

Zayne had never been chatty, sure—but he had never been this cold to him. Usually, at least, he’d respond with a clipped “no” or a dismissive “busy.”

Today? Nothing. Silence. Void.

And Sylus, being Sylus, spiraled immediately.

What if he saw the trending hashtag? What if he thinks I actually like Shuyi? Oh god, what if he thinks I betrayed him? What if he’s angry I didn’t dedicate my entire existence to him? WHAT IF HE’S BREAKING UP WITH ME AND WE’RE NOT EVEN DATING YET?!

Sylus clutched his chest dramatically. “I’ve been cast aside.”

Rafayel: “You’ve been ignored.”

Xavier: “Join the queue.”

Caleb: “Cry quieter, you’re shaking the camera.”

The rest of the day was torture.

Every time Sylus tried to joke, Zayne cut him off with a curt instruction.

Every time Sylus lingered nearby, Zayne redirected his attention elsewhere.

Every time Sylus laughed too loudly, Zayne’s gaze flickered over—cold, sharp, unreadable.

By the end of filming, Sylus was a wreck, sprawled on the floor of the studio like a man shot through the heart.

“I don’t understand,” he wailed. “We had boba together. He crouched with me in the corner. That was intimacy! That was marriage-level bonding!”

Xavier muttered, “Bro, you’re hallucinating relationships.”

Rafayel added, “Maybe he’s just tired of your face.”

Caleb, ever pragmatic, said, “Or maybe he saw Twitter.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Sylus sat bolt upright. “Twitter.” His voice cracked like he’d uncovered the murderer in a crime drama. “He saw Twitter. He thinks I’m cheating on him with my co-star. He hates me now. He’ll never eat hotpot with me again!”

He flopped back down, staring at the ceiling like a tragic Shakespearean hero.

Meanwhile, across the room, Zayne Li scrolled silently on his phone. The trending hashtags burned on his screen, unreadable eyes lingering for a fraction longer than usual.

And though he said nothing, his grip on the phone tightened ever so slightly.

Chapter Text

The set was quiet. Too quiet.

For once, there was no shouting about lighting, no clattering of camera rigs, no Rafayel swearing about sequins. Director Zayne Li had, in his infinite coldness, declared:

“You’ve worked hard. Take two days off.”

The crew had cheered, thrilled.

Sylus Qin had squinted, suspicious.

Because if there was one thing Sylus knew about Zayne Li, it was that the man did not believe in rest. The only thing he believed in was angles, discipline, and schedules tight enough to make grown men cry.

So obviously, this wasn’t kindness. This was sulking.

And Sylus wasn’t about to let the Iceberg sulk alone.

Which explained why, at precisely 3:07 p.m., Sylus let himself into Zayne Li’s apartment with the casualness of someone who had long since stopped knocking.

“Director Li~!” he called, kicking off his sneakers by the door. “Your favorite actor has arrived to cure you of your loneliness!”

From the living room came the flat response: “I’m not lonely.”

Sylus bounded in anyway, clutching a PS5 controller like a weapon. “Then you won’t mind losing to me in Mario Kart.”

Zayne sat on the couch, laptop open, eyes on a stack of scripts. His expression didn’t flicker. “I don’t play games.”

“You will when I shove the controller into your hands,” Sylus said cheerfully, flopping onto the couch beside him. He stretched his legs across the coffee table, nearly knocking over Zayne’s tea.

Zayne gave him a look colder than Siberia. “Feet. Off.”

Sylus obediently swung his legs down—only to immediately lean sideways and rest his head on Zayne’s shoulder instead. “Better?”

Zayne exhaled through his nose. “No.”

But he didn’t move him, and Sylus grinned in victory.

---

For the next hour, Sylus filled the apartment with noise.

He cursed loudly at the TV when his kart hit a banana peel. He begged for snacks like a child in need of candy.

He narrated his every move in dramatic detail, as though the entire world needed to know he was about to blue-shell Yoshi.

Meanwhile, Zayne reviewed scripts with the patience of a saint—or perhaps the resignation of a man who had realized resistance was futile. Occasionally, he glanced at Sylus, but only when the actor’s whining reached particularly unbearable decibels.

At one point, Sylus paused the game, turned to him, and asked, “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

Zayne didn’t look up. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because the internet married me off to Shuyi. Because I’m trending with hashtags like #PowerCouple and #SylusDaddyMaterial. Because I might have accidentally liked one of those tweets. Because—”

Zayne finally closed his laptop. Slowly. Deliberately. He turned, eyes sharp.

“You liked it?”

Sylus blinked. “…It was an accident?”

The silence was brutal. Sylus squirmed, then quickly restarted Mario Kart as if gaming could save his life.

---

Hours passed.

They settled into an odd rhythm—Zayne reading, Sylus alternating between playing PS5 and trying to annoy him into reacting.

Finally, at dinner time, Sylus sprawled dramatically on the couch. “Zayne Li, feed me. I’ve worked so hard today.”

Zayne gave him the blankest stare imaginable. “…You’ve played Mario Kart for six hours.”

“Exactly! Do you know how much stamina it takes to keep screaming every time I fall off Rainbow Road?”

“…Order takeout.”

Sylus gasped. “Cold. Heartless. You’d let your beloved starve in your very home?”

“I didn’t invite you.”

“But you didn’t kick me out either,” Sylus shot back smugly. “Which means, deep down, you like having me here.”

Zayne opened his mouth, then shut it again. He stood, walked into the kitchen, and returned with two bowls of noodles.

Sylus lit up instantly. “See! You do care.”

“I was cooking for myself,” Zayne said, setting the bowl in front of him. “You just get the spare portion.”

Sylus slurped a mouthful happily. “Shared food, shared home, shared couch… At this point, we’re basically married.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose.

---

Later that night, Sylus sprawled across half the couch, empty noodle bowl on the table, controller discarded. He glanced at Zayne, who was still reviewing scripts, brow faintly furrowed.

“You’re still sulking,” Sylus accused softly.

Zayne’s gaze didn’t shift. “I gave everyone days off. That’s not sulking.”

“You’re sulking.”

Silence.

Sylus poked his arm. “You are.”

Another poke. “You so are.”

Poke. Poke. “Just admit it, Iceberg, you’re jealous.”

Zayne finally turned, eyes narrowing. “Of what?”

Sylus froze. His brain screamed: Abort mission. Too real.

“Uh,” he said quickly, scrambling for humor. “Of my superior Mario Kart skills?”

Zayne stared.

For a moment, just a moment, Sylus thought he saw the corner of his mouth twitch—like he was holding back a smile.

Then the Iceberg turned away, muttering, “Go home, Sylus.”

Sylus grinned, victorious, and sank back into the couch. “This is my home.”

And Zayne—whether out of exhaustion, tolerance, or something softer—didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin had never been good at leaving when he was supposed to.

So when midnight rolled around and the PS5 was still humming, Zayne was still buried in scripts, and the couch was just so comfortable—well. Sylus decided, very logically, that he lived here now.

“Blanket,” he demanded, sprawling dramatically across the cushions.

Zayne didn’t look up from his laptop. “This isn’t a hotel.”

“It’s better,” Sylus shot back, rolling onto his stomach to grin at him. “It’s the Zayne Li Luxury Resort. Minimalist interior design, five-star cooking, and an emotionally unavailable owner. Very exclusive.”

Zayne’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. Slowly, he looked up, eyes sharp. “Emotionally unavailable?”

Sylus gasped theatrically. “Oh my god. Did I just get a reaction? From the Iceberg himself?”

Zayne gave him a flat stare. “Go to sleep.”

But Sylus didn’t.

Instead, he wriggled closer until he was half-draped over the armrest, watching Zayne’s face like a hawk. He was good at this—catching flickers of emotion most people missed.

And then it happened.

Just the faintest tint. A whisper of pink across Zayne Li’s ears.

Sylus’s jaw dropped. “Oh. My. God.”

Zayne immediately shut his laptop. “No.”

“Yes!” Sylus crowed, pointing like he’d just discovered Bigfoot. “You’re blushing!”

Zayne’s expression didn’t falter, but his ears were traitors. “I’m not.”

“You are! Look at you—red as a tomato!”

Zayne crossed his arms, voice dry as ever. “I can be green as Shrek if I want. I’m just lazy.”

Sylus wheezed, collapsing into laughter so loud it rattled the picture frames. “Did you just—did you just compare yourself to Shrek?!”

Zayne muttered, “You’re loud.”

Sylus wiped tears from his eyes, still grinning. “Oh, this is gold. The untouchable Zayne Li, the Iceberg Director, reduced to Shrek analogies in his own living room.”

“Go home,” Zayne grumbled, reaching for his scripts again.

“I told you,” Sylus said, settling comfortably against the couch, “this is my home now.”

Zayne gave him a long, unreadable look. His face had cooled back into its usual calm mask, but Sylus swore he saw a flicker of… something.

And then, in a moment that would later replay in Sylus’s head on a loop, Zayne spoke quietly.

“…Would you ever take a role in a gay drama?”

Sylus blinked. “Huh?”

Zayne’s eyes flickered away, sharp and nervous all at once. “Forget it.”

“No, no, no—don’t you dare pull a ‘never mind’ on me,” Sylus said, springing upright and nearly knocking over the PS5 controller. “What was that? What did you mean?”

“Nothing,” Zayne said flatly, gathering his papers with unnecessary force.

Sylus leaned closer, grin spreading like wildfire. “Director Li. Are you… suggesting something? Like, say, a revolutionary project starring a devastatingly handsome actor who happens to be sitting right in front of you?”

Zayne shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “…You’re insufferable.”

Sylus beamed, utterly unfazed. “But admit it—you thought about it.”

Zayne stood abruptly, muttering something about needing water, and fled to the kitchen. His ears, however, betrayed him once again, glowing faintly pink under the lights.

Sylus flopped back against the couch, victorious.

“Oh, Zayne Li,” he whispered to the ceiling, grinning like the idiot he was. “You can run, you can sulk, you can turn green like Shrek—but you can’t hide from me.”

And somewhere in the kitchen, Zayne Li pressed a cold glass of water to his burning face, cursing himself for slipping.

Chapter Text

Award shows were Sylus Qin’s natural habitat.

He lived for the flashing cameras, the red carpet chaos, the glittering lights. He lived for the way his fans screamed his name like a battle cry every time he waved, winked, or simply breathed.

But most of all, Sylus lived for the moments he could cause maximum chaos in front of an audience of millions.

Tonight, the chaos came prepackaged in a golden envelope.

“And the award for Best Drama Couple of the Year goes to…” the host paused, letting the crowd buzz with anticipation, “Sylus Qin and Shuyi Kim, Moonlit Chains!”

The arena exploded.

Sylus sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, grinning from ear to ear. Shuyi, radiant in sequins, grabbed his arm, and together they strutted up the stage like a prom king and queen.

From the audience, the fandom lost its collective mind. Screams, chants, camera flashes—it was deafening. The hashtags were writing themselves:

#SylusAndShuyiEndgame

#CoupleGoals

 #AwardShowHusbandAndWife

Sylus soaked it all in like sunlight.

When they reached the microphone, Shuyi spoke first, graceful and elegant. “Thank you so much to the crew, to our amazing director, and of course, to Sylus for being the best partner on set.”

The audience clapped politely.

Then Sylus leaned into the mic, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Best partner, huh? Shuyi, I hope your boyfriend doesn’t mind me proposing to you in front of millions of people.”

The audience erupted into laughter. Shuyi rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly, but Sylus only hammed it up, clutching his chest dramatically. “Rejected on stage! Tragic. A moment that will haunt me forever.”

Cameras flashed. Fans screamed. The internet combusted.

Somewhere in the middle rows, Zayne Li clenched his fist under the table.

---

“First of all,” Sylus continued, voice carrying over the cheering crowd, “thank you to the crew who put up with me being late to makeup every morning—Rafayel, I know you wanted to strangle me at least twelve times, but you didn’t, and that’s true love.”

Rafayel, in the audience, gave him a sharp I will strangle you later gesture.

“Thank you to Xavier, who clapped that board so hard I swear I have tinnitus now. To Caleb, who carried the camera like a Greek god carrying the world. And—of course—thank you to Director Zayne Li, without whom I would literally be unemployed. No Zayne, no acting!”

The crowd cheered louder, delighted by the now-infamous motto.

On stage, Sylus puffed his chest proudly. “Seriously, he’s a genius. He once made me redo a crying scene thirty-five times until I was dehydrated, and you know what? Worth it. Because now I have this shiny award to cry into instead.”

More laughter. More screaming fans.

But at the edge of the stage, Xavier Shen wasn’t laughing.

Because when Sylus had said “thank you to Director Zayne Li,” Xavier’s sharp eyes had flicked toward their director’s table—and caught it.

The tightening jaw. The clenched fist.

The almost-imperceptible shift of his shoulders before he rose quietly from his seat.

No drama. No announcement. Just… slipping away.

And Xavier, who had learned to read Zayne’s moods after months on set, knew immediately.

The Iceberg was not okay.

---

Meanwhile, Sylus was living his best life.

Shuyi had handed him the award, and he was using it as a prop microphone to serenade the audience with an off-key ballad. He pretended to propose to the host. He made a joke about auctioning off his acceptance speech for charity. The crowd adored every second of his dorky performance.

What Sylus didn’t notice—what he was too busy basking in to see—was that the one person he’d wanted most to impress wasn’t there anymore.

Because while the fans screamed his name, Zayne Li was already halfway to his car, the night air colder than ever.

Chapter Text

The after-party was chaos.

Champagne flowed, music boomed, and Sylus Qin was in his element—dancing on tables, hugging every co-star, and dramatically pretending the award trophy was his newborn child.

“Look at him,” Rafayel muttered to Xavier, sipping his wine like a tired parent. “Drunk off his ass again.”

“Correction,” Caleb said, munching on party peanuts. “Drunk and feral. That’s a dangerous combo.”

On cue, Sylus stumbled toward their table, cheeks flushed, tie half-untied, waving a champagne flute dangerously close to Caleb’s head.

“ZAAAYYYNEEEE!” he wailed, dragging out the syllables like a siren call. “Where’s my director husband?! He didn’t clap when I thanked him! He didn’t clap!!”

Rafayel pinched the bridge of his nose. “God, he’s going to regret every second of this tomorrow.”

But Sylus was unstoppable. He climbed onto a chair, wobbling precariously, and declared loudly to the whole room: “Director Li is a COLD, HEARTLESS, ICEBERG—”

Everyone froze.

Zayne Li, the man of the hour, had just entered the banquet hall.

Sylus pointed at him like he’d just discovered Atlantis. “—AND I LOVE—no wait. I HATE HIM! Haaate! With like, big capital letters! HHHHHHATE!”

The room burst into laughter. Shuyi covered her face in horror. Rafayel looked two seconds away from faking his own death.

Zayne, as always, remained unreadable. He simply crossed the room with measured steps, stopping directly in front of Sylus’s chair.

Sylus blinked down at him, swaying like a drunk toddler. “Oh. Hi.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow. “Get down before you break your neck.”

Instead of obeying, Sylus puffed his cheeks, teary-eyed. “You ignored me all week. You didn’t eat hotpot with me. You left the award show early. You—you don’t even like my Mario Kart skills.”

And then, to everyone’s horror, Sylus burst into messy, hiccup-filled sobs.

“Y-you don’t care about me at all!”

The room went dead silent.

Xavier, standing at the edge, sighed and leaned toward Zayne. His voice was low, meant for his brother’s ears only. “Take him home. He’ll only listen to you.”

Zayne shot him a look. “…You knew this would happen.”

“Of course,” Xavier muttered, clapping the clapboard of life one more time. “Go on. It’s your scene now.”

Zayne didn’t reply, but after a beat, he reached up and—without ceremony—lifted Sylus down from the chair like he weighed nothing.

Sylus immediately slumped into his arms, mumbling against his shoulder. “You smell like soap. Cold soap. Like… iceberg soap.”

Zayne ignored the stares and carried him out of the banquet hall, as if ferrying drunk chaos-goblins was a perfectly ordinary director-ly duty.

---

By the time they reached Zayne’s apartment, Sylus was completely gone—dead weight, cheeks red, hiccupping every few seconds.

Zayne deposited him gently onto the couch. He fetched water, set out aspirin, and even draped a blanket over him.

He should’ve stopped there. He knew he should’ve.

But Sylus’s hand twitched, blindly reaching out, and his drunken voice whispered, “Don’t go.”

And Zayne—Zayne who was always so controlled, so careful—sat down on the couch beside him.

Just for a moment, he told himself. Just until Sylus fell asleep.

Except Sylus was already asleep, lips parted, soft snores escaping.

Zayne exhaled slowly. Then, almost against his own will, he leaned back. Let his arm rest lightly against Sylus’s shoulder. Let Sylus’s warmth sink into him.

It wasn’t a hug, not really. Just proximity. Just… closeness.

But when Sylus shifted in his sleep, nestling instinctively against his side, Zayne didn’t move away.

Instead, he allowed himself the smallest indulgence—the weight of Sylus Qin, curled up beside him on the couch, safe in his apartment.

And in the quiet glow of the lamplight, Zayne Li pulled up another script on his laptop.

Not Moonlit Chains. Not the next gritty crime drama.

But a brand-new project. A different kind of story. One he wasn’t sure he had the courage to direct—yet.

His eyes flicked briefly to Sylus, asleep and drooling on his shoulder.

“…Idiot,” Zayne muttered softly, closing his laptop.

And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to rest—with Sylus Qin in his arms.

Chapter Text

When Sylus Qin woke up the next morning, it wasn’t the hangover that hit him first.

It was Twitter.

His phone buzzed relentlessly, dozens of notifications piling up like a digital avalanche. He groaned, grabbed it from the nightstand, and squinted at the trending tab.

And froze.

#SylusCancelledEra

“I always knew Sylus never liked Zayne.”

“Imagine cursing your own director in public.”

“Come on y’all, stop supporting him already.”

“Ungrateful brat. Without Zayne Li, he’s nothing.”

And, worst of all, a sasaeng account gleefully posted:

“Here’s his REAL address, prove your loyalty if you’re a true fan 💋”

Sylus sat up so fast he smacked his head on the headboard. “Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.”

Memories trickled back—him, standing on a chair, pointing at Zayne, yelling about icebergs and soap. He buried his face in his hands. “Why didn’t anyone tase me unconscious?!”

Across the living room, Zayne—who had slept on the other end of the couch, laptop still open on his chest—stirred awake. His hair was a mess, but his glare was sharp as ever.

“You’re loud.”

Sylus peeked between his fingers. “Good morning, my beloved director-slash-life ruiner.”

Zayne ignored that. “You’re trending.”

“Don’t remind me!” Sylus yelped, flopping dramatically onto the couch again. “I’m being cancelled, Zayne. Cancelled! My entire career is in ruins. I’ll have to start a YouTube channel reviewing instant noodles to survive!”

Zayne closed his laptop with a sigh. “You did it to yourself.”

Sylus gasped, clutching his chest like a wounded prince. “Betrayed… by my own iceberg.”

---

By noon, the situation only got worse.

Paparazzi camped outside his apartment. Fans spammed his mentions with snake emojis. Anti-fans dissected every clip of him laughing with Shuyi, convinced he’d been “fake” all along.

And the sasaeng leak? Real.

Someone had tried to break into his apartment that morning, pounding on the door until security dragged them away.

Sylus laughed it off when Caleb texted to check in. “Haha, it’s fine. I’m basically starring in a horror movie now. Call me Final Boy Qin.”

He sent Rafayel a voice note saying, “Don’t worry, I’m totally okay!” while his hands trembled so badly he dropped his phone twice.

Even Xavier got a video of Sylus wearing sunglasses indoors, sipping bubble tea. “See? Calm. Cool. Collected. Basically Buddha.”

But the truth? His heart raced at every sound outside. Every car door slam felt like someone coming for him. Every notification sent a spike of dread through his chest.

Still, when he walked onto set the next day, he plastered on his trademark grin.

“Good morning, team!” he chirped, twirling the clapboard out of Xavier’s hands just to be annoying. “Ready to make cinematic history?”

Rafayel eyed him. “You look like death reheated.”

“I always look like that,” Sylus shot back. “It’s called fashion.”

But when Zayne entered the room, all cool authority and unreadable expression, Sylus’s mask slipped for a second.

Because Zayne didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t even acknowledge his presence beyond a curt, “Scene 27. Get ready.”

The coldness was sharper than usual. Deliberate. And Sylus, who was used to being teased, ignored, or scolded with surgical precision… felt something new.

Distance.

He laughed a little too loudly at Rafayel’s jokes. He messed up his lines twice on purpose, just to force Zayne to glare at him. Anything to get a reaction.

But Zayne only said, “Again,” in that same flat tone.

---

Lunch break came. The crew buzzed with chatter. Sylus sat across from Zayne, poking at his noodles.

“So,” Sylus said, fake-casual. “How about that trending tab, huh? I’m basically the internet’s favorite villain now.”

Silence.

“I mean, hey, at least I didn’t say you smelled like moldy seaweed, right? It was soap. Iceberg soap! That’s flattering.”

More silence.

Sylus’s grin wobbled. “You’re not… mad, right?”

Zayne finally looked at him. Not with anger. Not with disgust. But with something far worse.

Indifference.

“We have work to do.”

And that was it.

---

That night, Sylus lay awake in his darkened apartment, staring at the ceiling.

His phone buzzed nonstop—more hate, more rumors, more threats. He shoved it under a pillow.

The shadows outside his window stretched long, too long, and every creak of the floorboards made him flinch.

He wanted to call someone. Rafayel? Xavier? Caleb?

Zayne?

He laughed bitterly at himself, rolling onto his side. “Get it together, Qin. You’re Sylus freaking Qin. You survive scandals with a smile. You don’t break.”

But when the knock came at his door—soft, hesitant, too deliberate to be random—he curled into himself, breath caught in his throat.

And for the first time, Sylus Qin, the clown, the chaos gremlin, the golden retriever of the acting world—let himself be afraid.

Chapter Text

The thing about Zayne Li was—he noticed everything.

He noticed when a boom mic was angled a centimeter too low. He noticed when Xavier scribbled the wrong take number on the clapboard. He noticed when Sylus Qin, Mr. Sunshine himself, forced a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

And he definitely noticed when the video of Sylus drunkenly yelling about “icebergs” went viral.

So, while the world laughed and canceled and speculated, Zayne didn’t laugh. He investigated.

---

Two days later, he found himself in the back of a quiet café, across from none other than Shuyi—the co-lead actress.

She looked nervous, twisting her straw between manicured fingers. “I don’t… I don’t know why you wanted to meet me alone, Director Li.”

Zayne’s gaze was steady, colder than the iced Americano in front of him. “Because I already know it was you.”

Her eyes widened. “What—”

“You leaked the video,” Zayne said, tone flat. “At the party. You had access. You filmed it. And you spread it online.”

Shuyi stammered, “N-no, I—I would never—”

Zayne slid his phone across the table. On the screen: security footage of her handing her phone to someone in the restroom hallway.

Her face drained of color. “I—”

“Why?” Zayne asked, voice like a scalpel.

She bit her lip, then exploded. “Because he rejected me, okay?! Sylus—he—he laughed in my face when I confessed. Said he already had a lover!”

The words rang out in the café. A couple at the next table looked over.

Zayne’s expression didn’t flicker. “And your solution was to destroy his career? When he’s at his peak? Wrong move.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I just—I just wanted people to see he’s not perfect! That he’s reckless, careless—”

Zayne leaned forward, his voice dropping to a razor-edged whisper. “He’s mine to deal with. Not yours. Remember that.”

Shuyi froze.

Zayne stood, pocketed his phone, and walked out, leaving her trembling in her chair.

---

That evening, the internet exploded again.

Not with #SylusCancelledEra. Not with snake emojis.

But with receipts.

Screenshots, footage, and a very carefully worded statement from Director Li himself:

“The video was leaked maliciously by an individual who sought personal revenge against Mr. Qin. Legal action is being taken.”

Attached: undeniable proof that Shuyi had orchestrated it all.

Within an hour, Shuyi’s reputation was in ashes. Her agency cut ties. Fans turned on her. She vanished from the trending page, replaced by:

#JusticeForSylus

“Zayne defending Sylus??”

“Iceberg just melted a little??”

---

And the sasaengs?

Zayne dealt with them too.

The one who leaked Sylus’s address? Arrested within twenty-four hours, thanks to evidence Zayne handed directly to the police.

The one who tried to break into Sylus’s apartment? Press charges, no bail.

The rest? Served with restraining orders so iron-clad they might as well have been banished to another dimension.

Zayne Li didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t post dramatic threats. He simply crushed them, methodically, ruthlessly, one by one.

---

When Sylus heard the news, he almost dropped his bubble tea.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He waved his phone at Rafayel, Xavier, and Caleb, who were all crowded in the dressing room. “So you’re telling me—my scary ice director just went full Batman for me?!”

Xavier shrugged. “More like Ice-Man.”

Rafayel sipped his coffee. “Honestly, I thought he’d just let you drown in the scandal. Guess you’re special.”

Caleb snorted. “Or cursed.”

Sylus ignored them. His brain was still stuck on one phrase, circling like a neon sign.

‘Said he already had a lover.’

He froze. Lover?? Who?? When?? Him???

He spun toward the mirror, clutching his face. “Oh my god. What if Zayne thinks I—”

Before he could spiral further, the dressing room door opened.

Zayne stood there, calm as ever. “Scene 34. Five minutes.”

Sylus opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Th-thank you… Batman?”

Zayne blinked. “…What?”

“Nothing!” Sylus squeaked, nearly tripping over his chair.

As Zayne left, Rafayel muttered under his breath, “Yeah, he’s doomed.”

---

That night, Sylus lay awake again. But not from paranoia.

This time, his heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Because Zayne Li—his iceberg, his nemesis, his everything—had just burned the world to protect him.

And Sylus Qin didn’t know what to do with the warmth that bloomed in his chest.

Except maybe, possibly, definitely—fall even harder.

Chapter Text

Sylus was sprawled dramatically across Zayne’s couch like a fainting Victorian maiden when Zayne returned from his nightly ice-man crime-fighting routine (aka destroying sasaengs with paperwork).

“I can’t act anymore,” Sylus moaned, one arm over his eyes. “I’ll never recover from this. The world hates me. My career is ashes. Ashes, Zayne!”

Zayne set a steaming cup of tea on the table. “Drink.”

Sylus peeked through his fingers. “Tea won’t fix my soul.”

“Drink, or I’ll pour it on your head.”

Sylus sat up instantly. “Yes, sir.”

Zayne watched him sip, silent for a moment. Then, in his usual even tone, he said, “The bashing will tone down. The sasaeng situation is already handled.”

Sylus froze mid-sip. “Handled? Like… mafia-handled?”

Zayne’s eyebrow twitched. “Legally handled.”

“Boring,” Sylus muttered, but the tightness in his shoulders eased.

Zayne studied him, then asked, “And the ‘lover’ comment?”

Sylus nearly spat tea all over the couch. “O-oh that?! That was—uh—totally just me trying to get away from Shuyi. You know, to make her back off. Not serious. Not—like—I don’t actually have a—”

Zayne held up a hand. “I don’t need the details.”

Sylus flushed. “R-right. Cool. Good talk.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Zayne said, almost carefully, “You should act again.”

Sylus slumped. “Can’t. Too traumatized. The camera is now my mortal enemy.”

“Then model,” Zayne countered. “At least for commercials. Ease back into the industry.”

Sylus perked up. “Modeling, huh? I can smolder on cue.” He struck a pose, pouting like a fish.

Zayne closed his eyes briefly, as if begging the universe for patience. “Fine. Commercials. But stop pouting like that.”

---

The next week, Sylus found himself on set for a new snack advertisement.

Rafayel was giddy. “Oh, you’re going to love this.”

Sylus twirled in his chair while the makeup team fussed over him. “Love? Or hate in ten seconds?”

Xavier grinned, holding up the costume bag. “Both.”

When Sylus saw the outfit, he screamed.

Ten minutes later, he walked out of the dressing room in a frilly pastel dress, a giant snack logo plastered across the chest, his hair tied into bouncy pigtails with glittery bows.

He twirled, hands on his hips. “Ta-da! Call me Princess Potato Chip!”

The crew howled with laughter. Caleb nearly dropped his camera. Rafayel snapped ten pictures before Sylus could blink.

And then there was Zayne.

He froze in the doorway, staring at Sylus like he’d just walked into a crime scene.

Sylus beamed. “Well? How do I look?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Zayne said, flatly, cruelly: “Ugly. Don’t ever wear that again.”

The laughter died instantly.

Sylus’s smile faltered.

“Oh.” He forced a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Y-yeah, it’s—it’s ridiculous, right? Haha. Totally ugly. I look like—like a snack mascot gone wrong. You’re right.”

But the brightness in his eyes dimmed.

Rafayel’s jaw tightened. Xavier looked away. Caleb muttered something under his breath.

And Sylus, ever the clown, ever the golden retriever, struck another ridiculous pose, covering the sting with humor. “Guess I’ll retire as a meme instead of an actor. Director Li’s words are law!”

Everyone chuckled awkwardly. The cameras rolled. The commercial was shot.

But later, when Sylus washed off the glitter and bows, staring at his reflection in the mirror, he didn’t laugh.

Because for the first time, Zayne’s words didn’t feel like ice.

They felt like knives.

Chapter Text

For the next month, Sylus Qin perfected a brand-new acting role: The Cold, Silent Colleague.

No jokes.

No teasing.

No dramatic monologues about bubble tea shortages.

Just nods. Hums. One-word answers.

Zayne: “Scene 12 tomorrow. Prepare.”

Sylus: “Mn.”

Zayne: “Change into costume.”

Sylus: “Okay.”

Zayne: “Your blocking was off.”

Sylus: “Hm.”

It was hell.

The crew noticed immediately. Rafayel whispered to Caleb, “Do you see this? The golden retriever’s tail is gone.”

Caleb grimaced. “It’s like watching SpongeBob turn into Squidward.”

Xavier leaned in. “I give it a week before Zayne snaps.”

They were wrong. Zayne lasted a month.

---

Finally, during yet another stiff production meeting, Zayne couldn’t take it anymore.

Sylus sat across from him, arms folded, nodding like a broken bobblehead every time Zayne spoke.

“Schedule review,” Zayne said, flipping through notes. “Advertising tie-in next Thursday.”

Sylus: nod.

“Episode finale reshoot. Next Saturday.”

Sylus: hum.

Zayne’s pen stilled. “…Qin.”

Sylus glanced up, smile perfectly polite, eyes perfectly blank. “Yes, Director Li?”

Something in Zayne cracked.

He leaned forward, voice low, sharp, but not cruel. “Enough.”

The room went quiet.

Zayne continued, tone steady but intense: “I wasn’t insulting you. I was stating a fact. You look ugly when you’re trying to be someone you’re not. I don’t need Sylus in pigtails and bows. I like you, the real you. You’re better as yourself. That’s all I meant.”

Silence.

Sylus blinked at him. Once. Twice. His brain whirred audibly, like a computer overheating.

Error. Processing. Please wait.

Zayne stood abruptly, straightening his jacket. “That’s all. Continue the meeting.”

And with that, he walked over to discuss technical details with Xavier and Caleb, leaving Sylus frozen in place.

Sylus’s thoughts:

Did he just—

Wait.

Huh???

Did Zayne Li just say he likes me better as… me??

Error 404. System crashed. Please reboot.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.

Rafayel leaned over, whispering, “Are you okay? You look like your brain blue-screened.”

Sylus’s only response was a strangled noise somewhere between a squeak and a dial-up modem.

Meanwhile, Zayne carried on like nothing had happened. Discussing lighting angles. Camera rigs. All calm and composed.

As if he hadn’t just nuked Sylus Qin’s emotional hard drive with one accidental confession-disguised-as-an-insult.

---

That night, Sylus lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the words over and over.

“You look ugly when you’re trying to be someone you’re not.”

“I like you better as yourself."

He groaned, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow. “WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!”

His phone buzzed with a text from Rafayel:

[Rafayel]: u r still glitching huh

[Sylus]: I’M NOT GLITCHING. HE’S GLITCHING. THE WORLD IS GLITCHING.

Error 404: Feelings Not Found.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin had never read a script this many times in his life.

He wasn’t just reading it. No—he was memorizing, analyzing, dissecting every line like a surgeon performing open-heart surgery.

Every word, every comma, every stage direction.

Why? Because this wasn’t just any drama.

This was The Drama.

The one Zayne Li once (accidentally) suggested.

The gay romance.

The chance for Sylus to prove that he wasn’t just some chaotic golden retriever who stumbled into stardom by accident.

He was going to be good. No—he was going to be amazing. He was going to impress Zayne so much that the man would have no choice but to acknowledge him.

Maybe even…like him back.

Sylus pressed the script to his chest dramatically. “Zayne Li, you iceberg bastard, watch me melt you into soup.”

From the couch, Rafayel threw a pillow at him. “Stop being weird.”

---

Days later, Sylus sat at the production table, nervously flipping through his script for the thousandth time. His co-lead hadn’t been revealed yet, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was not embarrassing himself in front of Zayne.

So when the meeting wrapped, Sylus gathered his courage and turned to him. “Hey, Director Li.”

Zayne looked up from his notes, brows raised.

Sylus swallowed. “Want to grab dinner tonight? My treat.”

It was casual. Normal. Totally not him asking Zayne out on a date. Definitely not.

Before Zayne could answer, Rafayel’s phone buzzed. Then Caleb’s. Then Xavier’s.

The three of them gasped in unison.

“Oh. My. God.” Xavier slapped his phone on the table, screen facing up. “Look at this.”

On the screen was a photo, freshly leaked onto some entertainment blog.

Zayne Li.

Walking hand-in-hand with a woman.

The caption: “Director Zayne Li spotted on date with mystery girlfriend?!”

Sylus froze.

The room exploded with noise. Rafayel let out a wolf whistle. “Zayyyyne, keeping secrets, huh?”

Caleb smirked. “And here I thought you only loved your camera lenses.”

Even Xavier joined in. “Holding hands in public? That’s serious, man.”

Zayne, as usual, didn’t flinch. He simply adjusted his papers and said flatly, “It was a business meeting.”

But no one was listening. The teasing continued.

Sylus, meanwhile, forced a laugh that sounded like a dying cat. “Hah. Wow. That’s…something.”

Rafayel’s eyes flicked to him immediately. He wasn’t fooled. Neither was Caleb. Or Xavier.

They’d all noticed. The way Sylus looked at Zayne. The way his usual chaos dimmed whenever the director entered the room. The way he tried—really tried—when Zayne was watching.

So Rafayel leaned over, lowering his voice. “You good?”

Sylus’s jaw tightened. He shrugged, flipping his script shut with fake nonchalance. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s none of my business who he dates.”

The words came out sharp, almost believable. Almost.

But his hands clenched under the table. His chest ached in a way he hated. Because it was his business. It was all his business.

Imagine liking someone so much you stayed up late practicing lines, only to find out they might be holding hands with someone who wasn’t you.

And yet again, Zayne just look at him. With that same blank—icy cold— stare.

The same unreadable expression of that makes Sylus wanted to strangle the iceberg and shake that guy aggressively for giving him a whole roller coaster emotions.

It sucked.

Caleb raised a brow. “You sure? You look like you just swallowed a lemon.”

“I’m fine,” Sylus snapped. Then, softer, “Really. Totally fine.”

He wasn’t fine.

---

Later that night, Sylus lay sprawled across his bed, script forgotten beside him.

He stared at the ceiling, replaying that stupid photo over and over in his head. Zayne’s hand around hers. The casual way they walked together.

Sylus groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “I hate this. Why couldn’t my crush be someone normal? Like a barista. Or my mailman. Someone who doesn’t get photographed every five seconds.”

His phone buzzed. Group chat.

[Rafayel]: yo. u alive?

[Xavier]: still blue-screening?

[Caleb]: drink water, dumbass.

Sylus typed back:

[Sylus]: I told you guys, it’s NONE of my business.

He hit send. Then immediately threw his phone across the room.

Because it was.

And that was the problem.

Error 404: Heart not found.

Chapter Text

Zayne Li was not used to being ignored.

Actors bent over backward to please him. Assistants scrambled when he so much as cleared his throat. If he said “jump,” they asked “from which cliff?”

But Sylus Qin—famous actor, public menace, professional clown—had been dodging him for days.

Zayne didn’t like it.

So when Saturday rolled around and Sylus didn’t show up at his apartment like he usually did (to raid his fridge, hog the PS5, or drape himself over the couch like an overfed cat), Zayne did something he rarely did.

He called.

The line rang. Once. Twice. Then—

“...Oh. It’s you.”

The tone was sharp enough to slice paper.

Zayne’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you come over this weekend?”

A beat of silence.

Then Sylus’s sarcastic drawl came through, dripping with poison. “Wow. Straight to the point, huh? No ‘how are you, Sylus?’ No ‘did you eat yet, Sylus?’ Just—‘why aren’t you here.’ Romantic.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “You always come over.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like it.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I’m tired of being your dancing monkey?”

Zayne blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Sylus’s voice cracked, teetering between mockery and anger. “I don’t want to work under you anymore.”

The words hung heavy between them.

Zayne’s jaw tightened. “So you’re quitting because I didn’t bribe you with bubble tea this week?”

Sylus laughed—loud, bitter. “Ha! Funny. Real funny, Director Li. You think it’s about boba? You think I’m just waiting for scraps of your approval so I can wag my tail and fetch another role?”

“You’ve done exactly that for years,” Zayne shot back, ice in his tone.

“Well, newsflash—maybe I’m done being used. Maybe I’m done being your good little actor, the one you parade around because he pulls ratings and trends on Twitter.”

Zayne’s voice dropped, dangerously calm. “You think I’m using you?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Sylus snapped. “You never say anything unless it’s about work. You never look at me unless I’m in front of a camera. And when you do—when you actually say something nice—it’s just to keep me in line for your next project.”

For a moment, silence.

Then Zayne said, low and even: “That’s not true.”

Sylus barked a laugh, but it cracked halfway. “Really? Then why does it feel like I’m the only idiot here who—” He choked, biting the words back.

“Who what?” Zayne pressed.

“...Forget it.”

“No. Finish that sentence.”

Sylus’s grip on the phone tightened. His chest felt like it was caving in. He wanted to throw the phone out the window, wanted to scream, wanted to laugh it off like he always did. But the dam broke before he could stop it.

“—who actually likes you, okay?! There! Happy now?!”

The silence on the other end was deafening.

Sylus’s face burned. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would break through his ribs.

Zayne didn’t speak.

Of course he didn’t.

Sylus let out a shaky laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Thought so. Director Li, you don’t have to worry—I won’t embarrass you by showing up again. Consider this my resignation.”

And before Zayne could say a word, Sylus hung up.

He tossed his phone across the room, buried his face in his pillow, and screamed into it.

“STUPID. STUPID. STUPID.”

---

Meanwhile, in his apartment across the city, Zayne stared at his silent phone.

The words replayed in his head.

Who actually likes you.

His grip on the device tightened.

For once in his perfectly calculated, carefully controlled life—Zayne Li had no idea what to say.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin was in disbelief.

A whole month.

A whole month of no sweet-talking, no bribery boba, no carefully slipped compliments disguised as insults.

Nothing.

It was like Zayne Li had gone cold turkey on him. Not even a “good take” or a sarcastic “finally, you remembered how to act.”

Just work. Always work.

Sylus tried giving attitude—rolling his eyes, dragging his feet, even tossing in sarcasm so sharp it could slice bread. Zayne said nothing. He didn’t scold, didn’t tease, didn’t even glare.

And somehow, that was worse.

It confirmed everything Sylus had been dreading:

Zayne never liked him in the first place.

He was just a convenient pawn. A famous face, a goofy personality that brought in headlines. Good for ratings, good for publicity, good for nothing else.

So when the current drama wrapped, Sylus didn’t wait around for the inevitable sweet-talking bribe. This time, he was ready to say no.

Which was how he ended up at a bowling alley with Rafayel, Xavier, and Caleb, determined to drown his feelings in neon lights, greasy snacks, and competitive trash talk.

---

“Okay, rules are simple.” Xavier smacked the score sheet onto the table. “Lowest score buys dinner.”

“Good,” Rafayel said smoothly, sliding his designer shades higher on his nose. “Sylus is already broke from crying into his boba funds.”

Sylus grabbed his bowling ball with unnecessary force. “Ha-ha. Very funny. For your information, I’m thriving.”

Caleb squinted at him. “Thriving? Dude, you look like a raccoon that got kicked out of the garbage.”

“Raccoons are resilient!” Sylus snapped. “They’re survivors!”

He marched to the lane and hurled the ball. It rolled dramatically…straight into the gutter.

“Wow.” Xavier deadpanned. “Truly thriving.”

Sylus stomped back, plopping into his seat. “I’m distracted, okay? I’ve been emotionally manipulated by a certain ice cube for years and I’m finally breaking free.”

“Here we go,” Rafayel muttered, sipping his soda like wine.

Sylus leaned forward, pointing accusingly at the air. “He didn’t even try to bribe me this time! Do you get it? No bribes, no compliments, nothing. It’s like I don’t even exist outside the camera.”

“Maybe he was busy?” Caleb offered.

“Busy ignoring me!” Sylus threw his arms up. “I’ve been used. Used like a tissue! Like a cheap umbrella that breaks in the wind! Like—”

“Like your career if you keep rejecting good roles?” Rafayel cut in, eyebrow arched.

Sylus gasped. “I’ll have you know, I’m rejecting his next offer on purpose.”

The table went silent.

Xavier blinked. “Wait. You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Sylus slammed his soda can for emphasis. “If Director Li comes crawling with his new script, I’m gonna look him in the eye and say—‘no thanks, find another clown to do your dirty work.’”

Caleb nearly choked on his nachos. “You’re insane. Do you know how many actors would kill to be hand-picked by Zayne Li?”

“Exactly!” Sylus said dramatically. “Let them kill! Let them fight for it! I’m free!”

Rafayel smirked. “Free? Or heartbroken?”

Sylus glared. “Free.”

“Sure,” Rafayel said, voice dripping with disbelief.

Xavier shook his head, scribbling on the score sheet. “I’m calling it now—you’ll last, what, two weeks before you crawl back.”

“Two weeks?” Caleb snorted. “He won’t last two days.”

Sylus jabbed a finger at them both. “I’ll prove you wrong. No more Zayne. No more sweet-talking. No more—ugh—his stupid perfect hair and his stupid tailored suits and his stupid—”

“Face?” Rafayel supplied helpfully.

“Yes!” Sylus flailed. “His stupid, unfairly beautiful face!”

The group cackled as Sylus buried his own in his hands.

“God, I hate him,” Sylus groaned into his palms.

“No, you don’t,” Rafayel said calmly.

“Yes, I do!”

Caleb leaned back, smirking. “You hate that you love him.”

Sylus peeked through his fingers, glaring. “…Shut up and bowl.”

---

By the end of the night, Sylus had lost spectacularly.

But he also walked out of the bowling alley with a dangerous new conviction:

Zayne Li could shove his next drama offer where the sun didn’t shine.

Sylus Qin was done.

…Or so he told himself.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin hated crowds.

Correction: he hated crowds that wanted a piece of him. Fans waving lightsticks? Fine. Paparazzi with long lenses? Manageable. But a swarm of overly obsessed fans outside the bowling alley, grabbing at his hoodie like it was a limited-edition merch drop?

Nightmare fuel.

“SYLUS, LOOK HERE!”

“SIGN THIS!”

“COME WITH US, WE LOVE YOU!”

Hands pulled at his sleeves. Someone yanked his cap. Another tried to shove a phone in his face. For a split second, Sylus thought—this is it. This is how I die. Trampled by my own fandom.

Then a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

“Move.”

Cold, sharp, unmistakable.

And suddenly, the crowd parted like the Red Sea because Zayne Li had arrived—holding a bag of bubble tea in one hand, car keys in the other, looking like the grumpiest guardian angel in existence.

He grabbed Sylus’s wrist, tugged him free, and steered him toward the curb. The swarm shouted in protest, but Zayne’s glare was enough to shut them up.

Within seconds, Sylus was shoved into the passenger seat of Zayne’s car.

The door slammed. The noise dulled. Sylus sat there, chest heaving, hair a mess, cap gone.

Zayne, calm as ever, placed the bag of bubble tea in his lap. “Drink.”

Sylus blinked at it. Then at him. Then back at the boba. “...You went to buy this while I was almost being kidnapped?”

Zayne started the car. “I didn’t know you were outside. Coincidence.”

Sylus gawked. “COINCIDENCE? You literally boba-knighted me just now!”

Zayne gave him a side-eye. “Stop being dramatic.”

---

Back at Zayne’s apartment, Sylus was still jittery. He paced the living room while Zayne, in his infuriating calmness, set down a plate of cookies.

“Sit.”

Sylus flopped onto the couch like a ragdoll. “I was this close to being sold on the black market and you’re bribing me with Oreos.”

Zayne handed him a cookie. “You like Oreos.”

Sylus took it. Chewed. Tried not to cry.

Silence stretched between them. Then Sylus blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Zayne blinked. “For what?”

“For being jealous.” Sylus buried his face in his hands. “I saw the stupid photo of you holding hands with that woman and I went crazy. I thought you were—ugh—I don’t know. Dating her. Using me. Not caring at all.”

Zayne frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?!” Sylus shot up, cookie crumbs flying. “You don’t talk to me unless it’s about work. You’re hot one second, cold the next. You give me boba like it’s a love letter but then act like it means nothing. I don’t know what to think anymore!”

Zayne sighed. “She’s an old friend. We grew up together. She was about to step into traffic, so I pulled her back. That’s all.”

Sylus froze.

Then he groaned, collapsing back into the couch. “You absolute dumbass. Do you have any idea how that looked?!”

Zayne shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

“Of course it matters!” Sylus threw his arms up. “To me, it mattered. I thought—God, I thought I was delusional. Like maybe all the mixed signals were just in my head.”

He turned to Zayne, frustration and desperation tangled in his chest. “You know what? Just reject me, Zayne. Tell me you don’t feel the same so I can move on. Don’t keep me hanging at the edge, hoping for something that’s never gonna happen.”

The words spilled out raw, heavier than he intended. His voice cracked at the end, and for once, he didn’t cover it with a joke.

Zayne stared at him, unreadable.

Sylus waited. Heart pounding.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, Zayne said…nothing.

Just reached for a controller, handed it to him, and switched on the PS5.

Sylus blinked. “...Are you serious right now?”

“Play.”

Sylus gaped. “I just confessed my existential love crisis and you want to play FIFA?!”

Zayne selected his team, expression unchanging. “You’re better when you’re distracted.”

Sylus wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throttle the man and kiss him senseless all at once.

Instead, he picked up his controller, muttering, “You’re impossible.”

Zayne’s lips twitched—just barely. “So are you.”

And for the first time that night, Sylus laughed.

Chapter Text

One year.

Sylus Qin had spent one whole year away from cameras, lights, scripts, and directors who liked to nag him about “angles” and “consistency” and “stop eating snacks on set.”

And now here he was, back again—wearing a high school uniform that made him look ten years younger, standing in front of the camera, holding a script that was about to ruin his emotional stability.

Because apparently, fate hated him.

Apparently, his co-lead for the big gay comeback drama was none other than Zayne Li.

The man, the myth, the iceberg. And now? His on-screen favourite teacher.

Sylus stared at the man across from him. Zayne wore simple glasses, a white shirt tucked neatly into slacks, the picture of a young teacher in the early 2000s.

It was wrong. It was illegal. It was—

“Cut!” Xavier’s voice rang out, snapping Sylus from his spiral. “Sylus, stop staring at his face like you want to eat him alive.”

Sylus choked. “I—I wasn’t—!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Xavier flipped his clipboard. “Reset from the top.”

Sylus groaned into his script. This was going to kill him.

---

The drama itself was simple enough:

Sylus played a student who traveled back in time to save his beloved teacher from being bullied to death by an awful class.

Zayne played the younger version of that teacher, unaware of the time travel twist.

Eventually, Sylus would succeed… but not without heartbreak.

Sylus thought he could handle it.

Until Zayne—of course Zayne—decided to skip ahead.

---

They were supposed to be filming an innocent classroom scene when Zayne closed his book, looked straight into Sylus’s eyes, and said something that was definitely not in the script.

“I’m sorry,” Zayne said, voice lower, gentler than Sylus had ever heard on set. “For always making you confused with my gestures.”

Sylus blinked. Wait. What?

“I know I was difficult to read.” Zayne took a step closer, his teacher persona slipping into something raw, unpolished. “But I want you to know, I was sincere. Always sincere.”

The air shifted. The extras fell silent.

Even the camera operator hesitated, unsure if they were witnessing acting—or something else entirely.

Sylus’s throat closed up. His eyes burned.

Because for the first time in forever, Zayne wasn’t cold. Wasn’t distant. Wasn’t the untouchable director who lived behind frosted glass walls.

He was just Zayne.

And he was smiling. Soft, warm, devastating.

Sylus’s tears spilled before he could stop them.

“Director…” Xavier whispered, breaking the spell with his usual gremlin timing. “Psst. Parting ways scene. Wrong page.”

Zayne blinked.

Like he’d just snapped back into his body. His expression shuttered. He turned slightly toward Xavier. “I know.”

And then he looked back at Sylus.

This time, his words slid seamlessly back into character, but Sylus could hear the echo of truth underneath.

“I will find you,” Zayne said, voice steady, clear. “Even though our future might change after you go back to your world. Even if everything else disappears, I’ll find you again.”

It wasn’t just acting. It was a promise.

Sylus covered his face with his hands, not caring if the camera caught his snot. The tears kept coming, and he couldn’t tell if it was his character crying—or him.

---

“CUT!” Xavier clapped his hands like he’d just directed the scene himself. “Beautiful. Ten out of ten. Emotional damage acquired. Sylus, you’re dripping tears like a leaky faucet, love that for you. Zayne, who gave you the right to improvise like that?”

Zayne adjusted his glasses calmly. “The script was weak.”

Xavier muttered, “Or maybe the actor was weak,” but scribbled something approving on his clipboard anyway.

Sylus sniffled, wiping his face with his sleeve. He was still shaking, still processing. He’d been acting long enough to know when someone went off script. And that wasn’t just improv.

That was Zayne Li—confessing.

Not as a character. Not as a director. Not even as a teacher in the drama.

As himself.

---

Later, when they were packing up for the day, Sylus tried to play it cool.

He failed spectacularly.

“Hey,” he said, cornering Zayne by the props table. “That little… improv thing you did.”

Zayne didn’t look up. He was busy stacking books that weren’t his problem. “Which part?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Sylus crossed his arms. “The one where you basically told me you were sincere about your feelings? That part.”

Zayne adjusted a book spine. “Acting.”

Sylus’s jaw dropped. “ACTING?!”

Zayne finally looked at him, expression maddeningly calm. “Good actors make you believe it’s real.”

Sylus sputtered. “Y-You—! You—!”

“Confused?” Zayne asked. His lips quirked—just barely. A ghost of the soft smile from earlier. “Good. Stay that way. It helps the performance.”

Sylus almost threw a chair at him. Instead, he stomped off to Xavier, yelling, “HE’S GASLIGHTING ME ON SET!”

Xavier, unbothered, scribbled another note. “Yeah, keep it up, that’s exactly the energy we need for the finale.”

---

That night, Sylus lay awake replaying the scene in his head.

The words. The smile. The sincerity.

And for once, he didn’t care if it was acting.

Because if it was? Then Zayne Li deserved an award bigger than the Oscars.

If it wasn’t?

Then Sylus was already in too deep.