Chapter Text
That summer — the one that burned with the heat of June — that's when I first met you.
You went by ZiYu then. I never asked for your real name, never even thought to. Maybe I was too focused on the work, or maybe I was just afraid to know you beyond the script.
We were colleagues — partners, really — cast in that series Revenged Love. A BL drama, of all things. I remember how my hands trembled when I signed the contract. Not because of the role itself, but because I knew what came with it. The stares. The whispers. The things people say when they think you've crossed a line they'll never understand.
Still, I took it. Maybe out of pride, or curiosity, or something else I can't name anymore.
The hardest part wasn't the acting. It was the silence that hung over everything — the way everyone pretended not to notice the risk we were taking. One misstep, and the whole cast could disappear. Just like that.
And yet... I met you there.
Under the heavy sun, the air thick with fear and hope, you smiled like none of it mattered.
I suppose the motto for the production back then was to never say never. We skipped the usual opening and went directly to the table reading in that budget hotel. We didn't greet each other in person and were instructed to sit together as the main couple. Naturally, I was intrigued by you and couldn't resist looking up your name online to see what you looked like. I noticed some similarity between us from a particular angle.
I must say, that table reading turned out to be unexpectedly enlightening. I've worked in different genres before, and each one teaches you something new, but acting in a BL series opened a kind of understanding I never thought I'd encounter.
At first, it caught me off guard — not in a bad way, just... different. There was a certain thrill in stepping into a role that asked me to see the world through someone else's eyes. It made me realize how little I truly understood about the dynamics of same-sex relationships — the quiet gestures, the unspoken tension, the depth of emotion that didn't need explanation.
I'd never really thought about it before. I wasn't drawn to men; I had a girlfriend back then. But playing that role forced me to listen, to observe, and to understand affection in a way that wasn't bound by gender — only by connection.
"Arthur?"
Sometimes, when I read those messy, overdramatic lines, a sense of discomfort creeps in. I'd catch myself wondering how to deliver them without sounding ridiculous. Then I'd hear a soft chuckle beside me and glance over to see you — that shy smile on your face, your expression caught somewhere between amusement and nerves. It made me wonder if you were thinking the same thing I was — how we were supposed to make these scenes feel real, believable, especially together.
"Hey, Arthur?"
We kept running through our lines one after another, even as the sun started to sink below the horizon. The day was fading, and my pack of cigarettes was almost empty, yet we were only halfway through the script. I watched you between takes — the way you laughed at small mistakes, went quiet when the scenes got heavier, and stared off for a moment before lighting another cigarette. We shared that silence, that thin layer of smoke between us, both lost in our own thoughts but somehow in sync all the same.
"Arthur Tian! Stop day dreaming and get off my fucking car!"
I blinked and ran my hand through my hair, trying to shake off the sudden memories as I gazed at her in the driver's seat. "Please quiet down. Your loud voice is worsening my headache." I realize now that it was a mistake to not refuse that woman who offered me alcohol.
"Then pay attention and get off. You've been staring at nothing for a minute, are you really drunk?"
I stared at her saying nothing. Is she really concerned? "What?"
"Nothing."
"No, don't fucking nothing me. You're currently having negative thoughts about me, aren't you?"
"No."
"I'll be a moron if I believe you." She gestured at me to get off. "Just thank me for getting you home safe, I'm not even your chauffeur."
"Mara called you?"
"Who else?" She rolls her eyes and gazes at me thoughtfully. She remarks, "You hardly ever drink after what happened with Mara. What's going on with you tonight?"
"Nothing, just felt like drinking." I open the door and exit the vehicle. "Thanks for the ride, sorry for bothering you."
She said nothing as I close the door and I can see that she is not convince with whatever answer I gave her.