Chapter Text
The offer didn’t come as a surprise.
That was the problem.
Ling had sensed it weeks before it was formally mentioned side comments during meetings, casual jokes from staff, the way her name kept coming up whenever variety shows were discussed. People were careful with how they phrased it, like they were testing water temperature before asking her to step in.
“You’ve been requested,” her manager said one afternoon, tone deliberately light. “A lot.”
Ling nodded, hands folded on her lap. She always did that when she didn’t know what to say yet.
“It’s a variety,” the manager continued. “Relationship-based. Very conversational. Nothing invasive.”
Nothing invasive was rarely true.
“They want to see you outside your roles,” her manager added. “People feel like they know you, but they don’t really.”
Ling didn’t respond right away. She had built a career on giving just enough emotion on screen, restraint everywhere else. Being private wasn’t branding. It was survival.
“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.
That night, she called Junji.
“You’re acting like they asked you to get married in real life,” Junji teased after listening patiently.
“It’s close enough,” Ling replied. “There are expectations.”
Junji hummed. “You always meet expectations.”
“That’s what scares me.”
There was a pause. Then Junji softened. “You don’t have to be anything. It’s work. You show up, you listen, you go home.”
“And if they pair me with someone incompatible?”
Junji laughed. “That’s the whole point. Also, they’re not pairing you with someone younger. Relax.”
“I didn’t say that was bad.”
“You thought it.”
Ling sighed, but by the end of the call, the resistance had dulled. Not disappeared, just quieted.
She agreed two days later. Told herself the same thing she always did.
It’s just work.
Orm said yes for the opposite reason.
The proposal excited her not in a loud way, but in the way something new always did. She was at a point in her career where everything felt like it was opening up, inch by inch. Supporting roles had turned into scenes people talked about. Interviews had started asking her name twice, just to be sure.
Her manager framed it as strategy.
Orm waited until after dinner to bring it up.
Her mom was rinsing plates, sleeves rolled up, hair tied lazily at the nape of her neck. Even at home, even tired, she carried the calm authority of someone who’d survived the industry long enough to stop being afraid of it.
“Mae,” Orm started, leaning against the counter. “Can I ask you something?”
Her mom didn’t turn around. “You already are.”
Orm laughed. “Okay. Fair. The management offered me a variety show.”
That got her mom’s attention. She turned, eyebrow raised. “What kind?”
“A relationship concept,” Orm said carefully. “Scripted in structure, but unscripted in interaction.”
Her mom hummed, drying her hands. “And?”
“And I’m thinking of saying yes.”
There it was. The part that mattered.
Her mom studied her, not critically—just attentively. “Why?”
Orm shrugged, then frowned. “I don’t know. It feels… timely? Like I’m not hiding behind characters for once.”
“That can be scary,” her mom said gently.
“I know,” Orm replied. “But I think I’m ready. I’m tired of waiting until I feel completely ready.”
Her mom smiled faintly. “No one ever is.”
There was a pause.
Orm picked at the edge of the counter. “What if I mess up? What if I say something wrong and it follows me forever?”
Her mom reached out, squeezed her hand. “Then you learn. And we deal with it together.”
Orm looked up. “You’re not worried?”
“I am,” her mom admitted. “But I trust you. You’re kind. You’re honest. Those things show, even when you’re nervous.”
Orm swallowed. “What if I end up paired with someone intimidating?”
Her mom laughed. “Then be yourself. Intimidation doesn’t survive sincerity.”
Orm smiled, lighter now. “So… you think I should do it?”
Her mom tilted her head. “Do you want to do it?”
“Yes,” Orm said immediately. Then, softer, “I think I’d be happy.”
“Then say yes,” her mom said. “Happiness is reason enough.”
Orm hugged her, holding on longer than usual.
Episode 1 – Confessionals
The opening shot was clean. Neutral background. Soft lighting.
The camera rolled.
Ling waited until the staff finished moving before she spoke.
Not because she was nervous because she liked knowing where everything was.
“Is this alright?” she asked softly, adjusting her posture just a little. “I don’t want to block the light.”
The producer assured her it was fine.
She nodded, hands folding neatly on her lap, back straight but not stiff.
“My name is Lingling Kwong,” she began. “I’m an actress.”
She didn’t rush. Every word felt placed.
“I started acting because I like observing people,” she continued. “I don’t speak much unless I feel like what I’m going to say matters.”
A small, apologetic smile. “That sometimes makes people think I’m distant. I’m not. I just listen first.”
The producer asked her to talk about herself outside of work.
Ling paused.
“I like routines,” she said. “Knowing what comes next helps me stay present. I enjoy quiet mornings. I’m more comfortable one-on-one than in groups.”
She glanced briefly at the camera, then back to the producer.
“I’m not very good at expressing things loudly,” she admitted. “But I notice details. I remember schedules. Preferences. Small habits.”
When marriage came up, she inhaled slowly.
“I think marriage is built on consistency,” Ling said. “Choosing to show up. Even when it’s not exciting.”
She tilted her head slightly, considering. “Especially then.”
“And your ideal partner?” the producer asked.
Ling didn’t answer immediately.
“Someone patient,” she said finally. “Someone who understands that silence doesn’t always mean distance.”
She hesitated, then added, quieter, “And someone kind. That matters more than people think.”
The room stayed quiet for a moment after she finished.
Then Ling smiled, just barely.
“I may not say much,” she said, “but I try to be sincere.”
In a separate room, Orm bounced her knee lightly as she spoke, energy contained but present.
Orm leaned forward before the staff even finished adjusting the camera.
“Is this, okay?” she asked, gesturing at her posture. “Or do I look like I’m about to confess to a crime?”
The staff laughed off-camera.
She relaxed immediately, shoulders dropping. “Okay, good. Hi.”
She smiled—wide, unguarded, the kind that arrived before the words did.
“I’m Kornnaphat Sethratanapong, but that’s too long so call me Orm,” she said brightly. “And I already feel like I’m talking too much, so… sorry in advance.”
She laughed at herself, rubbing the back of her neck, then straightened like she’d remembered something important.
“But I really like talking to people,” she added. “Especially when I’m nervous. Silence makes me overthink, so I fill it. It’s a habit.”
The producer asked her to introduce herself properly.
“Right, yes. Okay,” Orm said, taking a breath. “I’m an actress. I’ve been doing supporting roles lately, and I really, really love what I do. I like talking to people. I steal habits. Mannerisms. Ways of speaking.” She smiled sheepishly. “Only for acting. Not in a creepy way.”
Someone off-camera snorted.
Orm laughed again, easy. “See? This is why I talk too much.”
When asked about marriage, she didn’t answer immediately.
She leaned back, thinking.
“I think marriage is choosing each other on ordinary days,” she said finally. “Not just when everything is exciting or romantic or easy. Like… still choosing someone when you’re tired. Or grumpy. Or boring.”
She paused, then added quietly, “Especially on those days.”
“And your ideal partner?” the producer prompted.
Orm’s expression softened not dreamy, just sincere.
“Someone honest,” she said. “Someone who says what they feel instead of expecting me to guess.”
She tilted her head slightly. “I don’t mind awkward conversations. I actually think they’re kind of important.”
Then, smiling again, brighter now, “Also, someone patient. Because I get excited. And I ramble.”
She laughed once more, eyes crinkling. “But I promise I listen. I really do.”
There was a brief pause after she finished.
Then Orm leaned forward again, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret.
“Oh—and if my partner is quiet? That’s okay,” she added. “I’m very good at carrying conversations. It’s a skill.”
The staff laughed, and Orm beamed like she’d just made a new friend.
The café was warm, intentionally casual.
Soft lighting. Neutral colors. Cameras hidden just well enough to be forgotten at least, that was the illusion.
Ling arrived first.
She chose a seat by the window, habit more than preference. Natural light. Clear sightlines. She set her phone face down on the table and took a slow breath, grounding herself. This was still just filming. Still just work.
When the door opened again, she looked up out of reflex.
Orm stopped short the moment she saw her.
Not because she was stunned but because recognition hit immediately.
“Oh—hi,” Orm said, eyes lighting up as she approached. “You’re Ling, right?”
Ling stood instinctively, polite, composed. “Yes. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Orm,” she said, bowing slightly before laughing at herself. “Sorry. Reflex.”
Ling smiled faintly. “It’s okay.”
“I just want to say,” Orm added quickly, clearly not wanting to waste the moment, “I’m a big fan of your work.”
Ling blinked, caught off guard. Compliments still did that to her when they weren’t expected. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“I watched your last film twice,” Orm continued, suddenly sheepish. “The second time just to focus on how you deliver lines.”
Ling felt warmth creep up her neck. “That’s… very specific.”
Orm grinned. “I mean it as a compliment.”
“I know,” Ling said, smiling more openly now. “Thank you.”
Behind the cameras, a staff member leaned closer to another.
She’s already comfortable.
They sat.
For a moment, neither spoke—just enough silence to feel real, not awkward.
“So,” Orm said eventually, glancing around, “this place feels like it’s pretending not to be a set.”
“It’s convincing,” Ling replied. “Almost too convincing.”
Orm laughed. “Right? I keep expecting someone to bring us menus.”
“I already checked,” Ling admitted. “They won’t.”
Orm looked impressed. “You’re very observant.”
“I like knowing what to expect.”
“That makes sense,” Orm said. “I’m the opposite. I get excited not knowing.”
Ling nodded, thoughtful. “That also makes sense.”
They talked lightly after that—about filming schedules, mutual acquaintances they hadn’t realized they shared, how strange it was to be mic’d without a script to hide behind. Orm filled the space easily; Ling responded in measured ways that somehow kept the conversation moving instead of stopping it.
Then the staff stepped in.
A producer placed a thick envelope on the table between them.
“This is for you,” she said. “Please open it and read it out loud.”
Orm blinked. “Out loud?”
“Yes,” the producer said, smiling. “Go ahead.”
Orm laughed nervously but reached for the envelope anyway. “Okay. If this is embarrassing, I’m blaming you.”
She opened it carefully, unfolding the letter inside.
She cleared her throat and began to read.
“Congratulations.
You are officially participants in this project.
From today forward, the two of you will live as married couple.”
Orm stopped mid-sentence.
She read it again.
Slowly.
“…Married,” she repeated, quieter this time.
She looked up at Ling, eyes wide, searching.
“Oh,” Orm said softly. “You’re my—”
“Wife,” Ling finished, voice calm but deliberate.
The word landed between them.
Not explosive. Just heavy.
Ling felt the shift—not panic, not excitement. Just recalibration. This was different now.
Orm laughed under her breath, hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Wow. Okay. I need a second.”
“That’s understandable,” Ling said gently.
Behind the cameras, someone whispered, Oh this is good.
The first mission card followed almost immediately.
Marriage Rules.
Orm picked it up, visibly recovering, energy returning in soft waves. “Okay. Rules. I actually have thoughts about this.”
Ling nodded. “Go ahead.”
“I think,” Orm said carefully, “we should message each other good morning and good night.”
Ling tilted her head. “Every day?”
“Yes,” Orm replied, without joking this time. “Even if it’s short. I think consistency matters.”
Ling considered it, then nodded. “I agree.”
Orm smiled, clearly pleased.
“My suggestion,” Ling added, “is knowing each other’s schedules. So we don’t accidentally interrupt rest or work.”
“That’s very practical,” Orm said. “I like that.”
They added more.
Being honest if something feels uncomfortable
Eating at least one meal together when schedules allow
Not assuming things based on public image
Orm tapped the card thoughtfully. “Also… let’s agree to ask things directly instead of guessing.”
Ling met her eyes. “I prefer that.”
They moved on to things people wouldn’t find online.
Orm admitted she talks when she’s nervous.
Orm admitted she forgets to eat when focused.
Ling said she shows care better through actions than words.
Each admission softened the space between them.
When it was time to exchange numbers, Orm reached for her phone first.
She didn’t push it immediately just tapped the screen, then slid it halfway across the table like she was offering a secret.
“Okay,” she said lightly, trying to sound casual. “Important question.”
Ling looked up from the mission card. “Yes?”
“What are you saving me as?”
Ling picked up the phone, fingers resting on the screen. She didn’t answer right away.
“If you put just ‘Orm,’” Orm added quickly, leaning back in her chair, “I will be deeply, personally offended.”
Ling glanced up. “That seems dramatic.”
“I am dramatic,” Orm replied. “This is my truth.”
Ling’s lips twitched.
She looked back down at the phone, thumbs hovering, genuinely considering it.
“What would you prefer?” Ling asked.
Orm laughed, waving a hand. “I’m kidding—mostly. But since we’re married now…” She leaned in again, voice dropping into a playful whisper. “Mrs. Kwong.”
Ling paused.
Orm grinned, emboldened. “Or—” she added, softer now, “—Teerak.”
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Ling didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. Didn’t react at all.
She simply typed.
Orm craned her neck to peek at the screen.
And froze.
“…You actually put Mrs. Kwong?” Orm asked, eyes widening.
“Yes,” Ling said calmly, like this was the most reasonable decision in the world.
Orm laughed, a little too loud, face heating instantly. “Wait—no—I was joking!”
Ling finally looked up then, eyes bright with quiet amusement.
“You suggested it,” she said gently.
“That doesn’t mean you’re supposed to do it,” Orm protested, covering her face with one hand.
Behind the cameras, someone let out an unrestrained giggle.
Ling laughed—soft, genuine, unguarded. It surprised even her.
“Then,” she said, still smiling, “you should put Teerak.”
Orm lowered her hand slowly.
“…That’s unfair,” she muttered.
“Why?”
“Because now I can’t say no.”
She stared at her phone for a second longer than necessary before typing it in, cheeks still flushed.
Staff laughter bubbled up again.
Orm locked her phone and slid it back, shaking her head. “You did that on purpose.”
Ling met her eyes, a small smile lingering.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Orm laughed, defeated but happy. “You’re trouble.”
Ling didn’t deny it.
Confessional
Ling sat in the same chair as before, posture still composed—but something about her felt different.
Less guarded.
She folded her hands, then unfolded them, then folded them again.
“Wife,” she repeated quietly, like she was testing how it sounded.
She let out a small breath. “I didn’t expect that word to feel… heavy.”
The producer asked her how she felt about Orm.
Ling thought for a moment.
“She’s very warm,” Ling said. “Easy to be around. I don’t feel pressured to perform.”
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
“When I agreed to this project, I thought it would just be another role. Another responsibility.” She glanced down briefly. “But being partnered with someone so… present is new for me.”
And then, softer
“I don’t mind it.”
When asked what she wanted to say to her wife—
Ling looked up, surprised by the phrasing. She didn’t correct it.
“I hope we can take care of each other well,” she said. “Quietly. Consistently.”
Orm dropped into her chair like she’d just finished running.
She laughed immediately. “Okay, wow. I did not see that coming.”
She covered her face with her hands for a second, then peeked through her fingers.
“Wife,” she said slowly, testing the word. “That’s… a lot.”
She stared at the floor for a beat, then suddenly looked back up, eyes wide.
“…Wait.”
She laughed again, softer this time. “I have a wife.”
There was a pause.
Then, grinning, a little incredulous—
“Wow,” she added. “I have a beautiful wife.”
The staff laughed off-camera.
Orm groaned, dropping her head back. “I’m sorry. I’m processing out loud.”
She straightened again, still smiling but calmer now.
“She’s calmer than I expected,” Orm continued. “But not cold. Just… grounded.”
She leaned forward slightly. “When she said ‘wife’ back to me, something clicked. Like—oh. This is real now.”
She exhaled.
“I usually talk a lot when I’m nervous,” she admitted. “But with her, I didn’t feel like I had to fill every silence.”
When asked what she wanted to say to her wife—
Orm didn’t joke this time.
“I’ll try to be a good partner,” she said simply. “Someone she can rely on.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, smiling again—
“And I promise not to say ‘my wife’ every five minutes.”
She paused.
“…Okay. Maybe just sometimes.”