Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights of the convention center green room hummed, a sharp contrast to the muffled roar of the crowd outside. Finn sat on the edge of a velvet sofa, his fingers twisting into his curls. He wasn't just tired; he was frustrated.
He’d just spent forty minutes on a panel where three out of every five questions weren't about his acting or his music, but about his "secret relationship" with Noah.
The "Byler" and "Foah" edits had evolved from harmless fan theories into a constant, suffocating cloud that followed him everywhere.
"They don’t listen," Finn muttered, staring at his shoes. "I tell them we’re just friends, Noah tells them we’re just friends, and they just find a way to slow-mo the footage and add a sad song."
Noah was across the room, scrolling through TikTok with a resigned sigh.
Gaten, meanwhile, was sitting right next to Finn, happily tearing into a bag of pretzels, seemingly the only one unaffected by the tension.
"It’s just the internet, man," Gaten said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of pretzel. "You can’t fight a tidal wave with a bucket."
"Watch me," Finn snapped, though not at Gaten.
Suddenly, the door swung open. A staffer poked her head in. "Five minutes until the VIP photo op. There’s a group of fans outside the door, guys. Just... be prepared. They’re pretty vocal today."
As they stood up to leave, the door opened wider, and the high-pitched screams of a dozen fans flooded the hallway. Finn heard it immediately, the rhythmic chanting of his and Noah’s names pushed together.
“Finn! Tell us the truth about Noah!”
“Look how he’s standing next to him!”
Finn felt a snap inside. He was done being a character in someone else's script. He looked at Gaten, who was adjusting his hat, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in Finn's head.
"Gaten," Finn said, his voice tight.
"Yeah, Finn?"
Finn didn't give him a chance to react. In one swift, calculated move, he grabbed Gaten by the shoulders and pulled him in.
The kiss was sudden, messy, and loud enough to be captured by the dozen iPhones currently aimed through the doorway.
Finn held it for three seconds, long enough for the screams to turn from shipping cheers into confused, strangled gasps of shock.
Finn pulled back, his eyes flashing with a defiant heat as he looked directly at a girl holding a 'Byler' sign. "There," he muttered under his breath. "Write about that."
He turned and marched toward the photo op area, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt a surge of triumph. He’d broken the narrative. He’d shocked them into silence.
What he didn't see was Gaten.
Gaten was still standing by the sofa, his pretzels scattered on the floor. His hand moved slowly to his lips, touching the spot where Finn’s mouth had just been. His ears were ringing, and the rest of the room had gone blurry.
He didn't see the tactical look in Finn’s eyes or the way Finn was already checking his phone to see if the video had hit Twitter yet.
All Gaten felt was the lingering heat on his skin and a sudden, terrifying realization that the "best friend" feelings he’d been burying for three years weren't so buried after all.
"He... he did that," Gaten whispered to the empty space, his heart doing a slow, painful roll in his chest. "He actually did that."
He looked up, watching Finn’s back disappear around the corner. Gaten forced a shaky breath into his lungs, a small, hopeful, and completely mistaken smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Finn thought he had ended a fantasy. He didn't realize he had just started a brand new one for the person who mattered most.
The hotel suite was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Finn’s thumbs against his phone screen. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, the blue light of the display illuminating a smirk of satisfaction.
"It’s everywhere," Finn said, a short, sharp laugh escaping his throat. "The tags are a mess. They’re losing their minds, Gaten. The Byler theorists are actually arguing with the 'Gaten and Finn' theorists. It worked. The narrative is finally dead."
Gaten sat in the armchair by the window, his coat still on. He hadn't moved since they got back from the venue. He was watching the way Finn’s eyes crinkled, not with affection, but with the cold victory of a strategist who had just won a war.
"The narrative," Gaten repeated. His voice sounded thin, like paper being stretched too far.
"Yeah!" Finn stood up, pacing the small space. "I mean, I'm sorry I jumped you like that, man. I just saw that girl with the sign and I snapped. I knew if I did something completely 'off-script' for them, it would blow their minds. You’re a total pro for rolling with it."
Finn finally looked up, expecting a laugh or a high-five. Instead, he saw Gaten’s face.
Gaten’s eyes were glassy, reflecting the city lights outside. He looked smaller in the oversized armchair, his hands shoved deep into his pockets so Finn wouldn't see them shaking.
"So," Gaten started, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It was just... a tool? A way to shut them up?"
Finn stopped pacing. The silence in the room suddenly felt heavy, pressing against his eardrums. "I mean, yeah. Obviously. I was proving a point. You know how crazy they get, Gaten. I had to do something loud."
"Loud," Gaten whispered. He let out a dry, hollow laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Right. It was loud."
"Hey, you okay?" Finn took a step forward, his brow furrowing. "You’re acting weird. Did I... did I freak you out? I’m sorry, I should have asked, I just…"
"I thought it was real, Finn."
The words hit the air and stayed there, cold and immovable. Finn froze.
"What?"
Gaten finally looked at him, and the raw vulnerability in his expression made Finn want to recoil. "For three minutes in that hallway, and the whole car ride back... I thought you finally saw me. I thought that maybe you were tired of the fans because you were tired of hiding how you felt about me."
"Gaten, I.."
"I’ve spent YEARS making jokes so I wouldn't have to tell you," Gaten continued, the words spilling out now, fueled by a painful mix of embarrassment and heartbreak. "I’ve spent three years being the 'funny friend' while I watched you get annoyed by people shipping you with everyone except the person who actually loves you."
Gaten stood up, his legs feeling like lead.
He started walking toward the door, unable to look at Finn’s pale, horrified face for a second longer.
"I wasn't a 'pro' rolling with it, Finn,"
Gaten said, his hand on the doorknob, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "I was a guy who thought his best friend finally loved him back. But I was just a prop for your PR stunt."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Finn standing in the center of the room.
The phone in Finn’s hand buzzed, another notification, another thousand likes on the video of the kiss.
For the first time in months, the fans were finally quiet. And for the first time in his life, Finn realized that silence was the loudest, most painful thing he’d ever heard.