Work Text:
The filming of the young director's short film was a technical disaster: a spotlight had burned out, an assistant spilled coffee over some papers, and time was running out. However, in the center of the eye of the storm was Day, who had rolled up his shirt sleeves and was kneeling next to a technician, helping him untangle a high-voltage cable while explaining with a smile:
"Don't worry, we're a bit behind, but the afternoon light is still on our side. Take your time, Phi."
Peach, accustomed to tense sets and directors who simply shouted orders, watched the scene through his camera's viewfinder; he felt a bit out of place. Day was a young leader who knew how to lead without trampling over others. Peach ended up pressing the shutter right at that moment: Day, with the golden sunset light in his dark hair, laughing genuinely while helping the lighting technician.
Peach lowered his camera and smiled to himself. In his years as a photographer, he had seen directors lose their tempers over much less. Day’s patience was something refreshing, almost magnetic.
. . ݁ ˖ 🧺 ٬٬ ࣪ ، 🧸 ، ࣪ ⊹ ֶָ
At first, Peach stayed strictly on the sidelines, as a good professional photographer usually does, moving among cables and lights without making a sound; however, his camera always ended up focusing on Day.
As the days of filming passed, Peach noticed that despite how diligent Day was with his work, he always treated everyone with the same kindness; greeting every member who worked for him by name, ensuring the catering was high quality, and making sure no one worked overtime without a break. Peach, who has worked with arrogant directors, felt his respect grow with every click of the shutter.
However... in his eagerness to take care of everyone, Day tended to forget about himself.
On the fourth day, the shoot extended into the early morning hours. Day was leaning over the monitor, his brow furrowed with exhaustion, adjusting the colorimetry of a scene. Peach approached silently and sat lightly on the edge of the wooden table, extending his hand, offering him a nutrition bar and a hot coffee.
"Director, a thirty-second break won't ruin the schedule, but a sugar crash will," Peach said in a soft voice.
Day looked up, surprised. Seeing Peach there, with that serene expression and generous gesture, he felt the heat rise to his ears. Despite being the leader of the set, he suddenly felt like a student being pampered by someone who understood his effort; Day let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. It was the first time someone had made him feel looked after instead of him being the one looking after others.
"Ah... you didn't have to go to the trouble, Phi Peach," Day replied as he reached out his hand, his fingers accidentally brushing Peach’s. "I just wanted to finish this sequence before everyone gets exhausted."
"I know, but you're part of the team too, and you seem like the type of person who forgets to eat because they're reviewing a shot ten times. Now, eat," Peach countered with a half-smile.
Day nodded, looking down at the chocolate as if it were the most valuable object on set. That sudden shyness struck a chord in Peach; it was an adorable contrast to the man who ten minutes ago was giving orders with a firm and decided voice.
They stayed there for a few minutes, talking about the framing of the last shot, but Day couldn't help but glance sideways at how Peach watched him with a calmness that slowed his racing heart.
. . ݁ ˖ 🧺 ٬٬ ࣪ ، 🧸 ، ࣪ ⊹ ֶָ
It was the seventh day of filming and Peach arrived on set wearing a basic black t-shirt, which made Day completely forget which scene they were filming.
Day was sitting in front of the monitor, trying to concentrate on the script, when Peach knelt near him to change a lens. The contrast of the black fabric against Peach's fair skin, and the way his muscles tensed while carrying the equipment, left Day breathless. Day opened his mouth to say something about the framing, but he limited himself to answering in monosyllables.
Later, while Peach adjusted his camera strap, he realized that Day was staring at him. Peach looked up and gave him one of those smiles that could make anyone's knees buckle.
« That shirt looks incredible on him. His hands... his hands are so pretty when he holds the camera. No. Concentrate, Day, you're a professional, Day, say something smart! »
"Phi Peach... that shirt... it suits you... functionally. It’s very functional for the work."
"Functional?" Peach arched an eyebrow. "Thanks, Day. I’m glad you approve of my technical wardrobe."
Day covered his face with the script, wishing the earth would swallow him whole, while Peach let out a low chuckle—thinking Day looked like a sad puppy—which only increased the director's mental chaos.
. . ݁ ˖ 🧺 ٬٬ ࣪ ، 🧸 ، ࣪ ⊹ ֶָ
On the ninth day, they had been working on a complex scene for an hour, and just as they were about to achieve the perfect shot, an assistant tripped over a cable, knocking over a light, causing a loud crash and ruining the framing completely. The silence that followed was almost painful. The assistant turned pale, hunching his shoulders while waiting for the explosion. All eyes were fixed on Day.
Day closed his eyes for a moment, clutching the script in his hands, then ran a hand through his hair, messing it up a bit, and let out a long sigh that seemed to release all the team's frustration.
"It's okay, it's nothing, mistakes are part of the process. Let's take ten minutes to hydrate and breathe, and we'll do it better, I trust you all."
The atmosphere, which was about to explode with tension, deflated in a collective sigh of relief, and the assistant almost burst into tears of gratitude.
Peach took advantage of the break; he knew that although Day appeared calm, the pressure of losing an hour of filming was immense for a young director on a tight budget. He approached him with a bottle of cold water and an apple.
"That was very noble, Director. Others would have set the set on fire."
"Shouting doesn't get the shot back, Phi Peach, it just makes the team work with fear, and fear doesn't make good cinema."
Peach stared at him; there was a light of pride in his eyes that Day didn't know how to handle.
"Thanks, Phi," Day said as he took the drink and the fruit. "Sometimes I doubt if I'm too soft for this."
"Don't confuse kindness with weakness, Day. It takes a lot of strength to stay calm when everything goes wrong. You're an incredible director."
Day looked down, feeling that familiar heat rising up his neck, and opened the water bottle just to have something to do with his hands, suddenly feeling small under the photographer's warm gaze.
. . ݁ ˖ 🧺 ٬٬ ࣪ ، 🧸 ، ࣪ ⊹ ֶָ
Bit by bit, the corner where Peach kept his lens cases became Day’s official refuge during lunch; Day's feet mechanically led him to wherever Peach was.
Day approached with his tray, looking a bit more disheveled than usual after an intense morning of filming. He sat in front of Peach, letting out a sigh of relief that, apparently, he only allowed himself to release when he was with him.
"Phi Peach... how do you manage to make even the disaster of the cables look like art in your photos? I've watched you today; you shoot in moments where it seems like nothing is happening, but the final photo tells a complete story."
Peach looked away from the camera and met Day's eyes, which shone with such honest admiration that he found it almost overwhelming.
"The art is already there, Day, you just have to know how to wait for it to reveal itself. You create the atmosphere, I just make sure no one forgets what it felt like to be here."
Day tilted his head, giving him a smile so bright that Peach felt a flutter in his chest.
"I like how you see the world. You make me feel that what I do has a purpose beyond just meeting a schedule."
Peach felt an unusual heat rising up his neck. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual composure.
"Well... it's easy to find beauty when the director puts so much heart into what he does."
After finishing lunch, they both stood up to continue their respective tasks. Peach's foot hit a box he didn't see and, for a second, the world tilted dangerously forward.
Before Peach could even let go of his equipment to protect himself, he felt strong arms wrapping around his waist. Day had moved quickly, holding Peach's weight against his chest. Time seemed to stand still. Peach’s face was mere centimeters from Day’s neck; he could smell the freshness of his lotion and feel the heat radiating from his body. Day’s hands were firm, holding him securely. Day, for his part, held his breath. His fingers dug slightly into the fabric of Peach’s shirt, making sure he was stable.
"Are you okay, Phi? Did you hurt yourself?" Day asked in a low voice.
Peach took a second to react. His heart, which normally functioned calmly, began to beat with an erratic and loud rhythm that he feared Day might feel through his clothes.
"I... yes, I'm fine. Thanks, Day."
Day let go of him slowly, but his hands remained for an extra second brushing Peach’s sides, as if it were hard for him to break the contact. When they finally separated, Day scratched the back of his neck, returning to that charming shyness, his ears burning.
"What a relief."
Peach nodded mechanically and walked toward the set, but his mind had stayed trapped in that improvised embrace.
That afternoon, while holding his camera, Peach felt his hands were strange. They were tingling. For the first time in his years of career, he found it hard to focus; he couldn't stop thinking about the firmness of Day's arms and how, for an instant, he had felt completely safe being held by him.
«What is happening to me?» Peach wondered.
That night, back in his apartment, Peach found himself reviewing the day's photos. He had incredible shots of the leads, the landscape, the production design... but his finger stopped, over and over again, on the photos of Day.
He captured Day with his brow furrowed in concentration, Day laughing, Day biting his lip while reviewing a scene. Peach stared at one photo in particular where the sunset light outlined the young director's profile.
"Since when do I focus so much on a man's jawline?" he muttered to himself, feeling a strange knot in his stomach.
He had always considered himself a heterosexual man, someone with a linear and predictable life. But the way Day looked at him, with that respect bordering on devotion, and the way he himself felt the need to protect that boy’s charming smile, were starting to blur his labels.
. . ݁ ˖ 🧺 ٬٬ ࣪ ، 🧸 ، ࣪ ⊹ ֶָ
The next day on set, Peach became hyper-aware of every inch of air that separated them.
"Phi Peach! Look at this, the focus on the eyes is perfect!" Day exclaimed, appearing out of nowhere by his shoulder.
Day leaned in so far that his arm brushed Peach's from top to bottom. It wasn't a bump; it was a soft slide of skin against skin. Peach felt an electric shock run down his spine, but Day didn't even flinch; he was too absorbed in the image. His face was so close that Peach could feel his warm breath against his cheek.
Peach went rigid, holding the camera with unnecessary force.
« Breathe, Peach. It’s just an excited colleague », he repeated to himself mentally. But his body didn't get the message; the scent of Day—a mix of sunscreen, cold coffee, and something sweet—made him dizzy.
Shortly after, while Peach was adjusting a tripod, Day approached from behind to point out a light in the background. Instead of going around him, Day simply draped an arm over Peach’s shoulder, standing almost pressed against his back to point toward the horizon.
"If we move that spotlight a bit to the left, the shadow won't get in your way, right?" Day asked, turning his head.
As he did, his lips were just millimeters from Peach’s earlobe. Peach closed his eyes for a second, feeling the world sway; it was such an innocent invasion, so lacking in malice, that Peach couldn't ask him to move away without sounding strange.
Day didn't do it to provoke him; he did it because, in his mind, Peach was already someone safe, someone he trusted so much that he didn't feel the need to maintain distance.
He caught himself anticipating that closeness. He found himself leaving space beside him at the table, hoping Day would occupy it. He surprised himself watching Day’s hands when he gestured, imagining how they would feel intertwined with his own.
. . ݁ ˖ 🧺 ٬٬ ࣪ ، 🧸 ، ࣪ ⊹ ֶָ
The week's filming had finished, and while the crew was packing up cables and everything else, Day was sitting in a chair reading the script, but his mind was on a battlefield. He had been mentally rehearsing what he was going to say for half an hour, but every time he looked at Peach—so serene and professional—panic hit him; to make matters worse, Peach was there looking so beautiful—he wore a basic white t-shirt with a light open beige shirt and wide brown high-waisted trousers—that it made him even more nervous.
« He’s too much for me » Day thought. « He’s a man with experience, a real artist. He probably sees me as a kid with a camera. » He squeezed the script slightly. « And besides... he probably likes elegant women, not a director who turns red every time his arm is brushed. What if I scare him? What if I ruin our working friendship? »
Day felt like a puppy in front of a closed door, wanting to go in but fearing no one was on the other side. Day took a deep breath, stood up, and walked toward Peach. His steps were determined, but his heart hammered so hard he felt it was going to jump out of his mouth.
Peach finished closing his suitcase and slung his camera over his shoulder. He was about to say goodbye when he felt fast, heavy steps behind him.
"Phi!" Day exclaimed, perhaps a bit louder than necessary due to nerves.
Peach turned, surprised by Day’s sudden energy, and was met with an adorable sight: Day was standing in front of him, his shoulders tense, hair messy, and an expression of determination mixed with terror. He looked like a puppy that had just brought a ball and didn't know if he was going to be petted or scolded, and Peach couldn't help but smile.
"Yes, Day? Did something happen?"
"No, no, it's just that I wanted to talk to you about something, Phi," Day began to speak quickly out of nervousness. "And I perfectly understand if you prefer to keep this professional, or if... if you don't like guys, I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
Peach let out a soft laugh, which made Day turn even redder.
"But," Day continued, taking a step forward, "I would really like to invite you for a coffee, not as a work crew, but... just the two of us. I’d like to talk to you about photography, about cinema... and about anything that has nothing to do with a script. Would you accept a date with this immature director?"
Day closed his eyes for a second, waiting for the polite "no," the "you're a good kid, but..." He was ready to accept rejection with the same gentlemanliness with which he treated his team.
However, what he felt was Peach’s warm hand resting on his forearm.
"You're not immature," Peach said with that silken voice that calmed all of Day's nerves. "I think you're the most authentic person I've ever met; and I would love to have that coffee... although I confess that right now, I'm more nervous than you."
Day’s eyes snapped open, bright with joy, and he gave a little hop while nodding frantically, looking exactly like that happy puppy who had finally gotten his prize, making Peach laugh again.
"Good! Great! I know a place that... well, it's quiet, like you. Let's go!"
The young director began to lead the beautiful photographer toward his car with a smile that barely fit on his face. He had won the most important prize of the entire shoot.