Chapter Text
Click.
The sound of the door opening made Hyacine look up.
Her usual welcoming smile formed easily, but the scene that entered through the prep room snagged her attention in a way that made her pause. Not just her, but the other staffs waiting to touch up the actors’ make-up did too.
Anaxa came in first.
He entered as if he were stepping onto a stage rather than a prep room. His stride was fluid and steady, a rhythm that allowed no cracks to show. His face was its usual unreadable expression.
But that’s the problem.
It was too smooth .
Hyacine felt her stomach tighten with dread. Because just behind him–
Phainon followed.
And he was the opposite. His posture was tight, his hand raised toward his face in a poorly concealed attempt to cover what couldn’t truly be hidden. A faint flush lingered across his cheekbone, and the gesture itself was damning . His silence pressed heavier than words, the kind that made people look away out of courtesy.
Hyacine wanted to crawl under the counter. The secondhand embarrassment was so strong she thought she might choke on it. She glanced towards Tribios, Phainon’s manager. Her eyes stayed carefully neutral, but she noticed the faintest twitch at her shoulders.
She’s.. laughing?
Tribios’ lips pressed together in a subtle, undeniable quirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She angled her face slightly down, letting the clipboard in her hands rise just a fraction higher, a shield she could hide behind if the mask slipped.
Hyacine blinked, her mortification only deepened.
She glanced towards Anaxa, whose expression gave away nothing, Phainon’s silence, and the not-so-obvious flush clinging to him betrayed more than either of them might have wanted.
I’m not paid enough for this..
She watched as Anaxa crossed the room and then lowered himself smoothly into his designated chair. No crease in his brow nor a move of hesitation. If anything happened before they walked through that door, he wasn’t giving away a shred of it.
She slipped closer, unable to ignore it, her voice threading under the hum of the brushes and powders. “Prof…” she whispered as she leaned near the back of Anaxa’s chair. “..Did you bully Phainon?”
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
Then–
“..I didn’t.”
“He didn’t!”
.
.
.
Eh?
“He didn’t!”
The moment those words left his mouth, he wished he could snatch them back, shove them down his throat, and bury himself six feet underground with them. His voice had overlapped with Anaxa’s calm denial that cracked through the stillness of the prep room like shattered glass.
Heat rose up his face, he could feel his ears burning, cheeks aflame, neck prickling hot. Before anyone could look too closely, he dragged both hands up to his face, palms pressing over his eyes, his nose, his mouth, as if he could simply vanish if he blocked the world out hard enough. His shoulders curled in, spine bending until he was nearly folded over in the chair.
Fuckkkkk…
A broken groan slipped through his fingers, “Erase me. Just erase me. Please erase me now.” His voice was muffled, small enough to sound like a prayer but desperate enough to sound like a plea. He whispered it again, quieter, as if repetition could grant mercy from the universe. “Erase me, erase me, erase me…”
The prep room went still, no one moved. Even the steady hum of the lights seemed deafening.
And then–
“Pft-!”
A soft muffled laugh slipped from someone in the corner. Another chuckle followed, this one gentler, almost apologetic. It wasn’t the mocking one that Phainon usually hears from the higher ups, it was the kind of laughter people shared when a moment turned unexpectedly human.
“It’s our first time seeing him like this,” someone whispered, half in wonder, half in delight.
The words shifted everything.
The tension dissolved in an instant. The silence broke into soft chuckles, the kind of laughter that carried no edge but warmth. Smiles spread across the faces of the staff like any other day, easing what had been thick, stifling air only moments before.
Phainon, still hidden behind his hands, felt the tiniest bit of air return to his lungs. His shoulders loosened by degrees, the stiffness uncoiling as if the laughter had granted him silent permission to exist again. He drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly through his fingers.
Okay. Okay, maybe the world wasn’t ending..
With hesitant movements, he peeled his palms from his face. His cheeks were still burning, ears felt too hot, but he forced himself upright, blinking into the softer air of the room.
The staff wasted no time, powder brushed across his cheekbones, and gentle taps worked along his jaw. Their hands moved with easy professionalism, but the fond glances sneaking through told him everything.
They'd seen him crumble, seen the golden boy of the entertainment industry fold himself up like a child praying for invisibility. And they didn’t think less of him for it.
If anything.. they looked endeared .
A few smiles lingered even as brushes swept across his skin. One of them hummed lightly under their breath, another adjusted the collar of his costume with hands so gentle, as if silently offering comfort.
He was the youngest in the industry to be at the top after all. Headlines had painted him as a prodigy, a phenomenon, long before he’d even finished growing into himself. With every article, every broadcast, every set of flashing cameras, he learned that vulnerability wasn’t an option, it was a liability .
He built walls, high and polished until they reflected back whatever image the world demanded of him. That was the only way he knew to survive.
But here in the prep room’s warm atmosphere, those walls had slipped. His face was flushed, voice cracked, and hands had shaken just enough to betray the weight he was always pretending not to feel. And instead of recoiling, instead of laughing at him, the staff only softened.
And for the first time in a long while, Phainon realized he didn’t feel like prey under scrutiny. He felt.. cared for . Their hands were gentle, their eyes were kind, and the air itself seemed to say, ‘It’s all right. You’re allowed to be like this too.’
His shoulders loosened without him realizing, breath easing out of him with a quiet sigh. His gaze lifted to the mirror past his own reflection, he found Tribios standing just behind him. She hadn’t said a word through all of it, just a smile that told him she’d seen everything and she would hold it in her hands without ever letting it cut him.
And when his eyes slid past Tribios, toward the mirror’s reflection of the room behind him, he caught Anaxa.
And when his eyes slid past Tribios, toward the mirror’s reflection of the room behind him, he caught Anaxa.
The man sat with one hand raised to his face, covering the line of his mouth in that half-effortless way. He saw the glint in his eyes, the faintest lift at the corners, and it told Phainon enough.
He had been smiling.
Phainon’s breath hitched before he could stop it. His gaze snapped away as if he touched a live wire. He ducked down slightly, pretending to focus on the table in front of him.
But it was too late, the heat was already there, climbing up his neck. His ears felt curling hot that he was certain they had to be glowing bright red. His heart wasn’t just racing, it was stumbling, tripping over itself in a wild, frantic rhythm.
He held back the urge to bite his lip.
It was just a smile.
A flicker of expression half-buried beneath pale fingers. He shouldn’t care, shouldn’t even notice.
And yet Gods.. he noticed.
He noticed too much.
That tiny curve at the edge of Anaxa’s eyes was burned into him, repeating like an afterimage every time he blinked. Embarrassment and something sharper tangled inside him, leaving him restless.
He wanted to look back again.
Just another glimpse.
But temptation was cruel.
He told himself not to look again but his eyes betrayed him anyway. Just one more glance, he reasoned.
Just one more, and he’d be done.
And then there was Anaxa with no trace of the crack from earlier. The hand that had been shielding half his face was gone. His posture was composed again, already speaking with Hyacine like nothing at all had happened. Like he hadn’t looked just moments ago as though he might actually smile .
Phainon’s breath hitched. His heart, a traitorous thing, skipped.
This is bad. This is so bad.
He tore his gaze back to his own reflection like he’d been caught in a crime. His wide eyes glared back at him from the glass, cheeks faintly flushed, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he couldn’t decide whether to frown or press his lips flat shut.
He looked like a guilty teenager, like some boy in school who’d just been caught staring at the cool kid across the classroom.
Get a grip, Phainon.
He bit the inside of his cheek, a hard sting that grounded him for all of half a second. It wasn’t enough, his pulse kept drumming wildly in his ears.
This is getting dangerous..
Hmm..
The sound slipped from him as he pressed two fingers lightly to his mouth. His fingertips lingered there, resting just at the corner where his mouth threatened to betray him.
To the room, to anyone glancing his way, it would look casual, but he knew better. It was a cover to hide the faint smile trying to slip free.
That sudden, awkward outburst of Phainon was certainly something .
For one fractured moment, it was almost.. endearing .
He remembered leading Phainon by the wrist through the hallway, with him desperately raising his other hand to his face as if the sheer heat of his embarrassment might burn him alive.
He remembered the way his ears flushed, steps uneven, almost unfamiliar with the way he saw him through the screen.
It should have been awkward, maybe even laughable.
But somehow, it wasn’t.
The whole scene, if he allowed himself the honesty, reminded him of a dog with its ears pinned down. Someone held themself proud brought low by their own clumsiness. It was awkward, but in a way that softened rather than sharpened the edges.
Ridiculous, really, he had no business finding any amusement in it. But still, his fingers remained where they were, because if he dropped them now, the truth might slip out unrestrained.
“..So then, what happened? ”
Hyacine’s voice cut through before the expression could solidify, sharp and sudden.
Anaxa blinked once, before his hand fell away from his mouth. His elbow found the armrest, and his chin came to rest lightly against the heel of his palm. A picture of indifference.
By the time his gaze lifted toward her, the faint curve tugging at his lips had vanished entirely, replaced with a look too composed to betray anything so careless as amusement.
Hyacine, however, was watching him too closely. Her head tilted, eyes narrowed, as though she had caught something in the half-second between his mask and his defense.
“Nothing,” Anaxa said, his voice smooth. “We just walked.”
The words left no opening, but Hyacine pressed on.
“Then what was that?”
Anaxa blinked once, slowly, and then lowered his lashes in deliberate indifference. His free hand brushed down the length of his sleeve, calm enough to suggest that her concern had registered as nothing more than a distant hum.
“Can we go now?” he asked, intent on avoiding the question.
Hyacine’s lips parted, the beginning of an objection forming on her tongue. “Prof-”
“Ah,” Tribios said, lifting a hand in a small gesture of reminder, “I should have informed you earlier, there’s a live interview scheduled immediately after this. The network slotted it as the centerpiece of the drama’s launch campaign, so it isn’t optional.”
She checked at the clipboard again before continuing, “Both of you are expected to attend. The producers have already built the rest of the evening’s itinerary around it, including the media coverage.”
Anaxa did not bother to disguise the shift in his expression. His frown surfaced slow and unhurried like someone who had already lost interest in softening appearances. He leaned back in his chair as though the announcement had been nothing more than an inconvenience.
Hyacine cleared her throat, a small sound that cut into the silence, before her lips curved into a polite smile as she thanked Tribios. “Thank you for the update,” she said, her tone professional.
When her gaze returned to Anaxa, though, the smile faded into something quieter, more pointed. Her brows knit together, “Prof-”
Anaxa sighed, more resigned than frustrated. His eyes slid past her, lids lowering with a detached calm. “I know.”
The words carried no sharpness, no effort to reassure. They were spoken like an obligation fulfilled, acknowledging her concern.
There was a beat of silence in the room, broken only by the soft snap of compacts shutting and the muted clatter of brushes being gathered. The stylists moved with quiet efficiency, and then a knock came at the door.
The door eased open a moment later, popping a head in between “Just a heads-up,” the man said, “The next scene’s almost ready to go. They’re looking to start in about five.”
The man offered an apologetic smile, “No rush, but the director wants everyone in place.”
The stylists responded with small nods, a few last brushes of powder and quick swipes to smooth collars before pulling back. Tribios adjusted her clipboard under one arm, her voice even as she answered, “Understood, we’ll be there shortly. Thank you.”
He didn’t move right away, just smoothed down his sleeve, gaze lowered in calm disinterest. Only when one of the stylists tugged gently at the hem of his coat did he finally push himself to his feet, unhurried as always.
Across the room, Phainon was already standing, his team retreating in satisfaction at their polished work. He cast a sidelong glance at Anaxa, eyes quickly retreating when Anaxa looked back.
..Cute.
..?
“Would you?” Phainon asked again, voice dropping even lower. “Or are you merely testing me.. seeing how far I will dare go?”
Anaxa huffed a quiet laugh. “Perhaps both,” he murmured softly, letting the words hang between them, a thread of challenge woven with calm elegance. “Or perhaps I merely enjoy watching you unravel.”
Anaxa’s hands remained lightly pressed against Phainon’s chest, his eyes met Phainon’s, the faint flicker of desire in their depths betrayed the careful control he maintained.
“Do as you will,” he murmured, voice measured and composed, the quiet seduction of authority threading through each word. “And see if your obsession is enough to sway me.”
“Cut!! That’s a wrap today!”
The director’s voice split the air, but it barely reached him.
Phainon stood frozen, breath caught somewhere in his throat, because Anaxa hadn’t moved. Neither of them had. They remained locked in position, close enough that if he so much as leaned forward, their noses would brush. The eye contact they held the entire scene was still steady, almost unbearable.
Phainon’s pulse thundered in his ears, his thoughts spiraling in panicked fragments.
Too close, way too close. Move, move, damn it, move. Why isn’t he moving? Should I– no, if I move first it’ll look weird. Why would it look weird–?!
His skin burned under the weight of Anaxa’s stare. The silence stretched, each heartbeat amplifying his panic until it was all he could hear.
Then finally, the spell cracked .
Anaxa’s hand slid from his chest with unhurried ease, leaving an afterimage that made his skin tingle in its absence. No rush, no stumble, no visible trace of fluster, just calm detachment. As if the entire moment didn’t happen at all.
Phainon nearly sagged with relief, he blinked rapidly, breath catching again as Anaxa turned smoothly and began to walk away without a word, posture poised, expression unreadable.
I’m gonna die early like this..
The thought barely formed in the frantic chaos of his mind when it was abruptly interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Phai, let’s head out,” Tribios said, tilting her head toward him with a small, controlled smile. “You guys have a live interview next.”
“..Coming!” Phainon said quickly before he walked down the set, following Tribios.
.
.
.
The concrete of the underground lot echoed faintly with the shuffle of footsteps and the low hum of engines idling in their spots. Tribios was waiting by the row of black SUVs and sedan vans with a clipboard in hand.
She glanced up the moment Phainon and Anaxa stepped into the light. “There you are!”
Her eyes flicked between the two men, before looking at the sedan van behind them. “Hyacine and I need to discuss a few things and the schedule adjustments for the live segment,” she said.
“So, you two will ride together in Sedan number 3. The driver is waiting.”
Phainon’s breath hitched, he nearly tripped over his own feet but managed to keep his face neutral, or so he desperately hoped.
“Together?” The word slipped out more strangled than he intended.
Tribios tilted her head, confusion etched into her expression, brows raised ever so slightly. “Yes..?” she answered slowly, as though unsure why he was questioning the most ordinary of arrangements.
For a split second, Phainon almost opened his mouth to explain himself, to patch over the awkwardness with some excuse, but then Anaxa spoke.
“All right.”
All right?!
Phainon mentally screamed. He saw Anaxa already heading towards the van. His throat closed, and his stomach gave a violent lurch that nearly made him stumble.
His thoughts were tangled in panic as he walked towards the van. The sedan gleamed beneath the muted light, its black surface reflecting a distorted version of his face.
Phainon moved to open the door. But before he could climb in, she pressed something into his hands.
“A neck pillow,” she said gently, almost maternal in its care. “In case you’d like to rest during the drive.”
The soft pillow yielded beneath his fingers, absurdly light. Yet holding it felt like balancing a live coal. His face heated instantly, the thought alone making his skin crawl with embarrassment.
Rest? Here? Next to him? Impossible.
“I-I’m fine,” Phainon blurted, perhaps a bit too quickly. He clutched the pillow awkwardly before giving it back toward her with a weak, strangled smile. “Really, I don’t- I won’t need it.”
Tribios blinked, then gave a small smile as she tucked it under her arm. “All right. Take care” She said as she headed towards the other van.
Phainon entered first, scooting over towards the window. He wanted the ground to split open and swallow him whole. Anaxa followed, adjusting his coat before stepping into the car, the subtle gleam of mint-colored strands catching light.
He inhaled sharply, then forced his body forward, slipping into the sedan. The leather seat was cold against him, grounding in its own way, though not nearly enough to quiet the storm in his chest.
This is gonna be a long drive..
.
.
.
Two hours on the road passed in near silence, the hum of the sedan’s engine the only steady sound threading through the space. Phainon’s chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm, tension leaving him slowly though his mind still raced in quiet bursts.
Beside him, Anaxa was engrossed in reading the interview materials spread across his lap. His posture was perfect, accompanied by a slight crease of his brow.
He pressed his fingers against his thighs, curling them and uncurling, as if that simple motion could anchor him to the present. He could feel his eyelids growing heavy. The lull of the engine and soft light of the setting sun pulled at him, tugging insistently.
He wanted to close his eyes, even for a second, but the thought of doing it with him beside him mere inches away made his chest tighten and heart hammer in his ears.
He tried– He really did. Willing himself to stay awake, fingers curling and uncurling as if sheer willpower could stave off the pull of sleep, but it was hopeless . The combined weight of the day, the quiet intimacy of the ride, and the presence of someone who could unsettle him so completely washed over him in one unstoppable tide.
And then, without ceremony, without any grand surrender, he succumbed.
He dozed off.
Answer the questions with professionalism, avoid spoiling the plot..
Anaxa’s eyes traced the lines of the interview materials, the glow of the tablet reflecting faintly on his composed features. He traced each question and mentally mapped the precise way he would deliver his word.
Yet from the corner of his vision, a subtle dip caught his attention. At first, he thought it was a shadow, but then he realized it was Phainon’s head that was tilting forward.
Anaxa’s brows lifted slightly, his expression still neutral on the surface. He set the tablet down lightly on his lap, eyes tracking Phainon’s descent. His head leaned forward just enough that, if uncorrected, it would bump against the window with a soft but unpleasant thud.
And he even refused the neck pillow..
Without hesitation, Anaxa’s hand moved with deliberate precision, catching Phainon’s head before it could bump on the window. The weight was warm, soft in a way that contrasted sharply with the actor’s usual composure.
Anaxa adjusted him gently, settling Phainon’s head onto his own shoulder. He allowed himself the briefest moment to observe the scene. The rise and fall of Phainon’s chest, the faint hitch of his breath in sleep, the eyelashes resting against pale cheeks.
He shifted slightly to accommodate the weight without disturbing Phainon, careful to maintain both comfort and composure. He picked the tablet back up, and continued reading, though now his attention was quietly divided .
His eyes flicked to Phainon, from time to time, taking in the scene from the corner of his vision.
It wasn’t until half an hour later that they arrived at the set. The car hummed along the smooth asphalt of the lot, every stop gentle enough to prevent any disturbance of Phainon’s sleep.
The vehicle slowed and pulled into position, the driver nodding across the rearview mirror. Anaxa’s gaze met it, he returned the nod as the driver exited the car first, stretching from a long ride.
Phainon stirred faintly, eyelids fluttering in reluctant wakefulness, hair slightly mussed from leaning against his shoulder. Anaxa leaned down just enough to bring his face closer, careful to not startle him, and let his voice slip quietly through the space between them.
“Phainon,” he murmured, carrying no impatience, no scolding, only a quiet signal.
When there was no immediate response, just a small shift, he placed a hand on Phainon’s thigh, tapping twice, as if reminding him to gather himself. The taps were almost rhythmic, pressing gently against the still-sleeping tension in Phainon’s body.
Phainon’s eyes blinked open slowly, startled for a fraction of a second, then caught sight of Anaxa’s composed expression hovering so near. “Nn..?”
The hand on his thigh remained steady, the gentle taps coaxing him into awareness. Anaxa leaned in slightly closer, as he whispered again, “We’re here.”
Phainon blinked again, taking a fraction of a second longer to process, his foggy mind struggling to stitch together the ride, the sleep, and the startling intimacy of the moment.
Finally, he managed to whisper back, his voice barely audible, fragile and unsure, “Okay..”
Anaxa’s hand lingered on Phainon’s thigh a moment longer than necessary. The sunlight from the lot streamed through the tinted windows, casting long golden streaks over both of them.
“Bag with you?” Anaxa asked, his voice calm, measured, carrying neither impatience nor judgment. The words were simple, practical, a small check in the long mental list he maintained for himself.
“Okay..” Phainon replied, it was a sound so quiet and compliant, it made Anaxa’s gaze flick toward him briefly.
“Hair neat?” Anaxa’s fingers moved just slightly, brushing against a stray strand that had escaped Phainon’s careful styling. The questions were soft reminders rather than commands.
“Okay..” The single word came again, Phainon’s mind was still somewhere between sleep and the awareness of the outside world. His eyelids fluttered as he tried to stay upright.
“Your collar?”
“Okay..”
“Phone?”
“Okay..”
“Ready to step out?” Anaxa stifled a laugh at the display.
“Okay..” Phainon whispered, a fragile acknowledgement, he removed his head from Anaxa’s shoulder, now leaning back at the seat.
Each answer was so minimal, it made Anaxa let out a soft huff of laughter, the sound restrained but unmistakable, a rhythm only Phainon could set.
It wasn’t mockery, it was a gentle, almost affectionate acknowledgment of the other’s groggy obedience, of the way he had succumbed so fully to the haze of sleep yet still tried to follow along.
He allowed a few more seconds, watching the subtle movements as Phainon blinked his heavy-lidded eyes, all small signs of the struggle to gather himself.
Then Anaxa straightened just enough and murmured softly, “I’ll head out first.”
The words were calm, detached, carrying no rush, but layered with a patient understanding that Phainon might need a few more moments before leaving the safety of the sedan.
Phainon’s lips parted slightly in response, “Okay..” slipping past them. Anaxa’s restrained laugh, a low huff, lingered softly in the air as he stepped outside the van first.
Like a puppy..
The moment the van door clicked shut behind Anaxa, the fog of sleep and grogginess dissolved like mist in the morning sun. Phainon’s chest tightened, and he could feel the heat creeping up his neck and into his ears.
His eyes darted toward the now empty space where Anaxa was sitting moments ago, and then the lingering warmth of the shoulder that had cradled his head just moments ago. He shifted slightly in his seat, almost as if the movement could erase the intensity of having been so close, without meaning to be.
“Okay..okay..okay..” His voice was barely a whisper, repeating like a mantra to steady himself. Every heartbeat hammering in his ears, reminding him that he had been leaning against Anaxa, slept on his shoulder without even thinking.
He pressed his palms to his face briefly, hiding the heat that had crept across his cheeks, and muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe I actually-ugh.. what even- why did I…”
His thoughts spiraled into a mix of embarrassment and fluttering thrill that made him feel impossibly light and impossibly heavy all at once. He sank into the seat, pressing his palms against his thighs, as if gripping something solid could stop the world from tipping over entirely.
It took several long, measured breaths before he could summon the courage to move. He even went through the motions of checking his posture, tugging gently at his jacket sleeves, adjusting the slight crease where his cuff met his wrist, all of it echoing the small, quiet reminders Anaxa had offered just minutes before.
“Hair? Collar?” he murmured to himself, though no one else would hear, echoing Anaxa’s voice.
He fixed it all.
After making sure he got all of the reminders earlier, Phainon allowed himself one last deep breath, letting it out in a shaky sigh of relief. His heart still thumped loudly, as he reached for the door handle.
He pulled the door open and stepped outside, only freezing once his eyes landed on Anaxa, he was still there, waiting . The soft glow of the fading sun reflected on Anaxa’s features.
His mind stumbled.
Okay.. Okay, just walk. Don’t trip, don’t look like an idiot. Don’t–
“Ready?” Anaxa’s voice came quietly, measured, carrying none of the impatience that Phainon feared might emerge. Just that calm, even tone that somehow made him feel both grounded and completely undone at the same time.
“Okay..” Phainon answered too quickly without thinking. His brain hit a sudden, stupefied freeze.
…
Wait-!
“Pft..” A sound came from Anaxa, his fingers covering his mouth. “Are you still asleep?” He asked softly, voice calm but carrying that same faint undertone of amusement.
Phainon’s head snapped up almost instinctively, heart hammering, mouth opening and closing uselessly before he could even form a coherent thought. “I’m not- Sorry I-” He groaned, burying himself in his hands.
“Don’t mind it,” Anaxa assured him. “You fell asleep, it’s not a crime.”
To me it is..!
Phainon blinked, muffled groans escaping his hands. He could feel the weight of the day, and yet somehow Anaxa’s voice miraculously threw it all away with a lock.
“You’ve been working hard,” Anaxa continued, the faintest lilt of acknowledgement threading through his tone. “It’s normal to need a moment, don’t overthink it.”
Silence settled between them, not uncomfortable but filled with the kind of quiet that the two of them understood without words as they walked through the studio.
Phainon walked slightly behind Anaxa, his steps hesitant. His eyes kept straying, unable to ignore the easy grace in Anaxa’s movements. Which he quickly averted away whenever Anaxa’s head turned slightly.
Their footsteps echoed softly in the corridor, a muted rhythm that seemed to follow their unspoken understanding. The air carried a faint scent of Anaxa’s scent, one Phainon immediately recognized.
Everything was going smoothly.
Until the interview started, that is..
The director stepped forward, his gaze swept between Phainon and Anaxa. “All right, we're opening with that scene . The audience came for intensity, and we’re going to give it to them raw. No hesitation, no restraint. Think of this as a dagger drawn, not a dance. Understood?”
Phainon nodded once, his throat tight, while Anaxa tilted his chin in acknowledgment.
“All right,” the director clapped once, sharp. “Give me silence in three…” The studio floor hushed. Even the restless shuffling of crew ceased.
“Two…”
The spotlight above hummed to life, narrowing into a stark white circle that bathed them both in shadow and light.
“One.”
The red recording light blinked alive.
“Tell me what you desire,” Phainon murmured, voice low and steady, threaded with equal parts command and submission. “I will follow. I will obey.”
The words were fragile but irrevocable, a pledge whispered into the void, begging to be answered. His lips curved into a slow smile—one without warmth or hope, empty and resigned. It was a mask perfected over years, a shield that hid a soul long since fractured.
“So tell me.”
Anaxa’s eyes darkened, calculating as if weighing the cost of every breath between them. His voice was low yet beneath that calm exterior lurked a threat unmistakable in its cold precision.
“Even if it meant staining your hands.”
Phainon’s jaw clenched involuntarily, his gaze hardened, sharpening like a blade forged in bitter acceptance.
“It’s already stained.”
The words were not a confession of regret, but a statement of fact. A reality he had embraced the moment the plan took shape in his mind. The path was set, and he had chosen to walk it with eyes wide open, fully aware of the cost.
Anaxa’s voice dropped further, nearly a whisper, heavy with the weight of unspeakable deeds and the burden of souls lost to shadows.
“Even if it meant carrying souls behind your back.”
Phainon’s breath caught sharply. His reply was steady, hollow yet resolute, as if the weight of those unseen burdens was a cross he carried willingly.
“There’s already one.”
The silence that followed stretched between them, taut and thick with all the things left unsaid, things neither wanted to voice, yet both knew intimately. Their eyes remained locked in a gaze that spoke of shared secrets.
“Even if it means betraying yourself,” Anaxa’s voice sliced through the quiet, sharp and brittle like broken glass cutting bare skin.
Phainon’s eyes flickered with a flash of pain, brief and raw before it hardened into cold resolve, steel forged in torment.
“I lost myself long ago.”
Anaxa’s stare bore into him, unrelenting and unflinching.
“Even if it means losing what little remains.”
Phainon’s voice came almost as a rasp.
“Then what’s left is yours.”
A chill slithered through the room, the air grew heavy with the cost of choices made in silence and the price paid in blood and shadows.
Anaxa’s lips twitched to a cruel half-smirk, half-curse, a reflection of the dark understanding between them.
For a long heartbeat, no one moved. Even the crew stood transfixed behind the cameras, as if they too had been dragged into the abyss carved by those words.
Then, like a crack shattering through ice, the applause broke.
“And there it is! What an incredible way to open tonight’s program, an exclusive live performance of one of the most powerful scenes from their upcoming film.”
She exhaled lightly. “I don’t know about everyone here, but I think we all need a moment to breathe after that.”
Hahaha.. Not just the audience..
The audience chuckled on cue, grateful for the release.
The host pressed on quickly, eager to regain control of the room. “Truly haunting! Phainon, Anaxa, thank you for giving us that glimpse. I can see now why the critics have been buzzing about this project since the announcement dropped!”
He gave a soft laugh, his posture straight with a smile poised for the cameras. Beside him, Anaxa leaned back into the couch with one leg crossed, only nodding at the compliment.
The host leaned slightly toward them, her eyes glimmering with mischief as the applause softened into an eager hush. “You know,” she began, her tone rich with amusement, “I think we need to address something right away. At your last interview, it was Phainon who looked like he could’ve hosted the program himself, very casual and bold.”
Hm..?
The crowd laughed warmly, nodding in agreement.
“Meanwhile,” she continued, “Anaxagoras here sat upright the entire time, keeping us all curious to the very end.”
A light chuckle rippled through the audience.
Anaxa gave the faintest incline of his head. Neither a confirmation nor a denial, just acknowledgment. But the corner of his mouth curved and the screens above the stage zoomed slightly closer, the audience responding with a low murmur of delight.
“And now,” the host swept her hand toward them both, “Look at you two, it was now Phainon who’s sitting straighter than our cameraman’s tripod” she gestured toward the camera crew before looking at Anaxa.
“And then Anaxagoras is the one sinking into the sofa like he owns the place. What happened? Why does Phainon suddenly look like the nervous one?” The room erupted in laughter, eyes flicking between the two men.
He let the audience’s laughter carry a moment longer before he finally spoke, “Nervous might be a little dramatic,” he replied, glancing at the host with practiced ease. “Let’s just say.. I’m focused?”
“Oooh..” the audience chimed in unison.
The host tilted her head, eyes twinkling. “Focused? On what? Surely not me , I haven’t even started grilling you yet.”
The laughter bubbled louder. Phainon chuckled politely, but before he could frame his reply, Anaxa’s voice slipped through, low, even, and perfectly timed.
“Perhaps,” he said, lounging further into the sofa, one ankle settling over his knee with slow precision, “He’s focused on keeping up.”
The line was soft, but it hit its mark. The audience burst into laughter and scattered applause, the sound swelling as though they’d been waiting for him to fire the first shot.
Phainon turned his head toward him, the smile never faltering, trained for the cameras. “Keeping up?” His tone was light for the cameras, but there was weight beneath it. “If I recall, last time, it was you who let me carry the conversation.”
“Ohhh???” the crowd chorused, egging on the tension like a live tennis match.
Anaxa didn’t blink, “And the audience,” he replied smoothly, “Seemed to enjoy my silence more than your words.”
The reaction was instant, the audience roared. Laughter and claps echoing through the studio. Even the cameramen had to steady their rigs.
Phainon’s jaw flexed imperceptibly before he leaned forward, resting an elbow against the armrest in a subtle shift. He was still composed, still immaculate, but angling just enough toward the cameras to frame his words as both rebuttal and performance.
Breathe, Phai, Breathe. You’re used to banters like this. He mentally scolded himself, somewhere from the back of his mind, a voice spoke, But it’s Anaxa.
Phainon looked over at Anaxa, “Shall we test it?” he said, his smile sharpening ever so slightly.
The host fanned herself before speaking. “Oh, I love this dynamic!” She turned to the audience, hands spread wide. “You two could banter for the entire segment and I don’t think anyone here would complain.”
The audience responded with enthusiastic applause, a few voices shouting playful encouragement. Phainon gave a small, gracious bow of his head, while Anaxa remained leaned back.
The contrast made the room hum with energy.
The host then leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice just enough to make the audience lean closer. “But I have to ask, did you two plan this? Or do you just enjoy making each other squirm on stage?”
Phainon parted his lips to answer, when Anaxa’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
“If it wasn’t planned,” Anaxa drawled smoothly, “Mr. Actor over here would’ve hid behi–”
Cough!
The sound cracked through the studio.
Phainon’s hand rose lightly to his mouth, knuckles grazing his lips as he tilted his head aside in a perfect picture of courtesy.
Don’t finish it. Don’t finish it. Don’t finish it.
Anaxa paused mid-sentence, their gazes locked. His eyes glimmered with something that wasn’t surprise, but amusement. The kind of amusement that meant he knew exactly why he coughed.
Then came the smile, “Well,” Anaxa murmured, leaning back into his seat, his fingers languidly drumming once against the sofa’s armrest, “There you have it.”
The audience exploded, laughter rolled across the studio like a storm. Some were even stamping their feet against the risers, as if they couldn’t contain the energy of what they’d just witnessed.
“Oh, this is gold! I don’t think I’ve seen anyone trip our Phainon like that before.” She turned to the audience like a ringleader announcing the prize act. “What do we think, everyone, planned, or real?”
The answer came in a wave of shouts, “REAL!”
…
Of course it's real?!
This is getting boring..
He shifted lazily, his back reclined against the sofa as though the whole show were nothing more than a waiting room, his head tilted ever so slightly.
His gaze slid sideways. Phainon was sitting straighter than he ever had in their previous appearances, posture carved for the cameras.
The questions circling so far were a carousel. What was it like working together? Did you two ever clash on set? Who was the perfectionist? The kind of chatter that made audiences think they were peering behind the curtain when really, they hadn’t even touched the cloth.
Well, until–
The host leaned forward, voice dropping just enough to reel the crowd closer. “Since we’re on the topic of romance, many fans have been asking what you're looking for in a lover. Care to share?”
The question landed like a brick on still water.
He spoke first, “Just someone who can keep up with me.”
The audience erupted, applause crashing together like waves, some even whistled. A raw reaction, everyone knew that this wasn’t the carefully rationed version of him meant for the media.
Anaxa shifted, languid, crossing one leg over the other again. He leaned back against the couch, exhaling through his nose with the faintest, most imperceptible smirk.
They like these types of answers, no?
The host beamed, switching his attention to Phainon, “Phainon, what about you?”
Phainon did not answer.
Not right away.
He sat there, with the kind of posture that looked picture-perfect on camera. His lips pressed together, his gaze anchored politely to the host. Silence spread, rippling outward like a stone dropped into a pond.
The silence went on for a full minute.
No one dared breathe too loudly, the audience, the cameramen, even the host. Everyone waited for him.
And then he spoke.
“Someone who keeps track of my schedules, maybe,” Phainon began, tilting his head just slightly before adding, “Can cook and take care of me too, I like being spoiled.”
The room exploded.
The audience screamed, some half-rising from their chairs, others grabbing their friends in disbelief. A ripple of laughter, gasps, applause like a storm unleashed all at once.
But Anaxa–
Anaxa froze.
Utterly froze.
.
.
.
..?
“Are you sure this will work?” Tribios asked, her voice carrying that quiet disbelief she’d perfected over years of cleaning up behind talent. One brow arched high, she shifted in her seat and crossed her arms.
Hyacine only smiled, leaning back with that air of confidence she wore whenever she thought she’d outsmarted the universe. “Trust me.”
Tribios gave a soft snort. “What if it doesn’t?”
“It will. I know how teacher is.” Hyacine’s voice tipped into a giggle, one hand rising to stifle it behind her knuckles.
Tribios exhaled, the kind of sigh that was supposed to signal defeat but instead curled into a grin. “Fine. But if this blows up, you’re the one untangling their fanbases afterward.”
Hyacine leaned in just a fraction, lowering her voice conspiratorially, her eyes dancing. “Worth it.”
The car filled with laughter then. Not loud, but threaded with the unmistakable giddiness of two people who’d just agreed on something they weren’t supposed to say aloud.
The plan hung between them, unnamed yet perfectly clear.
[nomotivation] donated $50
Speaking of love expressions, if you were to be in a relationship, what kind of lover would you be?
“The kind who shows up uninvited and sleeps on the comfiest side of the bed like I pay rent.” he taps on his desk for a while before adding. “I’m high-maintenance.”
“But I’d also…” He paused again, eyes drifting off-screen for a second. Looking at something, definitely not someone, “...Remember your schedules. Show up to things. Text back even when I don’t feel like talking. Cook you food or something. Not because I’m trying to impress you, but I like you.”