Another Chance

[Trending Topic: #NetJJWar] @user123: Did y'all see the latest interview? Net literally breathed and JJ looked like he wanted to file a restraining order. I live for this beef. @series_stan: Net poking JJ’s cheek during the live stream was a death wish. The way JJ swiped his hand away? 5 stars for the drama. @ship_it_maybe: They’re the only ones who can turn a press conference into a battlefield. "Respect for the craft, hate for each other" is such a mood. @daily_netjj: [Video Clip] Net: "JJ looks especially sharp today, doesn't he?" JJ: "I’d look better if you were in a different province."

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The industry had long since stopped trying to mediate. In the beginning, managers were worried. Publicists scrambled to frame the tension as "friendly rivalry." But as the months turned into years, the "Net-JJ Beef" became a brand. It was profitable. It was content. Net Siraphop, with his polished charm and calculated smirks, played the part of the persistent pest to perfection. JJ Radchapon, with his icy glares and razor-sharp tongue, was the perfect foil.

To the fans, it was entertainment. To the staff, it was a daily schedule of keeping them in separate hair and makeup chairs.

But to Net, every sarcastic comment was a hook he threw into deep water, hoping to catch a piece of the boy who used to share his secrets. And to JJ, every cold shoulder was a brick in the wall he had to keep building, lest the foundation of his heart crumble under the weight of an unexplained disappearance.

The wrap party for their latest series was supposed to be the final act of this season’s drama. The production had taken over a private floor of the luxury hotel where the cast was staying. The air was thick with the smell of expensive whiskey, fried appetizers, and the frantic energy of people finally letting go of months of stress.

"To the best leads who hate each other!" the director shouted, hoisting a glass.

Net grinned, his eyes instantly finding JJ across the room. JJ was already nursing his third drink, his ears tinged a soft pink—a telltale sign he was hitting his limit. Net raised his glass in a mock salute. JJ responded by turning his back and engaging in an overly animated conversation with a secondary actor.

Net felt the familiar sting, but he masked it with a practiced chuckle. Still guarded, huh? he thought. Still not letting me in, even after all these scenes we just filmed.

As the night wore on, the "beef" softened into messy camaraderie for everyone else. The karaoke machine was screaming a rock anthem, and the lead actress was currently trying to teach the lighting crew a TikTok dance. Net stayed relatively sober, his gaze tethered to JJ like a safety line. He watched as JJ’s movements became sluggish, his sharp responses turning into mumbled sentences.

By 1:00 AM, JJ had enough. He set his glass down with a heavy thud and slipped out the side door toward the elevators. Net waited exactly thirty seconds before following.

The hallway was a stark contrast to the chaos of the party. The plush carpet muffled his footsteps. When Net turned the corner, he saw JJ leaning heavily against the wall, fumbling with his keycard. The hallway seemed to be spinning for JJ, who was squinting at the door handle as if it were a complex puzzle.

"You're holding it upside down, JJ," Net said softly.

JJ flinched, his head snapping toward Net. The sudden movement made him sway, and he had to grab the doorframe to stay upright. "Go away, Net. Don't... don't start with me right now."

"I'm not starting anything," Net replied, stepping closer. He kept his hands visible, palms open, as if approaching a wounded animal. "You're drunk. Let me help you get inside."

"I don't need you," JJ snapped, though the bite was missing from his voice, replaced by a slurred vulnerability. "I've handled everything without you for years. I can handle a door."

Net felt the familiar pang of guilt, the one that had been his constant companion since he returned from abroad. He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from JJ’s shoulder. "JJ, please. Just for a second, stop fighting."

"Stop fighting?" JJ laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that echoed in the empty corridor. He finally looked Net in the eye, his gaze glassy and hurt. "You’re the one who started the war by leaving without a word. You don't get to tell me when to stop."

"I had to go, JJ. I didn't have a choice," Net whispered, his composure finally beginning to crack.

"Everyone has a choice! You just didn't choose me!" JJ shouted, his voice cracking. He tried to swipe the card again, but it slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the floor.

Net moved quickly, stooping down to retrieve the card. As he stood back up, he found JJ right in front of him, breathing heavily, the scent of alcohol and expensive cologne mingling between them. For the first time in years, there was no camera, no manager, and no script. Just the two of them and the heavy silence of the hotel hallway.

"Give it back," JJ demanded, reaching for the card.

Net held it just out of reach, his expression softening into something raw and pleading. "Not until you let me help you to your bed. You can hate me tomorrow, JJ. You can tweet about how much of a jerk I am. But tonight, just let me make sure you’re safe."

JJ’s shoulders slumped. The fire in his eyes flickered, leaving behind a dull ache. "Why do you do this? Why do you act like you care now?"

"Because I never stopped," Net said, the truth hanging in the air, heavy and undeniable.

JJ didn't respond. He didn't pull away when Net reached out to steady him, his hand firm on JJ’s waist. They stood there for a heartbeat, two people who had spent years perfecting the art of pretending they were strangers, now anchored to each other in the dim light of a hallway.

"My room is across from yours," Net noted, his voice low. "Unfortunate alignment, right?"

"Terrible," JJ muttered, though he didn't move away from Net’s touch. "Everything about you is unfortunate."

"Come on, grumpy," Net teased, the familiar mask sliding back on, though his eyes remained soft. "Let's get you inside before you start singing and wake up the whole floor."

"I don't sing when I'm drunk," JJ protested, tripping over his own feet as Net guided him toward the door.

"You do. You sing those sad indie songs that make everyone want to cry," Net said, leaning JJ against the door while he swiped the keycard.

The lock clicked—a green light blinking in the silence.

"I only sing those because of you," JJ whispered, so quietly Net almost missed it.

Net froze, the keycard still in the slot. He looked at JJ, seeing the way the younger man’s eyelashes fluttered, his lip trembling just slightly. The "beef" felt like a flimsy veil in that moment, easily torn.

"I know," Net replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I've listened to every single one of them."

He pushed the door open, guiding JJ into the darkened room. The bickering started again almost instantly—a defense mechanism they both knew by heart—but as the door clicked shut behind them, the weight of the unspoken truths in the hallway remained, waiting for the morning to bring them back to light.