Right Here

JJ thinks this is just another sleepover.

Net thinks it’s the last night JJ gets to pretend.

The rain drummed a rhythmic, persistent beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Net’s penthouse, blurring the neon lights of Bangkok into a smear of watercolor gold and violet. Inside, the atmosphere was deceptively domestic. The scent of takeout Thai food lingered in the air, and a low-fi jazz playlist hummed quietly from the speakers.

JJ sat on the edge of the plush velvet sofa, his fingers twisting a loose thread on his sweatshirt. He was laughing—loudly, perhaps a little too quickly—at a video on his phone, casting a sideways glance at Net.

"I’m telling you, the fans are going to lose their minds over this edit," JJ said, his voice bright and polished, the exact tone he used during press junkets. "They actually think we were fighting in the background of that vlog. Should we post a selfie to calm them down?"

Net didn’t look at the phone. He was leaning against the kitchen island, a glass of water in his hand, watching JJ with a steady, unblinking focus that made the hair on the back of JJ’s neck stand up.

"Is that what you’re worried about, JJ?" Net asked. His voice was smooth, devoid of the teasing lilt he usually employed when they were 'on.' "The fans?"

JJ’s smile flickered, just for a millisecond, before locking back into place. "Well, yeah. Brand image, P’Net. We’ve worked two years to make this look effortless. Can’t have them thinking there’s tension."

"There is tension," Net said. He set the glass down on the marble counter with a deliberate clink. He began to walk toward the sofa, his movements slow and predatory in a way that felt entirely intentional. "But it’s not the kind they think."

JJ felt his heart hammer against his ribs. He stood up abruptly, looking for a distraction. "I think I left my charger in the car. I should go grab it before it gets too late—"

"I have five chargers in this house, JJ. Sit down."

It wasn't a command, not exactly, but the weight of Net’s gaze anchored JJ to the spot. Net didn't stop until he was standing directly in JJ’s space—closer than the fanservice scripts ever required. He was close enough that JJ could smell his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely Net.

"You've been avoiding me for six days," Net remarked, his voice dropping to a private, dangerous register.

"I haven't! We had the photo shoot on Tuesday, and the live stream yesterday—"

"You’ve been avoiding me," Net repeated, stepping even closer. JJ instinctively backed up until the back of his knees hit the sofa, forcing him to sit. Net didn't retreat; he leaned over, placing a hand on the back of the sofa on either side of JJ’s head, effectively caging him in. "You haven't looked me in the eye since Sunday morning. You didn't even stay for breakfast."

JJ’s throat went dry. The memory of Sunday morning flashed through his mind like a fever dream: the hazy sunlight filtering through these same curtains, the tangled sheets, the shocking, skin-to-skin heat of Net’s body against his. The realization of what they had done—and how much he had wanted it—had sent JJ into a blind, stumbling panic.

"I told you, I had an early call from my mom," JJ lied, his voice cracking. He tried to duck under Net’s arm, but Net shifted, blocking him.

"Your mom calls you at six in the morning on a Sunday to talk about groceries?" Net asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, though his eyes remained intense. "You’re a terrible liar when you’re not reading a script, JJ."

"Net, come on," JJ laughed, a nervous, high-pitched sound. He reached out to push Net’s chest, intending it to be a playful 'bro' gesture, but his hand lingered, his palm absorbing the steady thrum of Net’s heart. "You’re being weird. Is this for a new role? The 'possessive CEO' vibe? It’s good, really, but maybe save it for the workshop."

Net’s expression shifted. The playfulness vanished, replaced by a raw sincerity that terrified JJ more than any anger could. Net grabbed JJ’s wrist, not hard, but firmly, and moved it so JJ’s hand was pressed flat against his chest.

"Stop acting," Net said.

"I'm not—"

"Stop. Acting." Net’s face was inches from JJ’s now. "I know you remember. I know you weren't too drunk to feel what I felt. I waited for you to say something. I gave you space because I thought you needed to process it. But then I realized you weren't processing—you were erasing."

JJ tried to pull his hand away, but Net held him there. "It was a mistake, Net! We were tired, we had a few drinks, and the lines got blurred because we spend every waking hour pretending to be in love. It’s professional burnout. We should just—"

"It wasn't a mistake for me."

The words hit JJ like a physical blow. He froze, his breath hitching in his chest. "Don't say that."

"Why not? Because it makes it real?" Net’s voice was a whisper now, his eyes searching JJ’s face with a desperate kind of hunger. "I’ve been waiting for months, JJ. Every time I touched your waist on camera, every time I leaned in for a 'near-miss' kiss to make the fans scream—I wasn't thinking about the engagement metrics. I was thinking about how much I wanted to actually close the gap."

JJ shook his head, his eyes stinging. "You're just good at the job. You’ve convinced yourself—"

"I’m not that good an actor," Net interrupted, his voice cracking. "I’m not. I’ve been testing you. I’ve been staying late at rehearsals just to be near you. I’ve been memorizing how you take your coffee and which songs make you quiet when you’re sad. Do you think I do that for every co-star?"

JJ bit his lip, his resolve crumbling. He wanted to run. He wanted to bolt out the door and back into the safety of their public persona, where every touch was documented and every look was 'just for show.' In that world, he couldn't get hurt. In that world, Net didn't actually belong to him, which meant Net couldn't leave him.

"If we do this," JJ whispered, his voice trembling, "and it goes wrong... I lose everything. I lose my partner, my best friend, my career. I can't lose you, Net. I’d rather have the fake version of you forever than have the real you for a month and then nothing."

Net sighed, a long, shaky exhale, and forehead-pressed against JJ’s. "You think so little of me? You think I’d let 'nothing' happen?"

"I'm scared," JJ admitted, the truth finally breaking through the humor and the scripts. "I've been so scared that you’d wake up and realize I’m just JJ, not the character you’re supposed to love. I thought Sunday was just... a release. And I couldn't handle the thought of you looking at me the next day and feeling regret."

Net pulled back just enough to look JJ in the eye. He reached up, cupping JJ’s face with both hands, his thumbs stroking over JJ’s cheekbones.

"Listen to me," Net said, his voice iron-clad in its conviction. "I love you. Not the 'JJ' the fans see. Not the 'pairing' JJ. I love the JJ who gets grumpy when he’s hungry and the JJ who worries about his cat and the JJ who tries to hide his heart behind a joke because he’s afraid of being seen. I’ve loved you long before we ever filmed a single scene together."

JJ’s breath came in short, jagged gasps. "You... you mean that?"

"I have never been more certain of anything in my life," Net said. "I didn't invite you here tonight to watch a movie. I invited you here to tell you that I’m done rehearsing. I want the real thing, JJ. With you. Only you."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the sound of the rain and the frantic beating of two hearts. JJ looked at Net—really looked at him—and saw the vulnerability Net usually kept so tightly controlled. He saw the fear of rejection in the curve of Net’s mouth, the hope in the depths of his dark eyes.

JJ reached up, his hands trembling as he covered Net’s hands with his own. "I’m a mess, Net. I’m going to be paranoid, and I’m probably going to try to make a joke when things get too serious."

"I know," Net whispered, a small, relieved smile breaking through.

"And I’m terrified of what happens if people find out."

"We’ll handle it together," Net promised. "But for now... it can just be ours. No cameras. No scripts. Just us."

JJ let out a sob that was half-laugh, half-cry, and leaned forward, burying his face in Net’s neck. "I love you too. I’ve been so miserable trying to pretend I didn't."

Net wrapped his arms around JJ, pulling him flush against his body, holding him with a fierce, protective strength. He tucked his chin over JJ’s shoulder, closing his eyes as the tension that had lived in his shoulders for months finally evaporated.

"No more running?" Net asked into the crook of JJ’s neck.

JJ pulled back, his eyes red but bright with a newfound clarity. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Net’s in a soft, tentative question.

"No more running," JJ whispered.

When Net kissed him back, it wasn't the practiced, angled kiss of a romantic lead. It was messy, deep, and desperate—a collision of two years of suppressed longing and unspoken promises. It was the sound of a script being torn up.

They moved to the bedroom eventually, but this time, there was no panic in the morning.

When the sun began to peek through the clouds the next day, JJ didn't scramble for his clothes. He stayed tangled in the sheets, watching the light catch the sharp line of Net’s jaw as he slept. When Net’s eyes finally fluttered open, he didn't look surprised to see JJ there. He just smiled, reached out, and pulled JJ back into his arms.

"Hungry?" Net murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"Starving," JJ replied, pressing a kiss to Net’s chest. "But stay here for a minute. The world doesn't need us yet."

"The world can wait," Net agreed, tightening his grip.

Later that afternoon, they arrived at the studio for a scheduled live stream. The staff buzzed around them, touching up their makeup and checking their microphones.

"Okay, boys," the manager said, clapping his hands. "Remember the vibe: playful, flirty, keep them guessing. Net, maybe give him a little more attention today? The fans are thirsty for some content."

Net caught JJ’s eye in the vanity mirror. He offered a small, private smirk—the kind that didn't belong to the public.

"Don't worry," Net said, his voice carrying a hidden weight that only JJ understood. "I think I can manage that."

As the 'Live' light flickered to red, JJ felt Net’s hand find his under the table, fingers interlocking, hidden from the camera’s view. JJ didn't pull away. He didn't crack a joke to break the tension. He simply squeezed back, a silent, solid anchor in the middle of the performance.

The fans commented on their chemistry, noting how 'natural' and 'intense' they seemed today. They analyzed every look and every brush of shoulders, convinced they were seeing the best acting of the year.

They had no idea that for the first time in two years, Net and JJ weren't acting at all.