Kane
My brother and I were born and raised in the Philippines, even though our parents were both American. They fell in love with the country and decided to make it their home instead of going back. They started a business here, and before long, they built a name for themselves as successful foreign investors.
When I was in high school, everything changed. A car accident took both of them from us, and suddenly, it was just me and Josh. From that day on, he became more than a brother—he became the person who held everything together. Even while studying for his degree in business administration, he managed the company our parents had left behind.
After graduating, Josh decided to start fresh. He sold all our parents' subsidiaries and stocks, set aside funds for me, and built his own entertainment company from the ground up. He told me not to worry about the family business—to focus on what I wanted instead.
With his support, I chose to study something I'd always been drawn to—writing. So, I majored in English. That was when I met Pablo. He was studying the same thing, but he had one foot in another world—music production and songwriting. We clicked right away. Maybe it was because we understood each other's quiet sides. Whatever it was, our friendship grew naturally.
After graduation, Pablo decided to chase music full-time instead of becoming a professor. I took a different path. I started teaching at the school where we'd once planned to work together.
But as the months passed, I began to feel the weight of repetition. Every day felt the same—safe but empty. Eventually, I quit teaching and chose to stay at home, taking on freelance writing instead.
Josh never pushed me to find a conventional career. He just let me breathe—let me figure things out on my own. Maybe he believed that one day, I'd stumble onto whatever it was I was meant to do.
That morning, it was supposed to be an ordinary day.
Then Pablo called.
He sounded urgent, asking for a favor. I didn't have anything else planned, so I agreed. Pablo wasn't the type to ask for help unless it mattered, and I'd never been the type to turn him down. He sent me an address. No details. Just a pin.
When I arrived, I realized it led to a studio. Not his usual recording place—this one looked different. Bigger. Louder. I parked, got out, and walked in, my curiosity dull but present.
Inside, I saw him sitting beside Justin—my brother's long-time boyfriend. The two of them were watching something on a large monitor, talking quietly like they were in the middle of planning something important. The place smelled faintly of coffee and makeup powder, lights humming overhead.
Pablo noticed me first. His face lit up.
"Kane!" he called out, practically running to me.
Before I could say a word, he threw his arms around me. I let him, though I didn't return it. Physical affection never came naturally to me—it wasn't how I expressed care. Still, I stayed still, letting him have his moment.
When he pulled back, I gave him a look. "What's this about?"
My voice came out low, even, but enough to make him grin like a guilty kid caught red-handed.
He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward a vanity mirror in the corner of the room.
I didn't resist, just followed, my expression unreadable. The next thing I knew, a group of people had gathered around me—stylists, by the look of them.
They studied me like I was some sort of project.
"Work your magic on him," Pablo said before flashing me a smile and walking off.
I leaned back in the chair, eyes narrowing slightly at my reflection.
Then came the brushes, the sponges, the unfamiliar hands.
I didn't move. Didn't complain. Just sat there, jaw set, staring at the man in the mirror who somehow looked calm and annoyed at the same time.
It went on longer than I expected.
I clenched my teeth a few times, forcing myself to stay still. I could've walked out, but I didn't. Part of me wanted to see what exactly Pablo was up to this time.
So I stayed—silent, expression cold, patience thinning.
When they finally finished, Pablo came back, standing behind me as I stared at my reflection. He studied me for a moment, arms crossed, then nodded like an artist satisfied with his work.
I raised an eyebrow at him through the mirror. "You done?"
He grinned, that familiar sheepish curve of his mouth appearing before he spoke.
"The actor who was supposed to appear in the music video I'm producing couldn't make it—he got into an accident. Can you take his place instead?"
I turned my head slightly, meeting his reflection with a stare that made him hesitate.
"I'm not an actor, Pablo." My tone was flat, controlled, leaving no room for argument.
"I know," he said quickly, that nervous smile still clinging to his face. "But you look like one. Acting's not that hard—you just have to imagine being someone else in front of the camera."
He handed me a folder—probably a script—and took a small step back, like he knew I wasn't thrilled about it.
"Here's the script. Skim through the scenes and join us when you're ready," he said, still grinning before walking off.
I watched him return to Justin, the two of them leaning close, whispering. Justin's amused expression told me this had been planned long before I arrived.
For a moment, I considered leaving. It wasn't my scene, and it definitely wasn't my thing. But I'd shown up willingly, and walking out now felt like admitting defeat.
With a quiet sigh, I opened the folder.
It was a love story—simple, sentimental. The protagonist had to look at someone like they were the only person in the world.
I'd been in relationships before—enough times to know how it felt when it was real, and when it wasn't. None of them lasted longer than a year, but I'd meant it every time.
At least, I thought I had.
I kept reading, the words blurring slightly as I wondered what kind of man could still look at love that way—uncomplicated, unguarded, all in.
All I had to do was act like I was in love with the female lead. Simple enough.
To my surprise, the shoot went smoother than I expected. The lights, the cameras, the repetition—it should've felt awkward. But somewhere in the middle of it all, I started to enjoy it.
Acting gave me a kind of freedom I didn't know I needed. It let me express emotions I usually kept buried, safely tucked away behind silence. For once, I could let them out without feeling exposed.
When the shoot wrapped up, Justin approached me, that easy confidence of his softened by something genuine.
"You were good," he said, almost sounding surprised. "Really good."
I didn't respond right away. Compliments had never been something I knew how to handle.
He studied me for a moment before adding, "Have you ever thought about acting? You've got the presence for it."
"I'm not interested," I said flatly.
He only smiled. "Just think about it. Acting might be better than living a stagnant, monotonous life."
I didn't answer.
That night, his words followed me home.
He wasn't wrong.
My life was stagnant.
I had a degree in English that I wasn't using. Teaching had drained whatever passion I had left for it. The idea of returning to classrooms, lesson plans, and minimum pay held no appeal. Starting a business was out of the question—I didn't have the temperament for that kind of chaos. The only steady thing I had going was my brand, and even that ran smoothly without me. I designed sunglasses; my team handled the rest. It paid the bills, but it didn't move me.
I leaned back in my chair, scrolling aimlessly through the internet, Justin's words still echoing somewhere in the back of my mind.
Should I pursue acting?
The thought lingered longer than I wanted to admit.
Later that night, Justin went straight to the living room as soon as they arrived and dropped onto the couch beside me, while Josh disappeared into their bedroom—probably to shower off another long day.
I could feel Justin's eyes on me before he even spoke. I turned his way, one brow raised.
"So," he started, his tone too eager for my liking, "have you thought about my offer?"
I exhaled slowly, setting the remote down. "Why so eager?"
We'd seen each other just a few hours ago at the studio, and he already wanted an answer? Typical Justin. Patience had never been one of his strengths.
It's something I'd known since college. We'd been friends back then—before I introduced him to Josh. They liked to claim it was love at first sight. Maybe it was. They've been inseparable ever since.
Sometimes, I regret being the reason they met. If I hadn't played matchmaker, I might've been spared years of unsolicited affection displays and late-night noise bleeding through the walls.
Justin's impatience isn't his only flaw. He's demanding, stubborn, and refuses to take no for an answer.
Still... I can't bring myself to dislike him.
He's good to Josh—gentle when it matters, thoughtful in ways most people miss. And as much as I tease him, he looks out for me too.
Maybe that's why Josh loves him so much. Maybe that's why I can tolerate him.
"I need more time to think," I said, shifting my focus back to the movie.
Justin let out a dramatic sigh but didn't argue. Instead, he leaned back, crossing his legs as if settling in for the night.
A few minutes passed before he suddenly straightened, eyes lighting up.
"Oh! This is Elves' latest movie!" he exclaimed, far too loud for the quiet I preferred. Then, without warning, he yelled toward the bedroom, "Babe! Elves' movie is on!"
His voice echoed through the condo, and moments later, Josh emerged wearing only a bathrobe, hair still damp from the shower. He joined us on the couch, wedging himself right between Justin and me.
Typical.
Josh had this strange streak of possessiveness—nothing toxic, just... unnecessary. He got jealous easily, even when I was simply sitting too close to Justin. I'd told him more times than I could count that I could never see Justin as anything other than a friend, but he still kept his guard up.
Maybe it was because Justin and I had history—friendship, comfort, familiarity—all things Josh probably found threatening. It was one of the many reasons I wanted my own place.
Maybe then he'd finally relax.
"Elves is so talented!" Justin said, his voice brimming with admiration.
I glanced at the screen.
The man—Elves—was striking. Handsome in a way that didn't need effort. There was something magnetic about the way he carried emotion—controlled but raw, the kind of performance that didn't need words to be felt.
Before I knew it, I was completely absorbed in the film. The story, the tension, the emotion—it all pulled me in until everything else faded. I didn't even notice Josh and Justin clutching each other beside me, reacting to the intensity of the scene. I was too focused, leaning forward slightly, holding my breath as if what I was watching was real.
The sharp ring of the doorbell snapped me out of the movie, and Justin let out a startled yelp beside me. I couldn't help shaking my head, half amused and half amazed at how deeply we'd all been pulled into the film.
Pushing aside the last of the tension clinging to me, I stood and went to answer the door. When I opened it, Pablo was there—grinning wide, holding up a plastic bag filled with beer like it was some kind of trophy.
"Finally!" Josh called out from the couch the moment he saw it, his tone full of relief.
That was the unspoken cue for the start of our usual get-together.
Justin and Pablo had always been my closest friends, and Josh eventually joined our circle once he and Justin started dating. For years now, Josh had been talking about his friend, Elves—the same actor we'd just been watching—but our paths had never crossed. Apparently, the guy's schedule was brutal. Only Justin had met him in person a few times during shoots when their work overlapped.
"Elves wrapped up his latest project, didn't he?" Justin asked as he cracked open a beer and handed one to Josh.
"Yeah," Josh said, frowning a little, "but he hasn't decided on his next one yet."
Justin's eyes lit up, and I instantly recognized that look. It was the look of trouble about to unfold.
"I have an idea," he said, leaning forward, eyes glinting with mischief.
Josh froze. He already knew what that look meant, too.
"Offer him the lead role in my current project. He's perfect for it," Justin said confidently, taking a sip of his drink like the decision had already been made.
Josh blinked, incredulous. "Elves is a horror icon. He's never done a romantic comedy—let alone a BL series."
Their back-and-forth continued, voices bouncing between disbelief and persuasion.
I let it all wash over me and sank back into the couch, scrolling absently through my phone.
I already knew how this would end.
Josh could protest all he wanted, but when it came to Justin, he always gave in eventually.
I was checking my brand's website when Pablo tapped my shoulder. I looked up to find him grinning, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes.
"They'll probably argue for hours," he whispered. "Want to head outside and shoot some hoops? I need to sweat off this beer before my morning schedule."
I didn't need convincing. Listening to Josh and Justin debate about Elves—whoever he was—wasn't exactly my idea of entertainment.
As we walked out, I caught part of their conversation.
Josh was saying that Elves had never been in a relationship, that he was innocent when it came to love.
I couldn't help but scoff under my breath.
No one's truly innocent when it comes to romance.
Some people might not have experience, sure—but love itself is instinctive. It's built into us. All it takes is the right person to draw it out.
So maybe Elves wasn't innocent. Maybe he was just... untouched by it. And whoever awakened that side of him would be lucky.
There's something rare about being the first to guide someone through that kind of tenderness—the quiet, unfamiliar pull of connection.
I caught myself wondering what kind of person Elves was—how he'd respond to affection, to closeness.
It was just a passing thought, nothing more.
A flicker of curiosity.
I shook the thought off before it could take root.
It didn't matter. I wasn't interested in men, and I wasn't about to start now.
I am straight. Always have been.
That's what I told myself as I followed Pablo down to the court, the echo of the elevator doors closing behind us.
The next morning, I woke up already exhausted courtesy of the two infuriating idiots who apparently mistook nighttime for a full-blown performance, leaving me no chance at a peaceful sleep.
Breakfast was quiet for a while. The kind of silence that fills the room when no one wants to be the first to speak. Eventually, I decided to break it.
"Brother," I said, setting my spoon down, "what exactly were you doing to Justin last night that had him moaning so loudly? I couldn't sleep because of it."
Josh didn't even flinch.
"Ask him, not me," he said, unfazed, taking another bite of toast.
I turned to Justin, whose face was already the color of a ripe tomato. He refused to meet my eyes.
"Never mind," I muttered, returning to my cereal.
A beat passed before Josh spoke again, tone casual. "By the way, Justin told me you're good at acting. He showed me the clip, and I have to say—you've got talent. Want to sign with me?"
I paused, spoon hovering midair.
The idea wasn't entirely unexpected, but hearing it out loud made it feel more real.
I looked at him for a moment, weighing my options.
Maybe this was the opportunity I'd been waiting for. Or maybe it was just another way to trade one kind of suffocation for another.
Still, I saw my chance. "If you can give me my freedom, then yes."
Josh raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "Freedom?"
I met his gaze steadily.
"If you let me get my own place and live independently, I'll sign with your company. I'll give acting a shot." My tone left no room for debate.
Justin, still red-faced, finally spoke up. "Josh, I think it's time to let your brother live on his own. He's old enough to take care of himself."
I smirked slightly.
Whether he was actually supporting me or just wanted more alone time with Josh didn't matter. Either way, he was on my side.
Josh went quiet for a moment, lost in thought. Then he sighed and gave a small nod.
A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Really? You can't back out afterward," I said, trying—and failing—to hide the relief in my voice.
"I'll let you live on your own," he replied, "but it'll be in a place I choose for you."
Of course. There was always a condition.
"My company has an empty unit in the condo building where our artists stay rent-free," he continued. "Normally, it's reserved for established talents, but I'll make an exception for you. You can move in this weekend."
I didn't argue.
Freedom was freedom, no matter how it came.
I nodded, offering a faint smile before getting up to start packing.
Finally, I thought, the word echoing through me like a breath I'd been holding for years.
That weekend, Josh helped me move into my new place. It wasn't extravagant, but it was mine—quiet, private, uncluttered. I felt a rare spark of energy, the kind I hadn't felt in a long time.
Josh chuckled at my enthusiasm, shaking his head. He reached over to ruffle my hair like he used to when we were kids.
"Your neighbor's coming back tomorrow from a trip abroad. Make sure to greet him and introduce yourself," he said as he headed for the door.
I watched him leave, then turned toward the neighboring unit.
I wondered, briefly, what kind of person they were.
Then I dismissed the thought with a quiet snort.
Didn't matter. Whoever they were, I planned to ignore them anyway.
That Monday morning, Josh called me into his office to sign my two-year contract.
I parked in his designated spot and headed for the lobby. The place hadn't changed much—same polished floors, same faint scent of coffee and printer ink. I took the elevator to the tenth floor and walked straight to his office. I didn't need to ask for directions; I'd spent enough time here during college to know every turn.
When I arrived, Josh was at his desk, phone pressed to his ear. He glanced up and motioned for me to sit in the reception area. I nodded and took a seat, settling into the silence while he finished his call.
"Okay, see you soon. Oh, Elves—congratulations on another captivating performance," he said before hanging up.
There it was again. That name.
Elves.
I'd heard it too many times lately for someone I'd never even met. Part of me wondered when I finally would.
A few minutes later, Josh joined me. He carried a folder and a thick binder—one looked official, the other suspiciously like a script.
He sat across from me, smiling.
"Here's your contract," he said, placing it on the table.
I opened the folder and started reading. The terms were clear and, surprisingly, generous—better than I'd expected, especially from him.
I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.
Without a second thought, I reached for the pen on the table and signed my name.
Just like that, I'd bound myself for two years.
As soon as I signed the contract, Josh wasted no time snatching it from me. Then, he slid that thick binder across the table, the kind of gesture that said take this now without needing words.
"Hidden Confession?" I read the title printed across the cover.
"Your first project," he said, grinning.
I froze, staring at him in disbelief.
I'd expected at least a little training—a few acting lessons, maybe some sort of orientation.
But a project? On my first day?
"Justin insisted," Josh added casually, like that explained everything.
And it did.
When Justin wanted something, resistance was pointless. Josh might run a company, but in that relationship, Justin was the CEO.
I let out a quiet sigh and picked up the binder, though I had no real intention of reading it just yet. Still, I trusted my brother. He might cave to Justin more often than not, but he'd never throw me into something reckless. If he was fine with this, maybe it was worth giving a chance.
"Read it and get familiar with the story," Josh said, leaning back in his chair. "Script reading's on Monday. Don't be late."
That was my cue to leave.
I stood, tucked the binder under my arm, and walked out of his office—wondering what exactly I'd just signed myself up for.
The moment I reached the parking lot, I noticed the scratches along the passenger side of my car. My chest tightened instantly.
That car wasn't just a vehicle—it was the graduation gift Josh gave me, fulfilled according to our late parents' will. One of the few things I still had left of them.
Seeing those marks, paired with the pathetic attempt to cover them up with a black marker—as if that would somehow make it better—sent a sharp wave of anger through me.
I tossed the binder onto the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.
My patience was gone.
Without thinking twice, I headed back to Josh's office, my steps quick and deliberate.
Given the location, I could only assume the culprit was one of his artists.
When I reached his office, I shoved the door open without knocking.
Josh looked up from his desk, startled, while someone stood near the doorway—but I didn't even glance their way.
The words came out before I could stop them. "Someone scratched my car and had the audacity to cover it up with a marker!"
My voice was low but sharp enough to cut through the air.
All the restraint I usually carried slipped for a moment, replaced by sheer irritation.
Josh let out a long, weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He studied me for a second, then picked up his landline and started dialing a number.
"Of course he's calling someone," I muttered under my breath, jaw tight.
When the call ended, Josh gave me a small, tired smile.
"Go to the security office and check the footage. Please, Kane—spare me the stress about your car and handle it yourself," he said, waving a hand dismissively.
I clenched my jaw, irritation simmering beneath the surface.
That car meant everything to me, and his indifference felt like a slap.
But when he turned his attention back to his computer, it was clear the conversation was over.
Fine.
I left his office without another word.
At the security department, I spotted a familiar figure near the door—the same man I'd seen earlier in Josh's office. He was standing rigidly, his posture tense, like someone waiting for something they didn't want to face.
I stopped a few steps behind him, choosing to wait in silence.
A moment later, he seemed to sense me there. His shoulders stiffened, a flicker of unease running through him.
I raised an eyebrow, curious.
When the door finally opened, he turned to the guard and muttered something about coming back later. Then, without so much as a glance in my direction, he hurried off down the hall.
I watched him leave, brows slightly furrowed.
Avoiding me? I wondered, the thought lingering longer than it should have.
"Please come in, Sir Kane," one of the officers said, pulling me back.
They led me to a desk and queued up the footage from that morning.
It didn't take long to find what I was looking for.
There he was—the culprit—with a smug grin on his face.
My jaw tightened.
For a second, I almost laughed at the absurdity of it—the kind of anger that sits too deep to show.
When I noticed the officer watching me warily, I cleared my throat and said evenly, "I'll need a copy of that."
He handed me a USB drive. I took it, muttering under my breath, "You're dead meat."
Leaving the security room, I started down the hall, already mapping out my next move—transfer the footage to my phone, identify every detail about the guy, and track him down myself.
But as I reached the lobby, I froze.
There he was again—the same man I'd seen earlier in Josh's office—rushing toward the exit like he had somewhere urgent to be.
Curiosity sharpened into something else. Instinct.
I followed him out, quickening my pace.
The moment I stepped outside, he was already getting into a car.
My stomach dropped when I recognized it—it was the same one from the footage.
Realization hit hard.
So that's why he's been acting strange.
"Unbelievable," I muttered, breaking into a run. "Hey!"
He must've seen me coming because the engine roared to life.
"If I catch you, you're done!" I shouted, but he pulled out of the parking lot before I could reach him.
I stood there, glaring after him, breath sharp, anger coiled tight in my chest.
"Coward," I hissed, my voice low and cold.
My pulse was steady now—not from calm, but from focus. The kind of stillness that comes right before you strike.
"You picked the wrong man to mess with," I muttered as I climbed into my car, the heat of my temper finally giving way to something far more dangerous—resolve.
Then I started the engine and drove off, eyes locked on the road, mind already set on how I was going to make him pay.
That night, I must have watched the CCTV footage a dozen times—slow motion, frame by frame—until I'd memorized every detail. The way he moved, the angle of his jaw, the shape of his eyes. It all felt... familiar.
Then Justin's voice echoed in my head: "Elves is so talented!"
The realization hit me like a slow burn.
It was him.
Elves.
I leaned closer to the screen, a small grin pulling at the corner of my mouth as I confirmed what I already knew.
A low chuckle escaped me. Not out of amusement, but satisfaction.
I'd found him.
And now, he'd pay—not just for the damage, but for the arrogance.
He could have come clean. I would've listened. But instead, he'd gone out of his way to avoid me—as if I were something to be afraid of.
My thoughts were interrupted by a faint rustling outside the door.
I turned my head, listening.
It came again—soft, deliberate.
I moved quietly toward the door and looked through the peephole. A figure stood there in a black hoodie and mask, lingering too long to be innocent.
My hand went straight for the baseball bat I kept beside the door. Instinct.
The lock clicked.
The moment the door cracked open, I raised the bat—but the figure flinched back, startled, clearly not expecting anyone to be inside.
So... he'd been here before.
Probably when the place was still vacant.
I swung again, but he anticipated it this time and bolted down the hall. Something small clattered to the floor as he fled.
I looked down—a digital film roll.
Interesting.
I picked it up carefully, tucking it into my palm before reaching for my phone.
"Security," I said when the line connected, my tone clipped but calm. "There's been an attempted break-in. Please patrol the entire building."
After the call, I went back inside and loaded the digital film into my sensor.
My breath hitched when the images appeared—dozens of them, all of Elves. They were taken in different places: the hallway, the elevator, the parking lot. But most of them were shot inside his unit.
The background caught my eye. The layout looked eerily familiar—same walls, same fixtures, same corner angles.
That's when it clicked.
Elves lived here. In this building. Probably on the same floor.
Could he be the neighbor Josh mentioned?
If that was true, then whoever had broken in tonight had been using this unit before I moved in—and spying on him from here.
I spent the rest of the night searching, combing through every inch of the place until I found it.
The hole.
It was small, drilled clean through the wall of the shower room, hidden neatly behind a framed landscape painting. Easy to miss unless you were looking for it.
I stared at it for a long moment, jaw tight.
"So, he really is my neighbor," I muttered to myself.
He probably hadn't even noticed it—too busy, too tired, too trusting.
Who knew how long someone had been watching him like this?
Despite my earlier anger, something in me shifted. The irritation was still there, but it dulled under something else—an instinct to protect.
Whatever our first encounter had been, no one deserved this kind of invasion.
"You're lucky I'm a good man," I murmured, pulling a roll of scotch tape from a drawer and covering the hole.
It wasn't much, but it would do for now.
At least until I found whoever had been behind it.