Kane
The next morning started like any other—quiet, predictable—until I ran into him in the elevator. The doors were just about to close when they slid open again, and there he was.
Elves.
He stepped in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, looking worn out—like he hadn't slept at all.
Seeing him up close was different. The screen hadn't done him justice. The camera might have caught his beauty, but not his presence—the quiet pull he carried without even trying.
Up close, it was... disarming.
I forced my face into neutrality, pushing down the flicker of something I didn't want to name. Then I stepped to the side, making space for him.
He hesitated before entering, slipping inside and pressing himself to the far corner of the elevator. His movements were careful, almost cautious.
I waited for him to hit a button—anything—but he didn't. He just stood there, tense, eyes darting to the floor display like he couldn't wait for it to end.
He looked uneasy. And I couldn't tell if it was because of me—or because he knew exactly what he'd done.
At that moment, his past mistake felt almost irrelevant. All I wanted was to keep him safe—from a distance, quietly, without making it obvious. What surprised me was how quickly that instinct had settled in. I barely knew him, and yet there it was—an impulse to make sure he was okay.
Still, it would've been easier if he stopped acting like I might attack him at any second. His constant tension was starting to wear on my patience.
I clenched my jaw, watching the way his shoulders stayed rigid, his back straight as a board.
Finally, I decided to close the gap—both literal and otherwise. I reached out and gave his shoulder a light nudge.
"Excuse me," I said evenly.
He flinched at the sound of my voice before turning toward me. His eyes met mine, and for a second, he just... stared.
That's when I noticed it—the way his gaze lingered on my face, the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. I'd seen that look before. Too many times, actually. My female students used to have the same expression when they thought I wasn't paying attention.
Pure, unguarded admiration.
So... you like me, huh? I thought, biting back the faint urge to smirk.
"What floor should I press?" I asked instead, lifting an eyebrow to cover my amusement.
He blinked once. Then again. Still, nothing came out.
When it became clear he wasn't going to answer, I sighed softly and stepped back, gesturing for him to press the button himself.
It took him a few seconds to snap out of whatever daze he was in.
"Oh," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, his face flushing crimson.
But instead of pressing anything, he gave me an awkward smile and retreated to the farthest corner of the elevator like I was something dangerous.
Inwardly, I couldn't help but grin.
There was something strangely captivating about the way he reacted—flustered, uncertain, torn between curiosity and panic. Every twitch, every stolen glance felt like a detail worth studying. He reminded me of an intricate piece of art—beautiful not just for what was visible, but for the quiet story beneath the surface. From the way he moved, it was obvious he didn't quite understand what he was feeling.
People like him—those untouched by experience—often mistook attraction for discomfort, especially when faced with something they didn't know how to handle. But Elves wasn't just inexperienced. He was naive—almost painfully so. Exactly as Josh had described.
I hadn't thought it possible, but watching him then, I realized something that unsettled me more than it should have: some people really are that unguarded, that pure in their responses to desire. And that innocence—unexpected, unfiltered—was starting to stir something in me I hadn't been ready to name.
When we reached the lobby, I watched him silently as he walked toward the entrance. I followed at a distance, keeping my pace measured while he headed to his car.
My plan had been simple—give him space, let him breathe a little before I approached him again. But that plan vanished the moment I saw a familiar figure lingering nearby.
The intruder from the previous night.
That same cold, protective instinct flared to life, sharp and immediate. My only thought was to make one thing clear: Elves was untouchable under my watch.
I wanted to catch that bastard—to make him understand exactly what it meant to cross a line.
But not here. Not now. The last thing I wanted was to alarm Elves. I'd handle it the way I always did—quietly, efficiently, from the shadows.
So instead, I closed the distance between us and came to stand behind him, subtly positioning myself between Elves and the man.
The stalker had been about to move closer but froze the instant our eyes met.
I didn't have to say a word. The look I gave him was enough—cold, unflinching, promising consequences. Then I placed a hand on Elves' shoulder—steady, deliberate. It wasn't just contact; it was a warning, a silent claim of protection.
The stalker's expression shifted, fear flickering across his face before he turned and bolted out of sight.
I watched him disappear, my jaw tight, my hand still resting lightly on Elves' shoulder until I was sure the threat was gone.
To divert his attention from what had just happened behind him, I decided to confront him about my car instead.
"So, you're the one responsible," I said, my voice low and cold.
He turned around, eyes wide, his expression torn between guilt and confusion.
"W-What?" he stammered, uncertainty lacing his tone.
The mix of embarrassment and frustration on his face softened me almost immediately. I nearly smiled—he looked too disarmed, too endearingly human for me to stay annoyed.
Our eyes met, and I quickly hid the flicker of amusement curling at my lips with a faint smirk.
"I—I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, his voice trembling as he gently peeled my hand off his shoulder.
Then he turned toward his car, clearly intent on making a quick escape. It was such an obvious, clumsy attempt that I almost laughed. Instead, I exhaled through my nose—a quiet scoff to keep my composure intact. I decided to indulge my curiosity a little longer. His reactions were far too entertaining to let him go just yet.
So, I walked back to my car, grabbed my spare phone, and returned to him. Without a word, I caught his wrist lightly and turned the screen toward him—the CCTV footage of his so-called "crime."
His reaction was worth every second of patience.
Color flooded his cheeks in an instant, spreading fast.
He bit his lower lip, eyes darting between me and the screen before mumbling, "I wasn't supposed to cover up the damage, but your car's too expensive. It would cost a fortune to fix, and I..."
He trailed off mid-sentence, realizing just how ridiculous his excuse sounded.
I found myself staring at his face longer than I should have.There was something about his expression—nervous but still trying to hold itself together—that made it hard to look away.
When I noticed how uneasy he was becoming, I decided to release him.
For now.
"I don't care about the repair," I said evenly. "What bothered me was the lack of accountability. You could've just explained what happened. I'm not unreasonable—I would've listened."
I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist. I stopped, glancing back at him. Part of me wondered what he'd say next—what words would make me want to smile again.
"I'll pay for the repair," he said firmly, though his voice trembled just a little. "Whatever it costs."
His attempt at redemption—so earnest, so unfiltered—amused me more than I wanted to admit. I fought the urge to grin and instead studied him with a mock frown. Then an idea struck me. A simple way to keep him within reach.
"Can I have your business card?" I asked casually, keeping my tone neutral.
He handed it over without hesitation.
Too quickly.
That flicker of irritation came out of nowhere.
Was he always this trusting? Did he hand out his information to anyone who asked?
For the first time, his innocence didn't just intrigue me—it frustrated me.
"I was going to let it slide," I said curtly. "Assume I was the one who scratched it. But since you insist, I'll send the repair bill to your address."
I pocketed the card and turned away before he could respond.
Inside, though, a quiet satisfaction settled over me.
Now, I had a reason to see him again.
Later that day, with nothing urgent on my schedule, I decided to hunt the stalker down. I headed to the building's security office and asked for the CCTV footage from outside my door.
The officer gave me a skeptical look. "Mind if I ask why you need it?"
I kept my tone casual. "The intruder last night was one of my ex-girlfriends. I just need to know who to avoid next time."
His expression softened immediately, full of misplaced sympathy.
"Ah. Tough being handsome, huh?" he said with a grin, clearly including himself in that statement.
I gave him a polite nod. "Right."
He chuckled, downloaded the footage onto a USB drive, and handed it over with a friendly pat on my shoulder.
As I walked away, I shook my head. Some people are entirely too full of themselves.
Back in my apartment, I spent the rest of the day combing through the footage. Watching it in real time would've taken forever, so I fast-forwarded, scanning for movement.
By late afternoon, I caught sight of him—the same figure from before.
I paused the frame, my pulse quickening. "Finally."
Zooming in, I tried to get a clearer view of his face, but he'd hidden it too well behind a mask and a cap.
Undeterred, I studied the rest of him—the way he moved, his build, every small detail—until something caught my eye.
A tattoo.
A small crown inked on his left finger.
"Bingo," I murmured, a slow smile forming.
Still, it wasn't enough. The tattoo alone wouldn't get me far. I needed more—his timing, his habits, his routine. If I could figure out when he usually showed up to stalk Elves... I could catch him myself. And when I did—he'd learn what it meant to target someone under my watch.
My train of thought was cut short by the low growl of my stomach—a reminder that I hadn't eaten all day.
Sighing, I opened the fridge. Empty.
Of course.
With no other option, I grabbed my keys and headed out, driving to the nearest convenience store to pick up instant meals and a few basics.
After grabbing what I needed, I returned home. But the moment I pulled into the parking lot, my eyes caught on a familiar silhouette.
Elves' stalker.
"Perfect," I muttered, irritation tightening my jaw.
So much for heightened security. Apparently, the building staff had taken my report as a casual suggestion.
I parked hastily and headed inside, intent on catching him myself this time.
But by the time I reached the lobby, the elevator doors were already sliding shut—him inside, vanishing from sight.
"Damn it," I hissed, breaking into a run.
Without hesitation, I threw open the emergency stairwell door and started up, two steps at a time, my pulse steady, my focus sharp.
When I reached the tenth floor, I spotted Elves walking down the hallway, completely unaware of his surroundings. His shoulders were slouched, his steps heavy—he looked exhausted.
And far too trusting of the supposed safety of this place, I thought, irritation stirring low in my chest.
My gaze swept the corridor until it landed on him—the stalker—crouched behind a potted plant near the corner. He was clutching a can of pepper spray, his hand trembling, ready to strike.
To divert his attention, I let out a sharp whistle, my eyes locking directly on his.
He froze. His head snapped up, and our gazes met—fear flashed across his face before he bolted upright and ran.
I didn't chase him. Not with Elves this close. His safety came first. I closed the distance between us in a few strides, positioning myself behind him in silent guard as he fumbled with his access card. My eyes kept sweeping the hallway—every corner, every shadow, every faint sound. I wasn't taking any chances.
Then Elves screamed. The sound cut through me like a jolt of electricity.
Instinct overrode thought. In one swift motion, I shoved him through his door just as it opened, slamming it shut behind us and locking it tight. Containment—clean, fast, precise. A reflex honed over years of knowing exactly how to handle a threat. I clamped my hand over his mouth to stifle his cries, trying to steady him, but his panic was wild and unrestrained.
"Shh," I whispered, my voice low and firm, waiting for him to recognize me.
Instead, his eyes widened further, alarm flooding them. He thought I was the threat.
I exhaled slowly, then eased my hand away from his mouth to show him I meant no harm.
Turning toward the door, I leaned close to the peephole—and froze. The stalker was right there. Standing directly outside. Staring straight into the peephole, like he knew exactly where I was.
Brave, I thought, a dark flicker of amusement cutting through the tension. Or stupid.
Behind me, Elves started to stir, but I quickly covered his mouth again, quiet but firm. If the stalker heard panic—if he realized I wasn't supposed to be here—the fear I'd managed to put in him earlier would vanish. But if he believed Elves and I were together—if he thought the man he feared and the man he stalked actually knew each other—he'd back off. No one in their right mind would target someone protected by the person they were terrified of. Assuming, of course, he is in the right mind to begin with.
Just wait until I catch you, I vowed silently, my gaze still fixed on the peephole. You'll regret ever crossing my path.
Several long seconds passed before the stalker finally turned and walked away.
I stayed still, counting under my breath, giving him enough time to disappear completely before letting out a slow, controlled exhale.
Then I turned back to Elves.
Our eyes met, and for a moment, I froze—caught off guard by the depth of his gaze. There was something disarming about it, something that pulled me in before I could look away.
The spell broke when something warm and wet dragged across my palm.
It took a heartbeat to register. He'd licked me.
I blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all the ways to make someone let go, that was certainly... unconventional. Bold. And, if I was honest, far more effective than it should've been.
I pulled my hand back, masking the flicker of heat that sparked low in my chest with a look of mock disgust. But even as I wiped my palm against my jeans, an uninvited thought crossed my mind—one involving far better uses for that tongue.
He folded his arms, completely unaware of the inappropriate direction my thoughts had taken. His glare was sharp, his tone colder than I'd ever heard it.
"Care to explain why you just broke into my condo?" he demanded.
His voice left no room for evasion, but I wasn't interested in hiding the truth anyway.
"Your stalker tried to approach you earlier," I said evenly, keeping my tone calm and deliberate. "The guy had pepper spray. You could've been in serious danger if I hadn't intervened."
I left out the darker parts—the surveillance hole, the photos, the numerous attempts of attack. He didn't need that kind of panic right now. But I couldn't help myself. The tension between us begged for a release, and teasing him had become second nature already.
"Though," I said lightly, a faint smirk tugging at my lips, "I don't know what he saw in you."
The irony wasn't lost on me. There was nothing mediocre about him.
After leaving Elves' condo, I went straight to the security office, ignoring the growl in my stomach. Hunger could wait; incompetence couldn't.
The officers looked up, startled, when I walked in. I didn't waste time on pleasantries. They needed to start doing their jobs properly if they didn't want to find themselves unemployed. I made that perfectly clear.
By the time I was done, they were scrambling to cooperate. They granted me real-time access to the building's cameras and even handed me a taser and a baton "for self-defense." Of course, they assumed the stalker was after me rather than Elves. I considered correcting them but decided against it. If their misunderstanding made them more diligent, I wasn't about to ruin it.
The rest of the weekend passed quietly.
I stayed in my condo, checking the CCTV feeds every few hours. The stalker didn't show—not once. The silence left me with mixed feelings: relief that Elves was safe, but also frustration that I hadn't caught the bastard.
The weekend blurred by faster than I expected. Before I knew it, Monday had arrived—along with the scheduled script reading.
A flicker of guilt crossed my mind when I realized I still hadn't read the damn script. But it was just a reading, nothing critical. Justin would forgive me. He always did. Still, I made a mental note to actually prepare next time. I wasn't about to make a habit of showing up unprepared.
When I arrived at the venue, I parked and headed straight to the reception desk to ask for directions. After being pointed toward the hall, I made my way there, maintaining my usual air of calm indifference.
Pushing open the doors, I walked in without hurry, expression unreadable. My steps carried me toward Josh, who stood at the front with his usual authoritative posture.
"You're late," he said the moment I reached him—no greeting, no small talk. Just business as usual.
I held back the urge to tell him the truth—that I'd spent my weekend making sure his most prized artist didn't end up dead. But since said artist was sitting a few feet away, I opted for a simpler lie.
"My alarm didn't go off," I said flatly.
Josh sighed, muttered something about professionalism, and pointed me toward my seat.
I took my place without protest, settling in with a quiet exhale. My eyes drifted across the table—and found Elves. He was completely absorbed in the script, oblivious to everything around him. His focus was admirable. His lack of caution wasn't.
You really need to be scolded for being this trusting, I thought, my lips twitching into a faint sneer even though he wasn't looking my way.
"Let's start," Justin announced, his voice cutting cleanly through the room.
Conversations died instantly, and everyone's focus shifted to the table.
At that moment, Elves lifted his head. His gaze swept across the room before locking onto me.
I met his stare, keeping my expression perfectly neutral. No smile, no smirk—just calm observation. Still, it took effort not to let the corner of my mouth twitch.
His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. He raised his hand abruptly, cutting Justin off mid-sentence.
"Why is he here?" he demanded, his voice tinged with both shock and annoyance.
I didn't react.
Let Justin handle it.
While he explained my involvement to the rest of the room, I only half-listened. My attention had drifted to the series description laid out in front of me.
And then I saw it.
My breath caught for a second.
A BL series?
Elves was my partner.
I had assumed this project was a straightforward coming-of-age story—something about friendship, growth, maybe a bit of emotional tension. I hadn't expected this.
The irony wasn't lost on me. Yes, I was attracted to him. I'd already admitted that much to myself. And I knew he was attracted to me too—that much was obvious. But acting on that attraction under cameras, bright lights, and dozens of watching eyes wasn't how I wanted anything to unfold. Not only would it be forced into the open, it would blur every line I needed to keep clear.
Because if we acted out intimacy for the sake of a scene... If we touched, held, kissed for the camera—there was a real risk that my deepest desires would get tangled with performance. That I might no longer know where the script ended and I began.
I wanted him to come to that realization on his own. To recognize whatever it was that sparked between us—without scripts, without direction, without the world watching. If I moved too soon, if I pushed him before he was ready, I might lose him before anything even began.
And that was something I couldn't allow.
With that, I pushed back my chair and stood, heading straight for the door. The whispers that followed barely registered.
"I don't like the genre. I'm a straight man, brother," I said over my shoulder—like saying it out loud could somehow free me from the situation I'd been thrown into.
I was almost out the door when his voice cut through the room.
"I can't work with a newbie, Director," Elves said, his tone sharp, dismissive.
I stopped mid-step. My competitive side, usually buried under restraint, snapped awake. Before I knew it, I was turning back, crossing the room with a steady, unhurried stride. The urge to prove him wrong overpowered whatever hesitation I'd felt moments ago.
"On second thought," I said evenly, lowering myself back into my seat, "there's no harm in trying new things."
I'd been willing to step back for him—to give him space, to move carefully for his sake. But that one sentence, the way he said it, shifted something in me. If he thought he could dismiss me that easily, he was wrong.
Screw being gentle, I thought, a small smirk tugging at my lips.
The reading began again, dragging at first—stilted, awkward, full of missed beats. The tension between us was palpable, our lines colliding more than they connected.
I could sense Justin's frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. He didn't lash out, but his tone carried warning when he reminded us both to do better before filming started.
When the session finally ended, polite applause filled the room. I didn't wait for anyone to speak to me. I slipped out quickly, making for the exit before Josh could corner me for the inevitable lecture. He hated tardiness—and I had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.
The rest of the week passed with me buried in the script, trying to understand Ken—the man I was supposed to become.
Ken was a man of principle, driven by a rigid sense of justice. He lived by a single mantra: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
In the story, he sought revenge on Vest, the man who had broken his heart in college. Years later, their paths crossed again—this time, with Vest's business on the verge of collapse. Ken offered to help him, but on one condition: marriage. It was a cruel plan. He intended to make Vest fall for him again, only to destroy him in return. But somewhere along the way, vengeance gave way to something else. Ken realized he had never stopped loving him. What began as retribution turned into protection, care, and ultimately, sacrifice.
"What a hopeless romantic you are, Ken," I muttered, smirking as I read one of his monologues.
The more I read, the deeper I sank into the story. The breakup scene, in particular, hit harder than I expected. Somewhere in the middle of that emotional wreckage, I caught myself picturing Elves and me in their place.
I shook my head, dismissing the thought before it could root any deeper.
Ridiculous.
Still, I couldn't deny how much the story had pulled me in. It wasn't just a script anymore—it was a challenge. And I was determined to give Ken justice. To bring him to life with the depth and quiet complexity he deserved.
The night before filming began, I ran into Elves again while walking down the hallway toward my unit. He was talking to a woman around our age, saying goodbye. I wasn't sure why the sight bothered me—but it did. Something about it tightened in my chest, sharp and irrational.
When his eyes finally met mine, I masked the feeling with a scowl.
"Are you stalking me?" he asked, hands on his hips, defiant as ever.
I answered with a slow, deliberate smirk.
I'm actually trying to hunt down your stalker, I thought, brushing past him without a word.
I stopped in front of my door and keyed in my passcode. Before stepping inside, I glanced over my shoulder and gave him one last smirk—just to get under his skin.
His eyes widened the moment realization dawned.
We were neighbors.
The blush that crept up his neck was immediate and unmissable.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped.
"I think I'm getting addicted to that blushing face," I murmured to myself, shaking my head as a wide smile tugged at my lips.
On the first day of filming, I left my place thirty minutes early. I preferred being ahead of schedule—punctuality was a simple form of control. Being late during the script reading was a one-time mistake—one that should never happen again
Just as I was about to get into my car, I noticed Elves' beat-up sedan still parked in the lot.
Strange.
Josh had always said Elves was the type to show up early—professional, disciplined, dependable. The kind who treated work like sacred ground. Yet here his car was, unmoved. Knowing that thing barely ran past sixty kilometers per hour, he should've left already if he planned on being on time. Which meant only one thing—he'd overslept.
I sighed and leaned casually against my car, deciding to wait. The morning sun was relentless, but watching him scramble would be worth it.
A few minutes later, he burst through the building doors—frazzled, half-awake, his hair a little messy. He rushed toward his car, completely unaware of me standing a few feet away.
"This is all Kane's fault," he muttered under his breath while fumbling with his keys.
A grin tugged at my lips. So I kept you up all night, huh?
"You not only lack accountability," I said flatly, pushing off from the car, "but apparently a sense of culpability too."
He froze, realizing I'd heard him. Then came the glare—sharp, dark, full of irritation. It should've made me back off. It didn't. If anything, it made him look even more dangerously attractive.
That glare would look even better in bed, I thought, feeling the heat crawl slowly up my spine.
To distract myself—and because I couldn't resist—I added dryly, "I was going to offer you a ride, since my car can get there in under five minutes. But since you find me so frustrating and irritating—"
Before I could finish, he yanked open the passenger door, slid into my seat, and buckled his seatbelt with a firm click.
I stared at him, mildly amused.
He must really want to get there on time if he's willing to endure riding with me.
I climbed into the car and gave him a long, steady look, hoping he'd turn—just once. I wanted to see a flicker of something: irritation, embarrassment, anything. But he didn't. Not even a glance. His eyes stayed fixed on the window, jaw tight, posture stiff. He was doing everything he could to pretend I didn't exist.
I let out a slow, frustrated sigh, leaning back against my seat.
By the time we reached the set, he still hadn't looked at me—not once. If his goal was to ignore me, he was succeeding brilliantly. But instead of cooling my irritation, it only made me more determined. The more he shut me out, the more I wanted to see what it would take to make him break that composure.
Inside the studio, my schedule had me filming a solo scene first—a monologue. No Elves yet. Probably for the best. Josh's staff moved around me in quiet efficiency, adjusting my hair, dabbing powder across my skin, straightening my collar. Every gesture was practiced, professional. I barely registered any of it.
Once they stepped back, I took my mark in front of the camera. The lights hit—warm, heavy, isolating. I drew in a breath, steady and deep. Then I closed my eyes and let go. Ken's thoughts filled my head—his pain, his restraint, his quiet unraveling. My own edges faded until there was only him.
And when Justin's voice cut through the silence—"Action"—I opened my eyes.
Ken began to speak.
I was so immersed in the performance that when I delivered the final line, the sudden sound of applause jolted me back to reality.
I blinked, disoriented for a moment, before scanning the room. My gaze inevitably found Elves. He was watching me, lips parted just slightly—until he caught my smirk.
Well? Still think I'm a newbie?
His expression hardened immediately. He scoffed, feigning disinterest, though I could see the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
I let out a quiet snort. Childish.
Fine. If he wanted to keep pretending, I'd just make him admit it sooner rather than later.
The next scene was the proposal—ironically, the one I'd planned to tweak. When Justin called, "Action," I waited three beats before pushing the door open, hard enough to make every head turn. Elves looked up, instantly in character as Vest, meeting my gaze with sharp defiance. Instead of walking toward the reception area like the script instructed, I crossed the room in a few deliberate strides. I grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet, and caught him firmly by the waist.
But the moment our eyes met, Ken disappeared. It was just me—and him. The shift was instant, uncontrollable. My focus blurred between reality and role as my hand moved of its own accord, thumb brushing past the hem of his shirt, grazing the warm skin of his back.
He gasped softly, breath hitching, his face blooming into a deep flush. That sound—that reaction—sent a spark down my spine. The sight of him, flustered and breathless under my touch, was intoxicating.
And in that moment, I realized I was no longer acting. The urge to kiss him hit me hard—so sharp and consuming that resisting it became impossible.
Slowly, deliberately, I leaned in, letting him feel every inch of my approach. My breath brushed against his lips, the space between us shrinking until only a whisper of air remained.
I was close—close enough to taste the warmth I'd imagined since the first time we met. But before I could close the distance, he shoved me back and slapped me across the face. The sound cracked through the silence. I didn't flinch. I'd expected it. A reflex—defense born of confusion and inexperience. Still, the sting crawled beneath my skin, feeding the irritation that flared in my chest.
"You're going off-script!" he shouted, voice trembling more from emotion than anger.
"Cut!" Justin barked, the word heavy with frustration.
Elves glared at me, chest heaving, while I rubbed the side of my face where his palm had landed.
Part of me was already thinking of a better way to make him surrender—not through force, but through understanding. He was too stubborn, too unknowing, too untouched by his own desires to see what was happening inside him.
And my patience was wearing thin.
If I didn't help him face what he felt, he'd keep running from it forever.
"That was perfect! Why did you stop?" Justin exclaimed, his disappointment cutting through the air.
Elves turned to him, his lips trembling, eyes glassy. The defiance had drained out of him, leaving something fragile in its place.
The sight hit me harder than I expected. Guilt crept in fast, cold and sharp.
He tried to explain himself, but his voice cracked.
Then Justin scolded him, too harshly, and that was it—Elves' composure broke. He asked for a break and stormed out, leaving the entire set in silence.
And I stood there, frozen, watching him go—knowing I'd gone too far.
When filming resumed, Elves did something unexpected—he played along with my game. He started fumbling his lines on purpose, stretching out every take, his subtle revenge for the scene I'd thrown off earlier.
I should've been annoyed. Instead, I found myself quietly entertained. His petty defiance. His stubborn streak. The way he was finally engaging with me—even if it was only to provoke me.
So I let him.
I let him think he was getting under my skin, curious to see just how far he'd go.
But everything shifted the moment Pablo walked into the studio.
My focus snapped.
My hand, still resting on Elves' arm, went slack before I even realized it. Then instinct took over—I pushed him away, quick and unthinking, a reflex born of something deeper than reason.
Distance.
I just needed distance. Because Pablo's stare had locked onto us—cold, territorial, the kind of look that stripped the air of oxygen.
I hadn't expected Elves to lose his balance. He hit the floor hard, the sound echoing louder than it should have.
For a split second, I froze. Shock and guilt tangled in my chest, each one cutting through the other. I reached out automatically, but stopped midway when I caught Pablo's eyes again. That look. That warning.
I turned to Elves in helplessness.
Do I have to push you away too... just to keep you safe from him?
The thought hit harder than I wanted to admit.
I stood there, hand suspended in hesitation, torn between helping him up—and keeping him far from the danger he didn't even realize was standing right in front of him.
But when I saw how close he was to breaking—how his composure wavered under the weight of it all—the urge to protect him overruled everything else.
I won't let anything—or anyone—hurt you, I promised silently.
So I did the only thing I could think of to keep him safe: convince Pablo that Elves meant nothing to me.
I smirked down at Elves, masking my concern beneath practiced indifference. Pretending his shaken state didn't matter. Pretending he didn't matter. Then I looked toward Pablo—just long enough to read his face—and felt a faint wave of relief when I saw his expression ease.
He'd bought it.
When Justin and Josh left, Pablo slipped out quietly, as he always did. Only then did I allow myself to exhale.
For a moment, I stood there in the stillness, wishing—honestly wishing—that Pablo would let go of the past and let me live in peace. What happened back then had been a tragedy, not a betrayal. Something neither of us had wanted. He needed to understand that. To forget. To stop chasing ghosts that no longer existed. Because I wanted to move forward. To live again. Not in this half-life where everything was memory and restraint.
It's time to forget Ella, Pablo, I thought, the old ache stirring faintly in my chest. Or I'll have to make you.