Backstage was like a beehive that had just been stirred. Heels clicked frantically across the floor, technicians called to each other over the muffled sound of the music booming from the main stage. The air was thick with a mix of perfumes from the artists, the powdery scent of makeup, and the sharp bitterness of fresh coffee from the catering table. It was a heady cocktail of excitement and tension.

Love slipped past rows of chairs, sidestepping prop crates being rushed through, until she finally spotted the booth where Namtan and Film were preparing.

Film sat perched on a tall chair, clutching the printed script board in her arms. Her eyes skimmed over the words, but her focus was clearly scattered. Her shoulders hunched slightly, fingers tapping absently against the board’s edge.

Love appeared in front of her with a chilled bottle of water and a pack of tissues.
“Here, Film. Drink some water—your voice will stay clearer.”

Film looked up, surprise flickering briefly across her face before softening into a gentle smile.
“Thanks, Love. I didn’t think you’d be here too.”

“I’m helping out at the booth,” Love replied with a small smile. “And also… I wanted to see how you’d do tonight.”

Film chuckled lightly, a playful note in her voice.
“Then don’t forget to cheer loud for me, okay?”

Love nodded, though in her chest she felt a strange tug—the distance between her and Film had been stretching thinner and thinner lately, like a string pulled taut, threatening to snap.

A few steps away, three staff members clustered around Namtan, fixing her outfit and adjusting her mic. Glitter clung to her hair, catching the cold white lights above. Spotting Film bowing her head, Namtan immediately dismissed the staff and moved closer, as if it was second nature.

“Your face says it all—you’re nervous, aren’t you?” Namtan lowered her voice, fingers brushing lightly against the mic wire at Film’s collar before leaning in to fasten the clasp at the back of her neck.

The closeness was disarming. Film caught the familiar scent of bergamot with a trace of warm wood, Namtan’s perfume. It was a fragrance that soothed… but also unsettled. She blinked quickly, forcing her tone steady.
“I’m not nervous. Just… not used to standing in front of hundreds of people.”

“Then pretend you’re just talking to me. I’m not that scary, am I?” Namtan tilted her head, lips curving in a teasing smile.

Film let out a small laugh.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Tell you what,” Namtan offered, her eyes gleaming, “if we do well tonight, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then… you’ll treat me.” Her smile was both a dare and a promise.

Film’s lips curled slightly.
“Alright. I’ll take that challenge.”

---

The MC’s voice boomed from the main stage, pulling them back to reality. When their names were announced, the roar of the audience swelled like a crashing wave.

They stepped out together—Namtan leading, Film following. The stage lights bathed them in brilliance, Namtan’s hair glowing honey-brown, Film radiant in her elegant white dress. They bowed and waved, their smiles so natural that the crowd only screamed louder.

The first game was “How Well Do You Know Each Other?” Each would answer questions on small whiteboards. Matching answers meant points, and the fans would send gifts.

Question 1: Favorite snack?

Film didn’t hesitate—she wrote black pearl milk tea. She caught sight of Namtan writing quickly too. When both lifted their boards, the answers were identical. The audience erupted, some fans even leaping to their feet.

Namtan shot her a squinting look.
“You know me too well, don’t you?”

Film’s smile was subtle but confident.
“You drink it every week. How could I not know?”

Question 2: What would she do on a free day?

Namtan wrote catch up on sleep. Film, too, scribbled the exact same thing. Their eyes met and laughter slipped out unbidden.

“They even share the same lazy habits,” the MC chimed, and the crowd roared with laughter and cheers.

Question 3: One strange habit of Namtan?

Film tilted her head, recalling moments passing by the dressing room where she had seen Namtan whispering… to her plants. With a smirk, she wrote talks to her plants.

When both revealed their boards—identical again—the audience howled.

Namtan widened her eyes in mock surprise.
“You knew about that?”

“Of course. I’ve even heard you singing to them. Poor things don’t stand a chance.” Film’s voice was playful, but sincere.

The crowd nearly exploded. Someone shouted from the pit:
“Just get married already!”

Namtan tapped her marker against her board, leaning closer.
“Looks like that dinner is mine for sure.”

Film only smiled, but her eyes shimmered with something unreadable.

---

The peak of the event came when the MC asked them to act out a romantic scene from their upcoming drama. Simple enough: Namtan’s character shields Film’s under an umbrella in the rain, then suddenly pulls her close.

Before stepping into character, Namtan bent close, murmuring into Film’s ear:
“Remember, Film—act like it’s real. I intend to win that dinner.”

Film flushed, words catching in her throat.

The scene began. Namtan strode in, tilting the umbrella over her partner, her other hand brushing Film’s shoulder. Then, with a sudden tug, she drew Film against her side, their eyes locking. The stage went silent except for the patter of artificial rain.

Film felt her breath falter. It wasn’t just acting—something genuine pressed at the edges of her chest. She had no idea what the audience saw, but to her, the world narrowed until there was only Namtan.

When the MC finally called, “Cut!”, the hall erupted in thunderous applause and shrieks. Hashtag #NamtanFilmReal shot straight to the top of trending.

---

Backstage, Emi and the media team were working at lightning speed—selecting the best shots, sending them to the press, monitoring comments, archiving every golden moment.

Out in the audience, Milk had been screaming along with the fans, phone raised high to capture it all.
“They really do look good together,” she admitted aloud.

Beside her, Love stayed silent, eyes fixed on the stage. Her smile looked just a shade too forced.

Milk gave her a sideways glance, smirking.
“Don’t overthink it. It’s just fan service. Film isn’t falling for Namtan that fast.”

Love said nothing, only clutching her cheering fan tighter.

---

After the show, the cast gathered for group photos, laughter and chatter filling the dressing area. As the crowd dispersed, Namtan leaned close, voice low.
“Dinner, remember? A promise is a promise.”

Film laughed softly.
“Maybe I just didn’t want to lose the bet—that’s why I gave it my all.”

“All the more reason to celebrate,” Namtan teased.

They slipped out through a side door, unaware that a few lingering fans were waiting. A phone camera caught Namtan holding the door for Film, both of them smiling easily as they walked away together.

That night, social media exploded with new photos: “Namtan and Film’s private dinner date.”

Comments flooded in:

“This couple is TOO real.”
“Dinner alone? No way that’s just acting.”

Meanwhile, Love sat on her bed, scrolling through the images one by one. She couldn’t tell if the weight in her chest was irritation, jealousy… or simply confusion at emotions she couldn’t yet name.

But the fans’ joy was short-lived. Only hours later, an anonymous account began digging up old rumors—accusations that once painted Namtan as a “red flag.” Old articles resurfaced, negative comments spreading fast.

Film’s phone buzzed nonstop as she sat in her living room, staring at the screen. Across from her, Namtan sat silently on the couch, gaze steady, as though she had known this storm would come all along.