Chapter Text
Gun’s day starts off pretty shitty.
He fights with Pim about something stupid on his way out of the house in the morning and then finds out the interview he spent thirty minutes driving to get to has been canceled, that P’Kwang had somehow just forgotten to let him know. The magazine says it’s not due to anything Gun did, but they don’t provide an actual reason for the sudden cancellation, so Gun still feels like it’s his fault, somehow. He gets stuck in traffic on his way back to GMM after that and misses his afternoon hair appointment as a result, which only compounds his irritation.
The cherry on top of it all comes as he’s waiting for his stylist to fit him in between his next two appointments in the form of an article on some trashy gossip site detailing all the ways Niran is a better ship partner for Off than Gun is. Gun, Off and Niran are all tagged in it on Twitter and Gun finds himself clicking to read it against his better judgment. After two decades in the entertainment industry, he knows not to put stock in tabloid content, but every so often, some fan comment will pique his curiosity just enough to make him seek out the source of the commotion.
Today, it’s a quote retweet on Twitter that reads, As a veteran babii, even I have to admit Off has a lot of chemistry with Niran. Gungun, are you just going to let him steal your man like this?
The article is about as dumb as Gun expects it to be, for the most part. It lists out silly things like Niran is young and fresh and brings new color to Off’s already-charismatic personality while Gun’s dynamic with him has—in the tabloid’s words—grown stale and cold after seven years; that Niran has more time to devote to Off than entrepreneurial Gun, whose attention is split in too many different ways; that the fan response to Off and Niran’s new series has been far and away beyond the response to any of Off and Gun’s projects together.
But it’s not all shit, and that’s what makes Gun’s already shitty mood grow even shittier. The article points out that Off seems leagues more physically comfortable with Niran than he has ever seemed with Gun, which has always been a private insecurity of Gun’s.
Skinship comes easy to Papii now. Or is it just because the person he’s doing it with has more of his heart than ATP ever got? Whatever the case might be, Jumpol no longer looks like he’s been Petrificus Totalus-ed when it’s his pretty nong Niran who’s giving him hugs and kisses. Is it true that this newbie finally managed to do what Gun Atthaphan never could?
The final point the author makes—and the one that causes the biggest pit in Gun’s stomach—is that Off must feel relieved that Niran is so self-sufficient when he’s spent seven years constantly taking care of Gun, whose clinginess would wear on even the most patient person.
There’s no doubt in this author’s mind that Off Jumpol must be a saint to have survived the better part of his career without snapping. It’s hard to tell whether Gun Atthaphan is 9 or 29 when he acts needier than most children. We certainly applaud Papii for his patience in indulging ATP’s constant desire for attention. Few people could be as tolerant as he has been.
Naturally, because the universe must think his existence is a joke, Gun’s next schedule requires him to visit the set of Off and Niran’s series where he’ll film a promo interview with the two stars themselves.
He arrives extremely late, having inadvertently toured all of Bangkok during the first half of his day, and extremely cranky.
The thing is, Gun is usually good at compartmentalizing. When you’re as busy as he is, shuffling from place to place and event to event, there’s no time for bad moods. But it feels impossible to put his crappy day out of his mind as he rushes through hair and makeup today, and once he’s on-set standing before Off and Niran, his disposition sours even further.
Fortunately, Gun is co-hosting this particular interview with Leo, whose natural charisma keeps the atmosphere lively and the attention off of Gun. They tour the set, interviewing Off and Niran as they play games while Gun stays mostly off to the side. It’s probably apparent how zoned out he is between takes, how he’s mostly phoning it in even when the cameras are rolling. Off, at least, can tell something’s wrong but rather than asking about it in front of everyone else, Off keeps silent, shooting concerned glances in Gun’s direction every so often that Gun tries his best to ignore.
—
It’s stupid but in the end, Gun snaps not because of something Niran does but because of something he doesn’t actually even say out loud.
They’re nearly done with the first half of filming, at the tail end of a beer pong-esque game where they have to bounce ping pong balls into cups filled with tasks and truth-or-dare style questions instead of beer.
At some point, Off gets a pie to the face and has to go off-set to get cleaned up. In an effort to be efficient, the crew instruct Gun and Niran to continue the game in his absence.
Gun’s patience is really hanging on by a thread at this point. He’s paired up with Leo and they’re on the verge of losing—because of course they are—when Niran lands a ball in his and Off’s second-to-last cup.
“Alright, the next one is for nong Niran!” Leo announces, leaning over to grab the slip of paper out of the cup. He unfolds the question, giving it a quick scan, and offers an evil grin to the camera. “Truth this time. Nong, are you ready?”
Niran nods and smiles back at Leo. “Lay it on me, phi.”
“Okay. You recently shot your first kiss scene for the series,” Leo starts. Niran nods. “Is it true that filming it only took 45 minutes?”
Gun knows this to be true. Off had regaled him with war stories after he finished shooting the scene that day. He’d been pretty relieved at how quickly they had been able to get through it.
“That’s true,” Niran confirms, smiling. “P’Off knew I was nervous. He was really sweet and understanding so it went smoothly.”
Leo’s expression turns to one of surprise and Gun’s never been irritated with him, sweet as Leo is, but he can’t help rolling his eyes at the next follow-up question. “Was there a lot of off-camera preparation then?”
Niran expertly dons an air of shyness. “P’Off is a good teacher,” he says, nodding. “He has the patience of a saint, really, and his tolerance for neediness is pretty high.”
That’s all he has to say for Gun to realize he’s seen the article.
Perhaps if it had been any other day, Gun would laugh off Niran’s words, scold him for being a brat and move on, but then Niran decides he hasn’t made himself clear enough, and turns to look directly at Gun.
“But he’s had seven years worth of building it up, so it’s not all that surprising,” he says, giving Gun a big Cheshire Cat smile. “He’s been trained well.”
That’s all it takes. Irritation makes way for insecurity and on a day where Gun has felt inadequate since the moment he rolled out of bed, the words of even a newbie seven years his junior cut right through him.
Off chooses this moment to return, clicking his tongue as he walks back on set and reaching over to pinch Niran’s hip. “Oi, nong, am I a dog?”
He grins when Niran squirms away from him. Gun huffs out a sigh that he hopes isn’t picked up by his lapel mic.
Niran recovers quickly, and with a shrug, replies, “You’re not called ‘papii’ for nothing, phi.”
Gun has a sudden desire to kick him for even saying the word “papii.” He resists the urge, just barely.
There is only about fifteen more minutes of filming left for this first half but Gun finds himself mentally checked out for the rest of it. When the director calls “cut,” he retreats off-set back to Off’s dressing room without a backward glance.
—
Off finds him only a few minutes later, of course, curled up on the sofa in his dressing room and trying to keep away from every other person in the vicinity.
Gun looks over his shoulder when he hears the door click shut.
“Hey, Nook was…” Off trails off at the sight of him, stalling by the other end of the couch for a moment.
Gun turns away without a word. Off pads silently over to him and takes a seat in the small gap between Gun’s folded legs and the end of the couch before reaching over and pulling Gun up into his lap. Gun curls around him automatically, knees bracketing’s Off’s thighs, and winds his arms around Off’s neck.
Needy though he may be, there’s a feeling of safety that comes with being near Off that Gun wouldn’t trade for anything, even the mocking words of a rookie actor.
“What’s wrong?” Off murmurs. “You’ve been out of it all day.”
So, Off really had noticed. Gun feels silly for being upset so he presses his face into the crook of Off’s neck and shakes his head.
It’s not much of an answer but Off nods in understanding, petting the back of Gun’s head as he winds his other arm around Gun, slipping his hand under the hem of his shirt to run his knuckles over Gun’s back.
“You’re due back on set in thirty,” he says. “Wanna take a nap until then?”
Gun shakes his head again and tightens his hold around Off. He just wants to sit, to forget his own existence. Just for a moment.
“Okay,” Off says. His fingers play the piano over Gun’s spine and Gun sighs. “Alright.”
Despite his refusal, exhaustion coupled with Off’s gentle touch and soft voice end up lulling Gun to sleep within moments.
—
He wakes up to the sound of arguing.
“Phi, you can’t just sit here, c’mon.”
Gun frowns. The frustrated voice is familiar, poking at the edges of his memory but just out of reach.
“Hoi, nong.” That’s Off’s “phi” tone, the one that gave him a reputation for being strict. He only uses it when one of their younger colleagues is being particularly bratty.
“Phi…”
Gun turns his head, curious as to who is taking such tones with Off, his frown deepening when he sees Niran in the open doorway. Of course.
Niran meets Gun’s eye as Off’s attention turns to Gun.
“Did we wake you up?” he asks. One hand still rests against Gun’s back under his shirt and he runs his palm down the length of Gun’s spine.
Gun blinks, breaking his staring contest with Niran to pull back and look at Off instead. “Go if you need to go,” he says in lieu of an answer.
Off’s gaze is searching, as if he’s trying to gauge Gun’s emotions by telepathy. His free hand, resting on Gun’s thigh, squeezes, asking a silent question.
In all honesty, Gun doesn’t want him to leave. He’d rather skip filming altogether and spend the whole afternoon with Off, just like this.
Off must see the conflict in Gun’s eyes because he turns back to Niran in the next moment and says, “I’ll be out in a few minutes, alright?”
Niran pouts. “Phi, everyone’s waiting for you.”
Gun tightens his arms around Off’s neck when he feels Off’s hand tense against his back. He probably won’t get mad at Niran but Gun knows he has very little patience for the nongs’ whining.
“I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Indeed, his tone leaves no room for argument, so Niran takes one last, long look at them, their position, before sighing and slinking out of the room.
“You can’t do that,” Gun mumbles even as he settles his cheek back against Off’s shoulder.
“It’s fine,” Off replies. “Five more minutes won’t kill anyone.”
“Mm,” Gun murmurs. Against his better judgment, he leans in to press a kiss against the base of Off’s neck.
—
There’s a clear shift during the second half of filming. It helps that Gun feels more energized after his nap but maybe it’s also due to the fact that Off is now more attuned to Gun’s mood and, despite not knowing what he’s upset about, tries his best to stay close to him all afternoon.
It’s only a little funny to see Niran flounder at the sudden change in atmosphere.
They close out the shoot with a more normal sit-down interview but even that turns into a game when the crew bring out three chairs instead of four, leaving it to Gun and the others to figure out who will have to share.
Off must realize what will inevitably happen as they all look around at each other, so he quickly flops down onto the nearest chair, grabs Gun by the waist and pulls him into his lap before Niran has a chance to take the spot.
“Look, now there’s plenty of room,” he says with a flourish of his arm toward the two empty seats leftover.
Leo laughs out loud. “I bet you asked the crew to do this yourself just to get cozy with nong Gun.”
Gun glances over his shoulder in time to catch Off nod vehemently with a shit-eating grin. He melts back against Off’s chest with a sigh, feeling at ease for the first time all day.
—
When they finally wrap filming in the evening, it’s early enough that the director offers to take everyone out for dinner on the company dime.
Off wants to skip out, says he’d rather take Gun back to his place and order in instead. He whines at Gun, trying to convince him, which is just playing dirty. He knows Gun won’t be able to refuse him.
“Come home with me, nu,” Off says.
Gun leans back against the wall they’re standing in front of, staring up at Off’s pout.
“Baby,” Off says. He takes Gun’s hand and swings it back and forth between them. “Come over, na.”
Gun is inclined to agree without too much more of a fight. For once, he doesn’t feel like socializing.
“Papii—”
Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Gun spies Nook pulling her phone up to record them. He’s just about to scold her when Off shakes his head.
“Let her.”
Gun frowns up at him. “What for?”
Off takes a step to the right, half-blocking Gun from view but knowing what it will look like from Nook’s vantage point when he leans down.
“Petrificus totalus, my ass,” he murmurs right into Gun’s ear.
Gun sucks in a breath of surprise. He’s seen the article too.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” Off says. He looks Gun in the eye. He’s mad. “But I want them to feel stupid.”
Gun is about to reply, to tell him it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to put himself out because some random online rag and some people on the internet said a few mean things about Gun, when Niran walks up to them.
“Are you coming to dinner, phi?” he asks Off.
From his periphery, Gun sees Nook lower her phone.
Off shakes his head at Niran. “Not tonight, nong. We have other plans.”
Niran’s gaze flickers between them, then down to their connected hands.
“Aw, c’mon, phi! It’ll be fun, na. Na na na,” he whines, reaching over to grab at Off’s sleeve.
And maybe because Gun is at the end of his rope today, he heaves a sigh, silently straightens up, and starts to tug Off toward the exit, effectively pulling him out of Niran’s grasp.
“Have fun,” Gun says perfunctorily to Niran over his shoulder.
“P’Gun!”
Gun waves him off and drags Off—who allows himself to be pulled along without a fight—out of the studio.
—
When they get back to his place, Off orders them some food while Gun showers and they eat in relative silence with something or other playing in the background on the TV in Off’s living room.
It’s easy and it’s comfortable and it’s familiar and Gun feels the best he has all day. That’s the thing about being around Off—Gun can just be. There’s no pretense, no awkwardness. Gun is allowed to be quiet if he wants to be quiet, or loud if he wants to be loud. Off matches his energy without missing a beat.
By the time they finish eating and cleaning up, it’s already pretty late, so Gun shuffles into Off’s bedroom and flops down on his bed, legs dangling off the edge, to wait for Off to finish his nightly routine.
Gun is deep in thought when Off finally wanders out of the bathroom. He’s been staring at his phone for the last few minutes, considering texting Pim to apologize for this morning.
“You’ll burn a hole through the screen staring so hard.”
Gun glances up to find Off, in boxers and a big white t-shirt, standing in the doorway. He sighs, locking his phone, and tosses it aside.
“I was considering the merits of being the bigger person,” Gun explains.
“Where’d you land on that particular issue?”
“Haven’t decided just yet.”
Off hums, closing his bedroom door and stepping further into the room. He stops at the foot of the bed.
Gun feels oddly exposed, splayed out on Off’s bed like this, wearing Off’s clothes. He looks at the man himself standing at his feet. His stare is heavy, thoughtful.
Gun is tired. He's worn out. He’s had a bad day. But Gun is also wound up. He feels reckless with Off’s hooded gaze burning into him.
He is not subtle about it as he parts his legs, nor as he bites his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth while keeping his eyes locked on Off the entire time.
Off’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down.
“Feelin’ better?” Off asks. He shuffles between Gun’s legs and leans over him, resting his hands on the bed at either side of Gun’s waist, his knee between Gun’s thighs.
Gun folds his legs up, plants his feet flat on the bed so that he’s almost bracketing Off’s hips.
“And if I’m not? How will Papii cheer me up?”
Gun always feels a little silly flirting with Off when there’s no one else around to see it happen. So much of their relationship is for an audience that it’s hard to put much stock in reality.
And yet, a small kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight inside of him every time Off reciprocates his advances, every time Off reminds him that the reality of private moments can be better than whatever show they put on in public.
“How do you want to be cheered up, huh?” Off murmurs. His gaze flickers to Gun’s lips, then down to the line of Gun’s throat, the curve of his collarbone, on display over the wide neck of his own t-shirt.
Gun squeezes his legs closer together, caging Off between them. Off hooks his hands behind Gun’s knees, pulling him closer to help him lock his ankles around Off’s waist.
This is delving into dangerous territory, Gun thinks, staring at how their hips are perfectly aligned, not a centimeter of space between them.
And Off—Off is looking at him like he wants to devour Gun. Gun would let him. Gun would let Off do whatever he wants.
But then Off sighs. The spell breaks.
His expression morphs into one of consideration as his hand draws soothing circles over Gun’s thigh and Gun wonders where his thoughts have led him.
“You know that what that article said isn’t true, right?” he asks, which is not at all what Gun was expecting to come out of his mouth. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. Okay?”
Gun lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, dispelling the buzz of anticipation under his skin, and pouts even as Off’s concern causes affection and warmth to bloom in his chest. “I was waiting for kisses, not a pep talk.”
Off grins at him. He leans down to leave a kiss tantalizingly just off-center of Gun’s lips. “Why not both?”
Gun uses his proximity to wind his arms around Off’s neck, forcing him to stay still and make eye contact. The Off of today is much different from the Off of yesteryear, who shied away from even the most innocent of Gun’s touches. This Off, who has grown in years and maturity and love for Gun, meets his gaze without flinching, leans close to press a line of softer, sweeter kisses from the apple of Gun’s cheek down along his jawline. He’s so much gentler now. And the role reversal still occasionally gives Gun whiplash.
Off pulls back too quickly for Gun’s liking. He studies Gun for a moment, before reaching out to squeeze Gun’s cheeks between his hands.
“I mean it,” Off says, tone growing a little more serious again as he releases Gun’s face. “The people who work for those stupid online rags don’t know anything about us. They’re not worth your energy.”
It’s more complicated than Off thinks it is. Putting aside the crappy tabloid article, Gun’s feelings toward Niran, specifically, and other people like Niran who may filter through Off’s life are complicated. He’s not sure he’s ready to deal with the implications of it all just yet. He’s not sure Off is ready to deal with it.
With a sigh, Gun unlocks his ankles, allowing his legs to fall back on the bed.
Off frowns at his suddenly downtrodden expression and tweaks his chin.
“What is it?” he asks.
Gun shakes his head, unraveling his arms from around Off’s neck as well. “Nothing. We—We should sleep.”
Off doesn’t move. He studies Gun’s face, his gaze so intense that Gun feels exposed, as if the longer Off looks the more apparent his inner turmoil will become.
“Gun?”
Gun peeks up at him through his lashes, not for the first time fascinated by how different the view is now than it used to be. He reaches up again, running his hands up and down Off’s sides, considering.
“Can I ask Papii for something?” Gun wonders.
“What’s that?” Off says.
Gun tilts his chin up, pursing his lips. Asking. Waiting.
Off leans down immediately but Gun presses a hand to his chest to hold him back, to look him in the eye. He raises both of his eyebrows expectantly.
This is crossing a line.
Off studies him for a beat and he must see something in the way Gun is looking up at him because he wraps a hand around Gun’s wrist, pulling Gun’s arm away from his chest to close the distance between them, no questions asked.
In the end, though, it’s Gun who can’t go through with it.
The wrongness of letting confusion drive his actions bears down on him and he turns his face away just as Off’s lips are a hair's breadth from his. The kiss lands off-target, against Gun’s cheek.
It takes them each a moment to realize what’s happened—or rather, not happened—before Off coaxes Gun to face him again. His eyes are alight with confusion even as he nuzzles their noses together.
“It’s okay,” he says, and then pulls back.
Does he even know why he’s comforting Gun?
They stare at each other in silence for a long while and Gun doesn’t know what to do, what to say. What can he say?
Off would have kissed him. Off was about to kiss him.
Because Gun all but asked him to.
Off reaches up to cup Gun’s cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone gently, like Gun will fall apart if he’s not careful.
“You can talk to me. You know that, right?” Off says. “Whatever it is.”
Gun places his hand over Off’s on his cheek. “I know.”
Off presses a last kiss to his forehead before leaning fully back and standing up. He holds out a hand to help Gun get to his feet.
“C’mon. Let’s go to sleep.”
They get into bed without any further conversation and the lights are out before Gun finds the courage to curl up against Off’s side.
His mind is too full to sleep—a mixture of uncertainty and anxiety crowds out any residual comfort he feels in Off’s presence.
“Gun,” Off murmurs after a few moments.
Gun lifts his head to look at his profile in the dark and he’s surprised when Off pulls him in by the nape of the neck to press a kiss against Gun’s jawline.
“I’m right here,” Off says when he pulls back.
Gun hums. He knows he is.
“C’mere,” Off says after a moment.
Gun presses forward, tucking his face into the crook of Off’s neck. It’s familiar and unfamiliar all at once.
Off blows out a breath and curls an arm around Gun’s back as his free hand cards through Gun’s hair.
Wrapped in Off’s warmth and patience, Gun finally finds himself drifting off before he has a chance to make much sense of anything.