The office was unusually quiet for lunchtime — the kind of lull that only came after a morning full of endless emails and coffee refills.
That peace was short-lived.
“Delivery for Noah!”
The call echoed from the lobby, breaking the calm. Heads lifted from desks, a few curious looks followed, and then came the teasing grin from Charly, who was already halfway out of his chair.
“Well, well,” he said, smirking as Noah stood up. “Someone’s getting special treatment again.”
“Shut up,” Noah muttered, trying to sound unbothered as he made his way to the delivery guy.
The paper bag was neatly sealed and labeled with his name — and, as always, no sender’s name. Just the restaurant logo and a handwritten note on the side: Eat properly, okay?
Noah sighed but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at his lips.
When he came back, Charly was waiting with raised brows. “Mystery lunch, huh?”
“Just food,” Noah said flatly, though his voice came out a little too quick.
Devan rolled his chair closer, grinning. “Food with a message, you mean?”
“Guys,” Noah warned, his tone playful but tired, “it’s literally just lunch.”
“Sure,” Charly said, leaning back like a detective who’d just cracked a case.
They decided to eat together in the pantry, a routine they’d started weeks ago. Mia tagged along, clutching her bento box shyly, clearly happy just to be included.
As they settled around the small table, the scent of food filled the air rice, chicken, vegetables, and Charly’s instant noodles that somehow always smelled stronger than everyone else’s.
Halfway through opening their meals, Noah’s phone buzzed.
He glanced down, and the moment Liam’s name flashed on the screen, his expression softened just enough for Charly to notice.
Charly didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, that smile. That’s not a ‘just food’ kind of smile.”
Noah didn’t even look up. “Eat your noodles before they get soggy.”
“I am eating. But come on, tell us — is this the same guy sending you lunch every day?” Charly pressed, grinning from ear to ear.
Noah gave him a sideways look. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Devan laughed. “That means yes.”
Mia blinked between them, looking genuinely confused. “Wait… someone’s sending you lunch?”
“Apparently,” Charly said before Noah could answer, dramatically resting his chin on his hand. “A certain someone who knows what he likes to eat, writes notes, and probably has a movie-star smile.”
Noah groaned, covering his face. “You’re impossible.”
“Admit it,” Charly teased. “You like the attention.”
“Would you stop?” Noah said, though he couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips.
Mia tilted her head curiously. “So, um… is he your boyfriend?”
Devan choked on his water. Charly burst into laughter. Noah nearly dropped his spoon.
“What?!” Noah blurted, eyes wide. “No! He’s not— it’s not—” He sighed, pressing his fingers against his temple. “Mia, you’ve been hanging out with Charly too much.”
Mia looked horrified. “I’m sorry! I was just asking!”
Charly laughed harder. “She’s just saying what we’re all thinking.”
Devan nudged Charly’s arm. “Hey, enough. Let him eat before he throws his food at you.”
“Fine, fine,” Charly said, waving his hands in surrender. “But one day, you’ll be openly tell us who keeps feeding you.”
Noah smirked. “Maybe when you stop acting like twelve-year-olds.”
The group fell into laughter, the teasing slowly fading into casual chatter about work and upcoming deadlines.
Still, every few minutes, Noah’s eyes flickered to his phone again — just quick glances, as if he was checking for something he couldn’t quite admit out loud.
And when Charly caught him doing it again, he didn’t tease this time. He just smiled knowingly, quietly glad to see his friend looking a little lighter than he had in weeks.
----
Friday came faster than Noah expected.
By the time he and Mia arrived on set, the place was already alive with movement—staff walking briskly, cables being taped down, lights being adjusted overhead. The air buzzed with quiet urgency, the kind that always came before a shoot began.
“We’re early,” Mia said softly, glancing at her watch.
“That’s good,” Noah replied. “Gives us time to prepare.”
They set their things down near the designated interview area, checking equipment and reviewing Arthur Piera’s profile once more. Mia clutched her clipboard close to her chest, clearly nervous but trying her best to stay composed.
From time to time, Noah’s attention drifted.
Across the set, cameras were rolling. Actors were in position. And there—standing under the lights, delivering his lines with effortless ease—was Liam.
Noah told himself not to stare.
He failed.
His eyes kept finding Liam without permission, like a reflex he couldn’t shut off. Every movement, every shift of expression—it all pulled at him. Worse, it felt like Liam noticed.
Because every so often, Liam’s gaze flicked in his direction too.
During one scene, Liam turned slightly, his body angled toward the camera—but his eyes weren’t. They landed on Noah.
Just for a second.
Liam delivered his line smoothly, voice warm, lips curved into a gentle smile that wasn’t meant for the character in front of him.
It was meant for Noah.
Noah’s breath hitched.
His heart slammed against his ribs so hard it felt almost painful. Heat rushed to his face, his ears, his neck. He swallowed, suddenly very aware of his own body, of how close the set felt, how bright the lights were.
Don’t blush.
Please don’t blush.
Even without a mirror, he knew he was failing miserably.
“Cut!” the director shouted. “Good take. Let’s take five—no, make it thirty minutes. Break time!”
The tension snapped.
Staff relaxed instantly, some stretching, others heading for water or snacks. Noah exhaled slowly, forcing himself to look away from Liam.
Focus. You’re here to work.
He glanced at his notes. Right—Arthur.
“That’s our cue,” Noah said quietly to Mia. “Let’s go.”
Mia nodded and followed him toward Arthur Piera’s tent. Arthur’s manager spotted them first and offered a polite smile.
“Good afternoon,” Noah said, professional but warm. “I’m Noah from Muse Magazine. This is Mia, my assistant.”
Mia bowed her head slightly. “Nice to meet you.”
Arthur stepped forward, radiating an easy, friendly energy. “Nice to meet you both. You can call me Arthur.”
The interview began smoothly. Arthur answered every question with enthusiasm, occasionally joking, occasionally thoughtful. Mia listened closely, jotting down notes, growing more confident as the minutes passed.
Twenty minutes later, they wrapped up.
“Thank you so much for your time,” Noah said sincerely.
“My pleasure,” Arthur replied with a grin. “Hope the article turns out great.”
“I’m sure it will,” Noah said.
They turned to leave—
—and then it happened.
A sharp metallic sound echoed above them.
Someone shouted.
Noah looked up just in time to see a fluorescent lamp slipping loose from the ceiling rig.
Everything slowed.
His body froze. His mind went blank. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for impact, for pain, for the sound of shattering glass.
But it never came.
Instead, there was a crash—loud, violent—but not on him.
When Noah opened his eyes, his vision blurred for a second before focusing.
Arthur was in front of him.
Arthur’s arms were around him, body turned protectively, shielding him as the lamp shattered just inches away.
People rushed toward them, voices overlapping, panic rippling through the set.
“Are you okay?” Arthur asked immediately, pulling back just enough to look at him.
Noah couldn’t speak at first. His hands trembled slightly. After a moment, he nodded.
“I—yeah. I’m fine,” he said, the words coming out uneven. “I think.”
“You sure?” Arthur asked, concern written all over his face.
Noah swallowed and nodded again. “Yes. Are you okay?”
Without thinking, Noah reached up, his fingers brushing Arthur’s hair, checking instinctively.
Arthur blinked, surprised—but then smiled softly. “I’m okay. Promise.”
Arthur’s manager rushed in, fussing over him, pulling him aside to check for injuries.
Once Arthur was safely escorted back into his tent, the staff began clearing the broken glass. The set slowly returned to order.
Mia hurried to Noah’s side, her face pale. “Sir—Noah—are you really okay?”
“I’m okay,” he assured her, forcing a calm smile. “Just… startled.”
She nodded, still clearly worried.
As Noah bent to pack his things, suddenly—
A hand grabbed his wrist.
Before he could react, he was pulled forward, dragged into a nearby tent.
“No—wait—”
The fabric closed behind them.
Then arms wrapped tightly around him.
Noah froze.
For a few seconds, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe—until the grip softened, hands sliding up to cradle his face.
That’s when he looked up.
Liam.
Liam’s eyes were wide, dark with worry, his expression raw and unguarded in a way Noah had never seen before.
“Are you hurt?” Liam asked urgently. “Did it hit you? Why didn’t you move?”
Noah stared at him, stunned.
“I—I’m fine,” he said quietly. “Arthur pulled me out in time.”
Liam exhaled shakily, his forehead dropping briefly against Noah’s. “God… I saw it fall. I thought—”
He didn’t finish.
His hands were still on Noah’s face, thumbs brushing gently along his cheekbones, grounding him.
“You scared me,” Liam admitted, voice low.
Noah’s heart started racing again—but this time, it wasn’t just fear.
“I’m okay,” Noah repeated, softer now. “Really.”
Liam searched his face for a long moment before finally pulling him into another tight hug—one Noah didn’t resist this time.
Outside the tent, the noise of the set faded.
Inside, it was just the two of them, breathing the same air, holding on a little longer than necessary.
And neither of them said anything about it.