Chapter 8: The Press Junket Interruption
The noise hit Becky first. A solid wall of chatter, clinking glasses, and the relentless shutter-click of cameras. The hotel ballroom swam in a haze of colored lights cutting through cigar smoke and the thick, sweet scent of jasmine garlands draped over every presenter’s podium. It was the kind of event that usually energized her—the adoration of the crowd, the practiced banter, the glow of being the center of a harmless, glittering universe.
Tonight, it felt like wearing a suit of wet wool.
She smiled, nodding at a reporter from Thai Entertainment Daily. Her cheeks ached. “The love scenes in 4 Elements are about vulnerability,” she heard herself say, the words smooth and automatic. “It’s not just about passion, it’s about the elements within us—fire, water, earth, air—clashing and merging. My co-star and I worked very hard to find that truth.”
“And working with established GL couples like Engfa and Charlotte? Any pressure to live up to their iconic status?”
Becky’s laugh was a bright, perfect bell. “Only the good kind of pressure! They’re pioneers. We’re just trying to tell our own story honestly.” Her eyes skimmed the crowd as she spoke, over the sea of faces, past the glaring lights.
They snagged on a pillar at the very back of the room.
And stopped.
Y/n stood there, a still point in the swirling chaos. She was in a simple, tailored black blazer, leaning against the dark wood, one hand in her pocket. The other held a champagne flute she wasn’t drinking from. Her light green eyes were fixed, unblinking, on Becky.
The world’s volume dipped. The reporter’s next question (“Could you ever see yourself dating a co-star again, after your very public split?”) blurred into a distant hum. All Becky could hear was the memory of a frantic heartbeat against her palm. All she could feel was the ghost of that pressure.
“I… I think that’s a… um…” Becky stumbled, the plastic smile faltering. She blinked, trying to re-root herself in the script. “That’s a very personal question. My focus is on the work. Always on the work.”
Her gaze flicked back to the pillar.
Y/n was gone.
A cold panic, sharp and entirely unprofessional, sliced through her. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice suddenly too high. “Sorry, I need—bathroom. One second.”
She didn’t wait for the coordinator. She just moved, weaving through the crowd with a murmured litany of ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me,’ her heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the polished marble. She pushed through a heavy service door marked STAFF ONLY, and the world changed.
The roar of the ballroom muted to a dull throb. She was in a wide, stainless-steel kitchen, all harsh fluorescent light and the smell of bleach and leftover garlic. It was empty, post-event, just the hum of industrial refrigerators.
And there, at the far end, by the giant walk-in freezer, was Y/n.
She was looking at her phone, her broad shoulders slumped just a fraction. Becky’s breath came out in a white puff. It was cold here.
“You left.”
Y/n’s head lifted. She didn’t look surprised. She simply turned her phone screen toward Becky.
A robotic voice filled the sterile space. “You were great. I had to see it.”
“See me flounder? See me forget my own name because you were standing in the back of a room?” Becky’s words tumbled out, edged with a week’s worth of tangled nerves. “I sent you a text. You didn’t reply.”
Y/n’s fingers moved over the screen again. The app spoke. “What could I say that wouldn’t be inadequate?”
Becky took a step closer. The cold from the freezer door seeped through her thin sequined dress. “You could have said ‘good morning.’ You could have said ‘don’t overthink it.’ You could have said anything.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “The heartbeat thing… it wasn’t just direction, was it?”
Y/n’s eyes held hers. They were so clear, so terribly honest. She shook her head once. A simple, devastating negation.
“So what was it?” Becky whispered.
Y/n looked down at her phone, then seemed to dismiss it. Instead, she lifted her hands. Her movements were slow, deliberate. Thai Sign Language.
Becky watched, understanding nothing and everything. The shape of Y/n’s hands, the tension in her strong fingers, the quiet grace of the gestures. It was a silent confession, more intimate than any typed sentence.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Becky said, her voice cracking.
Y/n stopped. She reached out, hesitated, then carefully took Becky’s right hand. Her skin was warm against Becky’s cold fingers. She turned it palm-up. With her index finger, she began to trace letters onto Becky’s skin.
B.
E.
L.
O.
Becky’s breath caught.
Y/n’s finger paused. She looked up, a question in her eyes. The vulnerability there was staggering. It was the same look she’d had when she’d pressed Becky’s hand to her chest.
Becky nodded, a tiny, frantic movement. Yes.Keep going.
N.
G.
I.
T.
She finished the word and curled Becky’s fingers closed over it, as if to let her keep it.
Belonging.
The freezer motor kicked on with a loud rattle. Becky jumped, but she didn’t pull her hand away. It was sealed inside Y/n’s, the word burning into her palm.
“That’s what you showed me,” Becky breathed. “That’s what the scene is about.”
Y/n nodded. She released Becky’s hand to type. “It is what I feel. When I watch you. It is terrifying.” The app’s voice was flat, but the words were not.
“For me too,” Becky admitted. The confession felt like stepping off a cliff. “All of this… it’s not in any script I’ve read.”
From beyond the door, the muffled swell of applause echoed. Their world was in there. This, here, was something else entirely.
Y/n typed again, her movements quicker now. “The junket is not over. You should go back.”
“I know.”
Neither of them moved.
Y/n finally pocketed her phone. She reached out and, with a gentleness that made Becky’s throat tighten, adjusted a stray lock of hair that had fallen across Becky’s cheek. Her thumb brushed Becky’s cheekbone, just once. A punctuation mark.
Then she stepped back, nodded towards the service door, and turned to walk down the corridor toward the loading bay exit, her silhouette swallowing the light at the end of the hall.
Becky stood, frozen by the freezer, the traced word a brand on her skin. The applause from the ballroom came again, insistent, demanding her return. She slowly uncurled her fist and looked at her empty palm, feeling the ghost of each letter.
She had to go back. She had a role to play.
But for the first time, the only line she could remember, the only truth she could cling to, was a silent word written on her hand in a cold, bright kitchen.