Chapter 1: The Bet
The air in the shooting booth was stale, thick with the sharp, chemical scent of gun oil and the faint, ever-present sweat of nervous concentration. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile, shadowless glow over the pockmarked target boards lining the walls. Some holes were fresh, torn paper curling back from the impact. Others were faded, memories of past challenges.
“Right, listen up,” Kenny barked, his voice cutting through the low murmur. He stood with his hands on his hips, his athletic frame blocking the view of the lane. “Last challenge. Highest score takes the pot. Lowest score gets the punishment. Simple.”
AJ shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the oversized fabric of his hoodie swallowing the movement. He hated the range. The noise was too sudden, the recoil too assertive. It felt like a place for people who were sure of things, and AJ was sure of very little. He kept his gaze fixed on a particularly shredded target, avoiding the mirrors.
“And what’s the punishment this time?” Chunkz boomed, a grin already spreading across his face. He lived for this part.
Sharky, leaning against the observation glass with his arms crossed, let a slow smile form. His eyes, sharp and observant, slid from AJ’s hunched shoulders to Niko’s restless, lanky figure pacing like a caged predator. “Needs to be good. Personal.”
“Make ‘em do a mukbang wearing a speedo,” Kenny suggested, immediately invested.
“Seen it,” Sharky dismissed, his tone light but his gaze calculating. He watched Niko sling an arm around a rigid AJ, who stiffened like he’d been touched by a live wire. Niko’s grin was all teeth, his messy curls bouncing as he gave AJ a little shake.
“My guy’s already terrified! Look at him!”
AJ shoved the arm off, a defensive smirk plastered on his face. “Piss off, Niko. I’m concentrating.”
“You’re overthinking. It’s a trigger, not a thesis defense.”
Sharky’s smile widened. “I’ve got it. Lowest scorer has to date Niko for a week.”
The laughter was instantaneous—a loud, braying wave from Chunkz, a sharp scoff from Kenny. The idea was absurd, which was precisely why it was perfect content.
Niko’s pacing stopped. His head tilted, and that annoyingly smug grin shifted into something more deliberate. His eyes locked onto AJ, who had gone very still. “Yeah,” Niko said, the single word dropping into the room with surprising weight. “Yeah, I’m down for that. If you lose, Shabeel, you’re my boyfriend. Full week. Public outings, the lot.”
AJ’s heart did something complicated and unpleasant in his chest. His face felt hot. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. No.”
“Scared you’ll lose?” Niko sing-songed, invading his space again, leaning down so their faces were close. AJ could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the genuine amusement there. It was all a joke to him. It was always a joke.
“I’m scared of your breath, fam. Back up.”
“Bet’s on!” Chunkz declared, clapping his hands together. “Sharky, you’re a genius!”
The challenge began. The sharp, percussive cracks of gunfire filled the booth, one after another. Kenny went first, competitive and precise, scoring high. Chunkz was louder, less accurate, laughing at his own wild shots. Sharky took his time, calm and methodical, landing a respectable total.
Then it was AJ’s turn. The pistol felt heavy and alien in his hands. He adjusted his grip, his palms clammy. He could feel Niko’s gaze burning a hole between his shoulder blades. He fired. The recoil jarred his wrist. The paper target remained stubbornly intact.
“Aiming for the wall, are we?” Niko called out, his voice dripping with playful malice.
AJ fired again. A clip on the very edge. His score was abysmal. A cold dread pooled in his stomach. This couldn’t be happening.
Niko stepped up to the lane for his turn. He didn’t even look like he was trying. He winked at the camera Chunkz was holding, held the pistol with a loose, casual grip, and fired off five shots in quick succession. They weren’t perfect, but they were clustered in the centre ring. Easily enough to beat AJ.
He turned, lowering his safety glasses. The look he gave AJ wasn’t just victory. It was curiosity. “Looks like you’re buying me dinner, boyfriend.”
The walk back to the main studio area was a blur of noise and back-slapping for Niko. AJ just felt numb, his own nervous system a mess of staticky panic. It was a joke. It was just content. He kept repeating it in his head.
They collapsed onto the sofas in the green room, the red recording light on the main camera a blinking, unfeeling eye.
“So,” Sharky began, the instigator settling into his role. “The parameters. It’s a full, proper fake relationship. For the content. You gotta sell it.”
“Holding hands?” Chunkz asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Mandatory,” Niko declared, sprawling next to AJ, his long arm stretching out along the back of the sofa behind AJ’s neck. He didn’t touch him, but the heat of his proximity was overwhelming.
“Absolutely not,” AJ muttered, sinking further into his hoodie.
“Why?” The question from Niko was sudden, direct. His playful tone had softened into something more genuine. “What’s the big deal with a bit of physical affection?”
The room got quieter. Kenny was scrolling on his phone, half-watching. Chunkz was still grinning. Sharky just watched, his expression unreadable.
AJ shrugged, a tight, defensive movement. “It’s just not my thing. It’s cringe.”
“Nah, that’s not it.” Niko shifted, turning his body to face AJ, his full attention a focused beam. “You flinch if someone comes near you. You dodged my side-hug for, like, two years. What’s that about?”
It was too personal. The lights felt too bright. The camera felt like a predator. AJ’s carefully constructed defences, the sarcasm, the deflective humour, crumbled under the sheer, unabashed persistence of Niko’s curiosity. He saw too much. He always saw too much.
“Why do you care?” AJ shot back, his voice tighter than he intended.
“Because we’re about to fake date for a week, and my boyfriend won’t even let me put my arm around him. Breaks the illusion, innit?” Niko’s words were light, but his eyes weren’t. They were searching, cataloguing the micro-tic in AJ’s jaw, the way his knuckles were white where he gripped his own knee.
“Maybe I just don’t like being touched by you.” The words were meant to be a grenade, to push Niko back into the safety of banter.
Niko didn’t flinch. He just leaned in closer, his voice dropping, for once not performing for the room. “That’s a lie, though. Isn’t it?”
The silence that followed was different. It wasn’t the quiet of boredom. It was the quiet of a wire pulled taut. Chunkz’s smile had faded into uncertainty. Kenny looked up from his phone. Sharky’s gaze flicked between them, a faint line of concern now between his brows.
AJ couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in, the camera’s red light a pulsing, accusing eye. Every secret fear, every guarded want that he’d so carefully buried, felt exposed under that simple, perceptive question. Niko had crossed a line, and he’d done it without even seeming to try.
“I’m done,” AJ said abruptly, his voice flat. He stood up, the motion jerky.
“We’re still filming—” Chunkz started.
“I said I’m done.” He didn’t look at anyone, especially not Niko. He walked out of the circle of light, past the camera, and pushed through the heavy studio door into the bland, empty hallway.
The door swung shut with a final, heavy thud.
Back in the room, the silence lingered for a three full seconds.
“Well,” Kenny said, blunt as ever. “You broke him. Congrats.”
Niko was still staring at the door, his smug grin utterly gone, replaced by a faint, uncharacteristic frown. He hadn’t meant for that to happen. He was just… curious.
Chunkz let out a forced laugh, trying to reclaim the mood. “Content is content! The fake dating arc begins with drama! The fans will eat this up!”
Sharky sighed, running a hand over his face. “Yeah. The fans.”
The filming wrapped up quickly after that. The energy had gone out of the room. They packed away the mics, switched off the blazing lights. The joke was supposed to be on AJ, but it didn’t feel funny anymore.
Later, in the car park under the dim orange glow of streetlights, Niko scrolled on his phone. He stopped on a picture from earlier that day, before the range. The group was laughing, and he had AJ in a headlock. AJ was fighting him off, but in the photo, he was also smiling. A real one, not the defensive smirk.
Niko typed a message, deleted it, then typed again.
Niko: so. dinner tomorrow? my treat, since i’m the winner. 7pm. don’t be late, boyfriend 😉
He hit send before he could overthink it.
Across the city, in the quiet of his flat, AJ stared at his phone screen. The message glowed in the dark room. His chest ached with a confusing rush of dread and something else, something terrifyingly close to anticipation. He typed a single letter, deleted it. Put the phone face down on the sofa.
Then, after a full minute, he picked it up again.