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The phrase echoed in Gemini Norawit Titichoenrak's mind, a bitter refrain to the symphony of forced merriment surrounding him. It was another night, another industry party, a dazzling constellation of manufactured smiles and polite applause. He wondered, not for the first time that evening, if he could concoct a believable excuse to leave. Urgent early morning schedule. Sudden onset of a mysterious, non-contagious ailment. He sighed internally. The truth was, he was starving, but the meticulously crafted canapés and delicate pastries held zero appeal. A familiar ache settled in his stomach - a craving for the rich, steaming broth of braised pork noodles from that little street stall he used to frequent. He couldn't anymore. If it wasn't the relentless scrutiny over his diet, it was the certainty of being swarmed, of his quiet meal becoming a trending topic before he'd even finished the noodles. Too famous. Not enough privacy. That was the gilded cage.
Gemini was, he reminded himself, truly grateful. For the love, the accolades, the opportunities that stretched beyond his wildest teenage dreams. But if he was being brutally honest, a luxury he rarely afforded himself, he'd been through far too much. The constant performance, the meticulous crafting of 'Gemini the Idol,' was a weight threatening to crush him. He didn't think he could fake another smile. He couldn't pretend he was alright, not anymore.
He steeled himself, the familiar muscles around his mouth twitching upwards into a practiced, pleasant expression. An image to uphold. He couldn't afford to seem tired, uninterested, or - heaven forbid - arrogant. The netizens would have a field day. Then again, they often had a field day with him for merely existing, for breathing in a way they deemed "wrong." Could a person even breathe wrong? Apparently, he could, judging by the torrents of hate that had washed over him in the past.
After laughter comes tears.
He genuinely couldn't fake another smile. He couldn't utter the well-rehearsed lines of "I'm doing great, thank you." Not after everything. The things they wrote, the insidious whispers amplified by gossip shows - it was a relentless barrage. It was getting harder to shock him, the venom had become so commonplace. But every now and then, a particularly vicious barb would pierce through his carefully constructed armor, a shocking reminder of the vitriol directed his way. He knew, intellectually, that this was the life he'd chosen. And yes, he was grateful. For the love, for all of it. But he couldn't lie, not even to himself anymore. He had been through too much.
He couldn't fake a smile anymore. He couldn't fake like he was alright.
Fuck a fake smile.
The thought, raw and rebellious, bloomed in his mind. He steeled himself again, but this time, the smile faltered, growing thin, almost defiant. He decided, right there, amidst the glittering throng. Fuck this fake smile. If he was upset, he wouldn't hide it. If he was annoyed, he'd let his neck roll with an attitude he usually suppressed. He would roll his eyes. He would cross his arms. He would let his lips pout if they damn well pleased.
Fuck a fake smile.
What was his agency going to do? Fire him? The thought was almost laughable. They couldn't afford to. He brought in nearly fifty percent of their revenue. He also owned a not-insignificant twenty-five percent of the shares in the company. A silent leverage he rarely, if ever, considered wielding.
Gemini breathed in, then out, a slow, deliberate count. He needed to escape this suffocating elegance. He found his manager, P'Golf, weaving through the crowd, and murmured, "I'm tired, P'. Need to rest." P'Golf, bless his soul, was always understanding, his eyes often holding a sympathetic glint that Gemini silently appreciated. He requested P'Golf's assistant, a fresh-faced intern named Bas, to walk him to the car. Alone, he doubted he'd make it past the lobby without being cornered.
And as he was turning to leave, a sound cut through the ambient chatter. It was a tinkling sort of sound, bright and melodic, like wind chimes on a summer breeze, or distant bells on Christmas morning. It was laughter, unrestrained and genuine. He instinctively turned towards its source. There, holding court in the midst of a captivated circle, stood someone Gemini hadn't officially interacted with before - surprising, given their orbits - but he'd certainly heard of him.
Fourth Nattawat Jirochtikul.
If Gemini was polished porcelain, Fourth was vibrant, unapologetic street art. He laughed freely, his entire body shaking with mirth, and it seemed like every thought that crossed his mind tumbled effortlessly from his lips. He carried himself with an effortless cool that, on anyone else, might scream "too cocky," "too arrogant." Yet, his fans - a legion of them - adored him for it. If Gemini dared to offer a mild critique of a dish he genuinely disliked, sharing an honest opinion, he'd be flayed online for weeks, branded ungrateful or elitist.
That was why Gemini kept to himself, his circle of friends small and tightly guarded. Dare he interact with anyone else, and they risked being dragged into the messy vortex of his public life.
This was exhausting. Gemini was exhausted. He sighed, the sound barely audible. Steeling himself once again, this time for the gauntlet of polite goodbyes.
But as he was about to turn, warm, bright eyes snapped towards him. They made direct eye contact. Fourth Nattawat was looking at him. The intensity in Fourth's gaze was startling; it felt like he was looking right through Gemini, past the carefully constructed persona, into the weary soul beneath. Could Fourth see through his mask? Had his earlier, internal rebellion somehow broadcast itself onto his face?
Then, Fourth smiled. It was the dazzling, heart-stopping smile Gemini had seen plastered on magazine covers, the one that disarmed interviewers and charmed millions. But seeing it directed at him, in person, unfiltered by a lens or screen, made his breath catch. It wasn't just a polite celebrity acknowledgement. There was something more in it, a spark of recognition, perhaps even amusement. It felt like Fourth was saying, I see you. Gemini, caught off guard, unsure how to respond to such direct, unshielded warmth, simply managed a small smile back and a slight nod.
Fourth turned back to his audience then, effortlessly reclaiming his position as their sun, everyone else content to be planets caught in his vibrant orbit. Gemini watched for a moment longer, a strange thought flitting through his mind. If he got too close to Fourth, to that uninhibited brilliance, would he burn? Probably. But then again, even Icarus had risked his wings, risked the fatal plunge into the sea, just for a fleeting moment closer to the sun.
With one last, deep breath in and a slow exhale, Gemini turned around and walked towards the exit, Bas trailing dutifully behind him.
Truly. Honestly. Fuck a fake smile.
The next time Gemini saw Fourth Nattawat, it wasn't amidst the clinking glasses and hushed whispers of another industry party. It was, surprisingly, in the bright, bustling reality of a weekday afternoon, when he literally ran into one of his oldest industry friends, Phuwin Tangsakyeun, outside a popular coffee shop. In the fledgling years of his career, when his features were softer and his hairstyle mirrored the actor's, they used to call him Phuwin's twin. Gemini could sort of see it back then; they were both tall, possessed a similar delicate structure to their faces, and shared a certain aesthetic. But as time marched on, and Gemini painstakingly perfected his 'idol look'-the sharp angles, the ever-changing hair colors, the meticulously curated aura-their visual similarities had drifted further and further apart.
And there, standing beside Phuwin, looking effortlessly cool in ripped jeans and a band t-shirt that probably cost more than Gemini's monthly grocery bill, was Fourth. He looked at Gemini with that same disconcerting gaze, the one that seemed to bypass all the polished layers and peer directly into his soul. It still made Gemini feel unnervingly exposed.
"Gem! Just the man!" Phuwin exclaimed, his usual boisterous energy a welcome familiarity. "I want you to meet Fourth. We were just grabbing a coffee. Fot, this is Gem. Truly amazing, this one." Phuwin finished with a flourish, slinging an arm around Gemini's shoulder.
Fourth cocked an eyebrow, a slow, deliberate movement. His lips, a focal point Gemini was trying very hard not to stare at, upticked into a small, knowing smile. "Nice to meet you, Gem," Fourth said, his voice a low timbre that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. "I've heard a lot about you."
Gemini managed a nod, the exhaustion from a grueling morning rehearsal clinging to him like a second skin. "Good things, I hope," he said, attempting his signature warm smile. It felt weak, a pale imitation of its usual brilliance. God, he was tired. Not just physically, but a bone-deep, soul-weary sort of tiredness.
"Only the best," Fourth replied, his eyes lingering on Gemini's face for a beat longer than necessary.
Somehow, during the ensuing whirlwind of Phuwin's enthusiastic chatter, Gemini found himself persuaded to join them for that coffee. And somehow, amidst discussions of upcoming projects and shared industry frustrations, he and Fourth ended up exchanging contact details, a vague promise to "keep in touch" hanging in the air. It felt surreal, almost illicit, given their perceived public personas.
Later that night, sprawled on his bed in the quiet solitude of his apartment, Gemini let out a long sigh and decided to act on the curiosity that had been simmering since their first encounter. He typed 'Fourth Nattawat' into his search bar.
Fourth's discography was impressive, a string of critically acclaimed EPs and chart-topping singles. Gemini found himself listening, surprised by the raw honesty in Fourth's lyrics, the infectious beats making him hum under his breath. As his search deepened, scrolling through articles and fan forums, he realized that Fourth, for all his apparent nonchalance and widespread popularity, was not spared the same venomous online hate that plagued Gemini. Yet, there was a distinct difference. Fourth's fans, his 'Sparks' as they were apparently called, were ferocious defenders, quick to rally, to counter negativity with overwhelming positivity and sharp, witty comebacks. Gemini knew he had supportive fans too, his 'Celestials,' but lately, some of their comments, their possessiveness and rigid expectations, felt almost indistinguishable from the antis.
He shifted on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, the phone screen illuminating his face in the dim room. His search continued, leading him down a rabbit hole of paparazzi photos and gossip columns.
And then he saw it. A series of photos, not particularly recent but still prominently featured on several sites: Fourth with an actress, Pim Tanawat. They were laughing, holding hands, looking undeniably like a couple. The caption beneath one read: "Rapper Fourth Nattawat and actress Pim Tanawat, still going strong?"
For some inexplicable reason, a sharp, sudden ache bloomed in Gemini's chest. The feeling was so startlingly unfamiliar, so out of place, that he actually pressed a hand to his sternum. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. He didn't know Fourth well enough for that. It was... something else. A pang of... disappointment? A weird, hollow sensation.
He sighed once again, the sound heavy in the quiet room. He was about to put his phone away, to try and wrestle his overactive mind into sleep, when it buzzed, illuminating the screen with a new message.
It was from Fourth.
"Are you free? If you are. Wanna come over to my studio? Got some new tracks I'm working on."
Gemini stared at the message, his heart giving an unexpected thump. Pim Tanawat. The studio. His exhaustion. His strange ache.
When Gemini agreed to go to Fourth's studio, a part of him, the small, honest voice he was trying to listen to more often, should have known this was going to happen. It was obvious, wasn't it? With the way Fourth had been looking at him, those intense, soul-stripping gazes. He thinks he did know, on some subconscious level, but had chosen to ignore it completely. Maybe to make himself feel better about the Pim situation, to compartmentalize. Or maybe, just maybe, because a deeper, more primal part of him was curious, was drawn in.
He barely registered the studio itself - the array of equipment, the soundproofing on the walls, the low ambient lighting. The decor was a blur. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes locked with Fourth's across the room. There was an almost tangible pull, a crackle of static electricity in the air. One thing led to another with a speed and inevitability that left him breathless.
And now, here he was. His arms were wrapped tightly around Fourth's neck, his head thrown back in a silent gasp. Fourth was between his legs, a solid, warm presence, his hands gripping Gemini's waist with a possessive strength that sent shivers down his spine. Fourth's mouth was on his neck, a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses and gentle bites that were anything but innocent.
He should have known. He did know.
And he did want this.
He wanted to feel. Anything. Something real. And feel, he did. Fourth was stoking a flame that Gemini had genuinely, despairingly thought had been extinguished inside him years ago, smothered under layers of politeness and carefully constructed perfection. It felt good. More than good, actually. It felt... amazing. Exhilarating. Gemini felt like he was coming alive, truly alive for the first time in what felt like an eternity. It was as if he'd been hibernating for years, moving through life in a dreamlike state, and now, suddenly, he was awake, sober, acutely aware of the world, of the sensations coursing through him. Everything was moving too fast and too slow, all at the same time.
Fourth's hands moved lower, from his waist to his hips, a bruising, anchoring grip as he left a trail of searing kisses down Gemini's chest, over his rapidly beating heart.
Gemini was alive. And for the first time in a long time, that felt like a promise, not a burden.
Gemini made a conscious decision: ignore the whole Pim situation. This... thing... between him and Fourth, whatever it was, had become a regular fixture in his life, a secret source of warmth and intensity he hadn't realized he was starving for. It was too good, too raw, too real to let go of, Pim Tanawat notwithstanding. Did that make him selfish? Probably. A resounding, undeniable yes. But for the first time in what felt like a desolate eternity, Gemini felt good. Really, truly good. So good, in fact, that he honestly couldn't bring himself to care much about the label of 'selfish.' So what if he was? Everyone was a little bit selfish, weren't they? Especially when something felt this vital.
This thing with Fourth was a relationship, yet it wasn't. It had the earth-shattering intimacy, the whispered confidences in the dark, the comfortable silences filled with unspoken understanding. But it lacked definition, existing in a liminal space unbound by titles or public acknowledgment. And in this undefined space, Gemini found himself changing.
For the first time since... well, ever, probably, Gemini was needy. He'd never been the type. He was the self-sufficient idol, the one who always had it together, the calm center in any storm. Yet here he was, craving Fourth's presence with an almost painful urgency. Lately, his emotions were a tangled mess, a relentless rollercoaster he couldn't seem to get a hold of. One moment he was soaring, the next he was plummeting, and the only constant, the only anchor, seemed to be Fourth. And when Fourth did reach out, when he did 'hit him back' with a message or a call or an invitation, Gemini's reaction was always a dice roll - sometimes ecstatic relief, sometimes a tremor of anxiety, sometimes an overwhelming surge of affection that left him breathless.
Gemini could admit it, at least to himself: he was a little messed up. Perhaps more than a little. He was obsessive, his thoughts circling back to Fourth with a gravitational pull he couldn't escape. And he loved too hard - or, at least, he felt too hard. Was this even love? He didn't know. He wasn't sure he could define the swirling tempest of emotions Fourth ignited within him. All he knew was that he was good at throwing his whole heart into things, and Fourth had, somehow, become the recipient of its full, unfiltered force.
He was needy. Maybe too damn needy. He found himself wanting constant reassurance, a hunger for validation that was entirely new.
Gemini was up and down, a lot. One day, he'd feel like he was walking on air, Fourth's touch a lingering warmth on his skin, Fourth's laughter echoing in his ears. The next, a familiar insecurity would creep in, whispering insidious doubts: he was not enough; he was too much; he was asking for things he didn't deserve. He realized he said "sorry" way too much, for things that weren't his fault, for simply existing and wanting. Perhaps he was too selfish, demanding this slice of Fourth's life when he knew, logically, it wasn't entirely his to claim. But after all the damage, after years of suppressing his own needs for the sake of an image, he couldn't seem to help it. The dam had broken.
He was just so needy, and a desperate, childish part of him wanted Fourth to tell him how good it was to be needed, how much he enjoyed Gemini's raw, unfiltered desire.
Gemini was truly selfish. He knew it.
Fourth had him feeling some type of way, a dizzying, intoxicating cocktail of sensations Gemini wasn't used to navigating. And Gemini knew he shouldn't think about it, let alone do it, that obsessive inventory of Fourth's features, the way his eyes crinkled when he truly laughed, the curve of his lips just before he spoke. But then he'd look at Fourth's face, really look, and the overwhelming urge to know how he tasted would consume him. He knew now, of course. He did know. Intimately. Vividly.
But then the pendulum would swing. The thought of Pim Tanawat, a ghost at their clandestine feasts, would inevitably surface. And Gemini would be back in his silent apartment, the momentary bliss evaporating, leaving him to lament the inherent unfairness of it all. Why couldn't this be simple? Why couldn't they just be?
He wanted to tell Fourth to break up with his girlfriend. The words were constantly on the tip of his tongue, a dangerous, selfish plea. Tell him that he could have Gemini all to himself if he did. That Gemini would be his, wholly and completely. He knew it wasn't right, not fair to Pim, not fair to the established narrative of Fourth's life. But he didn't care. Not really. He wanted Fourth to choose him. But Pim was a topic they never breached, a carefully avoided landmine in their otherwise open terrain. Gemini hadn't even dared to ask Fourth about her, afraid of the answer, afraid of shattering the fragile illusion they'd built.
Gemini sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. Why did this type of complicated, heart-wrenching thing always seem to happen to him? Why couldn't he and Fourth just play for keeps?
The ache intensified, becoming almost unbearable, when Fourth did something that felt like a direct arrow to Gemini's already compromised heart. He'd played Gemini a new track he was working on, late one night in the familiar cocoon of his studio. As the melody unfolded, raw and haunting, Gemini had listened, initially just appreciating the artistry. But then the lyrics began to register, painting a picture so vivid, so undeniably him, that his breath caught in his throat. Fourth described the almost invisible birthmark on Gemini's lower back, a tiny imperfection only someone intimately familiar with his skin would know. He sang about the single mole under Gemini's left eye, the one fans often debated the exact placement of. He even captured the specific hazel-green flecks in Gemini's eyes, the way they shifted color in different lights.
Fourth knew exactly what he was doing. He had to. This wasn't just a song; it was a confession, a map of Gemini's body and soul rendered in melody and rhyme. And Gemini was practically on his knees, metaphorically speaking, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it, by the undeniable evidence that Fourth saw him, every part of him.
Perhaps you could say that Gemini was hating, and you might be right. He was only hating on Pim because he wanted Fourth, all of Fourth, without reservation, without sharing. So what if he was tripping? So what if he was spiraling into a possessive, desperate longing? The thought of him without Fourth, now that he'd tasted this connection, just wasn't right. It felt like a fundamental misalignment of his universe. Call him crazy, call him deluded for possibly being in love with Fourth after only a few months of whatever this intoxicating, undefined thing was between them. But then again, him without Fourth? It was just not right.
So yes, Gemini Norawit Titichoenrak, the world-renowned idol, the polite and sweet young man, wanted Fourth Nattawat to break up with his girlfriend. Was he selfish? Maybe. Probably. Definitely.
But he also, really, truly, didn't care. He just wanted Fourth.
As the saying goes, whatever happened in the dark will eventually, inevitably, come to light. And unfortunately for someone like Gemini Norawit Titichoenrak, a world-renowned idol who trended for simply existing, and Fourth Nattawat, the infamous rapper, the sun to so many universes, nothing they did could truly remain a secret. It couldn't be kept in the dark for long.
Perhaps they had been too careless. Maybe? Probably. In the intoxicating bubble of their late-night rendezvous, in the perceived safety of the early morning hours, vigilance had slipped.
The light came in the form of a grainy, yet undeniable, video. It identified both of them, a truth starkly clear to their millions of adoring (and now, in some cases, horrified) fans. The video showed Gemini and Fourth kissing, passionately, outside Fourth's company building after a late-night session at the studio. It wasn't just a fleeting peck. Gemini was perched on the hood of his own car, Fourth standing between his legs, Gemini's arms wrapped securely around Fourth's neck, pulling him closer. Their silhouettes were stark against the dim streetlights, but their identities, their intimacy, were unmistakable.
It was late, really late, and honestly, Gemini had thought nobody was around. They had, for the most-part, always been so careful, masters of disguise and discreet exits. But what was done was done. The digital age was relentless, and someone, somewhere, had been watching, recording.
The internet, predictably, broke. It shattered into a million warring factions. Some were furious, their anger understandable given Fourth's very public, albeit rarely commented upon by him, relationship with the actress Pim Tanawat. "Homewrecker!" and "Disgusting!" flooded comment sections directed at Gemini. Others were simply shocked, their carefully constructed image of the perfect, sweet idol Gemini shattering before their eyes. "How could he be this shameless?" they lamented, as if a kiss was an act of ultimate depravity. And then there were the confused, those trying to reconcile the Gemini they thought they knew with the man in the video. Amidst the chaos, a staggering number of shippers, those who had long fantasized about a connection between the two, were practically over the moon, their joy bordering on manic. Gemini could only imagine the sheer volume of fanfiction about him and Fourth that was being drafted at that very moment, the video a goldmine of inspiration.
His manager, P'Golf, called before the sun had even fully risen, his voice a strained calm that did little to soothe Gemini's churning stomach. "Lie low, Gem. Don't say anything. Don't post anything. We'll figure this out. Let the team handle it." P'Golf probably knew about this thing between him and Fourth. Of course, he did. It was P'Golf; he knew everything, or at least had a sixth sense for the undercurrents of Gemini's life. His tone wasn't accusatory, more weary, like a general preparing for a familiar battle.
Gemini lasted literally twelve hours. Twelve hours of pacing his apartment, of the buzzing in his pocket feeling like a physical weight, of the silence amplifying the roaring cacophony online. He was a twenty-one-year-old man. An adult. Him and Fourth were adults who, clearly, liked each other a great deal. Yes, they were public figures, their lives scrutinized under a global microscope, but did that mean they weren't allowed to have a life of their own, away from the flashing lights and intrusive cameras? Were they not allowed to be passionate, to feel lust, desire, and perhaps even love? All of which were perfectly acceptable, fundamentally human emotions.
That was the problem with this industry, Gemini realized, or perhaps, had always known but never truly allowed himself to acknowledge until this very moment. The fans, the media, everyone involved, would pull them by their hair, tethering them, ensuring they didn't stray from the prescribed path. They'd shower them with love, then treat them like they were sub-human, products to be consumed and discarded. They would type the cruelest words, words that used to break Gemini's heart into a thousand pieces while he was working his ass off, pouring his soul into his performances, his music, his very existence as an idol.
Why was it so hard for them to see? That if he cut himself, he would bleed? He was just like them, and they were like him. Imperfect and human, they all were.
But life, especially his life, was just a big show and tell.
Gemini was on display for these fuckers to see. He'd endure harsh words if they didn't get a picture with him, their disappointment morphing into entitlement. He was bought and sold like he was some product on display, his worth measured in album sales and endorsement deals. They would beg and cry for more, more content, more interaction, more of him, and yet, when he stumbled, when he showed a flicker of imperfection, he was on the floor, trampled. Strangers taking his pictures when he asked, pleaded, for no more. It was impossible for him to say how he truly felt most of the time because he was scared, terrified that he would be thrown away like a banana peel, his career, his dream, over in an instant.
Why was it so hard to see? That if he cut himself, he would bleed? That he, too, was human?
Probably because this whole thing, his career, the thing he had worked so relentlessly hard for since he was fifteen, was just one big fucking show and tell.
He used to think that he was an artist, as an idol. But the years he'd been an idol, he'd started to realize that art didn't sell unless you fucked every authority (figuratively speaking on his part, he hoped literally for no one, though he wouldn't be surprised). Unless you compromised, bent, and reshaped yourself into what they wanted.
He couldn't take it anymore. The silence was suffocating, more damaging than any vitriol they could throw at him. He made a decision. It was probably a bad idea. No, scratch that, it definitely was a bad idea, a publicist's nightmare. Yes, whatever this thing between him and Fourth was, it was undefined, a bit messy, and their careers, both of them, might be irrevocably affected by this. And Fourth... Fourth might be angry. Angry at the leak, angry at Gemini for what he was about to do. But Gemini clung to a desperate hope that he wouldn't be. He hoped that song, their song, the one Fourth wrote about him, meant that he cared about Gemini just as much as Gemini cared about him. That Fourth, too, was tired of the charade.
His fingers flew across his phone screen, drafting a tweet. It was raw, unscripted, a direct conduit from his weary heart to the waiting world.
"In case you haven't noticed everybody's tired and healing from somebody or something we don't see. Now I'm done with caring what anybody thinks, no, I won't hide underneath your own projections or change my most authentic life. My tongue is sacred, and I speak upon what I like. Protected, sexy, discerning with my time, my time. Your energy is yours and mine is mine. Whatever happened did in fact happen. Yes, And? If you have something to say, say it with your chest. Don't hide behind a keyboard and screen and say it to my face. To my fans I am grateful for your ongoing support and will try to be a better person."
He pressed 'Post' before the familiar chill of fear could make him cower, could make him change his mind. What was done was done. He hadn't publicly mentioned the video, hadn't named names, but everyone, absolutely everyone, knew what he was speaking about.
Gemini let out a shaky breath, his phone clattering onto the table beside him. He was just tired of this gilded cage. So incredibly, bone-deep tired. And finally, terrifyingly, a little bit free.
The sharp rap on his apartment door made Gemini jump, his heart hammering against his ribs. He'd been expecting it, in a way - P'Golf, probably, ready to either commend his bravery or lament his impulsiveness, or more likely, a chaotic mixture of both. He took a fortifying breath, ready to face the music, and pulled the door open.
But it wasn't his manager. It was Fourth.
And surprisingly, Fourth didn't look angry. There was no storm brewing in his dark eyes, no tight set to his jaw. If anything, he looked... worried. Not for himself, not for the potential career fallout that Gemini's tweet might have just exacerbated, but for Gemini. His gaze was soft, concerned, sweeping over Gemini's face as if searching for cracks.
Before Gemini could utter a word, before he could even fully process Fourth standing there, solid and real in his doorway, Fourth pulled him into a hug. It wasn't a tentative embrace; it was firm, enveloping. One of Fourth's hands wrapped around Gemini's waist, pulling him flush against his chest, while the other moved to cradle the back of his head, fingers gently carding through his hair. Gemini felt himself melt into the embrace, a shuddering sigh escaping him. The tension that had been coiling in his spine for days, for weeks, began to unspool.
"Are you okay?" Fourth's voice was a low rumble against his ear, warm and grounding.
"I am fine. I am sorry," Gemini mumbled into Fourth's shoulder, the words thick with unshed tears. Great. He was about to cry now. Just when he thought he'd been so brave, so defiant, the reality of what he'd done, the sheer audacity of it, came crashing down. The tweet, the video, all of it.
"Hey. Hey," Fourth said softly, pulling away just enough to look at him, his hands moving to cup Gemini's cheeks. His thumbs stroked gently, wiping away the tears that had begun to spill. "Why are you apologizing? I am the one who should be apologizing. For all of this mess."
Gemini sniffed, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "You're... you're not mad?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "I tried calling, but-"
"Oh, yeah. About that," Fourth explained, a sheepish almost-smile touching his lips. "I, uh, I broke my phone. Threw it. Long story. Wasn't at you, just... at the situation. The leak."
Gemini exhaled, a shaky laugh bubbling up. Of course. That sounded like Fourth. He leaned into Fourth's touch, the gentle pressure a comforting anchor.
"Sweetheart," Fourth began, his voice serious now, his gaze intent, "I want you to know that there's nothing going on between me and Pim. There never was. It was just a rumor, years ago, one that just... stuck. My old PR manager told me to ignore it, said addressing it would only give it more oxygen, that it would eventually go away. I thought it did." He grimaced. "I guess I was wrong about that. Clearly."
Gemini's heart skipped a beat. "You're... you're not with Pim?" he asked, the question barely a whisper, hope blooming so fast and bright it almost hurt.
"No. I never was," Fourth stated unequivocally, his eyes holding Gemini's. "Sweetheart, I would never put you in a situation like that, where you are the other person. I would never do that to you." He paused, his expression softening further. "And that aside... I'm not into women. I'm gay, Gem."
"Oh." Gemini's mind reeled, processing this new, vital piece of information. A small, almost childish pout formed on his lips as a different thought surfaced. "So... you like me?"
Fourth looked at him then, a look that was equal parts fond exasperation and overwhelming affection, as if Gemini was being incredibly, wonderfully dense. "Gem," he said, his voice laced with a tender disbelief, "I literally wrote a song about you. An entire four-minute track confessing my feelings to you. Detailing things only we would know."
Gemini pouted again, feeling a blush creep up his neck. He had hoped, had dared to dream that was the case, but hearing it, knowing it, was something else entirely. "I-"
Fourth cut him off, leaning in to kiss his pout away. It was a soft kiss, tender yet infused with all the pent-up emotion of the past few days, the past few months. It tasted of relief, of reassurance, of something deep and true.
When Fourth pulled back, his forehead resting against Gemini's, his eyes were shining. "Gem," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you."
Okay. Gemini might have died. Probably. Maybe. His heart certainly felt like it had stopped beating for a moment, only to restart with a joyous, frantic rhythm that echoed the sudden, overwhelming certainty blooming in his chest. Love. Fourth loved him.
A watery laugh escaped Gemini, a sound full of disbelief and pure, unadulterated joy. "I love you too," he breathed, the words tumbling out as if they'd been waiting just beneath the surface, desperate for release. That was all the invitation Fourth needed. He pulled Gemini into another kiss, deeper this time, a sealing of promises spoken and unspoken. It was possessive and tender, a claim and a surrender all at once.
That was just how it had been with him and Fourth for the past few months, an irresistible magnetic pull, an inability to keep their hands off each other. It was exactly that unrestrained affection that had led to the videographic evidence currently trending for the entire world to dissect. But in this moment, wrapped in Fourth's arms, the sting of the public exposure didn't matter as much. Because Fourth loved him, just as much as he loved Fourth. The messy, complicated world outside could wait.
Later, much later, when the initial euphoria had settled into a warm, contented glow, Gemini found himself sprawled comfortably, his head resting on Fourth's lap. Fourth's fingers were methodically running through Gemini's hair, lightly scratching his scalp in a way that was incredibly soothing, melting away the last vestiges of tension.
"My manager is going out of his mind trying to fix this," Gemini said, breaking the comfortable silence. "I think my tweet didn't exactly help calm the waters." A small, rueful smile played on his lips.
"Give me your phone," Fourth said suddenly, his hand pausing in Gemini's hair.
Gemini looked up at him, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Why?" he asked.
"You'll see," Fourth replied, a mysterious glint in his eyes. Gemini pouted, a familiar habit when faced with Fourth's playful evasiveness, but handed over his phone anyway. He trusted Fourth implicitly.
He watched Fourth's thumbs fly across the screen for a while, a focused intensity on his face. Gemini then turned his attention to playing with the hem of Fourth's soft cotton shirt, the simple act feeling incredibly intimate. His boyfriend. The word echoed in his mind, sending a fresh wave of giddiness through him. They were boyfriends now, officially. The thought was still so new, so wonderfully overwhelming. For the past few months, through all the uncertainty and the secret ache of the Pim situation, Gemini had often found himself imagining a world where Fourth was truly his. At times, it had seemed like an impossible dream, a distant star he could only admire from afar. But now, lying here, cocooned in Fourth's presence, he didn't have to imagine it. It just was.
"All done," Fourth announced, handing Gemini his phone back with a satisfied smirk.
"What did you do?" Gemini asked, his curiosity piqued. Fourth just smiled at him, that infuriatingly charming smile that always made Gemini's heart flutter, offering no verbal answer.
Gemini narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend (the title still sounded so wonderfully unbelievable it left him breathless), a familiar pout already forming on his lips. He was about to whine, to playfully demand an explanation, but before he could, his phone began to buzz. And buzz. And buzz. It was an avalanche of notifications, so many that he genuinely feared his phone might crash. Twitter seemed to be the epicenter of the eruption.
He opened the app, his heart thudding with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue. And then he saw it, and his breath hitched. It answered his question as to what Fourth had done, and it did so in the most spectacularly Fourth way possible.
Fourth, his brilliant, audacious boyfriend whom Gemini realized in that moment he loved so fiercely it almost hurt, had posted the song. Their song. The song he wrote about Gemini, the one that felt like a secret map to Gemini's soul, describing him in a way the world had never seen or heard. He'd uploaded it to his official YouTube channel, for millions to hear. And the cover art for the audio track... it was a photo of Gemini sleeping, his face half-obscured by the hood of Fourth's oversized hoodie, one he'd practically lived in whenever he stayed over. Gemini remembered Fourth taking that picture, a candid, stolen moment filled with sleepy affection.
And as for the name of the song... Fourth had titled it "Favorite Constellation."
Gemini felt the tell-tale prickle behind his eyes. He was going to cry. Not from sadness, or fear, but from an overwhelming surge of love and gratitude.
"You didn't- you-" he stammered, looking up at Fourth, his eyes shining. "What about your career? Our careers?"
Fourth leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Gemini's forehead. "My career will be just fine. I'm a rapper, Gem," he told him, his voice calm and confident. "I can date and do whatever I want. My fans are loyal to me and my music, not to some manufactured image. And there's nothing in my contract restricting me from living my life, as long as it's not illegal. It's you I was more worried about, with your idol contract and all that."
Gemini let out a shaky laugh, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path down his temple. "I'll be fine," he managed, feeling a surprising surge of his own confidence, bolstered by Fourth's unwavering support. "It's not like my company can actually fire me. I bring in almost fifty percent of their revenue, and I own twenty-five percent of the company shares."
Fourth's eyebrows shot up, a teasing smile spreading across his face. "Damn! You're rich, rich then, huh, sweetheart?"
Gemini swatted playfully at his arm. "They might want me to go on a hiatus though," he admitted, the thought not as daunting as it would have been even a day ago. "Let things cool down."
"In that case," Fourth said, his eyes sparkling with an idea, "how about we go on a vacation if they do send you on a hiatus? Somewhere warm. Somewhere far away. Maybe the Caribbean? White sand, blue water, no paparazzi?"
A genuine smile, wide and carefree, spread across Gemini's face. "I always wanted to go somewhere in Europe," he countered, a playful glint in his own eyes. "For the art. The museums."
Fourth chuckled, his fingers resuming their soothing journey through Gemini's hair. "Whatever your heart desires, sweetheart. Europe it is. We can find art, and I'm sure we can find a beach or two there as well."
Lying there, with the digital world still likely in an uproar but feeling a million miles away, Gemini knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that they would be okay. More than okay. They had each other. And that, he was quickly learning, was everything.
P'Golf was, to put it mildly, stressed. Gemini saw it the moment his manager walked into Gemini's apartment later that day, Fourth still a grounding presence by his side. P'Golf's usually impeccably styled hair looked like he'd run his hands through it a hundred times, and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there that morning. He did scold them, both him and Fourth, a weary tirade about being put in an "impossible situation" and how he wasn't a "miracle worker," though he often felt like one. Gemini genuinely felt for him, for the undue stress their actions had inadvertently caused. But as P'Golf paced and sighed, Gemini couldn't find it in himself to regret anything. Not his tweet, not his feelings for Fourth, not the truth that was now irrevocably out.
After more scolding, which gradually morphed into pragmatic problem-solving, they finally, collectively, decided on the way forward.
On Fourth's part, it was refreshingly straightforward. He simply posted on his personal Twitter account - the one he actually used, not just a company-managed one: "Yes, I'm dating Gemini Norawit. And no, Pim Tanawat and I never dated; we're just good acquaintances. Always have been. Sending love." Within minutes, Pim herself commented on Fourth's post: "Congrats to you both! ❤️ Can't wait to meet Gemini properly! Drinks on me when you're free. xx" Just like that, with a few direct words and a supportive friend, the comments about Gemini being a homewrecker began to quiet down, replaced by a bewildered backtrack from many of the accusers.
On Gemini's part, things were a little more formal, as expected. After a flurry of calls between P'Golf and the agency's PR team, a company statement was drafted and released. It confirmed Gemini's relationship with Fourth Nattawat, included a polite but firm request for privacy and respect for their personal lives, and, most significantly, announced a six-month hiatus for Gemini to "rest and rejuvenate."
The response was a chaotic kaleidoscope, a mix of everything imaginable. There were the ones who were genuinely happy for him, their timelines filled with supportive messages, wishing him well and assuring him they would wait for his return. "Take all the time you need, Gem! We'll always support you!" Then there were the ones who were not happy, their comments dripping with a strange sense of betrayal, as if Gemini, by finding personal happiness, had somehow cheated on them personally. Parasocial relationships with fans, Gemini mused, were a truly weird and often unsettling phenomenon. And then, of course, there were the homophobic ones. Gemini honestly hadn't thought he had such fans, naively believing his fanbase was more progressive, but there they were, spewing their vitriol.
But most surprisingly, and heartwarmingly, was the unexpected merging of their fanbases. Fourth's "Sparks" seemed to almost instantaneously adopt Gemini, fiercely defending him alongside their own idol. And many of Gemini's "Celestials," particularly those thrilled by the news, started enthusiastically supporting Fourth. Online, jokes flew about how their two fandoms were now officially "married," complete with fan-made alliance logos and collaborative streaming parties for both their old music.
The hiatus, however, was an amazing, blissful reality. The first four months were a whirlwind European tour, just him and Fourth. They wandered through ancient Roman ruins, got lost in the labyrinthine streets of Venice, stood breathless before masterpieces in the Louvre, and ate their way through Spain. They saw beautiful art, breathtaking landscapes, and tried incredible food. And yes, they had a lot of sex. Like, a lot of sex. The kind of all-consuming, can't-get-enough, Monday-to-Sunday passion that made them feel like the only two people on the planet. Every hour, every minute, night after night, they rediscovered each other, their bodies and souls intertwining in a dance of desire and affection.
But in between the sightseeing, the feasting, and the passionate encounters, inspiration would strike. A melody hummed while watching a sunset over the Amalfi Coast, lyrics scribbled on a napkin in a Parisian café. They found themselves working on music, not because they had to, but because they wanted to, because the experiences were too rich not to translate into song. And in these moments of creation, Gemini discovered something wonderful: Fourth, despite being primarily known as a rapper with a distinctive flow, possessed an amazing, soulful singing voice. And their voices, when blended, complemented each other beautifully, creating a harmony that was both unexpected and undeniably captivating.
So, the last two months of Gemini's hiatus were spent not on a beach, but back in the familiar embrace of a recording studio - sometimes Fourth's, sometimes a neutral space. They were refining the songs born from their travels, polishing melodies, layering harmonies, crafting an entire body of work that felt like a true reflection of their journey together.
Gemini's company and Fourth's company, after some initial surprise and then lengthy negotiations spearheaded by a still-stressed-but-impressed P'Golf, came to an agreement regarding the project. They would co-release an eight-track mini digital album, a joint venture between the two artists.
A week after Gemini's official hiatus finished, the album dropped on all streaming platforms. There were no grand promotions, no elaborate teasers, no carefully orchestrated rollout like Gemini's previous albums or singles. Fourth had only posted a single picture of himself and Gemini - a candid shot from their European adventure, both of them grinning, sun-kissed and happy - on his Twitter with a simple caption: "Us. Our music. Link in bio. Hope you like it. #GemFourthCollisionCourse" (a fan-coined hashtag they'd found amusing).
In all honesty, Gemini hadn't known what to expect. He'd hoped their fans would enjoy it, that it would find a small audience. He never, in his wildest dreams, imagined their intimately created, minimally promoted album would have gone as big as it did. Within hours, it was topping charts in multiple countries. It was trending worldwide on social media. Critics, initially drawn by the "scandal" aspect, stayed for the music, praising its raw honesty, innovative sound, and the palpable chemistry between the two artists.
It seemed their unfiltered hearts, now singing in tandem, had struck a chord with the world.