Chapter Text
For Gun, acting is lifeblood, one way to channel his raw emotions into creating something meaningful, a way to immortalize a message and leave an impact. He's a feeler and he loves this whole exercise of borrowing a character's soul for him to portray on-screen. Then he has two souls within himself for a while, one that is his own and the other one belongs to the character. Two souls travel almost parallelly with no point in which they could converge. Because God forbid, they shouldn't converge. Borrow, use and forget, that's the formula.
But throw Off into this mess, the formula does not quite balance.
With Off, there's a line that he doesn't cross. At least not intentionally. Because crossing that line means giving into his desires, drowning in his addiction. But sometimes it just happens. Sometimes he does cross it, not in reality but in his imagination; in his dreams where there's no self-made bounds that could contain his own soul from mingling with his character's soul.
There he can tell Pick to stop hoarding his feelings. Suffering alone looks so pathetic on a guy like Pick. Gun hates it because it affects him. And Gun can tell Khai to stop being a jerk to his best friend. "You can be a playboy for all you want but you can't lose your best friend because of that'', he chides.
That's not the worst case scenario. The worst is when he dreams while being awake. Like infront of the camera with several people marking his every move, giving directions. Like infront of Off with whom he is ought to act with, play along like he is in love. It's even worse, for all he knows he can't act like he is in love because he is in love . And then, they kiss. In that exact moment, Gun can feel the mingling of the souls, his own with the character's soul.
When Pick kisses him, he kisses like he is wary. Gun understands that wariness for Pick is a person who has enslaved his own feelings, falling a victim to that outrageous notion of a fragile masculinity and in turn trying to keep that false facade for the sake of society. But in a blink of an eye, Pick becomes more bold. From there the kiss turns sweet and gentle like Pick himself coming into a realization that loving is not wrong. That loving a boy is not wrong. That loving always feels right. A deep sense of relief washes over Gun, thinking 'at last, at last he understands.' The kiss is still chaste and beautiful. Pick's unsteady fingers start gettting a grip and finally he learns to give a little of himself to another. Demolishing the wall he has put around himself, he opens himself a little and embraces another. Instead of pushing he is pulling someone in. Gun likes Pick. Pick wraps him in safety, Gun is losing himself in the feeling of home after a long struggle for acceptance. But Pick loves Rome. It's Rome. It's always been Rome.
"I love you, P'Pick.'' Gun whispers timidly. Pick doesn't hear.
When Khai kisses him, he kisses like he wants to eat Third. It's nothing but fey abandon; roguish and sinful. And he's goddamn fierce as if Khai himself had wanted this for long. And when Khai sets his mind on something, he sure knows how to get it. With his pulse ricocheting, heart hammering unbridled, Gun isn't aware that he is gripping the hem of Khai's expensive shirt so as not to lose his remaining control. Gun squrims a little because this is so so dangerous and he's letting himself immerse in this moment and a sinister voice inside of him manages to whisper a little too loud. ' Not enough. not enough'. It says. Ofcourse he has years of pining to satiate for; being this close and never having enough. Now it's not enough. Gun wants more and more like a delirious man who gets this one chance and no more. Oh God! He's so lost. But the playboy in Khai takes care of it all. But. But it's not Gun who receives Khai's overflowing passion. It's Third and it's always been Third.
"I love you, P'Khai.'' Gun whispers timidly. Khai doesn't hear.
Gun thinks Off sure can see the differences. Between Rome and Gun. Between Third and Gun.
Gun tries to focus on the differences. He fails desperately. He can't. Sometimes he doesn't know if he is seeing either Pick or Khai in Off's place. Sometimes it's someone else. Someone who is in love with another person. Definitely not Gun.
All because Gun's in love with Off while Off's not.
That's why. With Off, there's always a line he doesn't cross. Not ever. He wants to cross but he is scared. He thinks instead of feeling the moment, feeling the thrill of love he'll end up seeing the acting behind it. Off's a fathomless wonder. He's been too hard of a puzzle to crack. Gun's had to push too many buttons and stood without wavering just so that Off willingly hold hands with him. So much patience. So much work. He can't do this. He can't ruin this friendship that they have. This closeness that Gun had to work so much to gain.
He can't ruin all that just for a kiss. He hesitates. He fidgets. Taking the first step is more of a leap of faith.
Until it's Off who chooses to cross the line…
It happens on a noisy holiday outing.
Even amidst the throngs of unknown people, Gun feels a sense of security as Off drags him into a corner of the street. Away from their friends. Away from other distractions. Away from noise. And they walk for a while enjoying a meaningful silence.
Off grows courageous enough to interwine their hands at one point. The dingy alleyway with its flickering streetlights and general isolation somehow doesn't scare Gun like he thought it would be.
"Tell me you are okay with this.'' Off whispers ignoring the fact that there's no living soul except them to overhear their conversation.
Desire wells up and when it overflows, Gun has no choice but to give his assent.
"Yes.'' He mouths the word fervently and no sound comes out but Off knows.
When Off kisses Gun, he kisses like he has discovered equilibrium, no longer wavering as being caught in a pendulum. But with crystal clarity like he has found the answer to a question which has been badgering him for a long time. Off's lips end up moving over Gun's lips leisurely, coaxing Gun into reciprocation. It's slow, sweet and perfect as if Off's taking all the time to cherish their first ever real caress. Off is considerate enough not to make it all about passion but at the same time he manages to pass little hints of his surpressed passion that is very promising for the future. But Gun's desperate as his fingers claw at Off's slender neck. He believes he has a right to do so. For so long, he has been trying to reach the horizon and now he feels he can see it upclose. Off's just within his reach to touch like he always desired to. Each second is like unveiling the blindfold around Gun's eyes. He can see. He can feel. It's not like they haven't done this already. They have done it many times, over and over again but all those feel like a dream, a mirage, his own fantasy. This however is not a dream. It's real. Because Gun isn't forced to hide behind Rome or Third to get what he wants. Now he's being him. And there's no facade behind which Off is hiding now. Off's being Off. And Off's loving Gun.
"Wanted to do this from the very first day.'' Off confesses.
"Even when you thought I was nothing more than a little brat?'' Gun whispers. He can't trust his own voice.
"Even when I thought you were nothing less than an adorable human. I'll always wanted you. Always wanted us.'' Off responds and steals another kiss. Gun's not complaining. He's not in a position to complain. For all this while he has been tiptoeing around Off and Off has always been his. He has been too blind to see it.
"I love you, Papii.'' Gun says it out loud, bold this time. Off hears him.
If acting is his lifeblood, Off is his life's purpose. He dived in search of Pick or Khai but he came out with Off holding his hands. Perhaps he doesn't need to worry about crossing lines any more. Because with Off, there was not much of a line to cross, much less a line to worry about. Off knows. He has always known.