Back at the Apartment
The door clicked open, and the moment they stepped inside, Rabin flopped onto the couch like his soul just left his body.
Rabin:
"Aaahhh… I'm tired. I don't want to be an actor anymore…"
Y/N (without looking up from her tablet):
"But the agency owns you."
He groaned louder, rolling onto his side with a dramatic sigh.
Rabin:
"Even if they own my body… my heart is owned by you."
Y/N (deadpan):
"Stop that. We have a shoot this evening."
Rabin:
"Aaahhh when will I ever get free time?! Please check my schedule—tell me there's hope!"
Y/N (scrolling):
"Saturday and Sunday. Week off."
He suddenly sat up like a lightning bolt hit him.
Rabin:
"Really?! Freedom?! Two whole days?! With you??"
Y/N (eye roll):
"Rest. I said rest. Not honeymoon."
He grinned, stretching lazily.
Rabin:
"Same thing when it's with you."
Evening Shoot
Slate Boy:
"Scene 47. Take 1."
Director:
"Action!"
Actors: Rabin Angeles and Frost Sandoval
The atmosphere is intense — waves crashing, sky turning indigo.
Rabin and Frost stand across each other, eyes locked in a dramatic confrontation.
The script demands tension, rivalry, and a storm of buried emotions.
Frost took a sip from his water bottle, glancing over toward the crew area — eyes landing on Y/N, who was checking the shoot schedule on her tablet.
Frost (nudging Rabin):
"Hey, Rab… your assistant looks kinda cute."
Rabin (without missing a beat):
"Don't try."
Frost (hands up in mock innocence):
"Whoa, bro. I'm just talking."
Rabin (turning his head slightly, eyes cold):
"Then talk to the wall. It's safer."
Frost chuckled, a little impressed, a little annoyed.
After the Shoot –
The shoot had just wrapped. Lights dimmed, the ocean wind calmed, and most of the crew were packing up.
Frost casually strolled toward Y/N, hands in his pockets, a slight grin on his face.
Frost:
"Heyy, cutie."
Y/N (glancing up, polite smile):
"Hey."
Frost:
"This is the first time we've actually met, right?"
Y/N (tilting her head):
"Nope. We've met before. You just didn't remember."
Frost (raising an eyebrow):
"Oh? That so?"
Y/N (smiling lightly):
"Yeah."
Frost (chuckling):
"Well then, I definitely need to fix that. Let's exchange contacts?"
He pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a swipe.
Y/N hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached into her pocket and took out her phone too.
Just as she was about to unlock it—
Rabin's hand suddenly reached in from the side, grabbing her phone.
Rabin (calm but icy):
"Frost."
Frost blinked, surprised.
Rabin (dead serious):
"You have my number. If it's work, contact me directly. Or go through my manager."
Frost:
"Woah, chill man. I was just—"
Rabin (cutting in):
"Not interested in the 'just'. Stay in your lane."
He handed Y/N her phone back without a word, his gaze never leaving Frost.
Y/N POV
When we reached our apartment—ugh, our apartment—I flopped onto the couch with a sigh.
I seriously need to find a place of my own, but thanks to this damn Nation Boyfriend's chaotic schedule, I can't even take a proper leave.
How am I supposed to apartment-hunt when I'm practically married to his calendar?
Ding!
A message popped up.
Unknown Number.
My stomach twisted. Who now?
"Hey.. I'm Frost. Just got your number from someone."
What the—?
I stared at the screen, blinking. How fast did this guy move?
"Y/n: Ohh… how can I help you?"
Seconds later—
"Frost: My instinct says I've seen you somewhere. Not in the industry tho..?"
Tch. Classic.
I rolled my eyes and typed back.
"Y/n: Is that one of your pickup lines?"
His reply came lightning fast, like he was waiting.
"Frost: No no! Don't think like that. I swear. I'm just curious. It's been bugging me."
I stared at the message.Okay, maybe he's not being flirty. Maybe he's just one of those friendly extroverts who thinks everything is destiny.
Still, I glanced toward the hallway—Yup, Rabin was in the shower. If he saw this conversation, I'd never hear the end of it.
Maybe I should block Frost.…Or maybe I should find out what he really remembers.
As I continued texting with him,
…surprisingly,
…it felt really comfortable.
Like talking to someone I didn't have to tiptoe around.
I caught myself smiling—like, actually smiling.
Damn. When was the last time I smiled like this?
Not because of sarcasm, not because I'm babysitting a grown man disguised as a celebrity,
…but because the conversation felt light.
Frost: "Wait wait… did you go to Northfield High?"
Me: "Yeah. Batch '18. You too?"
Frost: "I knew it!! You were the girl with the bangs who used to carry a sketchpad during lunch, right?"
Me: "OMG. You remember that?"
Frost: "How could I not? You used to draw those weird superhero cats. I thought it was cool."
I let out a small laugh—those cats were legendary in my imagination.
Even I forgot about that version of me.
It's funny…
The me before Rabin.
Before agency chaos.
Before contracts and scandals and hiding emotions behind assistant duties.
Frost: "I'm glad we bumped into each other again."
I looked up from my phone, a sudden warmth blooming in my chest.
And that's exactly when Rabin stepped out of the bathroom, towel in his hair, shirt half-buttoned.
He paused mid-step, noticing my smile.
Rabin:
"You look like you're texting your secret lover."
He said it teasingly…
…but his eyes?
Yeah—those weren't joking.
Rabin: "Who are you chatting with?"
He asked casually—too casually. His eyes, though? Not matching the tone.
Y/n: "You don't know him."
He raised an eyebrow.
Rabin: "Ohhh… It's him.
HIM, huh?"
He nodded slowly like he cracked a code no one asked for.
Rabin: "So it's a guy."
Y/n: "So what? Can't I have a guy friend?"
I didn't even flinch when I said it. I meant it.
He looked at me for a second—expression unreadable.
Rabin: "Yeah. Yeah, you can."
And just like that, he turned around.
Walked straight to his room—
BAM.
Door slammed.
I blinked.
Tch. Childish.
But…
My fingers froze above the keyboard. I stared at the screen.
The fun in the conversation with Frost? Gone. Just like that.
I tossed my phone on the couch, leaned my head back and sighed.
Why did it feel like I just cheated on a boyfriend I didn't even agree to have?
Rabin POV
Bedroom
"Shit… shit!!"
I ruffled my hair like a maniac, pacing in front of the bed.
Why did the damn door slam that loud?!
It's not like I planned it! It just… happened.
Stupid hinges. Stupid temper. Stupid me.
Now she probably thinks I'm a spoiled brat who throws a fit when his assistant talks to a guy.
And… yeah, that's exactly what just happened.
Ughhh!!
I flopped onto the bed, face first, groaning into the pillow.
What now??
Should I… give her the cold treatment?
Act like I don't care?
(Bro, she'll know you care. You just slammed a door like you were in a high school drama.)
Or…
Or act normal?
Cool. Chill. Professional Rabin. Nation's boyfriend mode: ON.
But my heart's screaming like a jealous ex-boyfriend, not a boss.
I stared at the ceiling.
My fingers itched to text her:
"Sorry I slammed the door."
"Didn't mean to act weird."
"Who's that guy again?"
Ughh, no. Not like that. That sounds desperate.
I grabbed my phone, opened her chat, and typed:
"I'm hungry."
Typed again:
"Wanna make coffee?"
Deleted.
Im done.
Rabin POV
The next day
I didn't send any text last night.
I could have.
But I didn't.
Let her have her space, right? Play it cool. Don't act like a jealous high schooler.
Yeah well… screw that logic.
But what's eating me alive?
That smile I saw yesterday.
Not meant for me.
Not shared with me.
But that text—whoever she was talking to—she smiled.
And it wasn't just a polite smile.
It was a real one. The kind that crinkles her nose. The one I've only seen when she drinks mango juice or teases me for losing my lines.
Tch.
Who the hell is he?
A friend? A crush? A ghost from the past?
I don't even know.
But what I do know is that I hate this.
I hate not knowing.
I hate that she smiled at someone else like that.
Was I too late?
I flopped back in bed, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.
It didn't.
I walk to the kitchen.
She's already there.
Moving around like everything's normal — but everything's not.
Not for me. Not today.
She doesn't even say good morning.
She usually does.
Sometimes in a sleepy voice.
Sometimes with a tease.
Sometimes just a hum with a nod.
But today?
Nothing.
And I'm the idiot standing here, clutching a glass of cold water like it can wash down this heavy silence.
What the hell should I even say?
"Good morning"?
"Sorry for slamming the door like a jealous man-child"?
None of those sound right.
So I stay quiet.
She plates the breakfast. Simple toast. Boiled eggs. A little fruit.
No eye contact.
My heart's pounding, and I hate how loud it feels in this quiet kitchen.
I sit down.
She places the plate in front of me.
Still not a word.
No glance.
Just that calm, polite, professional assistant vibe.
And it kills me.
A message dinged.
Her phone was right there on the table near me. I didn't mean to look—but the screen lit up in front of my eyes.
Frost.
And worse—
"Good morning, angel 😇."
My jaw tightened.
Angel?
Frost the hell calls someone else's girl "angel" at 7 in the morning?
She sat down across from me like nothing happened. Like everything was fine.
I clenched my fork harder than I should.
"So the guy is Frost?" I asked, trying to sound calm.
She blinked, confused. "Huh?"
I pointed at the phone.
" I didn't mean to peek—your phone's right here."
Her eyes finally dropped to the screen.
I saw it. That moment of hesitation. That flicker of shit-he-saw-it in her gaze.
She looked up again.
"Yeah, it's him. So?" she said, coolly.
So?
I scoffed quietly and shoved a bite of toast in my mouth just so I wouldn't say something stupid.
Or worse—honest.
This breakfast suddenly tasted bland.
And it wasn't the toast.
Author POV
The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.
Rabin's eyes locked onto Y/N's calm face, but inside, something was boiling.
Rabin:
"How did you guys even have contact with each other… after I warned him not to contact you?"
Y/N:
"I don't know," she replied with a quiet shrug, avoiding his gaze. "He messaged me. Said he remembers me from high school or something…"
That just lit the fire.
Rabin:
"Frost and his mouth full of flirts…" he muttered under his breath.
He tried to stay composed, but the storm brewing inside him didn't cooperate.
BANG!
The table shook as he slammed his palm against it.
Y/N flinched slightly—not from fear, but from disbelief.
This wasn't Rabin—the Rabin who smiled lazily through teasing. This wasn't his usual cocky charm or his cool-headed sarcasm.
This was… frustration. Raw. Messy. Human.
Rabin stood there, breathing heavier than he should.
This isn't me, he thought.
Why am I acting like this?
But he already knew the answer.
Y/N placed the kitchen cloth down, her fingers tightening ever so slightly.
Y/N:
"Why are you acting like a child, Rabin? He's just a friend of mine."
Her tone was calm, but tired. Tired of defending, tired of explaining.
Rabin:
"He already has an eye on you, Y/N… but you didn't notice, did you?"
His voice was quieter now. Not angry. Just… honest. And that somehow hit harder.
Y/N looked at him, finally—really looked. His brows weren't furrowed in rage anymore. His eyes weren't burning with jealousy. They were… vulnerable. Like he hated being in this position but couldn't stop himself.
Y/N:
"So what if he does?" she asked, softer now, uncertain. "Am I not allowed to have friends? Or do I have to ask permission from the Nation's Boyfriend?"
Rabin stepped closer—not fast, not loud, just… closer.
Rabin:
"No," he said. "You don't need permission."
He paused, his gaze steady.
Rabin (softly):
"But if someone's going to look at you like that, I'd rather it be me."
The room fell into silence. Not empty—just full of the words they didn't know how to say next.
Y/N stood up without another word. The scraping of her chair against the tiled floor was the only sound that cut through the silence.
Rabin didn't move. He just watched her retreat—watched her walk away from the breakfast she'd made, from the conversation that was slowly turning into something neither of them could control.
The bedroom door clicked shut.
Inside, Y/N slumped onto the bed, face buried in the pillow.
Y/N (muttering to herself):
"Acting like a kid… seriously…"
She let out a long sigh and stared blankly at the ceiling.
A part of her heart ached. It wasn't just about the fight. It was the weight of everything—the blurred lines between work and something more, the constant tension, the way Rabin said things like "I'd rather it be me" and then acted like she belonged to him.
She turned over, burying her face into the pillow again.
Y/N (softly):
"Why do you make it so hard, Rabin…"
Knock. Knock.
Y/N opened the door slowly, expecting silence or maybe another passive-aggressive remark. But before she could even blink, Rabin grabbed her wrist and gently but firmly pulled her out of the room.
Without a word, he guided her to the couch, pressing her down to sit. Then—
He knelt.
Kneeling right in front of her, Rabin held both her hands in his, eyes locked on hers—no teasing, no ego, no filter.
His voice was low, vulnerable, almost trembling.
Rabin:
"Y/N… please…"
"Smile at me like you smiled at his text yesterday… huh?"
Her breath hitched. His eyes weren't the eyes of a celebrity right now, not the nation's boyfriend, not her demanding boss. Just a boy in love—desperate, unsure, honest.
Rabin (softly):
"I know I acted like a jealous idiot. But seeing that smile… and knowing it wasn't for me—that killed me."
Y/N's lips parted, but no words came out. Her heart pounded.
Rabin (chin lowering, forehead nearly brushing her knees):
"Don't shut me out, Y/N. Please. Don't give that smile to anyone else. It's the only thing that gets me through these damn days."
Silence. Heavy. Charged.
Y/N's hands trembled slightly in his. She bit her lower lip.
She didn't say anything.
Not a word.
Her eyes just stared at him—wide, unreadable, guarded.
But Rabin wasn't waiting for permission anymore—not in words.
He needed to show her what his words couldn't carry.
He slowly rose from his knees, just halfway, leaning in—gently, not rushing her space.
His hands still held hers, but looser now… giving her the choice to pull away. She didn't.
He leaned in…
And pressed a soft kiss on her forehead, lingering just a little longer than usual.
Then slowly, his lips moved to the corner of her eye—a kiss full of apology.
Then a gentle kiss on her cheek—warm, trembling, grateful.
He paused.
Now, just inches from her lips.
His breath was shallow. Her breath hitched.
Rabin (whisper, barely audible):
"…Tell me not to… and I won't."
But she didn't move.
He stayed there—so close.
Eyes on her.
Waiting.
Not daring to cross the final line without her signal.
She didn't speak.
But she leaned forward.
A gentle, hesitant peck—soft, brief, and almost unsure—landed on his lips.
Just enough to say "yes."
Just enough to say "I'm done pretending."
She pulled back quickly, avoiding his eyes, her cheeks warming up, her heart hammering inside her chest.
But that was all he needed.
A signal.
A surrender.
A truth whispered without words.
Rabin leaned in again—this time with no hesitation, no rush, just aching emotion.
His lips captured hers softly, slowly. Like he was afraid she might vanish.
His hand moved to her cheek, gently cupping it as his thumb brushed the edge of her jaw.
His other hand rested on the small of her back, pulling her just slightly closer—not forcefully, but just enough to feel her warmth.
Their kiss deepened—not in passion, but in meaning.
In the quiet, two souls finally gave in.
And in that moment…
Rabin wasn't the "Nation's Boyfriend."
He was simply her boy.
And she… was no longer just his assistant.