Fame is a ...

Past

By the time award season begins in the heart of Tokyo, our schedules no longer belong to us. We attend events as a unit, styled and polished until we shine like high-end porcelain. Our smiles are practiced in mirrors that reflect people I barely recognize. After the Bell Rings has swept through nomination lists we never imagined touching: Best Youth Drama, Best New Actor, and the one that makes my stomach perform a slow, sickening twist, Favorite On-Screen Couple.

We are seated together at our first major award show. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the constant, rhythmic buzz of camera shutters. Abby sits beside me, looking effortlessly confident in a tailored charcoal suit that highlights his 6'3" frame. He waves at the fans with a charming ease, his blonde hair caught in the spotlight. I keep my hands folded tightly in my lap, the silver sun bracelet on my wrist hidden beneath the lace of my sleeve. I have to remind myself to breathe.

When our category is finally announced, the massive screen flashes scenes of Abby and me. The equipment room scene plays, where our characters are huddled together in the dark. The way the light hits his high cheekbones as he looks at me makes the crowd erupt in a deafening cheer.

"And the award for Favorite On-Screen Couple goes to Abby and Aurora from After the Bell Rings!"

The applause is a physical force. Abby stands immediately, his hand finding mine to pull me up with him. His smile is radiant, hitting the cameras with the precision of a professional. Mine feels fragile, like a glass ornament about to shatter. As we walk toward the stage, he leans in, his breath warm against my ear.

"Relax, Aurora. Just smile."

They love the illusion, I think, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

On stage, the lights are blindingly white. Abby delivers a charming speech about teamwork and the magic of storytelling. I say a few careful, soft-spoken words about gratitude and growth. From the corner of my eye, I catch Rie in the front row. She is clapping stiffly, her expressive brown eyes clouded with something I cannot name. Beside her, Haru is smiling, but his eyes do not quite meet mine.

The tension between our private lives and public personas has reached a breaking point.

Backstage, the atmosphere shifts from glamour to cold reality. Staff members gush over us, and a producer even jokes about sequel potential for our "unmatched chemistry." Abby is glowing, feeding off the energy like sunlight. But the moment we are away from the cameras, Rie disappears without a word.

Abby notices first. He scans the room twice, his jaw tightening. "Where did she go?"

"Maybe the bathroom?" Haru offers, though he looks just as uneasy.

Abby does not respond. He turns and walks away, his long strides carrying him toward the loading corridor. I hesitate for a heartbeat, then follow. I find them near the service exit, away from the noise. Rie stands with her arms crossed over her petite frame, her blue highlights looking almost purple in the dim light. Abby faces her, his voice low but vibrating with tension.

"You could at least pretend to be happy," Abby says, his usual witty mask discarded.

Rie lets out a short, humorless laugh. "For you? Or for the cameras?"

"For the team, Rie! For us," he snaps. "Do you know how it looks when you vanishes right after a major win?"

Rie steps closer, her beauty mark twitching with emotion. "Do you know how it feels to watch my boyfriend play pretend romance on stage and get crowned for it? To hear thousands of people scream that you belong with Aurora?"

Abby stiffens, his heart-shaped face hardening. "You knew what this was. We all did. It is acting."

"I knew it would be acting," Rie says, her voice trembling. "Not this. Not the fans chanting for Abbyora. Not producers hinting that you look better with her."

"That is not my fault, Rie."

"No," she agrees sharply, "but the way you enjoy the attention is."

The silence that stretches between them is heavy and cold. Abby exhales, running a frantic hand through his blonde hair. "I am just doing my job."

"And I am swallowing mine," Rie whispers. "Every interview, every smile, every time someone asks me when Abby and Aurora will finally make it official."

The words land heavier than any shouting could. Abby looks stunned, his charismatic defenses finally failing him.

Rie shakes her head, a single tear tracking down her cheek. She turns and vanishes into the shadows of the hallway before he can respond. I step back instinctively, but it is too late. Abby notices me. His expression hardens, the vulnerability vanishing behind a wall of rigid pride.

"How much did you hear?" he asks, his voice like ice.

"Enough," I admit, my voice small.

He scoffs, turning his back on me. "Great. Just great."

By the time we regroup for the final photos of the night, the argument is invisible. Rie laughs too loudly, her energy manic and bright. Abby jokes with the reporters with his usual charm. Haru and I exchange a single, loaded glance and choose the safety of silence.

The following weeks are a blur of ceremonies and rehearsals. Abby and I win Favorite On-Screen Couple again at another event, and the hashtags trend globally. Editors frame us as destiny, while in reality, the four of us are walking on glass.

At night, when the stylists are gone and the managers are asleep, I sit beside Haru in our hotel rooms. Our fingers barely touch, both of us careful not to break the fragile peace we have left.

"This is getting dangerous, Aurora," he murmurs, his dark brown hair falling over his eyes. "The lie is becoming bigger than the truth."

"I know," I say, leaning my head against his shoulder. "But if we stop now, we lose everything we have worked for."

Abby and Rie grow sharper with each other behind closed doors. Their fights are hushed but frequent. Glances are loaded with a resentment.

They are professionally polite on stage, but emotionally distant the moment the lights dim. The press, always hungry for blood, senses the shift immediately.

I stand on those stages, accepting trophies for a version of myself that doesn't exist, while the cracks spread beneath my feet. Fame did not arrive to lift us up. It arrived to test exactly what we were willing to lose to keep it, and as I look at Haru's strained smile, I realize the price might be higher than we can pay.