- Mig's POV -
The air in the Makati studio crackled with a manufactured energy, the bright lights reflecting off the glossy surfaces and the focused faces of the crew.
Today's task: capturing the perfect image for a new cologne, the brief calling for an aura of effortless cool and approachable masculinity. It was a role I'd played countless times, the charming leading man, a comfortable mask that sometimes felt a little too tight, especially when I caught my reflection and saw the carefully constructed ease that masked a deeper, less examined self.
"Chin up a little, Migs. More enigmatic smile," instructed the photographer, his voice booming through the studio.
Around me, the well-oiled machine of a celebrity photoshoot whirred into action – stylists fussing with my hair, makeup artists dabbing at my forehead, my manager, Ben, hovering nearby with his perpetually anxious expression, occasionally glancing at his phone.
Later, during a brief lull in the shooting schedule, I found myself scrolling through social media in the quiet corner of the studio, a half-eaten chicken adobo sandwich resting on a nearby table. A notification popped up – a post from Ari. A striking close-up of a section of his new work, the texture thick and vibrant, the colors a bold statement. "Manila bound soon for the opening! Excited to share this new body of works. See you there!" the caption read.
A familiar warmth, tinged with a slight, almost subconscious sense of obligation, touched my lips. Ari's talent was undeniable, his ability to translate emotion onto canvas something I had always deeply admired… and perhaps, on some level, relied upon.
I quickly typed a congratulatory message, adding a string of clapping emojis.
"Looking incredible, man! Break a leg! Let's grab a drink when you're in town."
"Everything alright, Migs?" asked Sofia, my makeup artist for the day, her touch light as she blotted my forehead. She had a calm, observant presence, a quiet understanding that often made our brief interactions surprisingly insightful.
"Yeah, just saw some new work from Ari," I replied, tilting my head slightly as she adjusted my hair. "His opening's next week."
"Ari?" Sofia asked, a slight curiosity in her voice. "Is he a friend from way back?"
"Yeah, a close friend from Cebu," I explained casually. "Aristotle Aikawa.Incredibly talented artist. He's got a show opening in Manila."
Later that afternoon, while waiting for the next setup, my agent, Sarah, called. Her voice, sharp and efficient as always, cut through the ambient noise of the studio.
"Migs, just a reminder about the charity gala next weekend. Your attendance is crucial. And there will be media, so be prepared for the usual questions."
There was an unspoken emphasis on maintaining a certain image, a carefully curated narrative that had become second nature. My current casual arrangement with a stylist I'd met a few weeks ago was already feeling…stale. Maybe a night out with Ari when he was in town would be a welcome distraction.
Easy, familiar.
As the day wore on, my thoughts occasionally drifted back to Ari's post and the casual invitation I'd extended. He'd probably be thrilled to hear from me. He usually was.
It was a comfortable dynamic, one I'd grown accustomed to. His quiet admiration, his unwavering support…it was a constant in my life, a reliable source of uncomplicated affection whenever I needed it. A fleeting memory surfaced – the soft brush of his lips against mine after a particularly heavy breakup a few years ago, a moment of comfort I'd readily accepted without considering the deeper emotions it might have stirred in him. It had been easy, a familiar port in a storm. I'd moved on quickly, as always, but Ari had remained, a steadfast presence in the background. He was a good friend. A very good friend.
And sometimes, a convenient one.