Private Not Secret
The Ballot of the Bitter Writer
**[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: @DomundiTV Official]** **POLL CLOSED.** **Total Votes Processed:** 4,892,301 **Winner Verification:** Complete. **Status:** *Chaos Imminent.*
The Domundi backend server was currently screaming. Inside the small, windowless office where the social media admins lived on a diet of energy drinks and sheer audacity, three people were staring at a spreadsheet.
"Is this a glitch?" the head admin asked, pointing at the bar graph. "Did a bot farm get involved?"
"No," the junior admin replied, eyes wide. "We tracked the IP addresses. It’s organic. It’s just... the fans are terrifyingly coordinated. Also, one specific IP address in the Sukhumvit area submitted 'JJ Radchapon' forty-two times in three minutes at 2 AM last night."
"Wait," the head admin leaned in. "Isn't that the building where Net and JJ live?"
"Probably just a neighbor who likes drama," the junior muttered, though they all knew better. "Anyway, the results are undeniable. The public doesn't want another actor. They don't want a trainee. They want the guy who writes the scripts to be *in* the script."
***
The atmosphere in the Domundi meeting room was decidedly less tense than the server room. The main cast of *The Blueprint House*—a collection of high-cheekboned, perfectly styled actors—were lounging in their chairs. Net was at the center, looking like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover, his fingers drumming a rhythmic beat on the table.
JJ was there, too, but he was sitting at the very end of the table, his laptop open, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He was technically there to discuss the "narrative beats" for the house stay—the prompts the actors would receive to keep things interesting.
"I’m just saying," Net said, his voice carrying that smooth, effortless projection that always made JJ’s eye twitch. "If the wildcard is one of the new trainees, I’m going to have to spend the first three days being a mentor. It’s going to ruin my 'cool, detached' vibe."
JJ didn't look up from his screen. "You don't have a cool, detached vibe, Net. You have the vibe of a golden retriever that learned how to use hair gel."
The other actors snickered. Net’s grin widened, his eyes locking onto the side of JJ’s face. "And yet, you’re the one who wrote my last three characters as 'brooding and mysterious.' Deep down, you see the vision."
"Deep down, I see a paycheck," JJ countered, finally looking up to level a flat stare at him. "Can we focus? The production team is about to announce the winner. I need to know who it is so I can adjust the house rules."
"Why are you so stressed, Khun Writer?" Net teased, leaning back and stretching his arms. "Afraid someone more interesting than you is going to be in the house with me?"
"I’m afraid I’ll have to write dialogue for someone who actually has a personality, and I’ll be out of practice after working with you for so long," JJ snapped.
Before Net could retort, the Executive Producer walked in, clutching a tablet. The room went quiet.
"Alright, everyone. The votes are in. The engagement was higher than anything we’ve ever done. We had nearly five million submissions."
Net winked at the camera in the corner—the one filming the 'Behind the Scenes' teaser. "So, who’s the lucky trainee? Or did they vote for a K-Pop idol we can’t afford?"
The Producer cleared his throat, his eyes darting toward the end of the table. "Actually, the public was very specific. They didn't want a trainee. They wanted... JJ Radchapon."
The silence that followed was absolute.
JJ, who had been mid-sip of his iced Americano, froze. He slowly lowered the cup. "Sorry, I think I misheard. You're calling my name because I’m talking too much? I’ll be quiet. Net was the one who started it."
The Producer shook his head. "No, JJ. You *are* the wildcard. The fans voted for you to join the cast. As a participant. Twenty-four-seven livestream. The whole thirty days."
JJ’s face went through four different stages of grief in six seconds. "That’s... that’s not possible. I’m a writer. I’m behind the scenes. I’m the 'behind' in 'behind the scenes'!"
"The fans disagree," the Producer said, showing the tablet screen. The word **JJ** was written in a font so large it was almost aggressive. "The engagement numbers for your bickering clips with Net are the highest on our channel. The company has decided to prioritize what the audience wants. It’s a perfect opportunity for 'meta-content.' The writer living in the world he helped build."
Net, who had been uncharacteristically silent, suddenly burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. He doubled over, his forehead hitting the table with a dull thud.
"Oh, this is rich," Net gasped, clutching his stomach. "This is the best thing that has ever happened in the history of television."
JJ stood up, his chair screeching against the floor. He marched over to Net and delivered a sharp, controlled swat to the back of the actor's head.
"Stop laughing!" JJ hissed, his face turning a brilliant shade of pink. "This is your fault! You and your stupid 'rivalry' bits! You baited them into this!"
Net looked up, his eyes watering from laughter. "My fault? How is it my fault that the public realized you're more entertaining when you're angry than most actors are when they're crying? JJ, you’re going to be a star!"
"I don't want to be a star! I want to be in a dark room with a mechanical keyboard!" JJ turned back to the Producer. "I decline. I’m a private citizen. I have rights."
"You signed the 'General Talent and Staff Participation' waiver last month, JJ," the Producer said gently. "The one that says staff can be featured in promotional content at the discretion of the producers?"
JJ blinked. "I thought that meant I’d be in the background of a TikTok!"
"Congratulations, JJ!" one of the other actors shouted, grinning. "I can't wait to see you try to write a script while Net is trying to cook breakfast."
"He doesn't cook," JJ snapped, his brain still reeling. "He just burns toast and expects a standing ovation."
"See?" Net said, wiping his eyes. "Content gold."
***
Ten minutes later, JJ had stormed out of the room to "call his lawyer" (who was actually just his sister, who would definitely laugh at him).
The social media admin approached Net, who was still leaning against the wall outside the meeting room, looking thoroughly entertained.
"P’Net? We need to announce the winner on Twitter and IG immediately to capitalize on the trend," the admin said, holding up a camera. "But JJ-P’ disappeared before we could get a promotional headshot. Do you... do you have anything we could use? A photo of him?"
Net’s expression shifted. For a fleeting second, his eyes went soft—the look he usually reserved for the quiet hours in their apartment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
"I have one," Net said, his voice dropping an octave. "It’s from the literature award gala last year. He was wearing that velvet suit. He looked... respectable."
He scrolled through his gallery. Past photos of their cat, past blurry photos of JJ sleeping, past a dozen selfies of them that the world would never see. He stopped at a photo of JJ standing against a marble pillar, looking sharp, intellectual, and devastatingly handsome.
"He’s going to hate this," Net murmured, a devious smirk returning to his lips. "He hates looking 'official.' He says it makes him look like a tax consultant."
"It’s perfect," the admin said. "Send it over."
Net hit 'send' with a flourish. "Don't say it came from me. Or do. Actually, definitely tell him it was me."
***
**[TWITTER/X]** **@DomundiTV:** [IMAGE: A high-quality, professional-looking photo of JJ Radchapon in a dark velvet blazer, looking intensely into the distance.] *“The people have spoken! The final member of #BlueprintHouse is none other than our very own acclaimed writer, JJ Radchapon! Will he be able to keep the cast in line, or will the house rewrite HIM? Stay tuned for the 24/7 livestream start!”*
**[COMMENTS]**
**@JJ_Radchapon:** Where did you get this photo? I deleted this from the cloud. I look like I’m about to explain why your mortgage was denied.
**@NetSiraphop:** [Reply to @JJ_Radchapon] You look beautiful, Khun Writer. Very 'respected.' Very 'disciplined.' I sent it to them. You’re welcome. 555555555.
**@JJ_Radchapon:** [Reply to @NetSiraphop] I am going to change your character’s name to 'Barnaby' in the next draft. I am going to make you wear a clown suit for the entire third act.
**@NetSiraphop:** [Reply to @JJ_Radchapon] You’d have to catch me first. And since we’re going to be in the same house for 30 days... I think I have the upper hand.
**@NetJJ_Shipper:** OH MY GOD. THE PHOTO. THE BANTER. NET HAD THAT PHOTO SAVED ON HIS PHONE???
**@WriterStan:** Look at JJ’s reply... he’s actually spiraling. Net is a menace, I swear to god he lives to see JJ suffer.
**@DailyDrama:** "I sent it to them. You're welcome." THE AUDACITY. Net is literally the president of the JJ Radchapon Fanclub and the President of the JJ Radchapon Haters Club at the same time.
**@InterFan_Global:** Is no one talking about how Net just... had a formal, high-res photo of JJ ready to go? Do you just keep a folder of your 'rival' on your phone, Net? Sure. That’s very normal behavior for 'friends.'
***
Back at the apartment, the door slammed so hard the pictures on the wall rattled.
"Net Siraphop!"
Net was sitting on the kitchen island, peeling an orange. He didn't even look up. "You’re trending, JJ. Number one in Thailand. Number four worldwide. You’re more popular than the show itself."
JJ marched into the kitchen, his phone held out like a weapon. "That photo was for a private archive! I looked like a pretentious prick!"
"You looked like a genius," Net corrected, his voice losing the teasing edge for a moment. He hopped off the island and walked toward JJ. "And the fans love it. They think we’re going to kill each other. It’s perfect engagement."
JJ stopped, his chest heaving. "I can't do it, Net. I can't be 'on' for that long. I’m going to slip. I’m going to forget the cameras are there and I’m going to do something stupid, like make you coffee or tell you your hair looks good."
Net reached out, his hands landing on JJ’s shoulders. He leaned in, his breath warm against JJ’s ear. "Then let them see it. Let them wonder. We’ve spent five years giving them just enough to keep them guessing. We’ll just keep doing that. A little bit of truth, a lot of bickering."
JJ leaned his forehead against Net’s chest, a long, shaky sigh escaping him. "You’re a menace. I hate that I’m stuck with you."
"You love it," Net whispered, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of JJ’s neck. "You love the drama. It gives you better dialogue for your scripts."
JJ pulled back just enough to look at him. "If you mention the 'help' comment one more time on camera, I’m going to tell everyone you sleep with a stuffed penguin."
Net’s eyes widened. "You wouldn't."
"Try me," JJ challenged, a small, dangerous smile finally appearing on his face.
Net laughed, pulling JJ into a proper hug, the kind that was definitely not for 'rivals.' "This is going to be the longest thirty days of our lives."
"The longest," JJ agreed, his arms wrapping around Net’s waist. "But at least I’ll be there to make sure you don't burn the house down."
"Exactly," Net said, kissing JJ’s temple. "Content gold, JJ. Content gold."
***
**[LEAKED CLIP: @DMD_Staff_Confessions]** *(The video is shaky, filmed from a distance in the hallway after the meeting)* **Voice 1 (Net):** "You’re not actually mad about the photo, are you?" **Voice 2 (JJ):** "I’m furious. I’m going to delete your Netflix profile." **Voice 1:** "Liar. You think you look hot. I saw you checking the comments." **Voice 2:** "Shut up. Go buy milk. We’re out." **Voice 1:** "Only if you say please, Khun Writer." *(Sound of a playful smack and a muffled laugh)*
**[TOP COMMENT]** **@ChaosTheory:** Did... did Net just ask him to say 'please' in that voice? And why does JJ sound like he’s actually going to delete the Netflix profile? This isn't a rivalry, it’s a domestic dispute and we’re all just intruders. I LOVE IT.