PitBabe Cast: Imagines

BenzGarfield: The Real You

Benz, a famous actor in Thailand, was no stranger to the spotlight. His fanbase stretched across the country, his face gracing billboards, magazines, and TV screens, but one night, at a private party, things took an unexpected turn.

As he made his way to the back door to sneak out, trying to avoid the paparazzi waiting at the front, his escape took a sudden detour. The door swung open and hit someone standing outside.

"Hey!" The person yelped, rubbing their head in surprise, but then their expression froze. They looked up and locked eyes with Benz.

They had almost gotten angry, but then, he recognized the look. The person wasn't starstruck, nor did they seem impressed by Benz's fame. They just seemed...annoyed.

Before Benz could even react, the stranger opened their mouth. "Oh, it's you."

Benz quickly covered the person's mouth with his hand. "Hey, I know you know me, but don't shout. Please, I'll sign anything—your shirt, your notebook—just don't tell anyone I'm here."

The person pushed his hand away and glared at him, unimpressed. "Well, Khun Benz, I don't care about your stupid signature. Can you just go away so I can continue my job?" With that, the person turned to walk away.

Benz stood there, stunned. It was the first time anyone had ever responded to him like that. No admiration, no excitement. Just irritation.

"Wait," Benz called out before the person could leave. "What's your name?"

The stranger turned back and handed Benz a business card. "Garfield," he said flatly. "And by the way, can you compensate me for the injury? My head hurts like hell. PromptPay is fine."

Benz blinked, processing the request for a moment, but then he smiled to himself. Garfield...

The next day, Benz found himself reaching out to Garfield. He offered him a job as his personal assistant, but he never expected that what started as a simple professional arrangement would evolve into something much more personal.

As Benz sat at his desk, reviewing some notes for an upcoming project, Garfield knocked and entered the room. He was holding a cup of coffee, his usual no-nonsense attitude still intact.

"You look like you're drowning in scripts," Garfield remarked, placing the coffee down beside him with a teasing smile. "Need a hand?"

Benz chuckled, looking up from his work. "I could always use an extra set of hands."

"You know," Garfield leaned against the desk, folding his arms, "you don't have to pretend to be perfect all the time. Everyone knows you're busy."

Benz raised an eyebrow. "Pretend? I am perfect," he joked, leaning back in his chair with a playful smirk.

Garfield rolled his eyes, a knowing smile on his lips. "Yeah, right. And the fact that you're practically a walking, talking billboard for perfection doesn't make you feel trapped at all?"

Benz froze for a moment, his expression softening. He hadn't really thought about it that way before. "I guess I never really questioned it."

Garfield leaned in a little, looking at Benz with those piercing eyes. "Well, it's exhausting to try to be someone you're not. Doesn't that get old?"

Benz couldn't help but laugh. "You really don't hold back, do you?"

"No point in pretending," Garfield shrugged nonchalantly. "You're just a guy, Benz. Famous, yeah, but still just a guy."

Benz felt a warmth spread through him as he watched Garfield, a rare and genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I like that. Most people don't see me that way."