Was Once the King: Chapter 21: The Quiet Crown
That night, after the incident on the Crown fall set, the
sky stretched dim and low, heavy with a kind of hush only the city knew how to
keep. Their apartment was dark except for the soft golden spill of a single
lamp in the living room. Benjamin was already home, a book resting unread in
his lap.
When Hector walked in, he didn’t say anything. Just set
down his keys, leaned against the door for a breath, and exhaled like he’d been
holding the world together too tightly.
Benjamin looked up, closing the book without a word.
Hector toed off his shoes, shrugged out of his coat, and
crossed the room in three slow steps before sinking beside Benjamin on the
couch. Their legs brushed. Silence settled.
Benjamin gave him a look—curious, waiting.
Hector rubbed his face with both hands and exhaled.
"He came to the set. Sam. Walked in like he still belonged there. Said he
just wanted to observe. Said he had the right to see what someone else was
doing with the role he made famous."
Benjamin's brows furrowed. "And the director?"
"Tried to be polite. Asked him to leave. The crew
didn’t want him there, not after what came out in the documentary. No one said
it directly, but the air went cold. Like everyone was holding their
breath."
He paused, voice quieting.
"I waited for him to walk out. Thought maybe shame
would finally do its job. But it didn’t. He just stood there, like a ghost
refusing to move on. So I stood up. Told him this wasn't his kingdom anymore.
That this show deserved peace. He said he had a right to be there. And I
said—‘You had a chance to be part of something good. But you chose to be
remembered as the reason it burned.’"
Benjamin let out a breath. "God, Hector."
Then Benjamin asked, softly, "Did he really try to
walk back in like nothing happened?"
Hector nodded. "Like he never burned it all
down."
Benjamin reached over, hand warm against Hector's.
"You didn’t let him."
"I almost didn’t say anything." Hector
admitted. " But then I looked around the room. The cast, the crew. That
boy trying to steady his hands on the script. And I knew... I couldn’t let Sam
haunt the corners of someone else's beginning."
Benjamin leaned closer. "You protected that set.
Just like you once needed protecting."
Hector gave a small smile. Tired. Honest. "I didn’t
even realize how much that show meant to me until today."
"It was your first kingdom." Benjamin said.
"Now, it’s your legacy."
They fell quiet for a long moment, the weight of the day
softening in the lamplight.
Then Benjamin tilted his head. "Can I say something
a little reckless?"
Hector turned toward him. "When has that ever
stopped you?"
Benjamin smiled. "I used to be jealous of him. Not
because he had you. But because, at one point, he was allowed to stand next to
you in the light. To be part of your world."
Hector’s expression softened, a hand coming up to brush
Benjamin’s jaw. "He stood in the light. But he never stayed. You’re the
one who held the lantern when everything went dark."
Benjamin turned his face into the touch. "Then I’ll
keep holding it. As long as you need."
Hector laughed, the sound low and real. "Then I hope
your arm never gets tired."
"Not when it’s for you."
They stayed like that—breathing in the quiet. Letting the
noise of earlier fade beneath something more honest.
Later, Hector rose and pulled something from a drawer
near the window. An old Crown fall script, corners curled and ink faded.
He placed it between them.
"I want to write something new in here." He
said. "Something for the kid playing the king now. Something I wish I had
read when I was in his shoes."
Benjamin reached for a pen and passed it over. "Then
let’s write it together."
Hector opened the cover, paused, and on the first page,
wrote in slow, careful letters:
"You don’t need to be perfect to be powerful. Let
the cracks show. That’s where the light gets in."
Benjamin added:
"You’re not here to replace a crown. You’re here to
wear it your way. That’s more than enough."
They closed the script.
Just then, Hector’s phone buzzed on the table. A message
from an unknown number:
‘I hope I didn’t disappoint you today. It’s hard,
stepping into a role someone else made legendary. But when you stood up for
me... I felt like maybe I could do this. Thank you.’
Hector read it twice. Then typed slowly:
‘Don’t carry my legacy. Carry your own. The crown is
heavy, but it doesn’t belong to the past. Make it yours.’
He set the phone down and exhaled. Something uncoiled
inside him—something old, something forgiven.
Benjamin walked over with a small box. “I found this
tucked under the old sideboard.”
Inside were photos from Crown Fall’s first press run.
Hector picked up a photo of himself, younger and unsmiling in front of a
throne. Another: him and Sam, mid-laugh.
He stared at it for a moment. Then carefully tore it down
the middle. He kept the half with himself and tossed the rest.
"Some memories aren’t worth restoring." He
said.
Benjamin nodded and gently placed a hand on Hector’s
back.
Rain had started falling outside. Gentle and steady.
Hector stood at the window, watching the streaks trail
down the glass. “When it rained back then, I used to wonder if the sky was
mourning me.”
Benjamin wrapped his arms around him from behind. “And
now?”
“Now I think it’s washing everything clean.”
They stood there, quiet and whole.
They left the script on the table.
And walked into the kitchen, hand in hand, ready to start
the next chapter—not as performers, not as legends, but as themselves.
Together.
Later that night, after the dishes had been done and the
rain softened into mist, Hector was brushing his teeth when Benjamin appeared
in the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“What?” Hector asked, mouth full of toothpaste.
Benjamin leaned against the frame. “I was just
remembering something.”
“Please tell me it wasn’t about me tripping on the rug
again.”
“No.” Benjamin said with a grin. “It was the first time I
saw your real smile. After the scandal. After everything.”
Hector raised a brow.
“I had to physically stop myself from pouncing on you
right there in the greenroom.” Benjamin admitted. “It was like… watching the
sun rise after years of fog.”
Hector chuckled, rinsed his mouth, and leaned against the
sink, face softening.
“You waited until I could smile for real.”
Benjamin stepped forward. “I’ll always wait for that
smile.”
Hector took his hand and pulled him close, wrapping his
arms around his waist. “Then let’s make sure you never have to wait that long
again.”
And in the gentle quiet of that moment, with no cameras,
no stage, and no past chasing them—just the soft hum of rain and the slow
rhythm of breath—they kissed.
Not like a beginning. Not like an ending.
But like something that was finally, irrevocably, safe.
Home.
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