Was Once the King: Chapter 23: Afterlight
The world didn’t quiet after the storm. It simply
shifted. Reassembled itself. And this time, it made space for the ones who had
survived.
Hector and Benjamin woke late the morning after the
rooftop, sunlight laced between the curtains, the scent of rain still lingering
from the night before. Their limbs were tangled, breaths synced in a rhythm
that felt practiced, safe.
No alarms. No call sheets. Just stillness.
Hector reached for his phone on the nightstand and
blinked at the flurry of notifications. Mentions. Articles. Invitations. The
documentary had gone global. Hashtags resurfaced: #TheKingReturns,
#GraceAfterFire, #BrandonAndWordsworth. Fan accounts had started reposting old
footage, new art, even timelines of events—as though trying to rebuild the
story themselves, with better endings.
Benjamin stirred beside him, sleep-heavy and warm.
“Anything good?”
“Everything.” Hector said, voice quiet. “For once,
everything is good.”
Benjamin rubbed his eyes and mumbled, “I never thought
I’d wake up to peace. It’s almost... suspicious.”
Hector chuckled. “Let’s not jinx it. Just... breathe it
in.”
That afternoon, they took a walk through the quieter part
of the city—no disguises, no tinted sunglasses. Just them.
“Feels different now.” Benjamin said, sipping from the
coffee he insisted they stop for. “Like the world’s still watching, but not in
the same way.”
Hector nodded. “Not like vultures. More like people
waiting to see what we’ll build.”
Benjamin smiled. “Then let’s build something worth
watching.”
They passed a bookstore window, where someone had drawn
in chalk: ‘Not every fire burns you down. Some clear the way.’ Beneath it was a
poster of their documentary, half obscured by a bouquet of fresh flowers.
Hector stared at it for a moment.
Benjamin slipped his hand into his. “You okay?”
“I think I am.” Hector said. “More than I thought I’d
ever be.”
They stopped for groceries afterward. Hector reached for
vegetables while Benjamin insisted on picking the perfect pasta shape.
“Fusilli.” Benjamin declared, holding up the box. “It’s
chaotic but still holds everything together. Like us.”
Hector snorted. “Only you would romanticize pasta.”
At checkout, an elderly woman behind them smiled kindly.
“You two were wonderful in that documentary. Thank you for being brave.”
Neither knew what to say at first. Then Hector simply
nodded. “Thank you for watching.”
Benjamin added, “Thank you for seeing us.”
An email arrived later that evening. It was an invitation
to speak at a public panel titled “Truth, Talent & Trust: Redefining Safe
Spaces in Performance”. The invite was formal but genuine—signed by former cast
members, directors, even newcomers who had seen the documentary.
“You don’t have to go.” Benjamin said, reading over his
shoulder.
“I want to.” Hector said. “But I don’t want to do it
alone.”
Benjamin leaned over and kissed his temple. “Then we’ll
do it together.”
“You sure?”
“With you? Always.”
The event was held in a large auditorium, filled with
actors, producers, media students, and fans alike. Benjamin and Hector sat side
by side on a panel of five, including the new lead from Crown Fall, a
well-known casting director, and a younger actor who’d recently gone viral for
outing a toxic work environment.
Hector listened quietly as the others spoke. Then, when
the host turned to him, he said:
“I used to think silence was strength. That if I didn’t
break, if I didn’t speak, it meant I’d won. But silence wasn’t protecting me.
It was isolating me. And it was protecting the wrong people.”
He paused. Benjamin reached beneath the table and brushed
their fingers together.
“What I’ve learned is this: truth doesn’t need to be
loud. It just needs to be clear. And trust... trust isn’t something you demand.
It’s something you earn back, moment by moment. Word by word. Scene by scene.”
There was a hush. Then applause.
The young Crown Fall lead stood after the panel and came
to Hector, shy and nervous.
“Thank you.” he said. “For speaking. For... staying.”
Hector smiled, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“You’re not alone now. Make sure no one else is either.”
Benjamin added gently, “And when you feel the weight,
don’t carry it alone. There’s always someone willing to help.”
Later that night, back at home, Hector sat in the living
room while Benjamin reheated leftovers.
“I keep thinking about that kid.” Hector said. “The one
from Crown Fall. He reminds me of me. From back then.”
“He’s luckier.” Benjamin said, handing him a plate. “He
has someone like you looking out for him.”
Hector nodded slowly. “I used to want to erase everything
that happened. But maybe some things are meant to be rebuilt. Not rewritten.”
Benjamin sat beside him, wrapping his arms loosely around
Hector’s waist. “You’re doing more than rebuilding. You’re lighting torches for
others.”
Hector smiled faintly. “I’m still learning how to hold
the flame without burning myself.”
Benjamin kissed his shoulder. “Then let me be the
windbreak.”
They ended the day on the rooftop, sharing a blanket and
a bowl of slightly burned popcorn. The sky was overcast. The city lights dulled
by mist.
“Feels like a lull.” Benjamin said. “Not an end. Just...
a pause.”
“We’ve earned it.” Hector said.
Benjamin reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny
velvet box.
Hector blinked. “What is that?”
Benjamin opened it—not to reveal a ring, but a simple
silver bracelet. Etched inside were four words:
Stay. Speak. Heal. Build.
“I didn’t want to propose.” Benjamin said quickly. “Not
yet. Not officially. But I wanted to give you something. A marker. Like your
carvings. Something that says, ‘we were here.’”
Hector took the bracelet, eyes shining. “It’s perfect.”
He leaned in, kissed Benjamin’s jaw, then his lips.
Slowly. Gratefully.
When they pulled apart, they remained tucked together
beneath the blanket, breaths misting the air.
Hector whispered, “You know what I see when I look at
you?”
Benjamin tilted his head, teasing. “A world-class actor
with devastating charm?”
Hector chuckled, then softened. “Hope. That’s what I see.
Every time. You walked into my ruins and never once flinched. That takes more
strength than most people will ever understand.”
Benjamin squeezed his hand, eyes glistening. “Then let’s
keep choosing hope. Every time. Not just when it’s easy, but especially when
it’s hard.”
Hector rested his forehead against Benjamin’s. “Then
we’ve already won.”
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