Was Once the King: Chapter 5: The Second Glass
Weeks passed, but not much changed on the surface. The
shooting schedule remained grueling. The weather, unpredictable. The press,
relentless. Yet in the quiet spaces between the chaos, something was slowly
shifting.
Hector noticed it first in the small things.
Benjamin always kept his distance—never too far, never
too close. He didn’t linger unnecessarily, didn’t intrude on Hector’s solitude,
didn’t push for conversation. But he also never left the set until Hector had
gotten into his car and driven off. Not once.
At first, Hector had chalked it up to coincidence. Then
habit. But when he looked closer, he saw the truth in the timing—the pause in
Benjamin’s step, the subtle way he’d position himself near the exit just out of
Hector’s line of sight, yet always within reach.
It was a quiet promise. “I’ll wait.”
And Hector, though he said nothing, had come to expect
it. Maybe even need it.
Sometimes, he caught himself watching Benjamin
too—watching the way he adjusted the angle of his head slightly before each
take, the way he sometimes exhaled through his nose like he was trying to expel
nerves, the way his hands curled subtly in his lap when he was deep in thought.
Benjamin didn’t fidget much. But when he did, Hector
noticed.
He also noticed how Benjamin never pushed boundaries. Not
emotionally, not physically. If Hector stepped back, Benjamin stepped no
closer. If Hector stayed behind after a shoot, Benjamin would linger nearby—but
never approach unless Hector made the first move.
A few times, Hector caught Benjamin watching him too.
Not with pity. Not even with longing.
Just… quiet recognition. Like he was saying, I see you.
There was a day—Tuesday, maybe—when the shoot had been
especially difficult. The director had pushed for a high-emotion sequence,
something raw and jagged. The scene required Oran to break down in silence
after Cale left him behind, a close-up that demanded restraint and devastation
all at once.
They shot it six times.
By the end, Hector’s head was pounding.
He didn’t speak to anyone. Just nodded curtly and walked
off set.
Benjamin didn’t say anything either. But he didn’t leave.
That night, Hector went to the rooftop again. The wine
was already warm in his car. He didn’t care. He poured it and drank anyway, the
bitterness coating his tongue.
He didn’t hear Benjamin come up. But suddenly, he was
there.
Not beside him. Not across from him. Just… there. Sitting
a short distance away, legs stretched out, head tilted back to watch the sky.
They didn’t talk.
They never did.
But that night, the quiet between them felt like
something solid. Like an understanding built on the wreckage of everything that
had gone unsaid.
And the next night, Benjamin was there again.
The crew had noticed. They didn’t say anything, of
course, but Hector could feel the glances. The curiosity. One or two makeup
artists had started bringing Benjamin’s tea and Hector’s coffee together,
delivering them in a single trip instead of two.
No one said it out loud.
But they all knew something was shifting.
Benjamin never reacted to the glances. He kept his
posture even, his conversations limited to the work.
And Hector… he let him.
That evening was no different. The last shot wrapped
late, the studio bathed in amber floodlights as the crew packed up their
equipment. Laughter drifted from the catering tent, where a few stragglers
lingered over coffee and leftover pastries.
But Hector didn’t join them.
He made his way to the rooftop, as he had so many times
before.
Except this time—he brought two glasses.
The wine bottle was already familiar, an unspoken part of
his ritual. But tonight, he paused just a little longer beside the passenger
seat of his car, pulling out a second glass he’d stashed away earlier that
week. Just in case.
He climbed the stairs, the chill of the metal railing
biting into his palm. When he reached the rooftop, he paused at the edge,
looking out at the flickering city skyline.
It had rained earlier. The rooftop was still damp in
places. The smell of wet concrete mixed with the lingering scent of stage
makeup and varnished wood. The stars were barely visible, hidden behind a thick
gauze of clouds.
Hector didn’t pour the wine yet. He waited.
He didn’t know why he was nervous. Or maybe he did.
Soft footsteps.
Careful. Familiar.
Benjamin stepped onto the rooftop, halting when he saw
Hector already there.
Their eyes met.
This time, Hector didn’t look away.
He raised the wine bottle. Poured into both glasses.
Walked over.
Wordless, he handed Benjamin the second glass and sat
beside him—close this time, not touching, but near enough to share the same
breeze.
Benjamin took the glass with both hands, his fingers
brushing Hector’s briefly.
And then—a smile.
A real one.
Blinding, almost boyish in its quiet joy. It lit his
entire face, made his eyes crinkle, and for a fleeting second, Benjamin looked
years younger.
He didn’t speak either.
He just leaned back against the wall, glass resting on
his knee, and tilted his head toward the sky.
They drank.
No toast. No words. Just sips of silence between them.
Hector took another sip, then leaned back too.
For the first time in a long time, the rooftop didn’t
feel like a place to escape. It felt like a place to return to.
“I almost didn’t come up.” Hector said softly, surprising
even himself.
Benjamin turned, a faint quirk of a smile still on his
lips. “But you did.”
Hector nodded once.
And they fell back into silence.
The wind rustled gently across the rooftop, carrying
distant sounds of city life—a siren, a horn, laughter from a balcony too far to
see. The kind of life they weren’t a part of, not tonight. Not here.
Benjamin shifted, pulling his coat tighter around his
shoulders. “It’s colder than usual.”
Hector hummed in agreement.
Then, quietly: “Thanks for waiting.”
Benjamin looked over, eyes soft. “Always.”
And though Hector didn’t respond, something settled in
his chest. Not peace. Not yet. But the first note of something softer.
Something that could grow.
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