Was Once the King: Chapter 8: Only For You

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It began with a scene that felt too real.

The courtyard had been dressed with weather-worn stone tiles and distant lanterns meant to glow like memory. The script said this was the moment Oran defended Cale—when the loyalty that had once nearly cost him his life was laid bare.

Hector adjusted his collar as the mic tech clipped the pack to the small of his back.

Benjamin was already standing on his mark, crown crooked, expression composed. The scene was simple. But the director had made it clear: this wasn't just dialogue.

"This is where Cale says everything Oran needs to hear—but doesn't believe he deserves."

Hector nodded, as he always did.

But inside, the words itched like old wounds.

"Scene twenty-two, take two!"

"Action!"

The cameras rolled.

Hector stepped forward, Oran's guilt weighing in his spine. He didn't have to reach far to find it. Didn't have to imagine the shame. The solitude. It was already there, etched into the back of his mind like a scar he stopped trying to hide.

Benjamin turned to him, voice steady. Not cold. Not theatrical. Just... true.

"You think I stood by you out of duty?"

Hector flinched, just slightly. He let it stay. Let the camera catch the moment his façade wavered.

"You think I didn't have reason to walk away?" Benjamin continued, stepping closer, slow but certain. "Every whisper. Every headline. Every silence you gave me—I endured it."

The pause in Benjamin's voice wasn't rehearsed. It was lived-in. Worn. Like he'd carried those words for far too long.

Cale looked away.

Hector's heart beat too fast. He wasn't just acting anymore. He could feel the weight of Benjamin's gaze like a hand pressed to his skin.

Benjamin's voice softened, lower now, quieter, almost a confession.

"I stayed because I never stopped believing in you."

The air thinned.

Hector blinked, once. His line sat on the tip of his tongue, but it felt wrong to say it. Like speaking would break whatever this moment had become.

So he didn't.

He just looked at Benjamin.

And for a second too long, it wasn't Oran looking at Cale.

It was Hector—tired, scarred Hector—looking at the one person who had never stopped waiting.

The director didn't say a word.

He let the silence bloom. Let it stretch until even the crew held their breath.

And then, quietly:

"Cut."

Hector walked off set without a word.

No one stopped him. Not even Benjamin.

He found an unused corridor beside the soundstage, barely lit. The air was cool and quiet. Somewhere down the hall, a metal door clanged softly as someone packed up.

Hector leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. Just for a minute.

He heard the footsteps before he opened his eyes.

Benjamin didn't say anything at first.

He simply stopped a few paces away. Not close enough to invade. But not far enough to feel like retreat.

Hector opened his eyes slowly.

"That line," He said, voice low, "was too close."

Benjamin didn't apologize. "That's why it worked."

A pause.

Hector looked down at his hands. The gloves he wore as Cale were still on.

"Don't think I didn't feel it." He murmured. "What you put in that line."

Benjamin tilted his head. "You think I'm that good an actor?"

Hector gave a soft, broken sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

"No," he said. "I think you meant it."

Benjamin looked away, but didn't deny it.

"I did."

Another silence. This one longer.

Then Hector stepped forward. Just once. Just enough to close the distance.

He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out something folded.

"I was going to leave this in your script binder." he said, pressing it into Benjamin's hand. "But I figured I owed you at least this much."

He didn't wait for a reply.

He walked away.

Benjamin waited until Hector turned the corner.

Then looked down.

It was a small note. Folded once, cleanly.

He opened it.

'Thank you for everything you've done. I know it's taking a toll on you. :)'

The smiley face made his breath catch.

A memory stirred: years ago, on their first project together, a barely-known Benjamin had found a similar note tucked into his costume bag, from a then-stardom-bright Hector.

'You were good today. Keep at it. :)'

He smiled.

Not a grin. Not something staged.

Just soft. Grateful.

He folded the note again, careful with the edges.

Tucked it into his chest pocket.

Close to his heart.

That night, the rooftop felt different.

There was no wine.

Just quiet.

And something unspoken that had begun to take root. Not a declaration. Not even a conversation. Just the soft, fragile knowledge that something was beginning to shift.

Benjamin arrived first.

He waited.

The wind played gently through his hair, brushing the collar of his coat. He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked up at the overcast sky, where only the brightest stars dared peek through the haze.

He didn't pace. Didn't fidget.

He simply waited.

And when Hector finally appeared, his steps unhurried, holding two cups of coffee instead of wine, Benjamin straightened slightly but didn't move to greet him.

Hector handed over one of the cups without a word. Benjamin accepted it with a nod, his fingers brushing briefly against Hector's. The warmth of the drink settled between them like an offering.

They sat.

Together.

Not quite touching, but closer than before.

The rooftop, with its quiet corners and distant city hum, had become their place. Not by plan. Not by promise. But by repetition. By presence.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

The silence was no longer a wall.

It was a comfort.

A space where neither had to pretend.

Benjamin sipped his coffee and made a face.

"Still terrible." He muttered.

Hector huffed out a small laugh. "Better than needing the wine."

Benjamin smiled at that. Not wide. But genuine.

The wind passed again, cooler this time.

Benjamin adjusted the scarf loosely around his neck, then glanced sideways. Just for a moment.

Hector was watching the skyline. But something about the slope of his shoulders—less guarded, less drawn—made Benjamin's heart ache in a way he couldn't name.

And for once, Hector didn't need the silence to protect himself.

He simply let it hold him.

And Benjamin, as always, stayed right there.

Steady.

Silent.

His presence, a kind of promise.




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