Was Once the King: Chapter 9: The Things He Remembers

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It was colder than usual that night.

The rooftop stood quiet, clouds inching across a pale sky. The city below blinked dimly, fading into a sleepy hush. There was no wind, no traffic hum, just stillness.

Hector stood there alone for a while. Hands in his coat pockets. His fingers curled around something solid, wrapped in soft cloth.

A watch.

He hadn't looked at it in months.

Years, maybe. Not properly.

He remembered the day he bought it. The way Benjamin had lingered by the glass case between shoots during their first drama together. Nothing big—just a simple silver watch with a deep navy face. Elegant, understated. Not flashy enough to draw a crowd, but something about it had made Benjamin pause.

He hadn't said anything at the time. Just looked.

Hector noticed.

A week later, Hector bought it.

Sam had seen the box when he opened the trunk one afternoon.

"Who's that for?" Sam had asked.

Hector had shrugged. "A friend."

He never gave it. Not then. Not after.

Too much had changed. Too much had broken.

But now... Benjamin had stayed. Through silence. Through distance. Through cold rooftop nights and unasked questions.

And tonight—Hector had found the courage to bring it.

The door opened behind him. Footsteps, light and familiar.

Benjamin approached quietly, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He looked at Hector, eyes soft but searching.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Then Hector turned.

Held out the small wrapped bundle.

Benjamin looked down, surprised.

Slowly, he took it.

Unwrapped the cloth.

The moment he saw it, recognition lit his face. A breath hitched.

He looked up at Hector.

But Hector wasn't meeting his eyes.

"I bought it a long time ago." Hector said, voice steady, but quiet. "For you. Thought you might still like it."

A beat.

"Didn't really know what to do with it after."

Benjamin opened his mouth—then closed it.

He held the watch like it was something fragile.

Hector stepped away, heading for the stairs.

Benjamin watched him go, chest tight with words he didn't know how to say.

Morning came with the usual rush.

The set was alive with movement—crew members checking lights, cameras being rolled into place, the makeup team fluttering around half-awake actors. There was laughter in the distance, someone shouting for more coffee, someone else balancing a tray of props with practiced ease.

Hector had arrived early. Earlier than usual. He sat in his chair, flipping through the day's script, but not really reading. His eyes occasionally flicked to the lot entrance, watching the cars pull in, one by one.

And then—Benjamin's car.

He saw him step out, casual and unhurried, shoulders relaxed beneath his hoodie. But it wasn't Benjamin's face that caught Hector's attention.

It was his wrist.

A glint of silver and navy peeked from beneath the jacket cuff. Familiar. Undeniable.

The watch.

Hector's breath hitched—sharp, silent, invisible to anyone watching.

It felt like time stopped for a moment. Like the world blurred around that single image.

And then—

A smile.

Unplanned. Unforced.

It crept up before Hector could stop it.

Small, crooked, warm.

A real smile.

Only for him.

Benjamin walked across the set, heading toward the actors' prep area, not yet aware he was being watched.

But halfway there, something tugged in his chest. That strange sensation—like being seen. Like being known.

He turned his head, almost instinctively.

And caught it.

The smile.

Hector's eyes locked with his for just a second—unguarded, gentle.

Benjamin stopped.

His heartbeat quickened. Not wildly, but distinctly. His chest rose with a soft inhale, ears flushing pink beneath his hair. The air felt warmer. The world softer.

A blush colored his face as his hand touched the watch on his wrist.

Then—

A smile bloomed.

Small, but certain.

He walked to his chair slower than usual, savoring the moment, carrying the weight of that smile like a secret tucked in his pocket.

As he sat down, someone from the lighting crew passed him with a cheerful "Morning!"

Benjamin returned the greeting, distracted.

His fingers brushed over the edge of the watch once more.

The smile stayed.

Soft. Certain. And quietly radiant.

The morning's shoot was a quiet one—Oran and Cale sitting by a riverbank after a long campaign, talking not about war or duty, but about the people they used to be.

The director wanted tenderness. Something weary, but open. Two men realizing they'd stopped being alone.

It wasn't hard.

The lines came easily.

And the space between them—those moments where neither spoke, just watched the water flow—felt true.

"You ever think about what it could've been?" Cale asked, voice low.

Oran glanced at him, eyes thoughtful. "Sometimes. When it's quiet."

"Does it hurt?"

A pause.

"Yes." Oran said. "But not as much as it used to."

The camera lingered.

Cut.

The director clapped once. "Perfect. Keep that energy for the next block. It's working. You two have never looked more in sync."

Benjamin looked toward Hector, and for a second, their eyes met.

And for once, neither looked away.

Evening fell again.

Another long day behind them. The lights dimmed, and the crew trickled out. The laughter faded. The bustle turned into quiet footsteps and final calls echoing off distant walls.

Hector lingered on the rooftop again. This time, no coffee. No wine.

Just him.

The sky was painted in soft hues of orange and violet, clouds scattering the last light of day. The city below sparkled to life as dusk settled in.

He leaned against the concrete railing, his gaze lost in the distance, the watchful silence familiar now.

Until the door opened.

Benjamin stepped out.

The watch was still on his wrist.

He paused at the threshold, as if checking whether he was intruding. Then he stepped forward. Not hesitantly, but gently. With a kind of knowing.

He didn't sit beside Hector this time.

He stood for a while, hands in his pockets, looking at the skyline as if it offered answers neither of them had asked for aloud.

Then, softly:

"You remembered."

His voice was light, almost uncertain—like he hadn't expected acknowledgment but was glad for it anyway.

Hector didn't answer immediately.

The breeze tugged at his collar, played with a strand of hair near his ear. The city hummed below in gentle static.

His voice, when it came, was softer than the wind.

"I never forgot." He said.

Benjamin turned then, truly looking at him.

For a second, neither moved.

Then Benjamin walked closer and sat down beside him. Close, but not too close. Shoulder not touching shoulder. Just near enough.

No more distance.

No more pretending.

For a long time, neither spoke.

And yet, it wasn't silence that stretched between them—it was presence. Shared and understood.

The kind that didn't need words to make sense.

Hector glanced sideways, just briefly, taking in the lines of Benjamin's profile, the steady breath, the comfort in his stillness.

And that night, for the first time, the silence felt like something full.

Like home.

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