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Say My Name, Say the Truth
Last Updated:
2025-05-27 05:16:26
Latest chapter
Behind the Spotlight When the Silence Shatters
Ethan’s POVThe first time I cried in front of Julian, I was twenty-five and buzzed on cheap vodka in a Berlin flat. He didn’t say anything. Just held me like the world wasn’t ending.This time, it was worse.Because this time, he was the one fraying.And I didn’t know how to hold us both.It started at the film gala.A bright, curated night. Polished cameras. Glittering lights. A crowd that cheered for progress but whispered about it, too.I could feel it from the moment we stepped onto the carpet. Eyes pinning us together. Some curious. Some cruel.Julian smiled beside me, that perfect smile he’d trained to wear. But it didn’t reach his eyes.He used to be untouchable at these things. Now, I saw the weight in his shoulders.And it terrified me.Because if he faltered, I wasn’t sure I’d know how to stand.Inside, the questions came—like always.“Was the intimacy in Glass Mercy inspired by your real relationship?”“Do you think being openly queer will shift the kinds of roles you’re o
Behind the Spotlight Quiet Cracks
Ethan’s POVJulian had always been the steady one.Even before we were us, he walked through the world like he already knew how it would try to knock him down—and he dared it to try. It wasn’t arrogance. It was armor. Polished and impenetrable.And I’d loved him for it. Maybe too much.But lately, the cracks had started to show.Not in ways anyone else would notice. Julian still gave good interviews. Still shook hands with that poised intensity that made directors lean in and trust him. Still held his glass with two fingers, like it was all elegance and never tension.But I saw it.I saw it in the way he stared a beat too long at his phone before answering. In the way his fingers tapped silent rhythms against his thigh during meetings. In how tightly he held my hand when we were introduced as a couple—not just collaborators.He was changing.And I didn’t know how to help him without pulling him apart further.The morning after the awards dinner, he was quiet. Not distant—just still.I
Behind the Spotlight When the Mask Cracks
Julian’s POVMy father’s voice on the phone was flat. Not cold. Just… processed. Like he was reading a memo, not speaking to his son.“I saw the interview,” he said.The pause after those four words could have swallowed me whole.I cleared my throat. “Okay.”Another pause. Then, “You looked calm. Collected.”There it was. Not a compliment. Not an accusation. Just another test I didn’t study for.I glanced across the room at Ethan, curled up in a chair, laptop open on his knees. He gave me a small, knowing smile—the kind that said, I’m here, even if you fall.“He’s important to me,” I said into the phone, more softly than I intended. “We’re not hiding anymore.”A quiet hum, like my father was trying to find the right words in a language he’d never learned.“I don’t… understand,” he finally admitted. “But I suppose that’s not the point, is it?”No. It wasn’t.The point is that I’m not asking you to understand me in theory anymore. I’m asking you to see me. As I am.But I didn’t say that
Behind the Spotlight The Weight He Chose
Julian’s POVThe café was quiet, tucked away in a forgotten corner of a city that never truly slept. The kind of place you had to know to find. Julian sat at a back table, fingers tracing the smooth, timeworn grain of the wood. His espresso had gone cold.His phone buzzed again.Another article. Another headline. Another opinion.“Is Julian Vale risking it all for love?”“Ethan Rhodes: Queer Icon or Career Suicide?”“The men behind Glass Mercy—more than collaborators?”He didn’t really read them anymore. Just glimpses. Enough to sting. Enough to remind him of the edge he was always walking.Across from him sat Briar, their publicist. All sharp cheekbones, matte lipstick, and eyes hardened by too many reputations cracked under pressure.“They’re already talking about pulling some of the European premieres,” she said. “The French distributor’s nervous.”Julian didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed on the window, watching people blur past like ghosts.“And if they do?” he asked calmly.“Yo
Behind the Spotlight Someone at the Table
Ethan’s POVI kept wiping my palms against my jeans like that would somehow calm my nerves.“Stop fidgeting,” my mom said gently, not looking up from the bowl of green beans she was mixing. “It’s just dinner.”It wasn’t just dinner.It was Julian—meeting my parents for the first time. Sitting at the table I grew up eating at. Breathing the same cinnamon-and-lemon air I once stormed away from, heart racing with secrets I couldn’t say out loud.It was everything.The doorbell rang.I froze.My mom shot me a look like, Go get him, before I do.I opened the door and there he was—Julian, wearing the dark green sweater I loved on him, holding a bottle of wine like this was a normal night.“You’re early,” I murmured, trying to suppress a grin.“You’re nervous,” he replied, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Which means I’m exactly on time.”I stepped aside to let him in. He looked around like he was stepping into something sacred. And maybe he was.My dad stood up from the couch when we entere
Behind the Spotlight Say My Name, Say the Truth
Ethan’s POVI sat in front of the camera for an hour before I pressed record.I’d deleted five drafts already—each one too polished, too careful, too rehearsed. Like I was still trying to make myself palatable, digestible. Easy to forgive.But I didn’t want forgiveness.I wanted freedom.The studio lights were off. The background was nothing but a gray wall in Julian’s guest room. I wore a hoodie and no makeup. My hair was a mess. My voice, shaky.When I finally hit record, my heart nearly punched through my ribs.“Hey,” I said quietly. “It’s Ethan.”I stared at the lens. At the red blinking dot that felt like a thousand eyes.“I’ve spent most of my life being exactly who people needed me to be. The golden boy. The idol. The straight, polished product. I was told not to confuse the fans. Told to smile. Keep it neutral. Keep it clean.”I swallowed.“But I’m tired of clean.”A pause.“I’m tired of neutral. Tired of being scared. Tired of lying to everyone—including myself.”I sat up str
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