Semua Bab Behind the Spotlight: Bab 41 - Bab 50

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

Ethan’s POVIt started with a message request on my old photography page.Just a name.Tyler.The kind of name you don’t forget—not because it was love, but because it ended without a period. A ghost sentence. An unfinished paragraph in my life I never dared rewrite.“Didn’t think I’d ever be back in L.A. Just saw your gallery feature. Proud of you. No hard feelings, I hope. Want to grab coffee?”I stared at the message for a long time.The truth? Tyler was my first serious relationship. The first person I ever let see the real me—the messy, unfiltered, quietly anxious me.But Tyler didn’t sign up for a partner with depression. When things got hard, he slipped away with soft apologies and a cleaner break than I knew how to process.And I never told Julian about him.Julian was in the kitchen, singing under his breath, his hair still damp from the rain. He looked so at peace.So safe.And I felt like a traitor just for thinking about replying.But I did.I wrote back two words: Sure.

Ethan’s POVThere were nights when the silence between us said more than any argument could.Tonight, it wasn’t sharp or hostile. It was soft. Cautious. Like both of us were afraid to speak first in case the words cracked something we’d only just started rebuilding.Julian had fallen asleep on the far edge of the couch. Not distant—just exhausted. His body curled in on itself, one arm tucked beneath the throw pillow like it could hold him together.And I sat there, watching him. Feeling both heavy with love and light with fear.Because he was finally letting me in.And I didn’t know how to carry that without breaking myself.A year ago, Julian had been the one holding me through every tremor, every night terror, every panic attack masked as a migraine. He didn’t flinch when I flinched. He didn’t leave when I needed space. He didn’t stop showing up even when I asked him to.And now that he was unraveling—even just a little—it terrified me how instinctively I wanted to fix it.As if I c

Julian’s POVJulian was learning to let Ethan carry parts of him.To lean, to speak first, to say I need you out loud.It wasn’t easy. Not for someone who’d always been the calm one. The shield.But after Ethan shared his story—the quiet horror of being shaped by someone who called it love—Julian had held that pain like something sacred.They’d crossed into a new kind of closeness.Not just lovers. Not just co-creators.Something messier. Braver.So when the doorbell rang that Sunday afternoon, Julian opened it without thinking.And the ghost was standing there.A man. Early thirties. Expensive jacket. That kind of smile that knew it could cut.“Ethan home?” he asked, like he had every right to be.Julian blinked. “I’m sorry. Who—?”The man tilted his head. “Tell him it’s Caleb.”Julian froze.Caleb.The name Ethan never said—but the one Julian had tucked away in the back of his mind. The man who taught Ethan to mistrust softness. The one who made pain look like passion.Julian’s voic

Julian’s POVThe apartment felt different now.Not emptier. Not heavier.Just… quieter. Like something had shifted between the floorboards and breath, and even the walls were holding still, afraid to disrupt the fragile balance Julian and Ethan were trying to find again.Julian sat on the floor, his back against the cold kitchen cabinet. A cup of tea—lukewarm and untouched—rested beside him. He was still in last night’s shirt, sleeves rolled, collar open, like time had slowed but never stopped.He wasn’t avoiding Ethan.But he wasn’t rushing back, either.Because this—this kind of love—didn’t move on declarations or drama. It moved on the cracks. The spaces in between. The willingness to stay when every instinct said to run.Two days had passed since the confrontation.Since Ethan had looked at him like he wasn’t just a man falling apart—but one worth catching anyway.Julian had replayed every word. Every hesitation. Every quiet truth they hadn’t said until they had no choice.He’d sp