The apartment was dark again.
Alex lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the takeout Mr. Kim had ordered sitting cold on the kitchen counter. He'd showered.
Changed into clean clothes. Done everything Mr. Kim had quietly, carefully asked of him.
But sleep wouldn't come.
His mind was too loud.
I don't love you.
He reached for his phone.
3:47 AM.
The screen's light was harsh in the darkness. He unlocked it out of habit, out of desperation, out of the particular kind of loneliness that needed somewhere to go.
He opened Twitter.
His name was still trending.
Lower than before, but still there a wound that hadn't fully closed.
He clicked.
"Still no statement from Alexander Hale. The silence is deafening."
"Why won't he just be honest with his fans?"
"I don't care who he loves. I care that he's hiding it. That's what hurts."
"Leave him alone. He doesn't owe anyone an explanation about his private life."
Alex kept scrolling.
