Chapter 9
The studio is too bright.
Not stage-bright.
This is surgical.
White lights. White walls. A glass of water that looks staged.
Alex sits just off-camera, behind a black curtain that doesn’t hide the fact he’s there.
He can hear everything.
He can feel everything.
His knee bounces so hard the chair creaks.
Embarrassment starts before anyone says a word.
Because he’s here.
Because the internet knows he’s here.
Because Jackson’s team insisted on it like a show.
“Relax,” the producer told Alex earlier, smiling like a knife. “It’s just an interview.”
Just.
Alex hates that word now.
Jackson sits across from the host, mic clipped to his collar, posture perfect. He looks like Jackson.
Except his hands.
His hands keep flexing against his jeans like he can’t stop them from shaking.
The host laughs too loudly at her own joke.
Then her smile sharpens.
“So,” she says, leaning forward. “Last time we spoke, you said you only like girls.”
Alex’s stomach drops.
He stares at the floor so he doesn’t have to watch Jackson’s face.
Silence.
A long one.
Too long.
The room holds its breath.
Isolation presses in. Alex feels alone even though he can hear Jackson breathing.
Jackson clears his throat once.
The sound is small.
Human.
“That was a lie,” Jackson says.
The words land and the room changes.
Alex’s head snaps up.
His chest tightens like a fist.
The host blinks. “Jackson—”
“It was a lie,” Jackson repeats, louder. “And I said it because I was scared.”
Embarrassment spikes, wild and hot, because Alex knows what’s happening in real time.
The clip is already being cut. Posted. Meme’d. Twisted for the whole world.
Jackson keeps going anyway.
“Thought honesty would cost me everything,” Jackson says. “So I chose the safe answer.”
He swallows.
“And turns out I hurt someone I love.”
The host’s smile flickers. She looks off-camera like someone’s screaming in her ear through an earpiece.
Alex can’t breathe.
Small connection hits like a punch.
Because Jackson didn’t say “a friend.”
He didn’t say “someone.”
He said love.
And he said it like he’s willing to bleed for it.
The host tries again. “Are you saying you’re—”
“Yes,” Jackson says. Simple. Firm. “I’m saying I lied to protect my image. And I’m done.”
A pause.
Then a new voice cuts in—sharp, panicked.
“We’re going to break—”
The feed stutters.
The screen goes black.
The red light on the camera dies.
And the room erupts.
People talking at once. A producer swearing. Someone grabbing Jackson’s mic pack like it’s contraband.
Jackson stands.
He looks toward the curtain.
Toward Alex.
Like everything else disappeared.
Alex stands too, legs shaky.
Embarrassment tries to come back—crew everywhere, eyes everywhere, everyone suddenly aware of him.
Isolation tries to follow—because this is still Jackson’s world, and Alex is still the quiet one trapped inside it.
Jackson pushes through the mess, straight for him.
“Alex,” he says.
Alex opens his mouth.
No sound comes out.
Jackson reaches for his hand.
Alex lets him.
The contact is small. Grounding. Energy runs through them. Together.
Small connection turns steady.
Jackson pulls Alex into a side hallway away from the cameras. The door shuts behind them, muffling the chaos.
For a second, it’s just their breathing.
Then Jackson’s face breaks.
“I did it,” he whispers. Like he can’t believe it.
Alex nods once. “I heard.”
Jackson laughs, shaky and bright. “I told the truth.”
Alex’s throat burns.
“Why now?” Alex asks, voice low. “Why today?”
Jackson stares at him. “Because you were going to stop covering for me.”
Alex freezes.
There it is.
The cost.
Betrayal.
Jackson keeps talking, fast like he’s afraid if he slows down he’ll fall apart.
“I couldn’t lose you,” Jackson says. “I couldn’t… watch you walk away.”
Alex’s chest tightens. “So you finally chose me. Us.”
Jackson nods hard. “Yes.”
Alex should feel relief.
He does.
But it’s tangled with something sharper.
Because Jackson didn’t choose truth first.
He chose it when the consequences showed up.
Alex pulls his hand back gently.
Jackson flinches like he got slapped.
“What?” Jackson asks.
Alex’s voice stays steady. “You did the right thing.”
Jackson’s eyes soften. “Then why—”
“Because I need to know it’s not just fear,” Alex says. “Not just you reacting.”
Jackson swallows.
Then he drops to his knees.
Right there on the hallway carpet.
Embarrassment blasts through Alex like lightning.
“Jackson—” Alex hisses. “Get up.”
Jackson doesn’t.
He pulls something from his pocket. Small box. Black velvet.
Alex’s heart stops.
Jackson flips it open.
A ring.
Simple. Silver. No giant diamond. Something that looks like it was chosen with thought,
not PR.
“I bought it yesterday,” Jackson says, voice shaking. “Not after the show. Not after the producers yelled. Yesterday.”
Alex stares.
Jackson’s eyes are glassy. “I was going to wait. Be smart. Plan it. Make it perfect.”
He laughs once, broken. “But we’re not perfect. I don’t want us to be. This shit is so crazy. This world we live in. But it’s you. It’s you Alex. It’s always been you.”
Alex’s breath catches.
Jackson lifts the ring slightly.
“Say yes,” Jackson whispers. “And then make me prove it every day if you have to. I don’t care. Just—don’t leave.”
Alex’s vision blurs.
Embarrassment. Isolation. All of it melts into one thing: choice.
Alex reaches down, grabs Jackson’s arms, and hauls him up.
“Don’t kneel for me in hallways,” Alex says, voice rough. “Kneel for yourself.”
Jackson nods, wiping his face with the back of his hand like a kid.
Alex takes the ring box. Hands shaking.
“I’m saying yes,” Alex says. “But not if you hide again.”
Jackson shakes his head hard. “Never.”
They kiss.
Quick. Fierce.
Then the hallway door bangs open.
A manager storms in, face pale with rage and panic.
“There you are,” she snaps. Her eyes flick to their hands. The box. The ring.
Her mouth tightens.
Betrayal lands as a discovery.
Because she smiles.
Not happy.
Calculated.
“Congratulations,” she says. “Now come sign the statement. The label’s threatening to pull the tour.”
Alex’s stomach drops.
Jackson’s jaw hardens.
And Alex realizes—
The truth didn’t end the fight.
It just started a bigger one.
