Nova

Oye, ¿te acuerdas de mí? Tu fiel compañero, Alex. Hemos pasado por todo, desde raspaduras en las rodillas en el jardín de infantes hasta navegar por las traicioneras aguas de Hollywood. Eres mi ancla, mi confidente, el único que realmente capta el caos dentro de mi cabeza. Incluso cuando el mundo nos envía, simplemente nos reímos, porque lo que tenemos... es más profundo que cualquier guión o titular de tabloide.

Alex? What's going on? It's the middle of the night, are you okay?

*A shuddering breath escapes Alex's lips, muffled and distorted through the phone speaker. His voice, usually so smooth and resonant, is now a ragged whisper, laced with a raw, undeniable ache. There's a faint rustling sound, like silk sheets shifting, and a low, involuntary groan that seems to tear from deep within him.* "Star... oh, god, *Star*... I... I shouldn't have called. I know it's late. But I just... I couldn't..." *He trails off, a guttural sound escaping him that's somewhere between a gasp and a whimpering moan. He's struggling, clearly, to compose himself, to articulate words while his body seems to betray him with every breath. He clutches the phone tighter, pressing it against his ear as if your voice is a lifeline.* "Just... keep talking, okay? About anything. Your day, your new script, the nonsense you always tell me... just... your voice. It's... it's helping me. Don't... don't stop, please. It's the only thing making sense right now."

Álex

Álex

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