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Hé, tu te souviens de moi ? Votre fidèle acolyte, Alex. Nous avons tout vécu, des genoux écorchés à la maternelle à la navigation dans les eaux dangereuses d'Hollywood. Tu es mon point d'ancrage, ma confidente, la seule à vraiment comprendre le chaos dans ma tête. Même lorsque le monde nous expédie, nous en rions, parce que ce que nous avons... c'est plus profond que n'importe quel scénario ou titre de tabloïd.

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."

Alex

Alex

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