I could feel his gaze on my profile, the weight of his attention more intimate than any touch.
"It's not a great film," I added with a small shrug. "The effects are dated. The dialogue is cheesy. But..."
"But it was yours," he finished for me.
I nodded, finally looking at him. "I wanted to share it with you."
The words hung between us, simple but weighted with everything I couldn't say directly. That I saw him as more than useful. That I wanted him to see me as more than powerful. Somewhere between Singapore, Zurich and this improbable moment on his couch, I'd stopped pretending I didn't need him.
On screen, Fantasia was being devoured by The Nothing. Atreyu rode through swamps and faced his reflection in a magic mirror. Falkor the luck dragon soared through the clouds with a laugh that had once made a broken boy in Oklahoma believe that good things were possible.
"You know why I really liked it?" I asked. "The idea that stories could save the world. That imagination mattered."
I reached for the paper crown, turning it in my hands. The cardboard felt flimsy, almost pathetic, a cheap promotional item that shouldn't have meant anything at all.
"Burger King cost two ninety-nine for a meal back then," I said, eyes still on the crown. "Shane always said it was too expensive, that I didn't deserve it. But some days, if I'd doneenough odd jobs around the neighborhood, I could get one anyway." I looked up, meeting his eyes. "One time," I continued, "the cashier gave me a crown. I wore it all the way home, feeling like I'd gotten away with something enormous. Shane saw it when I walked through the door. He knocked me to the ground, tore it up, and made me watch while he threw the pieces in the trash. Then he gave me a split lip for 'wasting money on garbage.'"
Maxime reached out without hesitation, taking the paper crown from my hands. Our fingers brushed in the exchange.
He placed the crown on his own head, adjusting it carefully.
"How do I look?" he asked.
"Like royalty," I said softly.
We turned back to the movie, sitting closer now, the space between us somehow less defined. On screen, Bastian was riding Falkor through clouds, his laughter echoing as they soared toward adventures I'd once dreamed of sharing with someone who understood.
My hand found his in the space between us. His fingers intertwined with mine.
"You're the only one who would understand," I said.
He'd been there at the beginning. He'd seen the man emerge from the broken boy. He'd helped build the empire that had set me free.
We watched the rest of the movie in comfortable silence, hands joined, the paper crown still perched on his head. It was ridiculous and childish.
And yet, sitting there with Burger King wrappers on his coffee table and a paper crown on his head, a quiet warmth spread through my chest. It wasn't power or control or the cold satisfaction of dominance, but something softer and more dangerous.
When the credits rolled, neither of us moved to turn off the television. The dim light from the screen cast soft shadows across his face, catching the edge of the crown, illuminating the bruises that Xander had left.
"Stay tonight," he said suddenly. "Here. With me."
My eyes met his, searching for the catch, the ulterior motive, the strategic calculation I'd come to expect from everyone in my orbit. I found none of that, just a man in a paper crown asking for something he'd never allowed himself to want.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." The certainty in his voice caught me off guard. "I want you to."
I reached up and adjusted the paper crown that had slipped slightly askew on his head. "Then I'll stay."
Maxime rose from the couch and stood there for a moment, hands empty, looking lost in his own home. I'd seen Maxime navigate hostile boardrooms, defuse international incidents, manage my empire through eighteen months of my absence. I'd never seen him not know what to do next.
"The bedroom is upstairs," he said finally. "I should... there are things I need to prepare. Fresh towels. I'm not sure what's in the guest room, but I can—"
"Maxime."
He stopped.
"I'm not sleeping in the guest room."
