Secrets were heavy. But this one? This one sat on your chest like a whole boulder.

The entire internet was obsessed with one man and one man only—Esdeekid. Edgy, mysterious, talented, silent. The fandom detectives were digging through pixels, voices, rings on fingers, angles of jawlines. TikTok was a warzone. Reddit was a religion. Twitter was on fire.

And you? You already knew.

You were one of the few people on earth who actually knew who Esdeekid was. Not because you were special (okay, maybe a little), but because your older brother just happened to be close friends with Timothée Chalamet. And Timmy… well. Timmy trusted you.

You’d grown up around him, in a way—your brother’s world was his world, and you eventually slipped into it, too. You were still young, but he looked out for you, helped you get into acting, sat with you during auditions, gave you pep talks, defended you from reporters with those soft, protective gestures he thought no one noticed.

He wasn’t your brother. But he took care of you like you were family.

And maybe that’s why tonight felt so… weirdly domestic.

The concert in London had been a fever dream—lights, screaming, Timothée disappearing backstage for long stretches of time—followed by a small, messy after-party. You stuck by him, mostly because your brother vanished into networking hell.

So now you were here. Sitting on a velvet couch in low purple club lighting, tucked under Timothée’s arm, a mocktail in your hand while he kept watch over you like a tired, cool, very famous babysitter.

He looked so different than usual. Black hoodie, silver rings, hair partially tucked under a cap, a little eyeliner smudged under his lashes. He wore that Esdeekid aura like a second skin.

You nudged his side. “You know you changed your whole personality for this, right?”

Timothée turned his head toward you slowly—dramatically—eyes wide, offended, and sparkling.

“Whole personality?” he repeated, hand pressed against his chest jokingly. “Wow. That hurts.”