Page 97 of The Casting Couch

He opened one.It played with that quiet, grainy stalker energy, the kind that made your skin itch.It was Nico, in his jacket and hoodie, eating a bagel and waiting for a light to change.You could hear city traffic, barely.But no voice.No context.Just…watching.

There was another folder inside the folder, called“ADDRESS & FINANCIAL.”

Nico hesitated.

He opened it.

The first file was a screenshot of a Google Maps street view.His apartment building circled in red.Another was a blurry photo of his front door.His actual front door.

My hands clenched at my sides.

And then there were three PDFs, labeled “Nicholas_Earnings,” “Nicholas_SiteMetrics,” and “FantasyFansBackup.”

“They looked at my FantasyFans page,” Nico whispered, his voice flat.

He clicked one open, and we both stared at a spreadsheet showing his earnings month-by-month.His heart had dropped out of his voice entirely.

“This is from the backend,” he said.“This isn’t public.Someone must’ve logged in to my account, or guessed my password.”

The last file was a Word doc.

Untitled.

He opened it.

“We know who you are and what you do.We know how much you make.And we know how to make it all disappear.If you want this to stay private, you’ll need to cooperate.Your mother is already on board.Don’t make things harder than they have to be.”

No signature.No names.Just that.

A slow chill worked its way up my spine.

Nico just sat there, staring at the screen.Like his whole body had turned to glass, and one wrong move would shatter him.

“They’re trying to blackmail you,” I said.My voice sounded weird.Too calm for how fast my pulse was racing.

He didn’t answer.He just kept looking at the screen.

At the files.

At the proof.

And then he closed the laptop slowly, almost reverently.As if shutting it made this nightmare a little less real.

He leaned back in the chair and looked up at me.Not scared.Not angry.Just tired in a way that went straight to the bones.

“This wasn’t a visit,” he said.“It was a setup.”

I nodded once.

He looked down at the flash drive still sticking out of his laptop.Like it might burst into flames if we stared at it too long.Then a reminder popped up from his calendar-

Open Mic At BCC

“Shit,” Nico grumbled.“I promised I’d be at Brooklyn Comedy Collective tonight to do a quick set.Damn it, I need to take care of this shit with my mom, but I can’t disappoint…”

“Go do your stand up.There’s nothing you can do about your mother tonight,” I leaned over and brushed my lips across his cheek.“Make people laugh.That’s your happy place.”

Nico looked at me, shrugged, and said, “What the hell do I do now?”

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