Media Secret: Hidden Johansson

The Unmasked Poster Boy

The next morning, the room was quiet, the kind of silence that only comes after a storm. The papers were still scattered across the floor, the broken guitar strings coiled like discarded thoughts, but the air felt different. Lighter. For the first time in months, maybe years, the weight that had sat heavy on my chest felt like it had eased.

I stood by the window, staring out at the morning light spilling over the rooftops of the neighbourhood. The city felt so far removed from everything people thought they knew about me. The "poster boy" for Marvel's next phase. The son of a superhero. The guy with the perfect jawline and the perfect life.

What they didn't see—what they'd never seen—was the mess. The nights and days spent pacing, the therapy sessions in Switzerland, the people I'd hurt when I was too broken to stop myself. The man who had stood on the edge more times than he'd care to admit, staring into an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

I wasn't ashamed of it anymore, though. Not the way I used to be. Last night had been proof that I could take the ugliness and turn it into something meaningful. Something raw and real.

The song wasn't finished yet, but the idea of keeping it locked away didn't sit right with me. If I was going to keep stepping into this role Marvel had cast me in, I wasn't going to hide behind it. If they wanted me to be the face of their universe, then they'd have to accept me—flaws and all.

Mum was in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she made tea. She looked up when I walked in, her eyes scanning me like she always did, checking for cracks. It was an instinct she hadn't lost, not since everything had fallen apart all those years ago.

"You look better," she said, setting a mug on the counter for me. "Did you sleep?"

"A bit," I admitted, pouring the tea. "Still thinking about the song."

"Good. Keep thinking about it. That's how the best work gets done." She sat down at the table, cradling her mug. "So, what's next?"

I hesitated, the question hanging in the air. What was next? The Marvel press machine was already spinning, hyping up Jupiter as the next big thing I know that Becca has some things lined up for me in the pipeline. The fans had already started debating which comic book arcs the film would follow, who Jupiter would fight, whether he'd join the Avengers.

They were ready to embrace me, but they didn't really know me. Not yet.

"I want to release the song," I said finally, the decision settling over me like a weight lifting.

Mum raised an eyebrow. "The one you were working on last night?"

I nodded. "I've spent so long letting other people define me and people thinking they know me, The tabloids. Even you, sometimes." I softened the words with a small smile, but Mum didn't look offended. She just nodded, waiting for me to continue.

"This song—it's mine. It's messy, it's personal, and it's not perfect. But it's me. And if I'm going to keep putting myself out there, I want people to see all of it. Not just the polished poster boy they've built me up to be."

Mum leaned back in her chair, studying me. "You know what you're signing up for, right? Once it's out there, you can't take it back. People will talk."

"Let them," I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice was. "They're going to talk anyway. I might as well give them the truth."

The studio felt like a second home, even with its walls covered in foam panels and the faint smell of stale coffee lingering in the air. Mum had called in a favour with an old producer friend who owed her one from our single. He didn't ask questions, just handed me a mug and pointed me to the booth.

The guitar was freshly restrung, the notes crisp and raw as I strummed through the melody. My voice wavered at first, the lyrics catching in my throat, but I didn't stop. I let it all out.

"Grab my hand, I'm drowning
I feel my heart pounding
Why haven't you found me yet?"

The words echoed through the booth, bouncing off the walls like they were demanding to be heard. I closed my eyes, letting the music carry me, letting the pain pour out of me in waves.

When I finished, the producer's voice crackled through the intercom. "That's it, mate. That's the take."

I stepped out of the booth, my hands still trembling slightly. The producer was already fiddling with the mixing board, muttering to himself about levels and harmonics, but I barely heard him. My mind was racing, already imagining the world hearing this—hearing me.

It wasn't going to be easy. Marvel might not love the idea of their new golden boy dropping a raw, emotional track about trauma and vulnerability. The tabloids would have a field day, dissecting every lyric, every line.

But I didn't care.

For the first time in years, I felt like I was standing on solid ground. This wasn't about proving anything to anyone else. It was about proving to myself that I could face the world without hiding.

By the time the song was uploaded—no fanfare, no PR campaign, just a simple post on a new social media and on mums too, and the reaction was immediate. The comments poured in faster than I could keep up with. Some were supportive, others confused, but the one that caught my eye was from someone I didn't recognise.

"Finally, a superhero who's human. Thank you for this."

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen. It wasn't much, just a single comment among thousands, but it was enough.

The song wasn't going to fix everything. It wasn't going to erase the past or make me whole. But it was a start.

And for the first time, that felt like enough.