Chapter 32 Rafe #4
Julian blinks once. And then—fucking finally—he smiles. Not big. Not bratty. Just a small, private curl. Just for me. Like he knows.
I reach up, cradle the side of his face with one shaking hand. My thumb strokes slow and reverent just under his eye, careful, like touching too hard might make him disappear again. “You came back,” I breathe.
His voice is barely a whisper, cracked but steady. “You always say that like I had a choice.”
Before I can curse, kiss him, or break something under the weight of how much I missed that voice—Finn makes the most offended, wounded sound from the foot of the bed.
“Okay, what the fuck, are we just ignoring the emotional gay miracle that just happened? Move over, I’m cuddling the resurrection.”
“Finn,” I warn.
He’s already climbing up the bed like a cat that doesn’t respect boundaries, gods, or pain. Julian wheezes. “Oh no.”
Finn flops down—half on Julian, half across the blanket—and throws an arm over both our waists like a drunk blanket with ADHD. “Mmmm,” he groans, nestling in shamelessly. “Yep. This is the afterlife. Soft boy and angry man sandwich. I’m not moving. I’m dead here now.”
Julian lets out a cracked laugh that clearly hurts. “Finn, I literally died.”
“Right, and now I deserve cuddles for emotional trauma. Shut up and hold me.”
I sigh. “You’re insane.”
“You’re in love,” Finn shoots back, smirking without lifting his head. “Checkmate.”
The door slams open.
“Get the fuck off the patient,” Kai says flatly, arms full of fluids and meds, expression thoroughly done with all of us.
Finn immediately flops even more dramatically. “He’s cold, Doctor Death. Let me warm his soul.”
Kai doesn’t even glance at Finn. He simply sets the IV bag down and points a finger straight at Julian, voice sharp enough to pierce bone. “You. If you don’t drink this water and shut the fuck up, I will sedate you again. And this time, I’ll tattoo my initials on your forehead while you’re out.”
Julian stares at him for a long second, then grins—slow, weak, but unmistakably him. “…Daddy?”
“That’s it—”
“Worth it—” Julian’s still panting softly against the pillow, skin flushed and slick with sweat and lingering fever, curls matted to his forehead.
But his eyes are clearer now—glass instead of fog, bloodshot but present.
He tracks everything: the water glass in Kai’s hand, the careful movements of Kai’s gloved fingers, the way my arm stays locked around him.
He’s awake. He’s alive. And if Kai says drink, he’s drinking.
Kai kneels beside the bed, grabs the cup from the tray, and lifts his gaze to me. “Prop him up,” he says, already sliding a hand beneath Julian’s shoulder.
I nod and move behind him, sliding an arm under his back as gently as I can without letting anyone see how much I want to scream every time he flinches. “On three,” Kai murmurs.
Julian groans. “God, not the numbers. It’s like hockey training camp all over again—”
“One.”
We lift.
Julian hisses between his teeth but stays upright—barely.
His head tips sideways and settles against my chest, staying there like it’s the only safe place left in the room.
Kai raises the cup and holds the straw to Julian’s lips.
“Small sips,” he warns. “Or you’ll puke in front of the boyfriend and I will post it to the team chat. ”
Julian glares. “You have no bedside manner.”
“Correct.”
He drinks—slow, sloppy, but he doesn’t spill. I hold him tighter, just enough to feel the fragile shape of his breath moving against my ribs, just enough to know he’s still here.
When he finishes, Kai pulls the straw away and sits back on his heels, expression unreadable, that same sharp glint returning to his eyes. “That wasn’t just alcohol,” he says finally.
Julian closes his eyes. “Yeah, no shit.”
Kai ignores him and looks straight at me. “It was a concentrated synthetic depressant. Similar to benzos but not standard. Took me a while to ID it. It’s untraceable in most standard tests unless you’re specifically looking for that class.”
Julian groans again. “Doctor Death, please translate that to: ‘You were drugged with expensive murder juice.’”
Kai nods once. “Basically.”
Julian smirks, barely. “Fancy.”
I don’t laugh. Not this time. Because I have something heavier sitting in my chest, words I’ve been carrying since I walked back through the compound gates.
I shift—still holding Jules up—eyes moving between Kai and Julian.
My throat tightens around them, but I force the words out anyway. “Ezio confessed.”
Kai’s jaw ticks. Julian goes completely still. “I made him say it. With my gun in his mouth.”
“Jesus Christ,” Julian whispers.
Kai doesn’t speak.
I exhale hard. “And then Leonardo… disowned him.”
They both stare—no blink, no breath. Finn, now sitting on the floor with his chin propped on the edge of the bed, looks up slowly. “Wait, what?”
“Leonardo said—” I pause, still hearing the echo of it, still feeling the cold weight of the moment. “He said, ‘He is no longer mine.’”
Three sets of eyes lock on me, all wearing the same wide, wary, what-the-actual-fuck expression.
Julian speaks first, voice raspy and stunned. “…okay, but he’s Ezio’s dad. Like. By blood.”
“Yeah,” I say flatly. “That was my face, too.”
Finn leans back like he physically needs distance from the information. “So wait… he threw out his son?”
Kai’s brows lift so high they nearly disappear into his hairline. “Huh.”
Julian just blinks. Then mutters, “Okay but… are we gonna unpack the whole daddy issues pyramid scheme later or like—?”
I shove his shoulder lightly. He winces. But he laughs—cracked, painful, perfect.
He’s alive and that’s the only fucking miracle I need.