Chapter Six. Julian
SIX
JULIAN
Night settled over the cemetery, chill threading into Julian’s bones. Walking between Maritza and Angel, he caught the scents of damp soil and faint incense from earlier offerings.
Maritza split off at the gates. “I gotta head home,” she said, pulling her jacket tighter. “I’ve got about ten minutes before my mom starts blowing up my phone.” She huffed and rolled her eyes.
Julian gave her a quick side hug. “Night, Maritza!”
She gave Angel a polite nod and vanished down the street.
Angel stopped at a beat-up Honda parked just beyond the cemetery gates.
“Guess I’ll catch you later,” they said, but it sounded like they didn’t mean it.
“For sure, I’m around!” Julian said back, hoping that she knew he really did mean it.
He lingered, watching them open the car door—then froze. The overstuffed back seat was impossible to miss. Clothes piled high, a blanket and pillow crammed into one corner, a blinking charger in the cupholder. Recognition hit.
This wasn’t a pit stop. This was home.
“Living out of your car, huh?” He couldn’t not ask.
Angel stilled, keys in hand.
Julian knew what it was like to pretend he was fine when he wasn’t. After his dad died, there were nights when even sleep felt impossible. If it hadn’t been for Carlos giving them the apartment above the shop, he didn’t know where he and Rio would’ve ended up.
“That sucks,” he said, because it did.
Angel still didn’t say anything, but Julian could see their embarrassment mixed with defiance. They probably wanted him to drop it, to just walk away, but he couldn’t.
“It gets freezing cold at night—well, freezing for California, which is like in the sixties, which is probably a lot colder than Texas, I don’t actually know,” he reasoned out loud.
When Angel just stared at him, he kept going.
“What I’m saying is, you shouldn’t sleep out here.
Come back to my place! It’s not big, but we’ve always got room for one more? ”
Angel’s voice cut sharp, shoulders tense. “I don’t need your pity.”
Julian backed up a step. “It ain’t pity!” He held his hands up in surrender. “It’s what friends do! They look out for each other.”
Angel shifted from side to side. “Friends, huh?” they repeated, like testing a word they weren’t familiar with.
Julian grinned. “Yup. I’ll even ask my brother—he’s the legal adult, so technically he’s the boss.” He thumbed out a text. Seconds later, a thumbs-up emoji popped back. Julian held the screen out. “See? Green light from el jefe himself!”
A laugh escaped Angel before they could stop it. They shook their head at Julian. “All right. But just for tonight.”
“Deal!” Julian clapped them on the shoulder. “Now, am I walking, or are you giving me a ride?”
Angel rolled their eyes but opened the passenger door. “Just don’t touch the radio.”
Julian gave them a salute. “Scout’s honor!”
“They’re normies, by the way—my friends and my brother,” Julian warned as he and Angel made their way up the steps.
Angel gave him a curious and confused look. “They are?” they asked, surprised.
Julian nodded. “Yeah, so we gotta keep all the brujx stuff hush-hush!”
Angel frowned, like she had follow-up questions, but Julian was already pushing the apartment door open with his shoulder.
The smells of chocolate cake and lemon cleaner assaulted his senses immediately, followed by the sight of his friends mid-decorating.
Flaca was on a stool draping string lights across the doorway.
Rocky was sticking snowflakes to the windows with laser-level precision.
Omar fluffed the sad little plastic tree like he was personally offended by its posture, while Luca adjusted the red plaid shirt they used as a tree skirt.
Boxes spilled ornaments and tinsel everywhere.
“What’s goin’ on in here?” Julian asked, throwing Angel a quick don’t panic smile.
“Holiday takeover, obviously,” Flaca said without turning around. “Also, hi!” She waved the end of a light strand in Julian’s general direction. “We thought you got kidnapped.”
Omar lifted his brows. “You didn’t answer your phone. Again.”
Julian winced. He tugged his phone out—several unread messages blinked accusingly at him.
“Crap. Sorry. I got caught up with Yads and Maritza.”
Rocky huffed, but it wasn’t annoyed—more a figures kind of sound.
“We assumed you were doing Important Cemetery Stuff,” she said, peeling another snowflake off the sheet.
Julian’s stomach twisted anyway. Even when they weren’t mad, guilt found him just fine.
He was juggling too many things—brujx stuff, school, Rio, friends, Yadriel—and some days his hands were just … full.
“I really am sorry,” Julian said, softer. “Didn’t mean to be late.”
Luca stepped forward, offering a tentative smile that made his dimples show. “We saved the ornament box for you,” he said, nudging a glittery tub toward him. “The special ones.”
Julian’s chest loosened a little. “Thanks.”
Angel hovered at the doorway like they weren’t sure where to stand, but the room’s energy wasn’t hostile—just busy, loud, familiar.
Julian crouched and flipped open the box. The ornaments were a mess of memories—the clay star Rocky made in sixth grade, the chipped bell they found at a thrift store, the snowman Flaca once hot-glued googly eyes onto at two a.m.
Warmth seeped into his bones.
Maybe he’d dropped the ball, but he’d made it home.
And sometimes that counted more than being on time.
He reached toward a glittery snowman, fingers brushing the soft cotton scarf, when Omar asked sharply, “Who’s that?
” He jerked his chin toward Angel, still standing near the door, tense and unreadable.
“Oh, this is Angel!” Julian said quickly. “They’re a new friend. They’re staying the night.”
Rocky raised an eyebrow. “Staying the night?”
“Yup!” Julian said with forced cheer.
Flaca, bless her, smiled warmly. “Welcome to the chaos.”
“Thanks,” Angel said, their golden eyes darting around the apartment, taking in the scene.
Rio paused washing the dishes in the kitchen with a sharp glance in their direction.
“Angel, that’s my brother, Rio,” Julian introduced.
Angel lifted a hand in a hesitant greeting.
Rio nodded, reserved but not unkind, before he turned back to scrubbing dishes.
Julian shrugged. “Don’t mind him, not much of a small talker.” He gestured around. “That’s Omar,” he continued.
Omar jerked his chin up in greeting.
“Rocky—”
Who paused fiddling with window clings to offer a curious glance.
“Flaca—”
She perched on the armrest of the old recliner, smiling.
“And Luca!” Julian gestured to Luca, whose easy charm and disarming smile seemed to flicker for just a moment when his gaze met Angel’s.
“Hey,” Angel said, the corners of their mouth lifting in a half smile.
“Sit down, make yourself comfy!” Julian nudged Angel toward the cushions. “Omar, scoot!”
Omar obliged, folding his legs as Angel settled beside him, their black clothing absorbing the room’s dim light. Julian caught Angel’s quick glance around, the subtle shift in their posture, a slight relaxing of shoulders as if shedding an invisible weight.
He hoped his friends would be nice, even if they were mad at him.
“Sorry to barge in on you guys,” Angel said.
Flaca waved her off with a warm smile. “Don’t worry about it! Thirsty?” She pulled out a box of Sprite cans and started passing them around.
“Julian brings home strays all the time,” Omar huffed, as if he thought it was annoying.
“That’s how the rest of you got here,” Rio said, tossing the dig from the kitchen.
Julian rolled his eyes. “Love you, too, bro!” he called back, grabbing a Sprite.
Angel took in the cramped living room as they navigated the sea of new faces. But when Luca shuffled forward, the light catching the marbled scar on his cheek, Angel’s composure shifted.
A spark of recognition—or was it excitement?—flared in their eyes.
“Hey, I’m Luca,” the smaller boy said, with that habitual nervous laughter. He extended a tentative hand. “Full-time anxious guy, part-time Christmas elf.”
“I know,” they replied, amused. The way she shook his hand—calm, steady—made Luca relax a little.
His laugh turned real this time, awkward, but sweet.
“I’m still Angel,” they said, grinning.
“So, what brings you to our side of LA?” Rocky asked, her tone casual but eyes sharp as obsidian.
“Just…” Angel began, glancing at Julian as if they were looking for an unspoken cue.
Julian gave a small, encouraging nod—the same one he’d used on skittish street dogs and lost freshmen alike.
Angel went with “Just passing through, really.”
“Passing through,” Omar echoed, fingers erratically tapping the side of his Sprite can.
“Where are you from?” Flaca asked. Always the social butterfly, she seemed eager to make a new friend.
“Texas,” Angel replied, eyes darting away, almost as if they were looking for an exit.
“How’d you end up in California?” Rocky asked.
“You got family around here or something?” Omar added.
Angel’s response was a careful sidestep. “No family, mostly acquaintances,” she said with a casual shrug.
Julian felt the shift—the way Angel’s tone went paper-thin when they lied. He cracked his Sprite open a little too hard, carbonation fizzing like static.
“Sounds mysterious,” Rocky said as she toyed with her ponytail.
Angel’s answers skimmed the surface like stones across water, leaving ripples of curiosity in their wake. But even as the questions kept coming, no one actually pressed them for answers.
Angel’s lips twitched into a half smile, a shadow darting across their face. “I’m on my way to Mexico to meet up with my extended family.” They tucked one of their braids behind their ear.
Luca’s smile grew. “That sounds fun!”
Angel shrugged. “I guess. Family can be … complicated,” they murmured, the word heavy. They avoided eye contact, fixating on a crack in the plaster wall.
There was a quick exchange of glances. But instead of skepticism, there was something quieter—understanding.