Chapter Twelve. Julian #3
Yadriel shifted closer, bumping their knees. “Then we’ll stumble together,” he said simply. “You’ve got me. And Rio. And Omar, and Rocky, and Flaca. Even Maritza.”
Julian let out a quiet snort. “Especially Maritza.”
“That’s why she teases you so much,” Yadriel added with a grin. “Because she cares.”
Julian smiled faintly. A swell of gratitude rose in his chest, warm and unexpected. For Yadriel, for all of them.
“Family takes care of family,” Yadriel said, “no matter what.”
“Family,” Julian repeated, letting the word fill him with a sense of belonging that he hadn’t realized he’d been craving so fiercely.
It was more than just acceptance—it was knowing that someone had your back when darkness closed in, that together, you could face whatever horrors the night might bring.
More than anything else in the world, Julian longed to be understood. Not just when it was easy, when it was hard and he was difficult. Julian spent most of his life thinking he was difficult to love, but Yadriel did it so effortlessly.
With a gentle tug, Yadriel pulled Julian toward him—an unspoken invitation that Julian accepted without hesitation. He curled up against Yadriel’s chest, head tucked beneath his chin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Yadriel’s hand moved slowly up and down his back, tracing lazy circles. The motion was familiar—the same way Julian’s dad used to soothe him when he was sick or sad. His eyes fluttered closed, the tension draining from his shoulders bit by bit.
Yadriel’s fingers drifted upward, brushing along the curve of Julian’s shaved head, exploring with gentle curiosity, and then paused as his fingertip grazed the ridge behind Julian’s ear.
Julian flinched.
Not from pain—but from memory.
“How’d you get this?” Yadriel asked quietly, his voice careful not to disturb the fragile quiet they’d built around themselves.
Julian exhaled slowly, the breath shaky. “It happened when my dad…” The words caught, sharp and unwelcome. He tried again.
“We were outside the shop. Just goofing off. Playing tag around the Stingray.”
His voice went distant—not from lack of feeling, but from too much of it. The memory unfurled, vivid and disjointed—a fragmented jigsaw puzzle of sensations and sounds.
He remembered the heat of the sun beating down on the concrete outside the mechanic shop, the smells of oil and metal.
“My dad was laughing, just—that big, full-on laugh he did when he wasn’t even trying to be cool,” Julian said.
He swallowed.
“Then—bang.” He flinched at the memory. “He hit me when he fell. My head smacked the cement.”
In his mind’s eye, he saw his father’s eyes widen, felt the shocking impact as his dad’s body collapsed onto him, the weight driving him to the ground—hard, unyielding cement meeting his skull with no mercy.
“Then everything went dark,” Julian finished, his voice distant and reluctant, as if retelling the story could transport him back to that moment of catastrophic loss if he wasn’t careful.
It was as if he were both there and here, trapped between the past’s relentless grip and the present’s tender embrace.
“Oh, Jules,” Yadriel murmured, his voice a lifeline pulling Julian back from the edges of the familiar sadness that could be all-consuming.
Julian’s chest constricted, his heart squeezing tight, then shuddering back into its regular rhythm, guided by the warmth enveloping him, by Yadriel’s embrace that refused to let him fall apart.
“When I woke up, everything was too bright, too real. The beep of the machines was like … like a countdown or something. And there was my dad, slumped in the chair next to me, head down on his arms.”
He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat stubborn and aching. In the dim glow of Yadriel’s family’s living room, shadows cast long fingers across the floor, reaching for him.
His throat worked around the memory. “I thought it was him. My dad. Because I wanted—it had to be him, you know?”
Yadriel’s hand stilled on his back, a silent encouragement to go on. Julian took a shaky breath, feeling the ghost of that hope shatter all over again.
Julian paused. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a breath. “But it wasn’t him. It was Rio.”
Tears brimmed at the edges of his vision, spilling over despite his best efforts. The pain was old, but it never dulled, always lurking beneath the surface ready to claw its way out of his chest.
“Hey, hey, Jules.” Yadriel’s voice was soft, a soothing balm over the raw edges of Julian’s grief. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him close until he was enveloped in warmth and the faint scent of Yadriel’s cologne mixed with copal.
Julian clung to Yadriel, his fingers digging into the fabric of Yadriel’s hoodie, grounding himself in his solid presence. The weight of memory pressed down like a storm cloud, but he didn’t have to weather it alone. Not this time.
The room settled into a hush. Lita’s gentle snores, the flicker of candles, and Yadriel’s quiet heartbeat became the only sounds.
Sometimes, you just need to be held by your boyfriend.