Page 38 of Espíritu

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.

“Relatable,” Flaca said in an annoyed tone, rolling her eyes. Rocky and Luca nodded in agreement. Omar only crossed his arms and sank deeper into the couch.

The crew got it. They had all found their way to this apartment for a reason. And they knew what it meant to wait for trust to grow before asking for more.

Every one of them had their own scars—literal or not. Flaca’s family was transphobic trash, Rocky technically lived in a group home even though she spent nearly all her time here, Omar’s parents had been deported back to Honduras, and Luca’s parents were abusive pieces of shit.

They knew what it meant to have complicated families, to carry things too heavy to say out loud. If there was one thing they respected, it was someone not being ready to talk.

Julian didn’t need to defend Angel. His friends were already giving them the space they needed.

Still, he caught Angel’s flicker of relief when the questions stopped, and something in his chest eased, too. Angel was way better at covering their brujx secret than Julian was. In fact, everyone seemed better at it than him, but he guessed that was just another thing he needed to get used to, no matter how much it sucked.

Flaca hopped down from the chair with a small box of glittery stars. “Wanna help us out?” she asked brightly. No interrogation, just space, offered like a second plate of food.

Angel hesitated, then took the box. “Sure.”

From there, the room picked up momentum. Flaca draped another string of LEDs along the wall, crowing about her dollar-store haul. Rocky attacked the windows with Santa hats and snowflakes, like a mural project. Omar grumbled about “shitty new ornaments,” even as he strung emerald and ruby globes with surprising care. Luca fluttered between them all, sleeves swallowing his hands, steadying wobbly thumbtacks.

“I fixed the lights,” Rio said. The three-foot fake tree twinkled by the window. Its plastic branches were crooked and losing needles, a testament to years of love and limited storage space.

Julian dug into the special ornament tub, lifting each piece with reverence. A chipped ceramic taco Rocky had made. Luca’s glitter ball of folded wishes. Flaca’s thrift-store “skateboarding hot dog” she insisted was Julian-coded.

“Best part’s still to come!” Julian declared. With a dramatic flourish, he crowned their crooked plastic tree with the sparkly star topper. It tilted immediately. “Voilà! The grand final!”

Luca, Rocky, and Flaca laughed while Omar shook his head in the specific endearing way he saved only for Julian. Angel let out a quiet chuckle, a small crack in their guard.

“Thanks for waiting,” Julian said, softer now.

Rocky flashed him a grin of forgiveness. “We figured you’d show up eventually. You always do.”

For a heartbeat, he let it all wash over him—laughter, lights, closeness. A pulse of normal. The warmth in the room wrapped around him like a blanket, muffling the noise in his head. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t catching up or falling behind. He just was.

Angel shifted beside him, less coiled now, as if they’d finally found a chair with a backrest.

It stirred something protective in Julian. Angel had been sharper at Yadriel’s, walls stacked high in that tidy house full of rules and watching eyes. Here, complicated was normal. Heavy things could stay unsaid.

And for Angel, that difference seemed to matter.

Rio emerged from the kitchen carrying a Pyrex dish, chocolate cake still warm, Christmas sprinkles melted into a messy rainbow on top.

“Aw, hell yeah!” Julian cheered as he bounced across the room to Rio. Chocolate cake from the box was his forever favorite—his dad used to make it for him and Rio, and Rio had kept the tradition alive.

“I haven’t had cake in ages,” Angel admitted, a hint of longing in their voice as they stared at it.

“Then prepare yourself,” Omar said solemnly. “This is cake the way God intended—full of preservatives.”