Page 61 of Espíritu

“Don’t get too excited,” Julian said with a tired grin. He slouched into Yadriel’s shoulder, borrowing the steadiness. “The mark is still there, but I’ll take what I can get. And I still hate the tea,” he added, teasing.

“You don’t have to like it,” Yadriel said, resting his temple against Julian’s. “You just have to let it help.”

Julian grinned at his boyfriend. “I appreciate you.”

Yadriel smiled.

“Hey,” Julian said, noticing something. “You’re still wearing your binder. Five-minute break, yeah?”

“After,” Yadriel promised.

Julian narrowed his eyes. “Maritza told me to stay on you about it.”

“I know,” Yadriel said, flushing. “Just not right now. I will take it off early tonight, promise.”

On the quilt, Julian’s phone buzzed. Angel’s text popped up on his cracked screen.

Headed to Denny’s. See you there.

He flicked the notification away, thumb hovering for a second over his notes app. Half of it was chaos—dumb joke ideas, ghost theories, reminders he never followed—but pinned at the top was one tiny note that was just Yadriel’s exact coffee order. Vanilla syrup, soymilk, extra shot with a sprinkle of cinnamon. He kept it there so on bad days he could show up with the right drink without asking, like it was no big deal.

The old itch tugged his attention toward the corner where the shadows pooled. He caught his St. Jude medal in his fist and looked at Yadriel instead.

“Hey,” Yadriel said quietly, catching the glance. “Eyes here.”

Julian exhaled, long, like they’d practiced. “I’m good,” he said. Not totally true, but truer than before.

“Text me if anything bad or weird happens,” Yadriel said. “And if you hear your name—”

“I call you,” Julian finished. He knocked their knees together, then hesitated. The candlelight put gold in Yadriel’s lashes. Up close, the worry was obvious. His too-bright helpfulness, the way he’d overprepared the room, that single shake of his hand.

Trying so hard it hurt.

“Hey,” Julian said, voice low. “Thank you. For … all of this. Even if I act like a jerk about the hedge tea.” His mouth pulled to one side. “You’re trying really hard. I see it.”

Some of the tension eased out of Yadriel’s shoulders. “You’re not a jerk,” he said. “You’re my boyfriend.”

The word still startled Julian sometimes—“boyfriend”—like he’d stolen something precious and somehow gotten to keep it.

“Gross,” Julian said automatically, but it came out warm. He grabbed his board and patted the notebook in his pocket. “Keep the candle for when I’m back?”

“And the tea,” Yadriel said, teasing on purpose now, as if he knew Julian needed the tone lighter. “In case you survive and need more.”

Julian rolled his eyes, stood, and pressed a quick kiss to Yadriel’s forehead. “I’ll text you,” he said. “Promise.”

“Be safe,” Yadriel said.

Julian stepped into the hall, walking a little lighter than he had all day. He was not sold on plants or smoke. But the space in his chest wasn’t quite as sharp, and someone who loved him was keeping a candle lit. For now, that was enough.

The neon OPEN sign above Denny’s flickered, casting red light over Julian’s face as he stepped inside. The scents of grease, coffee, and syrup-smothered stress smacked him square in the face.

It was crowded—truck drivers hunched over bottomless mugs, parents herding overtired kids, couples scrolling silently through their phones. The hum of life, soft and aimless.

Angel sat alone near the back, stretched across one side of a booth. Leather jacket, one boot up, one down, mug in hand, gold eyes already on him. She looked relaxed, but Julian could feel the tension coiled beneath her skin—like a panther sunbathing with one eye open.

He hesitated just inside the doorway. Something poking at the back of his head thought this was a bad idea, but Luca’s Marca Hueca wasn’t getting better, and if Angel really knew how to fix it, Julian didn’t have the luxury of common sense.

“You made it,” Angel said, her voice low and amused. She raised her mug to her lips but didn’t drink. Steam curled around her jawline.