Page 71 of Espíritu

Some of the tightness eased from Luca’s shoulders. The shadow on his chest even seemed to dull at the edges.

Luca bumped his knee. “See? You can tell me stuff without the world ending.”

Julian huffed a laugh that faded fast. The relief made room for the old sting. “Rio doesn’t have to be such a dick about it,” he added.

“You both suck at feelings,” Luca said, almost fond. “That’s your problem.”

Julian exhaled through his nose. “You might be right.”

They fell into a quiet that felt more like a truce than a silence. Julian let himself rest in it—just for a second—until Luca said, “You good?”

Julian forced a grin. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

As Luca stood, Julian’s gaze snagged on something beneath the sweater: a flicker of movement, a shadow that pulsed like a second heartbeat.

There it was—the Marca Hueca. Pressed to the center of Luca’s chest, dim and sickly and growing darker by the hour.

Julian wanted to scream. Wanted to tear the thing away with his hands, wanted someone—anyone—to fix this. But Luca just stood there, tired and soft-eyed, completely unaware that something inside him was rotting.

“Hey, Luca?” Julian said as his friend paused in the doorway.

Luca turned back. “Yeah?”

“How are you holding up?”

Luca blinked, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Just worn out, man. You know how it is.”

Julian nodded.

Yeah. He did. And it was killing him.

“You get some rest, all right?” Julian replied, offering a supportive grin that ached with sincerity.

Luca nodded and disappeared behind the door once more, leaving Julian alone.

In the quiet of his room, Julian lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling fan as it whirred tirelessly above him. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other, a cascade of worry and determination. Luca was getting worse, the darkness within him growing, and Julian knew it was up to him to pull his friend back into the light.

Julian lay in bed, trying to get himself to fall asleep, but then the walls started pressing in. Restless, he slipped back out into the living room.

The apartment had gone soft and blue with TV light. His friends were scattered across the living room. Omar sprawled on the couch, one arm dangling off the edge. Flaca and Rocky sharing a blanket on the floor, their breath deep and even in sleep. Luca was completely buried under his blanket.

Rio, the ever-watchful sentinel, lounged in the armchair, his gaze fixed on the TV screen, though it seemed more for form than interest. The low volume barely murmured.

Julian’s gaze lingered on the doorway to their shared bedroom. His heart was still doing those fast, embarrassing rabbit hops.

“Hey,” he whispered into the dark, aiming for casual. “You comin’ to bed?”

Rio’s eyes slid from the TV to him, unreadable for a beat that stretched too long, then softened. “Yeah. Give me a minute,” he said.

Julian nodded, relief loosening the knot under his ribs.

Rio’s attention was already back on the television, but Julian didn’t miss the way his brother’s eyes flickered to him with unspoken concern.

Their bedroom was a cramped, cluttered space that felt more like a storage closet than a sanctuary. The walls were lined with old posters of LA Galaxy players, their vibrant colors contrasting with the faded paint and chipped plaster. Two twin beds occupied opposite corners of the room. While Julian’s space was a chaotic mess of comic books, video game controllers, and empty snack wrappers, Rio’s was sparse and organized, with a few framed photos of their family carefully arranged on a small shelf above his bed.

Piles of laundry played mountain ranges around the room, some clean, some not, all waiting for a moment of motivation that rarely came. A broken dresser stood lopsided, its drawers half-open and spilling over with clothes that no longer fit or had been worn too thin. The closet door hung ajar, stubbornly refusing to close all the way, revealing the skeletons of wire hangers and forgotten outfits.

Julian padded to his mattress and sank onto it, the springs creaking a familiar complaint under his weight. He plugged his phone into the frayed charger by his bed, the soft blue glow a makeshift nightlight against the dark.