Chapter Text
“Does it matter where I go?” A clipped tone. A comfort.
The wind howls; a song of November’s bite, the bitter aftertaste of that bottle of tequila hanging on both of their breaths. A line of smoke, cutting across the vertical line of the balcony and into the emptiness of the street. Los Diablos has fallen asleep, at one point, between the late evening dinner and Ikram’s cigarette break. And Ortega joins them, seated in her chair looking at the way they lean on the railing as if to test its resolve, and that makes her antsy, sick, enough that she stands up again.
“You disappeared without a word.”
“My life doesn’t revolve around you,” and she winces. But Amal quickly continues, and Julia knows they caught onto it too, and that there is some semblance of guilt; “or the others, anyways. I have my own life to manage.”
“I wish you’d let me be part of it.”
“Why?” They spit out smoke, before turning to look at her. They’re unnaturally calm, washed in the dark of the hour. Only the streetlights highlight the sharp edges of their jaw, the sunken lines in their face. “What– what would you do? How could you fit into it? Do you look at your own shadow and realise how daunting it is?”
And she takes the bait, because of course she’s stupid, and of course she’s– angry. Worried. A buzzing beneath her fingertips and she forces herself to breathe in the cold air so she doesn’t say something they’ll regret. “Maybe it’s because I love you. And maybe because it was possible before.”
“But not now.”
“It can be.”
The settling of ash against the ground. A soft scoff, inaudible to everyone but her; memorized like the back of her hand. Immortalized in each shuddering breath she had taken over the years, in the dark, in the confines of the corners of the bedroom. And Ikram regards her like they regard the world, an understanding of being observed and observing. They let the cigarette burn between their fingers.
And then she’s moving. Slow. Terrified they’ll leap, or run back inside, or vanish right as her palm contacts the small of their back. But instead they stand still, watching her with parted lips and a half-lidded look. Deep breaths expand in their lungs, the audible beating of their heart– alive. Here. Between Julia’s too warm body and the metal railing and the wail of the city. A second. Another. Closer. Her fingers tug at their coat, and they shift so they’re facing her fully. Her hand continues to trace invisible scars beneath clothes, until it settles at the small of their back, buzzing with nervous energy and anticipation. Staring at them. The way there’s a soft smile begging to surface. The way a mockery of a scowl takes place instead, and they tilt their head sideways if only to figure what’s going inside her head.
“Julia.” They say. A warning, but it’s spoken with so much reverence that it makes her name sound sacred. Like a whisper between prayer beads and the rotten wood of the pew chairs. Their cigarette still hangs between their fingers, but its light has dimmed; like a dying star. But their breath hitches when she splays out her fingers over the thin fabric, pressing in.
“Amal.” They always hated that– their first name. Like it didn’t exist. Like it was only to be whispered when no one would catch it, a dirty secret to bury like a body in the sand. The way each letter leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, the way she embraces it all the same. Hers. Theirs. Something in the ruins of that building that only belongs to them both. Theirs. “I…”, and Julia’s other hand rests on their chest. Right above their beating heart.
Did they let her touch them like this, before? Did they jump up when currents of electricity would brush against their jumper, before settling deep into skin? Did they look at her like a prey looks at its hunter, awaiting fangs to tear at flesh?
Did they know she loved them?
They must. She’ll say it as many times as it takes. Finally mustering the strength to lean in, closer, against the edge of the rail and into the plummet of the street but they’re in her arms– pulled close and taut. Safe. Protected. Held in place as her lips brush theirs, some whisper of a kiss before she draws back and they dive forward.
The cigarette had slipped off, at one point.