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Auradon had a way of shining too bright.
The towers gleamed. The banners snapped in clean blue-and-gold wind. Students laughed like they had never known rot, never known rust. Even the lake sparkled in a way that felt intentional.
Jay fit into it like he had been carved for it.
Carlos did not.
It wasn’t that anyone said anything cruel. That almost made it worse. No one mocked him. No one shoved him into lockers. No one called him “Runt” anymore.
They just…didn’t look twice.
Jay walked across the quad and heads turned. He’d grown taller over the years, shoulders broad from fencing and tourney training, dark hair tied back loosely at his neck. He moved like he belonged in a place with marble floors and gold-trimmed railings. He laughed easily. He flirted without thinking. He thrived.
“Jay!” someone called from the tourney field.
“Coming!” Jay shot back, flashing that grin that had once been sharp and feral but had softened into something warm.
Carlos sat under the shade of a willow tree, laptop open on his knees. He told himself he liked the quiet. He told himself he preferred circuits to swords.
He told himself a lot of things.
Across the courtyard, Evie stood in front of her new boutique location-Evelyn’s Royal Atelier, the sign read in looping silver script. Doug hovered at her side, holding fabric swatches and smiling like he’d personally discovered the concept of happiness.
Mal’s royal carriage passed through the gates just beyond, purple banners flying. The queen of Auradon. The once-lost girl who’d grown wings and then outgrown them.
They all had something.
Carlos had…a robotics lab no one visited unless something broke.
He tried to ignore the way it itched under his skin.
It wasn’t Jay’s fault.
That was the worst part.
Jay never forgot him. Never dismissed him. He’d still find Carlos in the library and drop a kiss to his temple. Still tangle their fingers together under tables. Still curl around him at night in their dorm like Carlos was something precious.
But lately-
Lately, Jay had been busy.
Tourney practice ran late. Study groups turned into bonfires. There were whispers about him being scouted for the Royal Guard after graduation.
“You’re incredible out there,” one girl breathed after practice one afternoon, clutching her books to her chest as Jay wiped sweat from his neck.
Carlos watched from the bleachers.
Jay laughed, embarrassed. “It’s just practice.”
Just practice.
Carlos shut his laptop a little too hard.
He didn’t mean to slip.
He hadn’t in years.
Not since the Isle.
Not since he’d learned there were better ways to quiet the noise.
But the noise had been louder lately.
Replaceable.
That was the word that stuck.
Jay could have anyone. He had everyone. He belonged here. He shone.
Carlos felt like a leftover piece from a story that had already ended.
That night, while Jay was still at a team dinner, Carlos sat alone in their dorm room, staring at his reflection in the dark window.
He picked at the inside of his wrist.
It wasn’t deliberate at first. Just scratching at already sensitive skin. A nervous habit.
But then it wasn’t.
The sting grounded him. Made the spiral quiet for just a second.
He hated how easy it was.
He stopped before it could become worse. He always stopped. He wasn’t on the Isle anymore.
Still, shame crawled up his spine.
He pulled his sleeve down and sat on the floor with his back against the bed, breathing hard.
He hadn’t missed this.
He hadn’t missed feeling weak.
Jay noticed three days later.
Because he always noticed. Just not soon enough.
Carlos had started wearing long sleeves again.
Auradon was warm this time of year. Too warm for that.
“Hey,” Jay said lightly as they walked back from class. “You’re gonna melt.”
Carlos shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Jay bumped his shoulder. “You’ve been saying that a lot.”
“Because it’s true.”
Too sharp.
Jay frowned but didn’t push.
He should have.
The lab was quiet except for the hum of a soldering iron.
Carlos leaned over a half-finished drone prototype, hands steady despite the storm in his chest.
He could do this. He was good at this. He knew he was.
So why didn’t it feel like enough?
The door creaked open behind him.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Jay’s voice.
Carlos stiffened. “Tourney over already?”
“Yeah. Coach let us out early.” Jay stepped inside, closing the door gently. He leaned against a workbench, watching.
Carlos didn’t look up.
Jay’s gaze dropped to his hands.
There was a strip of gauze peeking out where Carlos’s sleeve had ridden up.
Something inside Jay went cold.
“Carlos.”
Too soft. Too careful.
Carlos’s soldering iron trembled. He set it down too quickly.
“It’s nothing.”
Jay crossed the room in three strides.
“Don’t,” Carlos whispered, pulling his arm back.
Jay stopped like he’d hit a wall.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Jay spoke, voice rough. “Let me see.”
Carlos shook his head.
“Carlos.”
“It’s stupid.”
Jay’s hands curled at his sides. “Is it bleeding?”
“No.”
“Then let me see.”
Silence stretched.
Slowly, like he was confessing a crime, Carlos pushed his sleeve up.
It wasn’t catastrophic. Not catastrophic enough to warrant panic.
But it was enough.
Angry red lines. Not deep. Not new-new. But not old either.
Jay inhaled sharply.
“I didn’t-” Carlos started, words tripping over each other. “It wasn’t like before. I stopped. I just- It’s not a big deal.”
Jay looked at him like someone had just cracked the earth open beneath his feet.
“It is a big deal,” Jay said hoarsely.
Carlos’s throat closed.
“I thought we were past this,” Jay whispered.
The words hit wrong.
Carlos flinched like he’d been slapped.
“Yeah” he said, voice brittle. “So did I.”
Jay immediately saw it-the misstep, the blame that hadn’t been meant as blame.
“I didn’t mean-”
“It’s fine.” Carlos pulled his sleeve down. “You’re busy. I didn’t want to make it a thing.”
Jay stared at him, repeating the words back.
“You didn’t want to make it a thing.”
Carlos let out a shaky laugh. “You’ve got everything going for you, Jay. Tourney. The Guard. Everyone loves you. I didn’t want to be the problem you have to manage.”
The words settled heavy between them.
Jay felt something sharp and furious rise in his chest.
“Manage?” he repeated.
Carlos swallowed. “You could do better.”
The lab seemed to tilt.
“Don’t,” Jay said, stepping closer.
“You could,” Carlos insisted, voice cracking. “You’re- you’re thriving. And I’m just the tech guy who fixes stuff when it breaks. That’s not impressive here. Not like you winning games. Not like Mal ruling the kingdom. Or Evie running her shops. Or even-”
“Even what?”
Carlos looked down.
“Even me.”
Jay reached out and cupped Carlos’s face before he could stop himself.
“Look at me.”
Carlos didn’t want to. But he did.
Jay’s eyes were wet.
“You think I’m with you because there wasn’t a better option?” Jay demanded quietly.
Carlos’s breath hitched. “I think you deserve someone who isn’t…broken.”
Jay’s composure shattered.
“You aren’t broken,” he snapped, then softened immediately. “Carlos. You are not broken.”
Carlos’s eyes burned. “I slipped. I promised I wouldn’t. I promised I was stronger.”
“You ARE stronger,” Jay said fiercely. “You stopped.”
Carlos shook his head. “I shouldn’t have started.”
Jay’s hands slid down to grip his shoulders.
“Do you think I don’t see you?” Jay asked.
Carlos blinked.
“You think because I’m loud and flashy and people clap when I swing a sword that that’s what matters to me?”
Carlos didn’t answer.
Jay leaned their foreheads together.
“When we were kids on the Isle,” Jay said softly, “I survived because I was fast and strong and loud. But you? You survived because you were smart. Because you could think three steps ahead. Because you built things out of scraps and made them work.”
Carlos’s breath trembled.
“You built me that stupid lockbox so my dad couldn’t get to my stuff,” Jay continued. “You stayed up all night reprogramming those cameras so Mal could pull off that first heist without getting caught. You fixed Evie’s sewing machine over a hundred times. You fixed me more times than I can count.”
Carlos’s eyes overflowed.
“That’s not replaceable,” Jay whispered.
“I just-” Carlos’s voice broke completely. “I look at you out there and everyone’s staring. They chant your name. And I’m just…there.”
Jay pulled him into his chest.
“I don’t want them staring,” Jay muttered into his hair. “I want you.”
Carlos’s hands fisted in Jay’s shirt.
“I thought,” he choked, “if you realized how easy it would be to find someone better- someone who didn’t relapse the second things got hard-”
Jay pulled back just enough to look at him.
“You relapsing isn’t you being weak,” he said firmly. “It’s you hurting. And I should’ve noticed sooner.”
“That’s not your job,” Carlos whispered.
“Loving you is,” Jay shot back.
Carlos broke.
He sagged against Jay, sobbing in a way he hadn’t let himself in years. Jay held him through it, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles into his back.
“I was ashamed,” Carlos admitted into his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to look at me like I was…like I’d failed.”
Jay kissed his temple.
“You didn’t fail. You told me.”
“After you found out.”
“You’re telling me now,” Jay insisted. “That counts.”
Carlos drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t want to go back to how I was.”
“You won’t,” Jay said. “Not alone.”
Carlos hesitated. “I might need help.”
Jay didn’t flinch.
“Then we get you help.”
“Like…real help.”
“We’ll talk to Fairy Godmother,” Jay said immediately. “Or the school counselor. Or Mal can pull strings if you want someone outside Auradon Prep. Whatever you need.”
Carlos searched his face for even a flicker of doubt.
There was none.
“You’re not embarrassed?” Carlos asked quietly.
Jay looked almost offended.
“I’m proud of you.”
Carlos blinked.
“You’re fighting something that used to swallow you whole,” Jay said. “And you’re still here. You’re still building drones and hacking security systems and being the smartest person in every room.”
Carlos gave a watery huff. “That’s dramatic.”
Jay nudged his forehead again. “You love that about me.”
A small smile finally tugged at Carlos’s mouth.
Jay’s thumb brushed gently over the edge of the gauze.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not much.”
Jay swallowed hard. “It hurts me.”
Carlos’s chest tightened.
“I don’t want you in pain,” Jay whispered. “And I don’t want you thinking you’re anything less than the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Carlos shook his head weakly. “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
They stood there in the hum of the lab, wrapped around each other like they were the only steady thing in the world.
“I’m sorry,” Carlos said.
“Don’t apologize for hurting.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Jay exhaled. “Okay. That one I’ll accept.”
Carlos let out a soft, broken laugh.
Jay rested his chin on Carlos’s head.
“Next time the noise gets loud,” Jay said, “you tell me. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s ugly.”
Carlos hesitated. “What if you’re busy?”
Jay pulled back just enough to press a firm kiss to his mouth.
“You are never an interruption.”
The words settled deep.
Carlos closed his eyes and let himself believe them.
They didn’t fix everything that night.
Recovery wasn’t a spell Mal could cast. It wasn’t a gown Evie could stitch into perfection.
It was slow.
It was messy.
It meant Carlos talking to a counselor the next week, hands shaking but steady. It meant Jay sitting in the waiting room, foot tapping anxiously, refusing to leave.
It meant long sleeves sometimes-but for comfort, not concealment.
It meant Jay learning the signs better. Meant Carlos practicing saying, “I’m not okay,” before it turned into something worse.
On the tourney field, Jay still shone.
But now, when the crowd cheered, his eyes searched the sidelines.
And every time, Carlos was there.
Not invisible.
Not replaceable.
Just his.
And that was more than enough.