Page 159 of Espíritu

Julian shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Yadriel blinked, startled. “Why not?”

Julian glanced down at his hands, flexing them slowly. “It still hurts,” he admitted. “Not like before, but … it’s there. My dad. That’s not gonna go away.”

Yadriel’s brow furrowed. “But you don’t want to let it go?”

Julian’s voice was soft. “I don’t want to forget.”

They stood in silence, the flickering glow of the cenote casting long shadows across the stones.

“My mom used to say,” Yadriel said eventually, his voice low, “that some pain isn’t meant to be taken away. That grief needs to be felt—really felt—so you can carry it with you.”

Julian’s breath caught. He nodded once, trying to keep his eyes from burning by sheer force of will.

Yadriel reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers. “It’s not about erasing it,” he said. “It’s about healing around it. So it doesn’t hollow you out.”

Julian didn’t say anything for a moment.

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” he said, touching his chest again. “Not gone. Just … not alone anymore.”

He looked at Yadriel—his boyfriend, his tether, his anchor.

And suddenly it made sense.

The ache would never leave completely. But love could grow around it. And that made it bearable.

As they reached the stairs, Maritza let out a dramatic sigh.

“Tío Enrique better be filling this thing with cement tomorrow like I told him,” she muttered. “Because I am not doin’ this shit again.”

Julian snorted. “Yeah, somebody needs to drop a boulder on it and call it a day.”

Maritza rolled her eyes. “Add it to the list. Right after we all get a solid twelve hours of sleep.”

“More like twenty-four,” Julian muttered. “Or one hundred. However much a week is.”

They stepped out of the crypt, the cool night air biting at their skin. It smelled like earth and ash and something sweet—the last traces of marigolds still lingering.

Yadriel rubbed the back of his neck, then glanced between Julian and Maritza.

They stood to the side while Lita and the others made their way back through the cemetery, leaving the old church behind. The night was cold, but lighter—the kind of quiet that followed survival.

Julian nudged Yadriel with his elbow. “So, Guía de la Llama,” he said, smiling. “Guess we’ll have to celebrate after. Lucky for you two, tonight’s Christmas Eve—which means it’s time for the annual Mario Party championship at my place.”

Maritza perked up. “Hell yes. I’ve got opinions on which maps are good and which ones suck, and none of them are kind.”

“You’re both invited,” Julian said.

“I’ve never done Christmas Eve,” Yadriel said, brows lifting. “Like … ever.”

Maritza smirked. “You mean the holiday where a random old white dude breaks into your house once a year and leaves unsolicited gifts? Sounds like a security threat.”

Julian burst out laughing. “How dare you! Santa is a saint! He gives us presents and all we gotta do is leave him cookies!”

Yadriel shook his head, amused. “I’m gonna need a full rundown of these traditions.”

Maritza slung an arm around both of them. “Perfect. We’ll show up, eat cookies, wreck everyone at Mario Party, and make fun of capitalism. The true meaning of Christmas.”