Page 72 of Phantom Faceoff
In the lull between songs, I hear a quiet noise like a bubble popping. I pull my earbuds out, and just before deciding it must have been my imagination, I hear it again. Followed by a sniffle.
I ping my gaze to Julian’s bed, where he’s huddled with the blankets wrapped tight around him. The main light is off, and my laptop isn’t bright enough to illuminate more than the notebook in my lap, so I can’t see beyond vague shadows.
“Jules?” I set my laptop to the side and frown at the realization that my bed looks like an elementary school paper mache project. “You okay, love?”
There’s another sniffle followed by a balled up piece of paper launching from beneath the covers. I catch it and unfold it to see one of Julian’s coloring pages.
Another ball smacks me in the shoulder.
“Julian.” I laugh and am subjected to an onslaught of paper balls. “Hey now. That’s enough.”
“Fuck you,” he squeaks, voice raw and cracked.
“That’s no way to talk to your Daddy.”
He goes quiet, and then there’s another bubble pop.
A hiccup.
My brain switches from amused to concerned in an instant. I cross the short space between our beds, sitting on his, and tugging on the Julian shaped lump until his face pops out with red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks.
“What’s wrong, love?” I ask, brushing my thumb through his streak of tears.
He sniffles again and bats my hand away.
“Did something happen?”
He curls in tighter and buries his face in his knees.
“Did someone hurt you?”
He swallows a deep breath and sighs it out with a garbled huff.
Brat.If he won’t answer, then I’ll have to meet him where he’s at.
I find the edges of the blanket and shove it off his shoulders, fitting his jaw between my fingers, and tugging his wandering attention my way.
“Julian Tate.” I steel my voice, even if it cracks slightly from disuse. “I asked you a question.”
My eyes have somewhat adjusted to the dark, and while I can’t see much, I can read the clear defiance in his.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” he says in a small but firm voice.
“Too bad,” I say, tilting his face up further and resting my forehead on his. “Spill, baby.”
His demeanor cracks; the tough exterior shatters. Tears flow down his cheeks like a waterfall, and he readily throws his arms around me.
“Mal.” He presses in close. Squeezes me tight. “Mal. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I say back slowly, stroking a hand down his back. “You’re freaking me out.”
He laughs—part awkward and part incredulous.
“You’refreaking out?” He huffs and scrubs aggressively at the tears on his face. “I had the second biggest revelation of my life, but you’ve been too checked out to notice!”
I pause, lips parting. “What are you talking about?”
“You.” Julian shoves at my shoulders but pulls me back in to press his face to my chest and groan. “The sex.”
