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 Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:35 pm
Backdated to Saturday, March 18 Riker and Elliot had practice today, so Elliot dropped Atticus off with Julian and picked up Riker. There hadn't really been a plan outside of that. They alternated with who got picked up, and which house they hung out with, as Riker and Elliot both liked to show off their great driving skills to one another.
It was lucky that this weekend was planned to be at Julian's place, because he might not have been able to muster the energy to go out otherwise. It wasn't that he didn't like Atticus--far from it, actually--it was just that he hadn't been himself lately, and the comfort and safety of home was rejuvenating.
He didn't have to worry about asking someone to come pick him up if something happened.
This past week hadn't been easy for him, but he was working very hard to pace himself. He'd gone to school, almost perfectly normal. For the first few days, he'd skipped out on lunch and sat in the nurse's office, where it was quiet. By Thursday, he was sitting with his friends again.
He was quieter this week, and prone to bouts of forgetfulness. More than once, he'd zoned out while listening to the others, but he worked very hard to make up for it. Most of the words out of his mouth this week had been 'I'm sorry,' but he'd smiled through it and laughed it off and tried to be normal.
But it was exhausting. He came home and almost always had to lay down for a while, before dragging himself up to do chores and homework. Maxim appreciated their after-school naps, and no one had given Julian a hard time for them.
They were probably just going to watch a movie, or do a puzzle, or something quiet and boring (which, really, sounded very good to Julian) when Zac asked if they wanted to go to the aquarium. There were two new baby dolphins, and he just so happened to have some free time. There was a restaurant he wanted to try for lunch right next to the aquarium, so he thought it might be 'fun' to stop in.
In part, Julian knew better. Zac had already mentioned knowing Julian liked the aquarium, and so this was probably his way of trying to do something nice for him. Which meant, he'd probably actually spent time looking at restaurants to try, too.
Julian wouldn't have said no even if he was having the worst day of his life. Zac had played it cool, like he always did, but he'd also visibly perked up when Julian and Atticus said yes. Those two were always quiet, so while Zac drove them, he did most of the talking. Or, at least, guided the conversation. Atticus was always happy to talk about Elliot, so it wasn't hard to get him going, and when Atticus needed a break from talking, Zac had talked about movies and music with the two of them.
He knew Atticus did art, so when they drove past the plaza with an art shop and Julian's favorite stationery shop, he'd offered to stop there afterwards, but Julian had only looked out the window without commentary.
The aquarium was a little busy, but Julian had been more interested in the jellyfish than the dolphins, and Atticus seemed happy to be away from the crowd as well. They'd seen the dolphins briefly, which was enough for Julian, and now they had the entire room almost entirely to themselves. It was dark, and cool, and there were several different tanks of jellyfish.
Zac wasn't far away but he was giving the boys space--close, but not hovering. The aquarium was a little too calm for his tastes, but he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head, watching a tank of seahorses and strange looking fish like it was artwork to scrutinize.
Julian kept him in the corner of his vision most of the time, and even now he was angled so he could see Zac without being too obvious. He stood by Atticus, only about half a foot apart. Julian was dressed in darker colors, still soft and neutral, but it would have been easy to lose him in some of the dimmer exhibits if he didn't stay close. He was dressed in a few extra layers, and his hands had been hidden in his sleeves since before they got here.
He hadn't spoken for a while, but he'd listened and nodded along, or given short answers when necessary. Now that they were out of the crowd and had a little time to relax, he seemed to be coming back to himself a bit. His eyes were on the jellyfish, and then suddenly, as if continuing a conversation they'd just been having, he said, "We don't have to go."
The second stretched between them, not too long, but Julian blinked twice before he shook his head and seemed to come back to what he was saying. "To the stationery store."
There were very few places where Julian actually purchased anything that wasn't an obvious necessity, and the stationery store had always been one of them. He’d always been excited to go; they regularly got new stock, and the prices were more than reasonable, so he never had to spend much time thinking about how much he was allowed to spend on himself.
Plus, they discounted damaged or misprinted items, and Julian often gravitated towards those anyway–not because of the cost, but because he was determined to see past the ‘undesireable’ qualities.
He liked the idea that even broken, ugly things–not that he’d have ever called them that–could have a home somewhere, and be wanted and loved despite their damage.
Julian always had a place for them.
And, he always seemed to enjoy writing letters, or even just small notes. It was his favorite way of communication, because no one ever expected anything to be rushed, and he could take all the time he needed to find the right words.
The presentation was always nice, too. He'd gotten much better over the last year, and he had a small, but well-used collection of supplies.
He had stationery, and stamps, and stickers. A few nice pens in different colors, a few different ink pads, a few neat, miscellaneous things he’d picked up along the way. He usually only bought what he needed, or had a plan to use, but as he’d gotten more comfortable, he’d become a bit more lenient.
He enjoyed the whole process, and though he’d been shy at first, it wasn’t uncommon to receive mail from Julian–sometimes just something interesting he learned, or something he heard about going on around town. Sometimes, he might share his thoughts on something–a book, or a movie. Sometimes he would recommend a song. Sometimes he let a little bit of himself slip through.
In words on a page, where it could be read without him around, so if someone wanted to laugh at him, he didn’t have to be there to see it–and if they needed time to think of something nice to say instead, he wouldn’t be standing around awkwardly and waiting.
Nobody read his letters in front of him, but sometimes he offered them in person. Mostly, he mailed them. Nothing he had to say was important enough to rush.
The letters were just something he'd taken time to think about, and to sit down and write, and mail.
It didn't quite make up for his lack of social media presence, or the convenience of an immediate response, but Julian had--quite privately--romanticized the idea of getting mail. So in the absence of letters written to him, he filled the void by writing letters to others.
Julian hadn't written anything in over a week, and the idea of letters made his stomach twist. Even just talking about them now felt like ants were crawling all over his skin.
His throat was dry while he spoke, and his voice stayed soft, but he continued as conversationally as his body would allow. "I was actually thinking I'd like to give my supplies away. If you wanted, I can pack it up for you when we get home."
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:37 pm
Atticus looked away from the jellyfish when Julian spoke, his expression softening with surprise.
"Oh," he said quietly. For a moment, he didn't know what else to say. He looked back at the tank, watching the jellyfish drift through the dark water, but his thoughts weren't really on them anymore.
"I mean… I would take care of them," he said after a pause. "If you really wanted me to have them." He glanced over at Julian, both gentle and careful.
"But I like your letters. I always look forward to them. Even if they're just about something you saw, or a book, or a song. They feel special," Atticus hummed softly as he tucked his hands together in front of him.
"I don't know. I think if I gave away all my paint brushes, I'd miss them. Even if I thought I didn't need them right then."
He hesitated, then added a bit softer, "You don't have to decide today, do you?"
He could feel his cheeks warm a little, but he kept going. "Maybe, instead, you could come over sometime and I could show you what I did with the ones you already sent me? I put them in a book. I hope that's okay. I drew on some of the pages and left notes for myself, but only because I wanted to keep them safe."
Atticus gave Julian a small, hopeful smile. "And if you still want me to have your supplies later, I'll take really good care of them. I promise."
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:37 pm
Though Julian was very much aware of Atticus’ location, his eyes had settled quite firmly on a large, fluttering jellyfish who, despite its best efforts to rise, simply seemed to bob in place.
He didn’t answer immediately, though his head tilted just slightly. He heard Atticus, he just needed a few extra seconds to make sense of it.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a few days,” he said slowly. It wasn’t a rash decision.
Julian wasn’t the impulsive sort, and he put a lot of thought–too much thought–into everything he did.
“I already packed everything up.”
It was good that the room was mostly empty; despite trying to keep things conversational, his voice didn’t carry far. Zac hadn’t even heard them speaking–which might have been Julian’s intent, if he’d been aware enough to plan it.
“It’s–it’s nice that you kept the letters. You didn’t have to,” Julian said. He’d uncrossed his arms and curled his fingers around the railing. Leaning heavily against it, he held on tightly. There wasn’t much thought put into that, and he didn’t fight his body. He just let it do whatever it wanted.
Besides, the cold metal was grounding, and he ran his thumb across the smooth surface.
“...But I was thinking…” he shrugged again, noncommittal. Nervous. “...I don’t know. I was thinking maybe I should be done writing letters. It’s probably–I mean, I can just text. I should have been texting this whole time. I know that would have been easier. And the letters were–”
His shoulders rose again, too tight and too fast to be a shrug, but too sharp to be anything else. “Too much. They weren’t anything important. I don’t even know what I was thinking.”
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:38 pm
Atticus watched Julian's hand tighten around the railing, and his own fingers twitched a little. He wanted to hug him. He wanted to wrap both arms around Julian and promise that he wasn't too much, that his letters weren't too much, that he hadn't done anything wrong by sharing pieces of himself in a way that felt safe.
But Julian already looked like he was holding himself together with both hands, and Atticus didn't want to crowd him.
So instead, after a moment to breathe, Atticus shifted a little closer and gently placed one hand against Julian's back. Not enough to take up space, just enough to be there, and rubbed his back in small circles.
"I don't think they were too much," he said quietly. "Or unimportant."
He looked back at the jellyfish for a second, because maybe it was easier if Julian didn't have to meet his eyes.
"I think letters are… kind of like art. You choose the paper, and the pen, and the words. You make something that only exists because you made it. That feels important to me."
Atticus hesitated, then added, "And maybe it is a little more personal than texting. But I don't think that makes it bad."
He kept his hand warm and gentle against Julian's back.
"Did someone make you feel like it was too much?" he asked gently. "Or did it start feeling that way on its own?"
He glanced at Julian then, worry obvious in his expression.
"You can text too. I'd like that. I'd like to hear from you however you want to talk to me. But I don't think you have to stop writing letters unless you really, really want to."
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:38 pm
Julian nodded, in that way he did when he just wanted to express that he’d heard. It wasn’t so much a ‘yes’ to anything as an expression of presence. His shoulders eased with Atticus’s hand on his back, but he could only slightly feel the slight pressure of Atticus’ touch through his thick sweater.
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until his lungs burned, and by then he had to force himself to slowly release a very long, very deep exhale.
His letters weren’t any sort of art, especially not compared to the more creative members of their group. Atticus’ praise was appreciated, but Julian felt wholly undeserving.
Julian wanted to be flattered. He should have been. Atticus was kind, but he was also incredibly talented, and Julian trusted his eye for ‘art’.
“I, um.”
He held onto the word for a moment. Let them fester in his mouth. Weighed the risk of swallowing them, and wondered if they’d cut his throat as much as they cut his mouth.
He laughed softly, something small and forced, and shrugged again, but this time his head stayed ducked low like he could shield himself between his shoulders.
It was hard to look at anything, even the jellyfish.
“Actually, I made a lot of trouble with some of my letters, so I was…I was just thinking about it a lot, I guess. I didn’t mean to,” he explained, not that it mattered. The harm was done.
“But, um. I just don’t want to hurt anybody. I don’t want to make any trouble. And,” his voice softened–another confession, and something he knew he was going to regret saying but felt like he owed it anyway, “I don’t know if I really have anything to say anymore.”
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:38 pm
Atticus felt Julian's shoulders ease beneath his hand, and that was probably what made him brave enough to move. Carefully, he shifted closer and slid an arm around Julian in a gentle hug. Not tight or trapping, just enough to offer some comfort, and light enough to pull away if Julian didn't want it.
"I don't think you meant to hurt anybody," he said softly, thinking Julian might need to hear it from someone else, even though he said it himself.
Making trouble… hurting people… that didn't sound like Julian. But Atticus could understand the thought of not having anything to say, even if it probably looked different to Julian.
"Can I ask what kind of trouble?" he asked. "You don't have to tell me everything. Um… I just… I think there's a difference between writing something to hurt someone, and writing something honest that someone else didn't know how to process." He rubbed his hand over Julian's back again, hoping to offer him a little bit of comfort.
"And maybe there's a difference between not having anything to say, and being too tired or scared to say it right now. Did someone tell you your letters hurt them? Or is that what it feels like because things got bad?"
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:39 pm
Julian neither pulled away nor leaned into Atticus’s embrace, but he didn’t tense or shut down, either. He was receptive to it, just afraid to contribute in any way that might ruin it.
“Um. Well, I–it wasn’t exactly like that.”
The feeling of rocks in his stomach and fire in his throat was back. He hadn’t talked about this before. He didn’t know what to say. Atticus was intuitive, and empathetic–and quiet, and gentle, and–
He felt guilty, at first. Like he should have told Riker this before anyone else. Julian didn’t want anyone to know, but pretending like everything was fine wasn’t fixing things, and–
Julian didn’t really know what to do. He was guessing, and he was guessing wrong. Constantly.
Failure felt safe with Atticus. He was gentle. Understanding.
But anything Atticus knew, Elliot would know, and–
Maybe it was better that way. If everyone just knew but Julian didn’t have to tell him.
Once, he looked at Zac, who was pretending not to be watching them out of the corner of his eye, but Julian couldn’t just sit by and make everyone else do the work for him.
It was better if they knew anyway, right? It was fair. He was keeping secrets–lying–otherwise. Right? And if he hurt them–accidentally, even–well, he’d never forgive himself.
“The police came by a little while ago,” he said, voice low. “I had to sign some papers. So, um. It was legal stuff.” He sounded tired, not really like Julian, just like a report. Like maybe he’d prepared this in his head, knowing he’d have to say it some way, some time.
“I don’t know how badly I hurt anyone. I just know that it was enough that, um. They needed to make sure I couldn’t do it again.”
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:39 pm
Atticus went very still.
The police.
For one breathless, awful second, his mind went somewhere else entirely. Somewhere cold and frightening enough that his fingers almost curled into Julian's sweater.
But he made himself breathe. This wasn't about him.
Atticus loosened his hold, just in case, and rubbed Julian's back again with as much gentleness as he could manage.
"Oh," he whispered, because he didn't know what else to say at first.
Legal papers… the police… making sure Julian couldn't do it again… It all sounded so much bigger than just letters should have been.
"Julian," Atticus said softly, carefully, "are you in trouble?"
He glanced over toward Zac, then back to Julian, his brows pulled together with worry. "I mean—... do you need help? Um… a lawyer, or… or someone who knows what those papers mean? My parents would know who to ask. They'd help. They wouldn't be mad."
He swallowed, trying to keep his voice even.
"I'm not saying you did anything wrong. I just… I don't want you to be scared and alone with… whatever is going on," he gently explained, then hesitated before continuing. "What did they say you wouldn't do again? Send letters at all? Or send them to someone specific?"
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:39 pm
“I don’t want your dad to know,” he said quietly. Of course Mr. Gallo could get lawyers involved. He could probably do anything. Legally. Or maybe illegally, too.
Julian shook his head a second later. “I’m not–I’m not in trouble. I mean, that’s what everyone’s said.” But it felt like being in trouble, and the weight of it all was heavy in every word he spoke. “I don’t have to report it to DCU, it’s not criminal. It doesn’t have to be reported to job applications. It’s not going on my permanent record. As long as I don’t mess up.”
He didn’t feel better about saying it. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it, but it was the first time he’d talked about it.
A few times he’d asked Zac a question, but he hadn’t talked to his case worker since last Friday. She’d texted, but he hadn’t even opened it. It was another thing to do on an already very long list.
He gave up holding onto the railing, and rested his elbows on it instead. He knew a thousand different ways to make himself smaller, to shave off all the sharp edges, if ever there were any.
“I don’t really want anyone to know. But I’m not asking you not to tell anyone. I know you’re really open with Elliot and your parents. But I haven’t even told Riker yet. I don’t want him to be upset.” Riker wouldn’t blame Julian, probably, but he’d carry the burden anyway. Julian didn’t want him to have to deal with more.
“It’s just–it’s a no contact order. It’s like a restraining order, I guess. I was sending letters to someone–well, no, not sending. I was writing letters, but they weren’t sent. It’s–it’s not a big deal, I guess. But, um. Yeah, I’m sorry. I found out they didn’t want me to be reaching out, but it was kind of–it just got a little chaotic, in the end. I wouldn’t have–if I’d known, then–”
The words were getting all jumbled up so he stopped talking.
Drew in one long, deep breath. Watched a jellyfish sink to the bottom of the tank and then flutter back upwards.
“I’m just supposed to keep my distance, that’s all. So no writing letters.”
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:40 pm
Atticus felt his cheeks warm suddenly from embarrassment and guilt. He wanted to say that he could keep secrets. That he didn't tell Elliot and his parents everything, even if he trusted them. But the words stuck in his throat, because this wasn't about him, and Julian already looked like every word was painful to form into being.
So Atticus only nodded.
"Okay," he said softly. "I won't tell my dad."
He kept his arm around Julian, still loose and careful, not wanting to crowd but also wanting to support him however he could.
"And I won't tell anyone unless I'm really worried you're not safe. But I won't just… go tell people."
His brows knit together as he listened, trying to make sense of all the pieces without getting stuck on any one of them. A no contact order. Letters that hadn't even been sent. Someone Julian hadn't known didn't want him reaching out.
It made Atticus's chest hurt.
"You didn't know," he said quietly. He glanced at Julian's hands, then back at the jellyfish.
"So… the order is for one person?" he asked gently. "Not everyone? Not all letters?"
Maybe that was too obvious, but Julian sounded like he'd already given up on everything because something ended up hurting too badly and maybe he didn't want to risk being hurt even more.
Atticus took a small breath to steady himself.
"You don't have to write them. And you don't have to talk about who it is if you don't want to. But… does that mean you can't write to anyone? Or does it just feel safer to stop completely?" he asked, his hand rubbing Julian's back once more. "I don't think Riker would be upset with you. He might be worried, but that's not the same as being mad."
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:40 pm
“I’m safe,” Julian promised softly. He kept a lot of secrets, and wore very little on his sleeve. It was easy for people to make up whatever they wanted and believe that about him, and he was happy to let them. Most of the time.
He hadn’t been his best for the last few days, and he wasn’t sure what ‘getting better’ looked like. Tearing himself down and rebuilding, maybe. But maybe that looked destructive from the outside. Maybe Atticus thought he saw something worth worrying about.
It was uncomfortable, because whether or not Atticus was right, Julian found something new to worry about.
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, his brows furrowed, as if he were suffering through some full-body ache that washed over him. It eased, eventually, and then he just looked tired again. When he opened his eyes, it was hardly more than a sliver, like he wanted to shut out most of the world. Not all of it.
He still wanted to be here. Everything was just so much right now. He just needed to shrink things down a little.
“Just one person,” he answered, and almost left it at that.
‘Want’ was a strange concept for Julian.
He didn’t have to do something if he didn’t want to. Unless someone wanted it more, and then it happened anyway. The universe didn’t play by the rules. If you wanted something, you weren’t entitled to it.
He didn’t want to talk about it. There was no burning urge to get it off his chest.
It felt more appropriate to dig into flesh and bone and carve out a deeper hole to hide everything.
But did he want that?
…
No, not that either. He felt nothing of it. Wanted nothing from it.
Atticus was trying to help. Atticus wanted to help. He wanted to understand.
His want was stronger than Julian’s.
Julian could not muster the will to want anything. So he didn’t fight it. He let the universe take its course. He let it happen.
He answered.
“My mom just needs some space. She’s got some plans and they don’t involve me. That’s all. I didn’t know, but…she’s probably right to have done it this way. I needed someone to be firm about it.” He shrugged, picking at a hangnail that was already red and agitated. Most of his fingers were, if not from chemicals, and cleaning, from picking. He’d been doing that a lot lately.
“I was being pretty selfish. I wasn’t thinking about how much damage I was doing. But I am now. And that’s why I was thinking I shouldn’t. I don’t think I ever asked any of you if you would mind if I wrote to you. I just did it. I’m sorry.”
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:41 pm
Atticus didn't know what to say at first. Julian's mom… The thought made his chest ache in a completely different way, but he kept the feeling to himself. He only looked at Julian's hands, and the red, picked skin, and gently reached out to cover them with his own palm if Julian let him.
"You don't have to apologize to me," he said softly. "You don't have to ask if you can send me letters." He hesitated, then tried to offer a small, gentle smile.
"Do I have to ask you if I can paint something for you? Or make you something?" he asked and shook his head a little. "I mean… I would stop if you asked me to. Of course I would. But I don't think being kind and making something for someone is selfish just because you didn't ask first."
He rubbed Julian's back again, still being careful. He couldn't imagine how difficult it was for Julian, and he didn't want to make it worse by saying the wrong thing.
"If you want to ask next time, you can. I'll say yes. But I don't want you to think you hurt me by writing to me," he softly explained, watching the jellyfish to give Julian a quiet moment to breathe. "I liked them," he said again, softer. "I still do."
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:42 pm
It felt less like getting something off his chest and more like burdening Atticus with troubles he didn’t need to be carrying. And for what? Neither of them would feel better after this. If Julian stayed quiet, if he kept his mouth shut, then whatever sickness festered within him could stay there.
The room was wide and open, but it felt like the walls had lurched forward, and now the air around them was crumbling under the pressure.
When Atticus put his hands over Julian’s, it seemed to draw his attention, but again he didn’t move. There was something easy about Atticus, there always had been. He was a balm for frayed nerves, and even without his healing magic, Julian felt–
Not good. He hadn’t felt good in a while. But he felt okay.
“...I guess this all sounds pretty ridiculous.”
It must. Julian felt so ridiculous. He felt like everything he’d done, everything he did, was wrong, and he’d spent his whole life digging a hole too deep to climb out of. He had people–good people, too good for him–throwing him ropes and he–
Didn’t know how to climb.
But he tried.
Tried until he was tired, and sore, and blistered, and hurting.
And he kept trying.
“It just feels different. The stuff you do is always…”
His voice trailed off. It wasn’t an argument, it never was with him. It was a struggle, sometimes, just to get the thoughts out of his head. To figure out what he was allowed to say.
“...It’s always good. It’s always something beautiful. You make the world a better, more beautiful place.”
He’d kept everything Atticus ever made for him, so a part of him understood. Sort of. Atticus’s things were worth keeping. Julian–Julian’s things–weren’t.
Or–
Julian’s face relaxed into something more tired than relaxed. He had a headache again but he didn’t want Atticus to worry about that. Sometimes it was easier to function when Julian was hurting. There was a familiarity to it, and he could think around it.
Another poor foundation to build a fragile sense of self atop of, but he was trying, and failing, and learning.
Small steps, not always in the right direction, carried him forward. Eventually.
He leaned a little closer to Atticus.
“...I’m sorry. I’ve been in my head a lot lately. I keep messing myself up. I don’t want to mess you up, too. You don’t have to listen to me right now, I know I’m not making a lot of sense. But thank you for being so kind to me.”
Quiet, slow. He chose his words carefully, and made sure he said them just loud enough for Atticus to hear.
“...I’m glad you liked the letters. I liked writing them. But I don’t want to do it anymore if it might hurt someone. I don’t really understand…”
The mumbling was back, but it was all he could do just to get the words out.
“...what I did wrong. But I know it was my fault. And I don’t know how to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I don’t know how to fix it. So I thought…if I can’t figure it out…”
He shrugged meekly and let the silence speak for him.
It got to the point much quicker.
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:43 pm
Atticus pressed his lips together to make sure he didn't argue. He wanted to. He wanted to say that Julian's letters were good, too. That they were beautiful, too. That Julian didn't mess him up, and that listening to him didn't feel like a burden.
But Julian looked so tired, and Atticus didn't think pushing more words at him would make it easier for him to breathe.
So he only shifted a little closer and hugged him more fully, though still gentle enough that Julian could slip away if he wanted. One hand stayed against his back, rubbing slow, gentle circles, much like how Elliot would do with him when he was upset.
"I can listen. I want to listen," he said softly. "You're not messing me up."
He rested his cheek lightly against Julian's shoulder for a moment, then turned to watch the jellyfish some more.
"You don't have to fix everything right now. Or figure it all out right now," he said softly, voice barely more than a murmur. "And you don't have to write letters if you don't want to. I'll miss them, but I'll still be here. We can text. Or sit together. Or not talk at all."
Atticus hesitated, then added, "You don't have to know what you need, but if there's anything that would make right now a little easier… I hope you know you can tell me. And that you're important to me. And I want to do whatever I can to make things a little less horrible for you. And if there isn't anything… that's okay too. I can just stay with you."
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2026 8:45 pm
“It’s not horrible,” Julian said quickly. Probably instinctively. He didn’t have to think about it, he just said it, and then hearing himself say it seemed to flip some switch inside of him.
His breathing changed–one quick, deep breath, and then back to calm, steady, normal. Two seconds in, two seconds out. Not too deep, not too shallow. Quiet.
“I’m sorry, Atticus. I was being a little dramatic. My life is really good.”
He glanced at Zac, who was leaning against the railing, arms crossed over his chest and watching the two of them like he was trying to decide whether or not to head over. Julian smiled at him and turned away, staring intently at the jellyfish.
The smile stayed. The rest of his face didn’t change much, either.
“I don’t really have anything to complain about. I guess I’ve just been a little stressed. But I made my own problems so it’s not like it’s unwarranted. You–I know you’ve been through things that were–I mean, a lot worse than what I–”
He didn’t cut himself off so much as his voice just stopped working. He had to start over, but that took two tries before he was stringing words together again.
“I don’t need anything. I mean, I can’t think of anything at all. Everyone’s really nice to me. At home. At school. If I ever need anything, I know I can ask. But I don’t really have to. Everyone takes good care of me. And I–”
His chest felt heavy. Like his heart had turned to stone, and shattered into a hundred pieces, and now it just rattled around every now and then.
So he stopped talking for a second. Slowed down. His face didn’t change or his breathing, or his posture. But his voice did.
“...I’m happy to be here.”
Quiet, a little somber.
“That’s probably the only thing that matters. I should be focusing on that instead. I’m sorry for being a downer. Today’s been nice. I like hanging out with you. The other stuff isn’t even important, I don’t know why I said anything. I’ll still write if you like it, I don’t want to disappoint you.”
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