Broken Hands

156. Fresh start

The neighborhood was still, the air thick with the approaching dusk. Leaves rustled softly, whispering against the pavement as Julian stepped out of the car. The warmth of the day still lingered, but a cool breeze crept through, carrying the scent of rain. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog were the only signs of life in the otherwise quiet street.

Julian adjusted his backpack and let out a tired sigh. Today had been exhausting. School had been a drag, filled with assignments and a lingering headache that refused to leave. His mind was clouded, thoughts tangled in a mess he wasn't ready to sort out yet.

Stepping into the house, he was greeted by the familiar scent of home—cooked meals, faint traces of lavender from the scented candles Rosa loved, and the subtle musk of books and old furniture.

"Hey, Mom," Julian called, dropping his bag by the door.

His mother peeked from the kitchen, smiling warmly. "Welcome home, sweetheart. How was school?"

Julian shrugged, "Same old."

Rosa, who was wiping down the dining table, glanced up. "You're back early today."

"Yeah, no practice today," he muttered before heading upstairs.

Once inside his room, he tossed his shoes aside, stretched his sore arms, and plopped onto the bed. Bluey, the fluffy white cat, instantly perked up from his spot on the windowsill and padded over, rubbing against Julian's arm.

"Hey, buddy," Julian murmured, scratching the cat's ears. Bluey purred, nudging closer, and Julian chuckled, letting the simple comfort wash over him.

But it didn't last.

His chest caved as his mind drifted to yesterday. The way he'd spoken to Grayson—sharp, accusing, frustrated. His words had been unfair, laced with something bitter that he hadn't even meant to let out.

Julian exhaled guiltily.

He wasn't mad at Grayson. Not really. He was mad at himself. Mad at the way things were changing, at how Grayson always seemed to carry the weight of the world alone. And Judith had to add to that.

And now Julian wasn't even sure if he had pushed Grayson further away.

He needed to fix this.

Pushing off the bed, he straightened his shirt and left his room, heading towards Grayson's door. The hallway was quiet, and for a moment, he hesitated.

What if Grayson was still upset?

Shaking off the doubt, he knocked. "Grayson?"

Silence.

Julian frowned. He knocked again. "Hey, can we talk?"

Nothing.

His stomach twisted. He reached for the doorknob and turned it. Locked.

A breath hitched in his throat, his pulse quickening. Grayson never locked his door unless—

Julian took a step back, swallowing down the unease creeping up his spine.

Without thinking, he turned and strode towards Russell's room.

The door was open, and inside, Russell was hunched over his desk, drowning in textbooks and notes. His laptop screen glowed against his tired features, lines of code flickering across it. Cybersecurity coursework. Julian barely understood half of what was on the screen.

"Hey," Julian greeted, leaning against the doorframe.

Russell barely looked up. "Hey."

A pause.