Page 81 of Switch Hitter

“So?”

A grin finally breaks through. “Does this mean your mother’s going to invite Emiliano to every bloody holiday until the end of time?”

I laugh, wiping at my eyes. “Probably.”

Dad groans dramatically. “Poor bastard. You know we’re gonna have to prep him.”

“He’ll survive.”

“He’d better.”

He bumps my shoulder as he walks toward the doorway. “Come on.”

“So… we’re really okay?”

He glances toward the living room, where I can hear Emiliano laughing with my brothers.

“Your boyfriend’s waiting, son.” He smirks.

Something in my chest settles, and I know that everything isn’t going to be easy suddenly. But hearing my dad say “boyfriend” like it belongs in our house tells me everything I need to know.

I follow him back into the noise, and for the first time in my life, it doesn’t feel like I’m walking back into my family’s home.

It feels like I’m bringing mine with me.

Easter morning feels like an old song I forgot I knew the words to. The house is already awake when I open my eyes. I can hear it through the walls: quiet footsteps, low voices, the clink of dishes, the soft chaos of my family moving around each other in a rhythm that existed long before I ever knew what anxiety was.

For a second, I just lie there in the guest room and stare at the ceiling. My chest rises and falls.

I’m still here.

I didn’t run.

Beside me, Emiliano is stretched out on the bed like he belongs in it, one arm thrown above his head, hair a mess, face relaxed in sleep. Seeing him here, in my childhood house, under my family’s roof, is so surreal it makes me feel like my chest doesn’t know what to do with itself.

Last night plays in my head in pieces. My dad’s voice. Emiliano’s name in my mouth. The word ‘boyfriend’ is settling into the walls of this house like it belongs there all along.

I roll onto my side and watch Emiliano sleep, and then I do something I never do.

I let myself have a soft moment, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, quiet and careful, and the contact makes my chest feel too full. Emiliano shifts, eyelids fluttering. He catches my wrist gently before I can pull away.

“Buenos días,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” I whisper.

His eyes open, dark and warm, and he smiles the way he does when he’s proud of me, and it pisses me off because it makes me want to cry.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

I swallow. “Yeah.”

Emiliano hums like he doesn’t fully believe me, but he doesn’t push. He just tugs me closer until my forehead rests against his.

“Today’s just a day,” he whispers. “We do it one moment at a time.”

I nod, breathing him in. “Yep, just another day of people ready to judge us.”

His mouth brushes mine, barely a kiss, more like a promise. Then a knock hits the door.