Chapter 7

Javier's day started early with his mom calling, speaking rapid Spanish about coming over for Sunday dinner. He was laid in bed still half sleep, phone pressed to his ear.

"Si mama, I'll be there... No I ain't forgot to eat... Yes I'm still doing good in my classes..." He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. His room was cluttered with art supplies, half-finished paintings leaning against the walls, clothes draped over his chair.

After promising three more times he'd come to dinner, he finally got off the phone and headed to brush his teeth. His bathroom counter was covered in products - his sister was always leaving her stuff when she came over to get ready for school.

He was running late for class but still took time to roll up for later, tucking everything in his bag before heading out. His car needed gas but he had just enough to make it to campus.

In class he was trying to focus on the lecture but his mind kept drifting to new tattoo designs. His sketchbook was open, margins filled with little drawings. His phone lit up with a text from Jordan about a client wanting to reschedule.

After class he hit up the gas station, putting $20 in his tank cause that's all he had till payday. Some girl from his art history class was there and tried talking to him, but his mind was elsewhere.

At the shop later, he was cleaning his station between clients when his sister FaceTimed.

"Javi! Guess what?" She was in her school uniform, clearly supposed to be doing homework.

"What's up princesa?"

"I got an A on my math test!" She held up the paper proudly.

"That's my girl! See, I told you all that practicing would pay off."

They talked while he worked, her chattering about school drama while he organized his supplies. He loved how she still got excited to tell him everything, even though she was getting older.

His next client came in - full sleeve design they'd been working on for months. He switched into work mode, mind focused purely on the art. This was what he loved most - creating something permanent, meaningful. Hours passed like minutes when he was in the zone like this.

Finally home that night, he was stretched out on his couch smoking, some old movie playing low on TV. His mom had sent him home with food last Sunday and he heated up the last container. The apartment was quiet except for the rain outside and the movie's soft dialogue.

His mind drifted to Messiah, how tired he'd looked at work earlier. He'd noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders was tense like he was carrying mad weight. Made him want to... he ain't even know what. Just do something to ease whatever was keeping dude up at night.

"Nah chill," he muttered to himself, taking another hit. He couldn't fix nobody else's demons. He had enough of his own - like how his dad had tried calling again last week and he'd let it go to voicemail. Some wounds you just had to let heal on their own.

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Across town, Messiah's morning started with his cat walking across his face at 5am for breakfast.

"Get your ass..." he mumbled, trying to push him away, but the cat just meowed louder. Finally he got up, dragging himself to the kitchen to fill the food bowl.

Since he was up, he decided to get his workout in early. The gym was empty this time of morning - just how he liked it. He put his airpods in, turning the music up loud to drown out his thoughts.

Two hours later he was back home, carefully unwrapping his dreads from the bonnet he'd worn to workout. The bathroom mirror was slightly cracked from the previous tenant but he could still see well enough to retwist a few locs that was getting fuzzy.

His apartment was small but clean - he kept everything organized cause chaos outside meant chaos inside his head. The only mess was his cat's toys scattered everywhere.

Class was whatever - he sat in the back like always, taking notes but not participating. Some girl tried passing him her number but he just ignored it. He ain't have energy for all that.

At soccer practice he went hard, pushing himself till his legs was shaking. Physical exhaustion was better than mental exhaustion. Coach pulled him aside after, talking about some scouts coming to the next game, but Messiah was only half listening.

His phone been blowing up all day - Dom sending memes in their chat, his boy from high school asking about linking up, some group project people trying to schedule a meeting. He left most of them on read.

That night he was on his couch, cat curled up in his lap while he tried to study. The words kept blurring together though. He ain't been sleeping right in days, memories creeping up every time he closed his eyes. Shit he thought he'd buried years ago.

His hand drifted to his tattoo absently. It was fully healed now but sometimes he could still feel... he caught himself and jerked his hand away. Wasn't trying to think about gentle hands or understanding eyes or any of that shit.

He got up to shower, carefully tying his dreads up first. The hot water helped some but his mind kept spinning. After, he took extra time with his routine - brushing teeth, washing face, putting lotion on. Anything to delay trying to sleep.

Finally in bed, bonnet on, cat curled against his side, he stared at the ceiling in the dark. Part of him wished... but nah. Better to be alone than to risk letting somebody close enough to hurt you again. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.