Valentino

First dawn

First dawn

Dawn is the only thing that keeps Julien hanging. It's pretty weird when he thinks about it, how he wakes up extra early just to watch sunrise, or how his day starts before everyone else's. But maybe that's what he likes about it: the loneliness and the silence. The reminder of how he's been thrusted off a cliff, a mere unfledged boy, and expected to function normally.

It's been like this for as long as Julien can remember. Dawn is his time, his place. Kinda like his secret — or at least that's what he likes to call it since no one ever comes here at this hour.

A few inches in front of his feet, the water laps at the shoreline. The ocean's supposed to be colorless but now it's blue tinged with bronze, just like the sky. It's a cycle; everything changes about his dawns but nothing really changes and Julien finds that comforting. No violent alteration, no need for adaptation. A divine routine.

Today, however, something interrupts the clockwork. Steps. Feet shuffling closer. Soft breaths. Julien frowns, glancing back.

There's a boy in the distance, around fifteen years old, trudging closer with his head hanging and his feet dragging like he doesn't want to be here. He's holding a white rose in his hand, and there is a backpack's black strap along his shoulder.

Julien watches until the boy's close enough, and he's almost startled at his lack of recognition. This is Julien's territory. Sure he doesn't have his name stamped on the pebbles under his feet but it's been his lonely place forever and someone stepping in out of nowhere is a little less than welcome.

When he's right by the bench that Julien's sitting on, the boy raises his head and his green eyes demand attention. It's like they take up his whole face. He smiles a little, pointing at the space beside Julien.

"Can I have a seat?"

The boy's voice is low and tired. Julien would send him off if it's not for that. So he nods and scoots aside, making space for him.

The boy plops down in an awkward way: slow and calculated, like a wrong move and he'd break a bone. He leans forward and keeps the rose held protectively between both hands.

"Nice rose," Julien tries, angling his chin in its direction.

The boy smiles a little. "Thanks."

". . .Heartbroken?"

"Yeah. But not in the 'my girlfriend cheated on me' sense."

Julien's amused expression drops, suddenly replaced by a frown. "Well, that sucks," is all Julien can muster. He didn't expect honesty. He expected a halfhearted answer to match his halfhearted joke. The boy's response alters something in the air, makes it heavier, or maybe just a bit more personal than Julien likes. Desperate, he changes the subject. "So how come you're here? Aren't you too young to walk around alone like this?"

The boy shrugs a shoulder. There's amusement in his eyes, a hint of it. "I could ask you the same question."

"I'm eighteen. I'm an adult. You're a child."

"I'm eighteen too."

Julien freezes. And blinks. Eighteen? The boy looks no older than sixteen and that's being generous—he's not quite tall and his face is too pretty and youthful, like puberty hasn't hit him yet. So Julien says, "You're eighteen?" and laughs.

"Yeah. Eighteen. Minus three years."

There's silence for a second. "Yeah," Julien finally drawls, voice loud and mocking. "Yeah, alright, bud." He pats the boy's shoulder. "If that's how you think about it."

The boy doesn't even scowl at Julien's obvious mock. Instead, he just looks at him, maintaining a straight but subtly amused expression. "Counter it if you can."

Smiling slightly, Julien arches a brow. A challenge, he likes that. And he could play along. He could explain how the boy was lying until he added minus three years. But Julien stays silent instead because maybe that's lame. Maybe that's not how the conversation should go. So he says, "Just go home. There's nothing here."

"Mmm." The boy smiles again and bends forward while sitting, inspecting the masses of pebbles along the beach like they're some kind of valuable artifacts. In this position, Julien sees the back of his head and notices the soft curl to the tips of his hair. "You sure? 'Cause I'm pretty sure there's a sun and there's you and there's a shit ton of pebbles here."

"Goodness." Without consciously meaning to, Julien straightens his shoulders. His voice leaks the amusement he's trying to hide. "I didn't mean it literally."

"I know." The boy tilts his body to the right, away from Julien, and picks a pebble. Almost like it's a lazy attempt at hiding what he's doing. "Just messing with you."

Julien decides against saying anything else. And he doesn't even need to, because the boy is already standing up now, shouldering his small backpack. He pats his pocket like he's making sure the pebble is still there. Julien wonders if he really believes he didn't see that.

"Gotta go now," the boys says. "Nice meeting you again!"

Julien nods and watches the boy leave, except it hits him right then like a punch to the throat. Again. Again? He doesn't remember him, couldn't even scrape off the slightest, blurriest memory of a young dude with green eyes and chestnut-brown hair.

"Hey," Julien shouts into the distance, but the boy's already left. The echo ricochets back to him. Heartbroken, but not in the 'my girlfriend cheated on me' sense. Vague but strangely accurate. Sighing, Julien leans his elbows against the backrest.

He tilts his chin up and dawn starts melting into dusk right in front of his eyes. Time's slipping and he's sitting. If he focuses enough, he can hear the stars suffocate in the daylight. The sun is a bitch. But Julien's here anyway, watching it rise.