Chapter 505: Holding On

The five of them lingered around the dinner table long after the plates had been cleared.

The air was heavy with the warm scent of oranges and cinnamon from Komi’s potpourri bowl, which she always kept in the center during cooler months.

Laughter had softened into chuckles.

Stories had given way to sighs and gentle nods.

Olivia sat nestled into the curve of the couch, her eyes half-lidded as Komi and Miranda exchanged tired glances over their shared cup of chamomile tea.

Izan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them with a look that straddled both gratitude and nostalgia.

Then Hori stood and stretched, arms flailing dramatically above her head.

“Alright,” she said, voice touched with feigned weariness, “Olivia and I are going to bed.”

Izan’s brows rose. “You and Olivia?”

Hori beamed wickedly.

“Yes, she promised. It’s sister-bonding night. No boys allowed.”

She reached for Olivia’s hand, tugging her upward like a determined tugboat.

Olivia gave Izan a playful shrug, mouthing silently I’ll come later when she’s asleep.

Izan watched them disappear down the hall, Hori already talking about a new K-drama she wanted to show Olivia.

He smirked faintly and rubbed his eyes before finally dragging himself upstairs.

But sleep didn’t come.

The room was too still.

His limbs too restless.

Something in his chest—he didn’t know if it was memory or weight—refused to settle.

Sometime past two, he slipped from the bed and padded down the stairs barefoot, the old wood cool beneath his soles.

He made his way to the kitchen for water, moving like a shadow.

But just as he reached the landing, he heard voices.

Low. Tired. Familiar, but one sounded like it was a mile away.

“…Hori no recuerda mucho y parece no estar afectado, pero a veces encuentro a Izan de pie, mirando su foto.( Hori doesn’t remember much and doesn’t seem affected, but I sometimes find Izan standing, staring at his picture )”

Komi’s voice said gently.

Izan froze behind the wall.

“A ambos les hace falta, incluso a Hori, pero quizás ella no lo sepa,(They both miss him, even Hori, but she might not know it)” said another voice from the phone, unarguably his grandmother, his father’s mom.

“Cada vez que lo miro, es como ver a Martín otra vez.(Every time I look at him, it’s like seeing Martín again.)”

Izan closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

He didn’t need to hear more.

He stepped back quietly, his thirst forgotten, and turned back for the stairs.

When he entered his room, he was caught off guard by Olivia’s sudden whisper-shout.

“Izan!”

He blinked.

Olivia sat on the bed, hair a little messy, eyes wide and exhausted.

“She won’t sleep,” she whispered, pointing toward the hallway behind her.

“She’s talking about some boy nonstop.”

Izan’s face darkened in an instant. “Boy?”

“Yes.”

“What boy? Who? What’s his name? Does he go to her school? Is he older—”

Olivia smacked his shoulder.

“Relax, dad,” she muttered, laughing under her breath as she shoved him toward the bed.

“I just want to talk,” Izan said defensively, digging his heels in with theatrical resistance.

“A nice, calm talk. With a baseball bat.”

“You don’t even own a baseball bat.”

“I’ll find one.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled him by the collar until he tumbled onto the bed beside her.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Protective.”

“Same thing.”

“Okay, I will sleep tonight, but we will revisit this conversation,” Izan said as Olivia caressed his lips with hers.

Outside the window, the Valencian night breathed easy, as the night flew by slowly but inevitably.

……

[A/N: But in the Author’s room, he was feeling lonely and stuff.]

…….

The skies over Paterna held a thick stillness that morning—overcast but dry, the sun hiding behind a gauze of grey clouds as if even the heavens knew what day it was.

Izan stood by the front gate in a plain black button-up and dark slacks, arms tucked into his coat pockets.

Beside him, Hori clutched a small bouquet of lilies—his father’s favourite—and Komi held a modest wreath.

She adjusted the scarf around her neck, her face unreadable, though the red in her eyes gave something away.

Olivia stood beside her, unusually silent while Miranda had offered to sit this one out as she didn’t feel comfortable being there.

The last to arrive was his grandmother, tall, wiry, sharp as ever in a crisp black skirt and blouse, her silver hair pinned in a neat bun.

They drove in silence.

No music, no idle chatter.

Just the sound of rubber over asphalt and the occasional sigh from the backseat where Hori fidgeted beside Olivia.

The cemetery was quiet.

A few early mourners passed between headstones, heads bowed, soft murmurs floating in the cold spring air.

Komi led them through the familiar path, one they hadn’t walked in nearly two years as a full group.

The grave was just as Izan remembered it.

Simple. Clean.

White marble, now slightly worn, bearing the name Ángel Hernández Maxwell in sharp, eternal lettering.

They took turns laying their offerings.

Hori stepped forward first, kneeling.

She didn’t speak immediately.

When she did, her voice was faint but steady.

“I’m older now,” she said, brushing her fingers along the edge of the headstone.

“Mum says I have your laugh, but I don’t remember much. And Izan… he’s doing what you used to dream about. He’s brilliant. You’d like him.”

She paused. “You’d be proud. We miss you.”

Komi went forward, whispering a few words after, and then it was Izan’s turn.

The others backed off respectfully, leaving him alone in front of the grave.

The air around him seemed to shift—more weighted now, like time had slowed.

He swallowed, then placed a hand on the marble.

“I still remember your voice,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know how, but I do. I remember your hands when you held mine walking to school… how you told me stories about how I’d play for Spain someday.”

He laughed softly, eyes wet.

“I’m doing that now. I’m trying to, at least. It’s not always easy. But they tell me I’m good, and I am good. And when I play, I think about how you used to pretend the kitchen floor was the Camp Nou.”

He stood there, a single tear falling from his eye as a slight smile outlined his face.

“I miss you. I still do. Every day. And I promise, I’ll take care of them.

Mum, Hori, even abuela… they’re in good hands.” He stood, exhaled, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Thank you, papá.”

He turned and walked away, slow and heavy.

The family gathered around the cars again.

Conversations resumed in small clusters—some asking Komi how she was holding up, others chatting about how tall Izan had grown or how much he looked like his father.

Izan stood quietly beside the car until one of his uncles approached.

“How’s Arsenal treating you?” the man said, patting Izan’s back.

Another cousin chimed in.

“Any truth to the reports that you will be coming back to Spain to play for Real Madrid?”

Izan nodded politely, replying where necessary, but his words were brief, his smile barely present.

Inside the car, Hori sat in the back seat with her arms folded.

She leaned into Olivia, whispering under her breath.

“Now they care. Now they show up. No texts for five years and suddenly everyone wants to be the one who says ‘I saw Izan when he was a baby.'”

Olivia gently rubbed her back.

“People are complicated. Especially when they feel guilt.”

“They’re still annoying, and I wouldn’t say guilt. More like an opportunity,” Hori muttered.

Just then, the car door opened, and their grandmother appeared, waving Izan toward her with sharp fingers.

“Ven. Ahora.”

He followed without argument.

She didn’t say anything until they were both inside the car.

Then, with a grunt, she shut the door and looked him straight in the eye.

“You do well to honour your father,” she said.

“But don’t let all this… sadness and formality eat away at you.”

He blinked. “I’m okay, abuela.”

She shook her head.

“No. You’re too much like him. He used to sit in the corner at family things too, thinking too hard, trying to be strong for everyone.”

He tried to smile.

“Izan,” she said, voice lowering, “you revere him. That’s good. But don’t get stuck there. Don’t live in the shadow of his death. Live in the light of what you think he would’ve wanted.”

He looked out the window, quiet.

“I think he would’ve wanted to see you happy,” she said.

“Not perfect. Not polite to people who don’t matter. Happy.”

The engine started.

Komi filed into the car behind them while Olivia gave him a small smile, squeezing his shoulder as she settled in beside him.

Izan looked down at his fingers, twiddling his thumb against his palm.

His grandmother had said it like a command, but it landed more like an offering.

A way forward.

He nodded. Slowly. Almost imperceptibly.

Outside, the cemetery shrank into the distance, and with it, the weight of that marble headstone.

Not forgotten. Not erased.

Just… carried differently now.

And for the first time that day, the clouds broke apart, and light found a way in.

A/N: Okay, first of the day. Have fun reading and the GT chapter is up next. If you’re on webnovel and you are here and you don’t know what GT is(God help you), it stands for Golden ticket. I promised a bonus chapter every 30 Golden tickets so have fun reading and I’ll see you in a bit.

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