Chapter 78 Chapter Seventy-Four
Omniscient narrative
Demi stayed folded into his father's arms long after the words had been said.
His body shook with aftershocks of crying, small, involuntary tremors that ran through him every few seconds, like his system didn't quite know how to stop yet.
His father didn't loosen his hold on him,
If anything, he held him even tighter, one hand firm between Demi's shoulder blades, the other resting protectively at the back of his neck.
His mother stayed close too, one arm around Demi's shoulders, her other hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against his arm.
They let him cry, it had hurt them to see him that way but they knew he needed it. He had just opened up about the biggest secret in his life, if crying would make him at ease then who were they to stop him.
And that was what surprised him the most.
They didn't rush him toward calmness. They didn't tell him it was okay now, or that everything was fine. They understood, instinctively, that he needed to fall apart first to get better.
"I was so scared" Demi whispered eventually, voice raw and hoarse. "I kept thinking... what if I say it out loud and everything changes?"
His father pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy but steady. "Some things will change Demi," he said honestly. "But our love for you isn't one of them."
His mother nodded. "And the things that don't change are the ones that matter most."
Demi wiped at his eyes, embarrassed by how swollen they felt, how exposed he still was. "I didn't know how to be this," he admitted. "I didn't know how to be me and not lose everyone."
His mother's lips trembled. "Oh, sweetheart. You never had to earn your place here."
She brushed his hair gently, the gesture achingly familiar. "Demilade don’t ever talk like that, you’ve been ours since the moment we met you, the first time I held your small boys in my arms. That doesn't get revoked because of who you love."
Demi let out a shaky breath that felt like it had been trapped in his chest for years.
His father sat back against the headboard, keeping Demi tucked close at his side. "When I told you about my brother," he said quietly, "I wasn't trying to make this about me. I just want you to understand something."
Demi looked up at him.
"I know what silence can do," his father continued. "I know what fear can turn into when it's left alone for too long. And I swore, when I became a parent, that my kids would never have to wonder if they were safe with me."
His voice broke on the last word.
"You are safe" he said again, firmer this time. "Always."
Something deep in Demi's chest finally unclenched.
He leaned sideways, resting his head against his father's shoulder, exhaustion settling over him like a heavy blanket.
The ache was still there-Alex's words hadn't magically disappeared-but it felt different now.
Less sharp.
Less lonely.
His mother smiled softly at the sight of him finally letting himself rest. "You don't have to answer this if you don't want to," she said gently, "but how long have you known?"
Demi considered the question.
"A long time," he said. "I just didn't have the words for it at first. And then when I did... I didn't know how to say them."
"That's okay," his father said. "There's no timeline for this stuff."
Demi nodded slowly. "I was scared you'd see me differently."
His mother's eyes softened. "We see you more clearly now," she said. "That's all."
They sat together like that for a while-quiet, breathing in sync, letting the intensity of the moment settle into something gentler.
Eventually, Demi's mother spoke again. "Your siblings are downstairs."
Demi winced faintly. "I kind of... fell apart on them."
She smiled. "They love you. Falling apart is allowed."
His father chuckled softly. "You should've seen them. I think your sisters, most especially Temi, would've fought the world for you if they had to."
That earned a small, tired smile from Demi.
"Do you want to go down?" his mother asked. "No pressure. We can stay here longer if you need."
Demi thought about it.
Downstairs meant being seen. Being known. It meant more questions, gentle ones, loving ones, but still questions. A few hours ago, that idea would've terrified him.
Now?
He nodded.
"I think... I think I'd like that."
His parents helped him up slowly, like he might break if they moved too fast.
His father draped an arm around his shoulders as they walked, grounding and steady.
His mother held his hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles in quiet reassurance.
At the top of the stairs, Demi hesitated.
"What if I cry again?" he asked quietly.
His father smiled. "Then we'll still be here."
His mother squeezed his hand. "And so will they."
They went downstairs together.
The living room lights were dimmed, the space rearranged instinctively into something softer, pillows pulled onto the floor, blankets draped over couches.
His siblings were scattered around the room, mid-conversation, but they all looked up the moment Demi appeared.
Their faces lit up.
Ayra stood first and crossed the room, wrapping him in a hug without a word. The others followed, surrounding him in a loose, warm circle that felt more like home than any place ever had.
"Hey," Daniel said gently. "You okay?"
Demi nodded, emotion swelling again, but this time it wasn't sharp.
"Yeah," he said honestly. "I am, thank you."
They settled in together, someone handing him a glass of water, another tucking a blanket around his shoulders like he hadn't done that himself a hundred times before.
The conversation stayed light at first. Questions about graduation which was a getting closer each day. About his plans after graduation, if he wanted to start immediately or wait a year, if he wanted to still pursue the course of his choice or if he had changed his mind, they also talked about whether he wanted pizza or leftovers.
No one mentioned Alex.
No one pushed for that topic.
They laughed softly at small things. Shared past memories.
Demi leaned back against the couch, surrounded by his family, and felt something unfamiliar bloom quietly in his chest.
Belonging.
Not conditional.
Not fragile.
Just real.
And for the first time since running from the party, he thought, ‘Maybe I'll be okay’.