Short Stories - Chapter 23: Chapter 23
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They kept their word. When Danny woke up the next morning, he untangled himself from Santiago and moved onto the bean bag chair. Once Santiago stirred, nothing but a prolonged glance served to suggest that they'd ever been anything more than friends.
Or that they'd ever been anything less. They went back to normal, as if nothing had happened between them to begin with; they met in the mornings and between classes and at lunch and after school. Santiago's friends rolled their eyes when he ditched them again, but it had only been a matter of time; they knew who his first choice was, always.
It wasn't easy.
After their time in the cabin, a slow-healing hole opened up in Danny's chest, and every time he saw Santiago, the cut tore open again.
The struggle wasn't one-sided. Every time Santiago looked at Danny — every time Santiago even thought about him — he felt the shadow of soft lips ghost over his own, and it was all he could do to remember their agreement.
It was a burning feeling, but it was better than being alone. Despite the heartache, Danny still only felt like himself around Santiago, and Santiago still only felt good when he was with Danny.
"Screw you," Santiago laughed one day at lunch, chucking one of his fries at Danny in retaliation to the blueberry that had just bounced off of his face, leaving a reddish-purple smear on his cheek.
"Time and place?" Danny teased before he could stop himself. His eyes rounded when he realized what he'd said. Santiago froze, halfway to a bite of his sandwich.
"That . . . that was a joke," Danny said. It was the kind of thing they used to say to each other all the time without blinking an eye. It wasn't so easy to brush off now.
"Yeah," Santiago said, turning to hide his smirk. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "You wish."
Danny chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders with a sigh. In a way, it was actually kind of funnier now that they both knew it was true. If this was something they could joke about . . . they would be alright.
And they were. For months, they were perfect. Everything was, until the end of Santiago's junior year.
+++
Santiago got the call near midnight.
He was nearly asleep; he'd been dozing off to his favorite playlist, warm beneath the plush blankets of his bed. He nearly ignored the call — the buzzing of his phone urged a groan from his lips, and he turned toward his nightstand with an accusatory glare. There, the screen of his phone was bright with a number he didn't recognize, and he was tempted to disregard it.
But he decided to pick up. He pressed the phone to his ear and jumped at the frantic voice of a girl.
"Santiago, what happened to Danny?"
He only vaguely recognized the voice, but the girl obviously knew him. The panicked edge to her words and the mention of Danny had him jerking upright.
"What do you mean? Who is this?"
"Aika," the girl said. "Danny's friend. Why is he in the hospital?"
Santiago flinched so hard, he hit the back of his head against the headboard. "In the hospital? He's — how do you know?"
"You haven't heard?" Aika sounded like she was struggling to get her words out. "I don't know who saw him first. Probably a volunteer from our grade, or — I don't know. But everyone who knows you knows about him, and I guess it spread, and everyone's talking about it. I'm at work, I shouldn't even be on this call right now — please go see him, Santiago. I don't know how long he's been there, or what's wrong, just that he's unconscious — please just . . ."
Santiago could barely hear her anymore as cold panic iced his brain over. He ended the call without letting her finish or saying goodbye and was out of the house in seconds. His thundering footsteps woke his parents, and just as he was putting his key in the ignition, he saw his mom run outside through the front door, waving her arms incredulously and shouting words Santiago couldn't hear. He had no time to stop, though; he put the car into drive and slammed on the gas.
He sort of blanked out after that. His mind was frayed, and he couldn't think on one thing for more than a moment at a time before his brain would jump-cut to something else. He hardly saw the road as he drove; all he could see was Danny, his Danny, alone in some hospital room, unconscious. Santiago drove like mad and broke a handbook's worth of laws, but he didn't give a shit.
It wasn't until he was at the hospital, rushing to an elevator after only half-listening to the directions the college kid at the front desk gave him, that his focus narrowed again.
It was all he could do to stop himself from sprinting down the corridor to room 315. He didn't even think to knock — he just barged through the door, startling a poor nurse.
He sucked in a breath at what he saw. It felt like poison. It lodged in his throat, and he only barely managed to choke out, "Danny."
"Sir, I have to ask who —"
But Santiago couldn't hear him. He rushed to Danny's side, eyes wide, as a sickness like he'd never felt before lurched in his stomach.
Danny wasn't moving. His chest rose and fell, but barely, and only because his mouth was covered by a ventilator. His face was bruised all over — his forehead, his nose, one cheek, one eye, his jaw. A deep cut above his left eyebrow was surrounded by dried blood and laced with stitches, and a white bandage wrapped around his temples. It was clean, but Santiago noticed that the nurse was rolling up and disposing of a similar bandage, this one soaked through with red in one spot.
"God," Santiago gasped a sob, bending to his knees at Danny's bedside. Around Danny's neck was a harsh, cruel red bruise, perfectly shaped like the fingers of a large hand. His collar, his chest, right up to the edge of the blanket that hid his torso . . . everything was covered. "What'd they do to you?"
"Sir, you need to step outside," the nurse said from Santiago's side. Any scolding was gone from his voice; his face held grave sympathy.
"Like hell I do," Santiago snapped without looking at him. Santiago didn't realize he had spoken in Spanish until he saw the confusion and apprehension on the nurse's face. "Tell me what's wrong with him. What happened?"
"I can't disclose that information, sir. But his mother is outside."
Santiago's blood ran cold.
He didn't remember storming out. But he remembered the shock on the face of the only woman waiting outside of the room when he cornered her.
Danny and his mom were walking home from a convenience store when a man stole her purse. Danny was trying to defend her.
It was so sudden, it was dizzying — the surging, burning, uncontainable anger that the story evoked. It swelled Santiago's mind, in his whole body, and there was nothing he could have done to prevent the discharge. He stumbled away from her in overwhelming disgust and imposed on her with fists clenched. "Is that what you told them?" he growled severely.
She stared up at him from her chair, appearing unimpressed with his anger, but he saw her shift in her seat — she had been expecting him to believe her. Must have been an easy mistake to make after fooling so many people for so many years.
"What's the issue here?"
The voice was deep, gruff, and not far behind Santiago. He whipped around and looked down to see the face of Sebastián Alvarez watching him warily, leaning back lazily into his chair as if his son wasn't unconscious in the room behind him.
Santiago was staring forward at Danny's father. Right behind him, burning holes into his back, was Danny's mother.
These were the parents. Santiago had only ever seen them in pictures, and he was sure they'd never even heard of him — Danny had been adamant that they didn't.
Even though Sebastián Alvarez looked just as formidable in person as in photographs — and even though Santiago knew just how violent he could be — there was no such consideration in Santiago's mind as he rushed the unsuspecting man and hoisted him to his feet by his collar so that they were at the same eye level. Sebastián's chair slammed back against the wall with a loud clatter.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Santiago shouted. "What kind of sick fuck are you?"
The nurse, who had followed Santiago out, was yelling something, but Santiago didn't listen. All around him, nurses and doctors were surging to the scene, and someone was probably calling security, but Santiago stood unwavering.
"Let me go," Mr. Alvarez said in a low, dangerously calm voice; there was an evil, threatening glint in his narrow eyes.
"So that's what it sounds like, huh?" Santiago said, pushing Mr. Alvarez back against the wall. Mr. Alvarez kept his hands at his sides, and somewhere in Santiago's mind, he knew he was making himself out to be the villain, but somewhere else in his mind, he knew the peaceful facade wouldn't hold.
Mr. Alvarez had never been any good at controlling his anger.
The nurse was grabbing at Santiago now, trying to tug him away, but Santiago held strong. "That's how you talk when you hit your son so fucking bad he can barely breathe? That's how you talk every time you leave him covered in bruises, so scared he won't talk to anyone? Do you have any fucking idea —"
Santiago saw it. That air of calm disintegrated — maybe out of panic, maybe out of sheer anger — and aggression fought against Sebastián's reason. The winner was inevitable. Seabastián clenched his fists, then stretched his fingers, like he was holding back.
"Go ahead!" Santiago yelled, relinquishing his grip, letting the nurse pull him several feet away with his hands clasped behind his back. "Go ahead, hit me! Hit me like you've hit him for the last ten years! Land me in the fucking hospital! Maybe then you'll get what you deserve, you worthless piece of shit!"
Sebastián's attempt at self-preservation was lost to his violent nature.
Blinded by rage, Sebastián lunged forward on instinct, fists ready. He slammed into Santiago before anyone could stop him, knocking the wind from Santiago's lungs and nearly freeing Santiago from the nurse's grip. Giant hands reached for Santiago's neck, but a security guard finally arrived at the scene and rammed himself between them. Another one dragged Sebastián back, and a third took Santiago from the nurse. The two were dragged away — Santiago gasping for air but yelling whatever taunts and insults he could manage, Sebastián struggling at first, then cursing under his breath as he realized what had just happened, and what would happen next.
Santiago thought he would be dragged all the way outside to a waiting police car, but instead he was led into a small bland office as Sebastián was taken somewhere else. The moment the older man was out of his sight, Santiago calmed down. His guard surprised him by letting go of his wrists, but the freedom disappeared as soon as another guard — Santiago hadn't even noticed the two that followed them in — took the job of holding him at bay. The first officer sat down on one side of the desk, glaring up at Santiago with more demand than threat.
Santiago took a deep, steadying breath; now that his senses had returned, he realized what he'd just done. He'd nearly started a fight in the middle of a fucking hospital. He'd been asking for it.
He braced himself for the consequences. But instead of a harsh reprimanding or punishment, the officer behind the desk tilted her head back slightly to appraise him and said, "You made some pretty serious allegations back there. Is what you said about that man true?"
Santiago hesitated. He knew Danny. He knew that Danny wouldn't want this.
But things were different now. Things were life and death now. Santiago couldn't lie anymore. He couldn't be a bystander.
"I -- uh, yeah," he stammered. The security guard eyed him warily, and he cleared his throat. Shutting his eyes, he sent a silent apology to Danny and prayed that he wasn't about to make his best friend hate him -- they'd been on good terms for months now.
"Yes. Sebastián Alvarez and his wife have been abusing Danny for years -- since he was six, I think. I swear I'm not lying -- Danny's my best friend. I know him better than anyone. I can promise you that the nurses and doctors that are taking care of him saw some bruises on him that are way older than the ones he got today. He wasn't 'mugged.'"
The security guard made a call. The room was silent for nearly half an hour after she hung up. Then a wiry man in a plaid suit entered, accompanied by a lady in a pencil skirt. The man sent question after question Santiago's way. The lady typed furiously on a tablet as Santiago spoke.
After the man left, Santiago had to listen to a stern, long-winded warning about provoking violence in a setting like this. Then he was released, and he went back upstairs to Danny's room. None of the staff seemed surprised to see him; he even caught a few compassionate glances. Danny's parents were gone.
The doctor let Santiago spend the rest of the night in Danny's room. He didn't sleep for a second.
The next day, he was called to the police station right after school. He had to make a statement. He didn't stay to see the aftermath; he left as soon as it was over to go see Danny.
As he did the next day. And the day after that. He never saw Danny's parents at the hospital again, but he didn't have space in his mind to think about them. All he could think was that it had been three days, and Danny still hadn't woken up.
Three days became four. Four became fourteen.
Santiago had never been so distraught. Not after the worst berating from his parents. Not after he and Danny's arguments — at least Danny had been awake and okay enough to be angry. Not even after that long period when they hadn't talked; somehow, that had never seemed permanent to Santiago. But this very well could be.
Three weeks. Danny wasn't getting any better. His face had mostly healed of marks, but he was fed through a tube and he wasn't breathing on his own.
Santiago had become a shell of himself. Every moment that he spent at school, or at practice, or at home, was time that he should have been spending at Danny's side. He passed every free second at the hospital, kneeling by Danny's bed, telling his friend stories and jokes so that he wouldn't be alone, even if he couldn't hear any of it. Every nurse on the floor knew Santiago by now; they treated him with sympathy and generosity, sometimes bringing him food from the cafeteria when he had been there for hours without eating.
Outside of the hospital, he barely spoke, and he couldn't even begin to focus -- he was doing worse now than he'd ever done before. He could hardly pass a ball at practice. He benched most games. He hadn't started studying for his final exams.
For the first time ever, his parents' scolding hardly phased him. Their words bounced off of his ears like plastic knives. He couldn't spare a single thought for them. He was more depressed than he'd ever been, but for an entirely new reason.
Four weeks. One month.
"I need you to wake up." Santiago knelt at Danny's bedside. It was getting late; he'd have to go home soon. But he didn't want to. Leaving was the hardest part of each day -- it felt like betrayal.
His voice was a meek, ragged croak. He held Danny's hand tightly with both of his -- it was snow-white, and it was limp. "I need you to wake up, Danny. I'm terrified that you won't. If you don't . . ."
There were too many possibilities -- that Danny would stay like this, alive but asleep, forever. Or that he would wake up and be a different person, a whole new Danny, one who didn't even remember Santiago.
Or that he wouldn't wake up or sleep — that he would lose the fight altogether.
The thought made Santiago sick. Not just stomach-aching, head-hurting sick. Drowning, suffocating, dying sick. Santiago would go to the end of the earth for Danny. Danny was his world -- everyone knew it. And his world was crumbling.
"I'll do anything," Santiago whispered, leaning his forehead against Danny's cold hand with a shaky breath. "I don't know if you can hear me, but . . . if you wake up, Danny I swear I'll do anything you ask. I'll climb Mount fucking Everest with you, even though heights freak me out -- I know you've wanted to do it forever . . ."
Santiago shut his eyes, and tears spilled onto his cheeks. He'd tried this before. He'd tried it a thousand times in the last month. Even though he was speaking on deaf ears, even though his words held no power but to hurt him, he pressed on. His chest tightened, and it hurt to talk, but he continued anyways in a strained voice. "I'll do any favor, I don't care how big. I'll buy you something crazy — like a new phone, or a puppy, or something, whatever you want. God, I'll fucking make a ball out of the gum under desks," he chuckled hollowly, remembering the stupid dares they used to give each other but never go through with when they were kids.
"Or try to seduce Mrs. Gouly—" their wretched middle school art teacher, "—if it means I can see you smile again." Santiago's quiet laugh was broken by a sob; he opened eyes blurred by tears and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the back of Danny's hand, trembling despite the warmth of the room.
"I'll carry you around on my back for the rest of our lives if you want me too. I'll hug you if you want me too, but be careful what you wish for, because I'm not sure I'll ever be able to let go again," his voice was shaking, so were his shoulders. "And I'll — I'll kiss you if you want me to, for the rest of our li—"
His voice gave out. There might be no rest of our lives.
Santiago was quiet for a few minutes. He just knelt there and cried, pressing his forehead against Danny's side, squeezing his hand maybe too tight.
"I know this is really cliche," he said eventually, barely managing a whisper, "and if you can hear me, you're probably rolling your eyes right now, but . . . you're my Happy Place, Danny. You're it for me. I'm no good on my own. If you die . . . well, there's no point, is there? I -- I mean it. I can't live without you, and I won't let you be alone in another world.
"If you die, I'll die with you, or for you, and . . . and Heaven will be our Happy Place."
There was some comfort in knowing that they would never be apart.
Danny's nurse came in a few minutes later. He gently told Santiago -- like he always did -- that it was time to go home.
So Santiago stood up and left. Down the corridor, down the elevator, out into the parking lot. His phone rang. He ignored it.
But then he heard his name. Loud and distant, shouted out through the night. He turned around to see a nurse -- not Danny's nurse, but a different one -- waving to him frantically.
The nurse -- her name was Akilah, and she was from Danny's floor -- was running toward him. "His hand!" she yelled, positively beaming. "Daniel's hand! It moved, and then he shifted -- he's waking up!"
Santiago busted into a sprint. Even though he barely knew Akilah, he tackled her into a hug, stammering some incoherent thanks; then he was racing into the hospital, ignoring the rules about running, back the way he had come. He practically burst into Danny's room, where Danny's nurse and doctor were monitoring him carefully. They smiled at him when he entered, allowing him to slide past them to Danny's bedside.
Santiago saw it. A twitch of Danny's fingers. Then a move of is head. He was stirring all over.
The nurse kept calling Danny's name gently. The doctor was examining the changes -- a jerk of the foot here, a shift of the shoulder there.
Santiago gasped when Danny's eyes cracked open. He had to hold onto the bed with one hand to stay on his feet. With the other, he held Danny's fingers, and nearly shattered when he felt them squeeze weakly back. "Danny," he breathed, smiling from ear to ear. "Don't ever fucking scare me like that again."
Danny's eyes opened a little wider. Recognition crossed his face at the sight of Santiago. Hooked up to the ventilator, he couldn't really smile, but Santiago saw it in his warm brown eyes, in the tiny nod of his head that told him everything would be okay.
+++
There was no way Santiago was leaving that night. He knew it, and so did everyone else on the floor. He sat in Danny's room, watching attentively as the doctors ran a series of tests. The first time Danny spoke -- the first time Santiago had heard his voice in four weeks -- Santiago nearly cried.
Things moved quickly after that. Before Santiago knew it, the nurse and the doctor had left the room, and he was sat at the edge of Danny's bed, and they were talking. Danny didn't say much, but hums and one-word responses were more than enough.
Santiago didn't bring up anything serious at first. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He wanted to keep hearing Danny's scratchy, weak laugh for the rest for the night and never see a frown on that face again.
But he had to ask eventually.
"What happened?"
Danny faltered. It looked like it hurt to concentrate. "I don't -- I don't remember much," he said quietly. "Just that . . . just that I tried to hit back."
Santiago's heart sank to the pit of his stomach.
Sebastián Alvarez left bruises. He left cuts. He left aching pains that lasted for hours or days or weeks. He left invisible scars, turning a potentially bright child into a quiet, nervous, apprehensive young man who found it hard to trust and shied away from sudden movement.
But he almost never left anything that anyone could see. He only slipped up a few times, and that was rare enough that Danny could easily blame a black eye or bruised jaw on a bad accident. Mr. Alvarez was careful. So careful, it took him ten years to land Danny in the hospital.
All because Danny had actually tried to protect himself. Santiago felt the gnawing type of guilt, the type that ate away at his insides, for all of the times he'd encouraged Danny to throw that returning punch. Danny was no match for a guy like Sebastián. A month breathing borrowed air was his reward for finally letting it slip that he'd had enough.
"You told, didn't you," Danny said before Santiago could ask for more details. "You told them the truth."
Santiago hesitated. Danny didn't sound mad, but Santiago knew he wasn't happy.
"I had to," Santiago said. "I couldn't pretend anymore -- he nearly killed you, Danny. And you can hate me if you want, but I'm not sorry."
"I don't hate you," Danny sighed. "I just . . . I'm not excited for what comes next."
Santiago took his hand. "It might not be a bad as you're expecting.
"Or it might be worse," Danny said miserably. "Maybe in a corrupt orphanage. Or with foster siblings that hate me because I'm such a freak --"
"You're not a freak."
"I am," Danny said bitterly. "I barely talk to anyone. I don't trust anyone -- except you. I jump at loud noises and have panic attacks for no reason. I'm such a fucking freak, Santiago -- you just refuse to see it."
Santiago shook his head. "You're wrong," he said.
Danny didn't have the energy to push it. He didn't admit his other fear, worse than any of the others: that he would be taken into an awesome family, one the treated him well. A woman who wanted to be his mother and a man who wanted to be his father. Birthday presents and dinner company and spectators at his competitions.
Danny wouldn't know how to handle that. It wouldn't be long before he ruined it.
"Are you going to tell the truth?" Santiago asked. "When they question you?"
If Danny wanted to lie, he could, and if he was convincing enough, he might end up right back where he started. Santiago wouldn't fight him on it.
"I'll tell the truth."
Danny knew that whatever the case -- whether he was shoved back into the hands of his parents, or those of some brand new family -- he wouldn't be able to take it. There was no outcome that he could tolerate, not for two more years. So there was no point in lying.
So he started, right there in that hospital room, to make a plan.
"Lay down with me?" he asked. Santiago climbed onto the bed that didn't fit the two of them; they were pressed against each other, but that was more than okay. Santiago never let go of Danny's hand.
+++
"You're sure this is what you want to do?" Mr. Taylors, Danny's guidance counselor, asked. It was the month before the new school year began -- Danny would be a junior. "If you're sure, you have most of the qualifications, you just need . . ."
Danny's dad was in jail. His mom was in a mental institution for her depression. Danny had been living in a foster home all summer. It was fine -- the people were fine, the environment was fine. There was even one boy — fourteen years old, attached to his guitar — who Danny thought might, in some other lifetime, be a good friend to him.
Danny hated it.
He hated every damn thing about this town, and his hatred grew every day. He hated school, he hated work. Everything bad he'd ever dealt with was associated with this place. Everything except Santiago.
He couldn't wait to leave. One year was better than two. He itched to abandon everything that had ever hurt him and start a new life somewhere else, somewhere far from here, where he didn't have to be reminded of his parents, or his pain, or the fact that his life had been absolute hell for the first seventeen years of it. He was so fucking excited to leave everything behind.
Everything except Santiago.
Danny got all of the papers, filled out all of the forms. He worked as many hours as he could to build up his savings. He signed up for all of the classes. He studied harder than he ever had. Santiago got a kick out of teasing him for it.
"You know, junior year is already tough enough as it is," Santiago chuckled, tossing a charcoal pencil at Danny, whose face was buried in a textbook. "You're not supposed to make it harder on yourself."
"Hush," Danny didn't look up, but he was grinning. "Not everyone has rich parents and and a line of scouts waiting to get them into college."
"Yeah, but you've got every scholarship benefit possible," Santiago pointed out. "Aside from being, like, the smartest kid in school, you're a possibly gay Hispanic foster kid whose parents never went to college."
"Ah, yes," Danny hummed. "I love having a shitty life," he said, not bitterly, and Santiago snorted. "You sent out your college apps yet?"
"Got the last one out yesterday," Santiago said. "And it's only October. I think that marks the first time I've ever turned anything in early. Not that that one matters -- I know I'm going to DU."
"Cocky much," Danny snickered.
"Not when they want me," Santiago scoffed. "All I've gotta do is keep my grades up and — eventually — sign a contract. You better believe that I'll be driving down to visit every weekend. And when I can't, you've gotta come visit me. At least until you get in — then I'll be able to follow you around until you get sick of me."
"As if I ever would," Danny said fondly, but his smile was strained. He hadn't forgotten all the times he and Santiago had gone over this silly little plan of theirs. Santiago would go to the University of Denver like his parents had always wanted. That was only a 45-minute drive from town -- they would visit each other as often as they could, and when Danny's turn to graduate came, he would join Santiago there. It had started as a joke, but it seemed more serious now -- they would stay near to each other, never lose touch. Even if Danny didn't go to DU, it would be some other Denver college. If not Denver, then Colorado, at least. Just something close.
"We should room together," Santiago said happily. "Actually, no, that ruins friendships; whoever your roommate is just better be ready for me to spend as much time in your room as he does."
Danny's stomach churned nauseatingly. "I -- Santiago, I should tell you something," he stammered. He looked over as Santiago's smile fell at the serious tone of his voice.
"Yeah, what's up?" Santiago set aside his sketchbook and joined Danny on the couch. "Is everything alright?"
It broke Danny's heart. Santiago was just so good to him all the time.
"Just that . . . I hope we're always friends."
He couldn't do it.
"Aw, come on," Santiago grinned, throwing his arm around Danny's shoulders. "We will be. You don't have a choice. You're my guy, Danny. I'll never be far away."
Danny couldn't tell him. Not today.
The problem was that he couldn't tell him tomorrow, either. Or next week, or next month. Danny took his tests. He sent out his letters. He tried to tell Santiago, but every time, he got choked up.
The New Year came. January went past. February went past. March came. Santiago got his letters. He got in; not that that was surprising.
Danny got in, too.
To New York University, on an academic scholarship.
He could hardly stand to be around Santiago. It hurt too much to know what he was about to lose. But at the same time, he couldn't get enough -- they only had a few months left, and he wanted to make the most of every second. Time seemed to fly at super-speed -- every time Danny blinked, a day had passed. Every time he woke up from sleep, a week was gone. And he still hadn't told Santiago.
Spring Break. A last-minute road-trip to Arizona. Living off of Cheetos, Sprite, and breakfast-stop pancakes for four days. Tiptoeing along the Grand Canyon. Holding hands because the height spooked Santiago. Danny didn't tell.
Prom night. Leaving early and crashing in the cabin. Getting tipsy, acting stupid, taking a hundred silly shit-faced selfies. Falling asleep snuggled together on the couch.
Danny held on tight, because he knew he wouldn't have many more opportunities. But he didn't tell.
Final exams. Helping each other study all night. Getting distracted by games and videos and each other. Passing with flying colors, celebrating and de-stressing by passing a one-time blunt back and forth. Drawing Happy Places, writing poems about them; Santiago said they should draw DU. Danny agreed, and felt his head spin with despair. But he didn't tell.
The night before graduation. Danny was leaving in three days.
The realization hit him like a landslide, and he felt himself falling apart. It was like he was already gone -- he could feel the distance, and how much it would destroy him. He knew that he had to do it -- he had to go, for his own sanity, for his mental health. But how could he? This town was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, but Santiago was the best; it would be like diving to a new home underwater — discovering a stunning aquamarine palace, but leaving oxygen behind. The idea broke him. He almost changed his mind, like he had a thousand times in the last school year. Just almost.
Danny felt more unsteady than he had in a long time. He called Santiago — just to hear his voice, because seeing him would be too much right then — but Santiago suggested they go to the cabin, and Danny was helpless to disagree.
It only made things worse. Santiago gushed about his plans, about the future -- about them.
Danny imagined how Santiago would react when he saw Danny there at graduation, not in the crowd but in a cap and gown.
That was just too cruel.
"It's gonna be so good, man," Santiago was saying. "Just you and me. Imagine what we can --"
"Santiago, stop," Danny said, so forcefully that Santiago's eyes widened. Danny's throat felt like it was closing up.
"What's wrong?" Santiago asked, innocent and concerned and too fucking good.
"What's wrong . . ." Danny echoed, curling one hand into a fist against the arm of the couch and pushing the other between his thighs lest it start shaking. "What's wrong is that I'm a shit friend, and you don't deserve it."
"Hey," Santiago furrowed his eyebrows and scooted closer, resting his elbows on his knees. "That's not true. You're the best friend a guy could ask for."
"Really?" Danny said, turning to him with inconsolable eyes. "Would a best friend wait until the night before graduation to tell you that he's graduating, too?"
"You -- what?"
"Or that he's moving in three days to go to college in New York?"
Santiago's hands fell to his lap. For a minute, a day, a year, he just stared. Unblinking, unresponsive. And it was the most excruciating moment of Danny's life.
Then, "Please tell me you're joking."
But he didn't need to be told. Before Danny could even shake his head, Santiago's head was in his hands, and a long, wretched, despondent sigh slipped through his lips.
Danny could hear Santiago's heart breaking. He could hear his own, too.
Or that they'd ever been anything less. They went back to normal, as if nothing had happened between them to begin with; they met in the mornings and between classes and at lunch and after school. Santiago's friends rolled their eyes when he ditched them again, but it had only been a matter of time; they knew who his first choice was, always.
It wasn't easy.
After their time in the cabin, a slow-healing hole opened up in Danny's chest, and every time he saw Santiago, the cut tore open again.
The struggle wasn't one-sided. Every time Santiago looked at Danny — every time Santiago even thought about him — he felt the shadow of soft lips ghost over his own, and it was all he could do to remember their agreement.
It was a burning feeling, but it was better than being alone. Despite the heartache, Danny still only felt like himself around Santiago, and Santiago still only felt good when he was with Danny.
"Screw you," Santiago laughed one day at lunch, chucking one of his fries at Danny in retaliation to the blueberry that had just bounced off of his face, leaving a reddish-purple smear on his cheek.
"Time and place?" Danny teased before he could stop himself. His eyes rounded when he realized what he'd said. Santiago froze, halfway to a bite of his sandwich.
"That . . . that was a joke," Danny said. It was the kind of thing they used to say to each other all the time without blinking an eye. It wasn't so easy to brush off now.
"Yeah," Santiago said, turning to hide his smirk. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "You wish."
Danny chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders with a sigh. In a way, it was actually kind of funnier now that they both knew it was true. If this was something they could joke about . . . they would be alright.
And they were. For months, they were perfect. Everything was, until the end of Santiago's junior year.
+++
Santiago got the call near midnight.
He was nearly asleep; he'd been dozing off to his favorite playlist, warm beneath the plush blankets of his bed. He nearly ignored the call — the buzzing of his phone urged a groan from his lips, and he turned toward his nightstand with an accusatory glare. There, the screen of his phone was bright with a number he didn't recognize, and he was tempted to disregard it.
But he decided to pick up. He pressed the phone to his ear and jumped at the frantic voice of a girl.
"Santiago, what happened to Danny?"
He only vaguely recognized the voice, but the girl obviously knew him. The panicked edge to her words and the mention of Danny had him jerking upright.
"What do you mean? Who is this?"
"Aika," the girl said. "Danny's friend. Why is he in the hospital?"
Santiago flinched so hard, he hit the back of his head against the headboard. "In the hospital? He's — how do you know?"
"You haven't heard?" Aika sounded like she was struggling to get her words out. "I don't know who saw him first. Probably a volunteer from our grade, or — I don't know. But everyone who knows you knows about him, and I guess it spread, and everyone's talking about it. I'm at work, I shouldn't even be on this call right now — please go see him, Santiago. I don't know how long he's been there, or what's wrong, just that he's unconscious — please just . . ."
Santiago could barely hear her anymore as cold panic iced his brain over. He ended the call without letting her finish or saying goodbye and was out of the house in seconds. His thundering footsteps woke his parents, and just as he was putting his key in the ignition, he saw his mom run outside through the front door, waving her arms incredulously and shouting words Santiago couldn't hear. He had no time to stop, though; he put the car into drive and slammed on the gas.
He sort of blanked out after that. His mind was frayed, and he couldn't think on one thing for more than a moment at a time before his brain would jump-cut to something else. He hardly saw the road as he drove; all he could see was Danny, his Danny, alone in some hospital room, unconscious. Santiago drove like mad and broke a handbook's worth of laws, but he didn't give a shit.
It wasn't until he was at the hospital, rushing to an elevator after only half-listening to the directions the college kid at the front desk gave him, that his focus narrowed again.
It was all he could do to stop himself from sprinting down the corridor to room 315. He didn't even think to knock — he just barged through the door, startling a poor nurse.
He sucked in a breath at what he saw. It felt like poison. It lodged in his throat, and he only barely managed to choke out, "Danny."
"Sir, I have to ask who —"
But Santiago couldn't hear him. He rushed to Danny's side, eyes wide, as a sickness like he'd never felt before lurched in his stomach.
Danny wasn't moving. His chest rose and fell, but barely, and only because his mouth was covered by a ventilator. His face was bruised all over — his forehead, his nose, one cheek, one eye, his jaw. A deep cut above his left eyebrow was surrounded by dried blood and laced with stitches, and a white bandage wrapped around his temples. It was clean, but Santiago noticed that the nurse was rolling up and disposing of a similar bandage, this one soaked through with red in one spot.
"God," Santiago gasped a sob, bending to his knees at Danny's bedside. Around Danny's neck was a harsh, cruel red bruise, perfectly shaped like the fingers of a large hand. His collar, his chest, right up to the edge of the blanket that hid his torso . . . everything was covered. "What'd they do to you?"
"Sir, you need to step outside," the nurse said from Santiago's side. Any scolding was gone from his voice; his face held grave sympathy.
"Like hell I do," Santiago snapped without looking at him. Santiago didn't realize he had spoken in Spanish until he saw the confusion and apprehension on the nurse's face. "Tell me what's wrong with him. What happened?"
"I can't disclose that information, sir. But his mother is outside."
Santiago's blood ran cold.
He didn't remember storming out. But he remembered the shock on the face of the only woman waiting outside of the room when he cornered her.
Danny and his mom were walking home from a convenience store when a man stole her purse. Danny was trying to defend her.
It was so sudden, it was dizzying — the surging, burning, uncontainable anger that the story evoked. It swelled Santiago's mind, in his whole body, and there was nothing he could have done to prevent the discharge. He stumbled away from her in overwhelming disgust and imposed on her with fists clenched. "Is that what you told them?" he growled severely.
She stared up at him from her chair, appearing unimpressed with his anger, but he saw her shift in her seat — she had been expecting him to believe her. Must have been an easy mistake to make after fooling so many people for so many years.
"What's the issue here?"
The voice was deep, gruff, and not far behind Santiago. He whipped around and looked down to see the face of Sebastián Alvarez watching him warily, leaning back lazily into his chair as if his son wasn't unconscious in the room behind him.
Santiago was staring forward at Danny's father. Right behind him, burning holes into his back, was Danny's mother.
These were the parents. Santiago had only ever seen them in pictures, and he was sure they'd never even heard of him — Danny had been adamant that they didn't.
Even though Sebastián Alvarez looked just as formidable in person as in photographs — and even though Santiago knew just how violent he could be — there was no such consideration in Santiago's mind as he rushed the unsuspecting man and hoisted him to his feet by his collar so that they were at the same eye level. Sebastián's chair slammed back against the wall with a loud clatter.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Santiago shouted. "What kind of sick fuck are you?"
The nurse, who had followed Santiago out, was yelling something, but Santiago didn't listen. All around him, nurses and doctors were surging to the scene, and someone was probably calling security, but Santiago stood unwavering.
"Let me go," Mr. Alvarez said in a low, dangerously calm voice; there was an evil, threatening glint in his narrow eyes.
"So that's what it sounds like, huh?" Santiago said, pushing Mr. Alvarez back against the wall. Mr. Alvarez kept his hands at his sides, and somewhere in Santiago's mind, he knew he was making himself out to be the villain, but somewhere else in his mind, he knew the peaceful facade wouldn't hold.
Mr. Alvarez had never been any good at controlling his anger.
The nurse was grabbing at Santiago now, trying to tug him away, but Santiago held strong. "That's how you talk when you hit your son so fucking bad he can barely breathe? That's how you talk every time you leave him covered in bruises, so scared he won't talk to anyone? Do you have any fucking idea —"
Santiago saw it. That air of calm disintegrated — maybe out of panic, maybe out of sheer anger — and aggression fought against Sebastián's reason. The winner was inevitable. Seabastián clenched his fists, then stretched his fingers, like he was holding back.
"Go ahead!" Santiago yelled, relinquishing his grip, letting the nurse pull him several feet away with his hands clasped behind his back. "Go ahead, hit me! Hit me like you've hit him for the last ten years! Land me in the fucking hospital! Maybe then you'll get what you deserve, you worthless piece of shit!"
Sebastián's attempt at self-preservation was lost to his violent nature.
Blinded by rage, Sebastián lunged forward on instinct, fists ready. He slammed into Santiago before anyone could stop him, knocking the wind from Santiago's lungs and nearly freeing Santiago from the nurse's grip. Giant hands reached for Santiago's neck, but a security guard finally arrived at the scene and rammed himself between them. Another one dragged Sebastián back, and a third took Santiago from the nurse. The two were dragged away — Santiago gasping for air but yelling whatever taunts and insults he could manage, Sebastián struggling at first, then cursing under his breath as he realized what had just happened, and what would happen next.
Santiago thought he would be dragged all the way outside to a waiting police car, but instead he was led into a small bland office as Sebastián was taken somewhere else. The moment the older man was out of his sight, Santiago calmed down. His guard surprised him by letting go of his wrists, but the freedom disappeared as soon as another guard — Santiago hadn't even noticed the two that followed them in — took the job of holding him at bay. The first officer sat down on one side of the desk, glaring up at Santiago with more demand than threat.
Santiago took a deep, steadying breath; now that his senses had returned, he realized what he'd just done. He'd nearly started a fight in the middle of a fucking hospital. He'd been asking for it.
He braced himself for the consequences. But instead of a harsh reprimanding or punishment, the officer behind the desk tilted her head back slightly to appraise him and said, "You made some pretty serious allegations back there. Is what you said about that man true?"
Santiago hesitated. He knew Danny. He knew that Danny wouldn't want this.
But things were different now. Things were life and death now. Santiago couldn't lie anymore. He couldn't be a bystander.
"I -- uh, yeah," he stammered. The security guard eyed him warily, and he cleared his throat. Shutting his eyes, he sent a silent apology to Danny and prayed that he wasn't about to make his best friend hate him -- they'd been on good terms for months now.
"Yes. Sebastián Alvarez and his wife have been abusing Danny for years -- since he was six, I think. I swear I'm not lying -- Danny's my best friend. I know him better than anyone. I can promise you that the nurses and doctors that are taking care of him saw some bruises on him that are way older than the ones he got today. He wasn't 'mugged.'"
The security guard made a call. The room was silent for nearly half an hour after she hung up. Then a wiry man in a plaid suit entered, accompanied by a lady in a pencil skirt. The man sent question after question Santiago's way. The lady typed furiously on a tablet as Santiago spoke.
After the man left, Santiago had to listen to a stern, long-winded warning about provoking violence in a setting like this. Then he was released, and he went back upstairs to Danny's room. None of the staff seemed surprised to see him; he even caught a few compassionate glances. Danny's parents were gone.
The doctor let Santiago spend the rest of the night in Danny's room. He didn't sleep for a second.
The next day, he was called to the police station right after school. He had to make a statement. He didn't stay to see the aftermath; he left as soon as it was over to go see Danny.
As he did the next day. And the day after that. He never saw Danny's parents at the hospital again, but he didn't have space in his mind to think about them. All he could think was that it had been three days, and Danny still hadn't woken up.
Three days became four. Four became fourteen.
Santiago had never been so distraught. Not after the worst berating from his parents. Not after he and Danny's arguments — at least Danny had been awake and okay enough to be angry. Not even after that long period when they hadn't talked; somehow, that had never seemed permanent to Santiago. But this very well could be.
Three weeks. Danny wasn't getting any better. His face had mostly healed of marks, but he was fed through a tube and he wasn't breathing on his own.
Santiago had become a shell of himself. Every moment that he spent at school, or at practice, or at home, was time that he should have been spending at Danny's side. He passed every free second at the hospital, kneeling by Danny's bed, telling his friend stories and jokes so that he wouldn't be alone, even if he couldn't hear any of it. Every nurse on the floor knew Santiago by now; they treated him with sympathy and generosity, sometimes bringing him food from the cafeteria when he had been there for hours without eating.
Outside of the hospital, he barely spoke, and he couldn't even begin to focus -- he was doing worse now than he'd ever done before. He could hardly pass a ball at practice. He benched most games. He hadn't started studying for his final exams.
For the first time ever, his parents' scolding hardly phased him. Their words bounced off of his ears like plastic knives. He couldn't spare a single thought for them. He was more depressed than he'd ever been, but for an entirely new reason.
Four weeks. One month.
"I need you to wake up." Santiago knelt at Danny's bedside. It was getting late; he'd have to go home soon. But he didn't want to. Leaving was the hardest part of each day -- it felt like betrayal.
His voice was a meek, ragged croak. He held Danny's hand tightly with both of his -- it was snow-white, and it was limp. "I need you to wake up, Danny. I'm terrified that you won't. If you don't . . ."
There were too many possibilities -- that Danny would stay like this, alive but asleep, forever. Or that he would wake up and be a different person, a whole new Danny, one who didn't even remember Santiago.
Or that he wouldn't wake up or sleep — that he would lose the fight altogether.
The thought made Santiago sick. Not just stomach-aching, head-hurting sick. Drowning, suffocating, dying sick. Santiago would go to the end of the earth for Danny. Danny was his world -- everyone knew it. And his world was crumbling.
"I'll do anything," Santiago whispered, leaning his forehead against Danny's cold hand with a shaky breath. "I don't know if you can hear me, but . . . if you wake up, Danny I swear I'll do anything you ask. I'll climb Mount fucking Everest with you, even though heights freak me out -- I know you've wanted to do it forever . . ."
Santiago shut his eyes, and tears spilled onto his cheeks. He'd tried this before. He'd tried it a thousand times in the last month. Even though he was speaking on deaf ears, even though his words held no power but to hurt him, he pressed on. His chest tightened, and it hurt to talk, but he continued anyways in a strained voice. "I'll do any favor, I don't care how big. I'll buy you something crazy — like a new phone, or a puppy, or something, whatever you want. God, I'll fucking make a ball out of the gum under desks," he chuckled hollowly, remembering the stupid dares they used to give each other but never go through with when they were kids.
"Or try to seduce Mrs. Gouly—" their wretched middle school art teacher, "—if it means I can see you smile again." Santiago's quiet laugh was broken by a sob; he opened eyes blurred by tears and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the back of Danny's hand, trembling despite the warmth of the room.
"I'll carry you around on my back for the rest of our lives if you want me too. I'll hug you if you want me too, but be careful what you wish for, because I'm not sure I'll ever be able to let go again," his voice was shaking, so were his shoulders. "And I'll — I'll kiss you if you want me to, for the rest of our li—"
His voice gave out. There might be no rest of our lives.
Santiago was quiet for a few minutes. He just knelt there and cried, pressing his forehead against Danny's side, squeezing his hand maybe too tight.
"I know this is really cliche," he said eventually, barely managing a whisper, "and if you can hear me, you're probably rolling your eyes right now, but . . . you're my Happy Place, Danny. You're it for me. I'm no good on my own. If you die . . . well, there's no point, is there? I -- I mean it. I can't live without you, and I won't let you be alone in another world.
"If you die, I'll die with you, or for you, and . . . and Heaven will be our Happy Place."
There was some comfort in knowing that they would never be apart.
Danny's nurse came in a few minutes later. He gently told Santiago -- like he always did -- that it was time to go home.
So Santiago stood up and left. Down the corridor, down the elevator, out into the parking lot. His phone rang. He ignored it.
But then he heard his name. Loud and distant, shouted out through the night. He turned around to see a nurse -- not Danny's nurse, but a different one -- waving to him frantically.
The nurse -- her name was Akilah, and she was from Danny's floor -- was running toward him. "His hand!" she yelled, positively beaming. "Daniel's hand! It moved, and then he shifted -- he's waking up!"
Santiago busted into a sprint. Even though he barely knew Akilah, he tackled her into a hug, stammering some incoherent thanks; then he was racing into the hospital, ignoring the rules about running, back the way he had come. He practically burst into Danny's room, where Danny's nurse and doctor were monitoring him carefully. They smiled at him when he entered, allowing him to slide past them to Danny's bedside.
Santiago saw it. A twitch of Danny's fingers. Then a move of is head. He was stirring all over.
The nurse kept calling Danny's name gently. The doctor was examining the changes -- a jerk of the foot here, a shift of the shoulder there.
Santiago gasped when Danny's eyes cracked open. He had to hold onto the bed with one hand to stay on his feet. With the other, he held Danny's fingers, and nearly shattered when he felt them squeeze weakly back. "Danny," he breathed, smiling from ear to ear. "Don't ever fucking scare me like that again."
Danny's eyes opened a little wider. Recognition crossed his face at the sight of Santiago. Hooked up to the ventilator, he couldn't really smile, but Santiago saw it in his warm brown eyes, in the tiny nod of his head that told him everything would be okay.
+++
There was no way Santiago was leaving that night. He knew it, and so did everyone else on the floor. He sat in Danny's room, watching attentively as the doctors ran a series of tests. The first time Danny spoke -- the first time Santiago had heard his voice in four weeks -- Santiago nearly cried.
Things moved quickly after that. Before Santiago knew it, the nurse and the doctor had left the room, and he was sat at the edge of Danny's bed, and they were talking. Danny didn't say much, but hums and one-word responses were more than enough.
Santiago didn't bring up anything serious at first. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He wanted to keep hearing Danny's scratchy, weak laugh for the rest for the night and never see a frown on that face again.
But he had to ask eventually.
"What happened?"
Danny faltered. It looked like it hurt to concentrate. "I don't -- I don't remember much," he said quietly. "Just that . . . just that I tried to hit back."
Santiago's heart sank to the pit of his stomach.
Sebastián Alvarez left bruises. He left cuts. He left aching pains that lasted for hours or days or weeks. He left invisible scars, turning a potentially bright child into a quiet, nervous, apprehensive young man who found it hard to trust and shied away from sudden movement.
But he almost never left anything that anyone could see. He only slipped up a few times, and that was rare enough that Danny could easily blame a black eye or bruised jaw on a bad accident. Mr. Alvarez was careful. So careful, it took him ten years to land Danny in the hospital.
All because Danny had actually tried to protect himself. Santiago felt the gnawing type of guilt, the type that ate away at his insides, for all of the times he'd encouraged Danny to throw that returning punch. Danny was no match for a guy like Sebastián. A month breathing borrowed air was his reward for finally letting it slip that he'd had enough.
"You told, didn't you," Danny said before Santiago could ask for more details. "You told them the truth."
Santiago hesitated. Danny didn't sound mad, but Santiago knew he wasn't happy.
"I had to," Santiago said. "I couldn't pretend anymore -- he nearly killed you, Danny. And you can hate me if you want, but I'm not sorry."
"I don't hate you," Danny sighed. "I just . . . I'm not excited for what comes next."
Santiago took his hand. "It might not be a bad as you're expecting.
"Or it might be worse," Danny said miserably. "Maybe in a corrupt orphanage. Or with foster siblings that hate me because I'm such a freak --"
"You're not a freak."
"I am," Danny said bitterly. "I barely talk to anyone. I don't trust anyone -- except you. I jump at loud noises and have panic attacks for no reason. I'm such a fucking freak, Santiago -- you just refuse to see it."
Santiago shook his head. "You're wrong," he said.
Danny didn't have the energy to push it. He didn't admit his other fear, worse than any of the others: that he would be taken into an awesome family, one the treated him well. A woman who wanted to be his mother and a man who wanted to be his father. Birthday presents and dinner company and spectators at his competitions.
Danny wouldn't know how to handle that. It wouldn't be long before he ruined it.
"Are you going to tell the truth?" Santiago asked. "When they question you?"
If Danny wanted to lie, he could, and if he was convincing enough, he might end up right back where he started. Santiago wouldn't fight him on it.
"I'll tell the truth."
Danny knew that whatever the case -- whether he was shoved back into the hands of his parents, or those of some brand new family -- he wouldn't be able to take it. There was no outcome that he could tolerate, not for two more years. So there was no point in lying.
So he started, right there in that hospital room, to make a plan.
"Lay down with me?" he asked. Santiago climbed onto the bed that didn't fit the two of them; they were pressed against each other, but that was more than okay. Santiago never let go of Danny's hand.
+++
"You're sure this is what you want to do?" Mr. Taylors, Danny's guidance counselor, asked. It was the month before the new school year began -- Danny would be a junior. "If you're sure, you have most of the qualifications, you just need . . ."
Danny's dad was in jail. His mom was in a mental institution for her depression. Danny had been living in a foster home all summer. It was fine -- the people were fine, the environment was fine. There was even one boy — fourteen years old, attached to his guitar — who Danny thought might, in some other lifetime, be a good friend to him.
Danny hated it.
He hated every damn thing about this town, and his hatred grew every day. He hated school, he hated work. Everything bad he'd ever dealt with was associated with this place. Everything except Santiago.
He couldn't wait to leave. One year was better than two. He itched to abandon everything that had ever hurt him and start a new life somewhere else, somewhere far from here, where he didn't have to be reminded of his parents, or his pain, or the fact that his life had been absolute hell for the first seventeen years of it. He was so fucking excited to leave everything behind.
Everything except Santiago.
Danny got all of the papers, filled out all of the forms. He worked as many hours as he could to build up his savings. He signed up for all of the classes. He studied harder than he ever had. Santiago got a kick out of teasing him for it.
"You know, junior year is already tough enough as it is," Santiago chuckled, tossing a charcoal pencil at Danny, whose face was buried in a textbook. "You're not supposed to make it harder on yourself."
"Hush," Danny didn't look up, but he was grinning. "Not everyone has rich parents and and a line of scouts waiting to get them into college."
"Yeah, but you've got every scholarship benefit possible," Santiago pointed out. "Aside from being, like, the smartest kid in school, you're a possibly gay Hispanic foster kid whose parents never went to college."
"Ah, yes," Danny hummed. "I love having a shitty life," he said, not bitterly, and Santiago snorted. "You sent out your college apps yet?"
"Got the last one out yesterday," Santiago said. "And it's only October. I think that marks the first time I've ever turned anything in early. Not that that one matters -- I know I'm going to DU."
"Cocky much," Danny snickered.
"Not when they want me," Santiago scoffed. "All I've gotta do is keep my grades up and — eventually — sign a contract. You better believe that I'll be driving down to visit every weekend. And when I can't, you've gotta come visit me. At least until you get in — then I'll be able to follow you around until you get sick of me."
"As if I ever would," Danny said fondly, but his smile was strained. He hadn't forgotten all the times he and Santiago had gone over this silly little plan of theirs. Santiago would go to the University of Denver like his parents had always wanted. That was only a 45-minute drive from town -- they would visit each other as often as they could, and when Danny's turn to graduate came, he would join Santiago there. It had started as a joke, but it seemed more serious now -- they would stay near to each other, never lose touch. Even if Danny didn't go to DU, it would be some other Denver college. If not Denver, then Colorado, at least. Just something close.
"We should room together," Santiago said happily. "Actually, no, that ruins friendships; whoever your roommate is just better be ready for me to spend as much time in your room as he does."
Danny's stomach churned nauseatingly. "I -- Santiago, I should tell you something," he stammered. He looked over as Santiago's smile fell at the serious tone of his voice.
"Yeah, what's up?" Santiago set aside his sketchbook and joined Danny on the couch. "Is everything alright?"
It broke Danny's heart. Santiago was just so good to him all the time.
"Just that . . . I hope we're always friends."
He couldn't do it.
"Aw, come on," Santiago grinned, throwing his arm around Danny's shoulders. "We will be. You don't have a choice. You're my guy, Danny. I'll never be far away."
Danny couldn't tell him. Not today.
The problem was that he couldn't tell him tomorrow, either. Or next week, or next month. Danny took his tests. He sent out his letters. He tried to tell Santiago, but every time, he got choked up.
The New Year came. January went past. February went past. March came. Santiago got his letters. He got in; not that that was surprising.
Danny got in, too.
To New York University, on an academic scholarship.
He could hardly stand to be around Santiago. It hurt too much to know what he was about to lose. But at the same time, he couldn't get enough -- they only had a few months left, and he wanted to make the most of every second. Time seemed to fly at super-speed -- every time Danny blinked, a day had passed. Every time he woke up from sleep, a week was gone. And he still hadn't told Santiago.
Spring Break. A last-minute road-trip to Arizona. Living off of Cheetos, Sprite, and breakfast-stop pancakes for four days. Tiptoeing along the Grand Canyon. Holding hands because the height spooked Santiago. Danny didn't tell.
Prom night. Leaving early and crashing in the cabin. Getting tipsy, acting stupid, taking a hundred silly shit-faced selfies. Falling asleep snuggled together on the couch.
Danny held on tight, because he knew he wouldn't have many more opportunities. But he didn't tell.
Final exams. Helping each other study all night. Getting distracted by games and videos and each other. Passing with flying colors, celebrating and de-stressing by passing a one-time blunt back and forth. Drawing Happy Places, writing poems about them; Santiago said they should draw DU. Danny agreed, and felt his head spin with despair. But he didn't tell.
The night before graduation. Danny was leaving in three days.
The realization hit him like a landslide, and he felt himself falling apart. It was like he was already gone -- he could feel the distance, and how much it would destroy him. He knew that he had to do it -- he had to go, for his own sanity, for his mental health. But how could he? This town was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, but Santiago was the best; it would be like diving to a new home underwater — discovering a stunning aquamarine palace, but leaving oxygen behind. The idea broke him. He almost changed his mind, like he had a thousand times in the last school year. Just almost.
Danny felt more unsteady than he had in a long time. He called Santiago — just to hear his voice, because seeing him would be too much right then — but Santiago suggested they go to the cabin, and Danny was helpless to disagree.
It only made things worse. Santiago gushed about his plans, about the future -- about them.
Danny imagined how Santiago would react when he saw Danny there at graduation, not in the crowd but in a cap and gown.
That was just too cruel.
"It's gonna be so good, man," Santiago was saying. "Just you and me. Imagine what we can --"
"Santiago, stop," Danny said, so forcefully that Santiago's eyes widened. Danny's throat felt like it was closing up.
"What's wrong?" Santiago asked, innocent and concerned and too fucking good.
"What's wrong . . ." Danny echoed, curling one hand into a fist against the arm of the couch and pushing the other between his thighs lest it start shaking. "What's wrong is that I'm a shit friend, and you don't deserve it."
"Hey," Santiago furrowed his eyebrows and scooted closer, resting his elbows on his knees. "That's not true. You're the best friend a guy could ask for."
"Really?" Danny said, turning to him with inconsolable eyes. "Would a best friend wait until the night before graduation to tell you that he's graduating, too?"
"You -- what?"
"Or that he's moving in three days to go to college in New York?"
Santiago's hands fell to his lap. For a minute, a day, a year, he just stared. Unblinking, unresponsive. And it was the most excruciating moment of Danny's life.
Then, "Please tell me you're joking."
But he didn't need to be told. Before Danny could even shake his head, Santiago's head was in his hands, and a long, wretched, despondent sigh slipped through his lips.
Danny could hear Santiago's heart breaking. He could hear his own, too.
End of Short Stories Chapter 23. Continue reading Chapter 24 or return to Short Stories book page.