Short Stories - Chapter 24: Chapter 24

Santiago didn't speak for several minutes. When he lifted his head, there was an emptiness in his eyes that Danny hated with his whole heart. It looked like defeat. "So that's it? You're just going to . . . go?"
Danny could see it. He could see the tiny thread of hope that Santiago had been holding onto for all of these years stretch, ready to snap. After all Santiago had been through — after all they'd been through — Danny refused to be what broke him.
"Don't say it like that," Danny protested. "Like it's easy for me."
"Fucking seems like it is," Santiago snapped; he didn't mean to be harsh, but his head was spinning and he didn't know what he felt. Anger came first. "You just show up, give me a three-day warning and pop out like it's nothing."
"You know it's not nothing," Danny said pleadingly. "You know that I'm hurting just as bad as you are --"
"Then why didn't you tell me?" Santiago cried, rising shakily to his feat and glaring brutally down at Danny. "You've been planning this all year -- that's why you overloaded yourself, and worked so much, and . . .  and you couldn't even tell me?"
"I tried!" Danny swore, standing as well. "Fuck, you have no idea how hard I tried!"
"Not hard enough!" Santiago yelled, pacing back and forth furiously. "I feel like such an idiot! Here I've been, making all of these plans, talking about college nonstop -- while you were just playing along, preparing to completly blindside me!"
"Santiago!" Danny took hold of Santiago's forearms, forcing him to stop. "Santiago, look at me."
So Santiago turned to face him. His eyes were red, but he refused to cry.
"This was cruel, Daniel," Santiago snarled. He kept his voice low, but Danny almost wished he would yell again. "So fucking cruel. If you don't see that, you need to. You need to feel as bad as I do right now. This was an awful, awful thing to do to me, and there's no way I deserved it. How could you -- why would you do this? Why didn't you tell me?"
Danny could feel his legs shaking. His knees threatened to buckle under the weight of guilt and broken promises. He took a slow, deep breath that did nothing to steady him and tightened his hold on Santiago's arms — the only thing keeping him upright. "I can't stay here," he said, putting every bit of honesty he had in him into his words, because he knew he owed it and Santiago deserved it. "This place -- this place haunts me. The only good thing is you."
Somehow, Danny had made it worse. He saw it before Santiago opened his mouth. The words that came out were needles through Danny's chest, sharp enough to kill him but placed in just the right spots to do it slowly.
"And that's not enough," Santiago muttered.
The ground seemed to tilt at Danny's feet. He gripped Santiago's arms even tighter. "No," he said, shaking his head, desperate for Santiago to believe him. "I have to go. And I didn't tell you because -- becuse I didn't want to hurt you. And I know that's stupid, I know this hurt you more, but . . . I tried so many times. I couldn't do it. Santi, I'm so sorry."
Some of the tension left Santiago's shoulders. He sank heavily back into the couch, looking anywhere but Danny's eyes. "I'm going to lose you," he whispered finally, like it was the worst thing that could happen to him -- and it was.
"No, you're not," Danny said firmly. He knelt down in front of Santiago and put his hands on the latter's knees. Santiago looked down at him miserably. "That can't happen. It would kill me."
"The other side of the country," Santiago trailed distantly. "You'll be on the other side of the goddamn country. I'l see you what, twice a year?"
"And you'll talk to me every night," Danny assured. "You said it yourself, Santi -- we're forever. No matter how far apart we are."
"And what if I want you here?" Santiago said dejectedly. "Want if I want you close enough to touch?" He reached for Danny's hand.
Danny intertwined their fingers. After a long, silent hesitation, he took a leap of faith. "Then you'll come with me," he said finally, quietly.
Santiago swallowed thickly. "You know I can't," he said. "My life is here."
"Your life, or your parents'? It could work, you know -- you have some money, I know you do -- you could take a gap year -- or even just a semester -- or, I don't know . . . but you could do something. We could figure it out."
Santiago shook his head. "I can't go."
"And I can't stay."
"Why not?" Santiago said hopelessly. "What does New York have? Your parents are gone, Danny -- they can't touch you anymore."
"But the memory is here," Danny argued. "And it hurts -- every fucking second I have to spend in this place, reminded of the worst moments of my life, hurts like I can't describe."
Danny put everything into his words, because he knew they were the only words that would make Santiago understand.
And Santiago did. He pulled gently at Danny's hand, urging him to sit on the couch. He did, and Santiago pulled him close, holding him around the waist. "Okay," he gave in. "I don't want you to hurt. I just wish . . ."
"Me too," Danny said, pushing his head into the crook of Santiago's neck. He could hear Santiago's heart, and he knew it was beating for him. Just like his heart would always beat for Santiago. That would never change.
+++
Graduation came and went. It was a momentous occasion for most everyone there. Celebration was high, smiles were wide. There were congratulations and speeches, hugs and teary-eyed goodbyes.
It was a wonderful day, but not for everyone.
Two boys, standing next to each other in their black caps and gowns, went through the ceremony with flaking spirits and false smiles. They were never more than a few feet from each other unless they had to be -- they feared losing one another in the crowd, they wanted to take every second they could together.
And they did. They spent the rest of the day at each other's sides. Even at Santiago's graduation party, when he was supposed to be at the center of attention, they hid off together in his bedroom, taking every moment to be themselves again. They lifted their spirits, ignoring their impending separation, playing Mario Kart and watching old movies and playing with Todo like nothing was changing. They laughed and teased and cuddled, and everything was almost fine, despite the heartache melody playing in the background.
Danny slept over that night. He left the next afternoon when Santiago's parents insisted Santiago go out with them, despite all of said boy's protests. Danny told him to go -- that he would come back when it was dark, and they could spend one final night in their Happy Place.
Santiago went to the cabin as soon as he got back home. And he waited, and waited. In his time alone, he did a lot of thinking.
This was his last night with Danny. For who knew how long. Maybe ever; he didn't want to think about that, but there was always the chance. They could get too busy. They could grow apart. Daily phone calls could become monthly, and visits could become nonexistent. The best thing he'd ever had could be gone in a flash, and he would be alone.
From head to toe, Santiago felt as if he was being split in half, and the one half was walking on, leaving the other for greener pastures. He didn't blame Danny. But it hurt.
Hours were all they had now. A few measly hours -- that was all that was left before it would be morning and Danny would load his car. Then Danny would drive away.
Santiago hoped it was worth it. He hoped that Danny found everything he wanted on the East Coast; he hoped he was happy, and that college treated him well, and that the people saw him for how amazing he was. Maybe he wouldn't need Santiago anymore. Maybe he would find a new best friend with less baggage who would be willing to follow him to the end of the earth.
Maybe it wouldn't be a best friend. Maybe it would be a girlfriend, or a boyfriend.
Just thinking about it made Santiago dizzy. Danny, far away, happy with someone that wasn't him.
He realized something. That tonight would never be enough if things stayed the way they were. He couldn't say goodbye without being honest to Danny and to himself. If tonight was the last night, it had to be the best night. Nothing else would do.
It was midnight when the door twisted open.
"Hi," Danny said with a weak smile. Santiago had to hold his breath, because there Danny was, looking the way he did under moonlight. And this was it.
"Hi," Santiago said, but his voice was hollow. Danny stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind him. "Danny, I . . ."
"What?"
But then Danny sat next to him on the couch, and they were too close, and Santiago couldn't think. "Nothing."
Danny nodded slowly. The cabin was silent. The room felt too thick -- both boys were suddenly aware of how dark it was in the dim light of the old lanterns, and how alone they were, and how static the air was around them. It was uncomfortable, and it was painful, and they didn't know what to do. It seemed too late now to just be them -- Normal had crept through the door the moment Danny opened it, and now it was gone.
"How are we going to do this?" Danny breathed eventually; when his shoulder pressed against Santiago's, Santiago could feel him shivering. "How are we supposed to act like today is any day but today?"
Santiago was at a loss for a response for a while. So the silence continued on, pressing against them in the night. There was too much emotion in one small room.
"Maybe we're not," Santiago said after a long time. He was uncharacteristically quiet.
"Then . . . what?"
"You'll be gone after tomorrow," Santiago said. Admitting it out loud burned his throat.
"I will," Danny nearly choked on the words.
"Tonight's your last night."
"It is."
Santiago hesitated. Then, "I don't want to spend your last night lying to you."
"You're not—"
"We've been lying to each other for over a year," Santiago said. "If not lying, withholding the truth. And you know it."
Danny didn't say anything.
"What if we stop lying?" Santiago looked at Danny now, and the emotion in his eyes was raw. He didn't have to explain what he meant or what he wanted. Danny took a sharp, quiet breath.
"What if . . . what if for one night, we stop ignoring this thing between us?" Santiago said, letting his hand travel up Danny's arm to his shoulder. "Tomorrow, we can act like everything is the way it was an hour ago. We can forget and pretend, like we have been, and you'll be gone and it'll be in the past."
He leaned closer as he spoke, glancing unintentionally from Danny's eyes to his lips and back up again. Danny forgot to breathe. "But what if for a night — or an hour, or a few minutes — we don't forget," they were close enough now for their noses to touch, "and we don't pretend, and —"
Danny pushed forward, locking Santiago in an ardent kiss, holding his jaw with a shaking hand.
There was no pause, no hesitation. Santiago responded fervently, his lips burning -- he remembered it now, how amazing this had felt, how hard it had been to let go after just one night. A year later, nothing had changed -- it was the same  jolt, running through his bones and his nerves and his mind. It was the same hot and cold, the same violent crash. It was a beautiful disaster, the kind of thing that toppled worlds.
His hands moved to Danny's waist and tugged, pulling the other boy onto his lap. Danny sank willingly into him -- he would give Santiago everything, and he would never regret anything. The love he'd never lost but hidden away broke from its cage, and Danny fell all over again, twice as fast and twice as hard. It was mind-numbing; his blood turned to mercury and nature took its toll. They burned hotter than Athens, and the ticking of the clock only fanned the flames; admittedly, it was hard for Danny to think about the clock at all with Santiago's teeth on his lip and tongue in his mouth.
Danny pulled at Santiago's shirt, and in seconds it was gone; soon, Danny's was, too, and they were chest to chest, mouth to mouth, heart to heart. Santiago would kiss down Danny's jaw, his neck, his chest, and feel Danny arch against him, but he always came back up to his lips -- like he needed them, like he wanted to memorize how soft and full and honest they were.
Everything about Danny was perfection. There wasn't a better soul on this planet -- in the goddamn galaxy -- and Santiago knew it was an honor he could never forsake to have the only other soul in the universe that intertwined with it so effortlessly.
Danny pulled away when his hands, holding the sides of Santiago's face, felt the dampness of his cheeks. "Santi . . ." he said.
Santiago shook his head. "I'm okay. It's just . . . we wasted so much time," he said. Leaning his head forward against Danny's chest, he wrapped the other boy in a tight hug.
"You know where I stand," Danny said, brushing his fingers through Santiago's dark curls. "If you ever change your mind, I'll only be a phone call away."
"I can't come with you."
"You can," Danny said. "But only once you admit to yourself that your parents have never been anything but toxic to you, and that living their dream won't make you happy."
"Danny --"
Danny leaned away suddenly, his eyes fierce. "When I was in the hospital, you told me that I was your happy place," he snapped.
Santiago gaped at him. "You . . . you heard what I said to you?"
"Not everything. Bits and pieces. But I heard that," Danny said. "If that's true, then why won't you just come with me? They don't make you happy. All they've ever done is make you feel worthless. You care so much about people who don't give two shits about how you feel! I care about you! I make you happy! You said you want to stop lying to yourself -- why don't you start by admitting that you fucking hate your parents, and you're only going to DU to play soccer because it's what they want you to do? Admit that I --"
"Danny, please," Santiago said, his voice tight with pain, practically begging. "Please stop. I know that you just want to help me, but . . . you don't understand."
But Danny, who knew Santiago as well as Santiago knew himself, heard the veiled uncertainty in his voice. Santiago wouldn't admit it -- not even to himself -- but he wasn't sure anymore. He hadn't been sure in a long time.
"Like I said," Danny said evenly, "if you change your mind, I'll only be a phone call away. I'll open my door for you, and I'll never make you feel the way they do."
Santiago didn't want to talk about this anymore. He wanted his brain to stop spinning; he wanted to stop being confused, to stop doubting everything he'd ever known. "What time do you leave?"
"I have a bus at two."
"You're leaving your car?"
"I sold it."
Santiago shut his eyes for a moment, as if those three words had made the gravity of the situation suddenly real. "Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked eventually.
Danny nodded, biting down on his lip. "I don't want to say goodbye until I have to."
And maybe -- just maybe -- Danny was holding onto the vague hope that in the next few hours, Santiago would change his mind.
"Goodbye," Santiago echoed. Leaning his head back into the cushions, he wiped futilely beneath his eyes and murmured in quiet Spanish, "What the hell is happening?"
"Let's not think about that," Danny said. "We still have tonight."
Santiago nodded slowly. He took hold of Danny's chin, kissed him slow and deep. Moving his hand to Danny's cheek, he leaned back and examined his face -- too perfect to be real. "I want to make the most of it. We'll never get tonight again."
"You're acting like we'll never see each other again," Danny said; the light tone of his voice didn't hide how anxious the idea made him. He kissed Santiago to distract himself, but it was only a moment before Santiago pulled away again.
"I don't want to make the same mistake again," he said. "I don't want to do this."
Danny's heart dropped sickeningly. "You don't want —"
"No," Santiago said quickly when he realized where Danny's mind had gone. "No, I want to do this. But I don't want to make some stupid one night compromise. I know it was my idea, because this is scary, and it could go wrong, but this is a good thing, Danny. I was out of my mind for ever running from it in the first place."
"I'm leaving tomorrow, Santiago," Danny reminded gravely.
"I know," Santiago said. "I know. But you said it yourself: we'll still see each other. When we do, I want," he squeezed Danny's sides, watching him, trying to gauge his reaction. It was a mistake — he lost his nerve. "Never mind. Forget I said anything. I'm just making things more complicated."
To his surprise, Danny shook his head and looked up to sky, blinking rapidly. "Goddammit, Santiago, come with me!" he said, his voice thick.
"I thought we were going to drop this," Santiago said quietly.
Danny's eyes were tormented and glistening. "Why do you refuse to see what's in front of you? God, you're such an idiot!"
It wasn't harsh or malicious. Just filled with so much anguish that it hurt to hear; like Santiago was torturing him.
Danny wouldn't look into his eyes. He glared at the wall as if it was the thing obscuring Santiago's vision. Santiago tried for something to say, but there was nothing.
As he watched, water pooled in Danny's eyes. It built up until it was too heavy; then it fell, leaving a trail down Danny's cheek.
"Danny . . ." Santiago breathed. "You -- you're crying."
Danny felt his cheek. When his fingers came back wet, he was silent for a moment, blinking at Santiago in shock. It was the first time he'd cried in eleven years.
"Yeah," he said shakily. "I guess that's what you mean to me, huh?" He tried for a laugh, but it was meek and sad.
Santiago didn't even try to talk. He knew he would fail; the emotion he felt -- the love he felt -- for the boy in front of him was too overwhelming. So he just flipped them over, pushed Danny down into the couch, and kissed him like tomorrow would never come.
+++
"Mamá, papá . . . can I talk to you?"
It was Monday morning. 11 A.M. Santiago stood at the entrance of his living room, hands clasped behind his back before they could start shaking. His parents were sat together on the longest couch, his dad's arm around his mom's shoulders. His mom was the first to look up at him, red lips pursed in a curious smile.
"Of course, dear," she said. "Come, sit down with us. We're watching Sin Miedo a la Verdad."
But Santiago didn't sit down. He moved until he was in front of them, blocking the TV, then stood still. His mother seemed to realize that what he had to say was serious; she reached for the remote and turned the TV of.
"What is it?" asked Mr. García, shifting his weight and resting his hands on his lap.
Santiago hadn't even said what he'd been planning yet and he already felt himself recoiling, inching back until his legs bumped the coffee table behind him. "I want. . . I want to talk to you about the future," he said.
Mr. Garcia smiled. "Well, you shouldn't be worried about that, should you? That's all figured out."
"Right," Santiago nodded tightly, finding it especially hard to meet his father's eyes. "And I'm so grateful to you for helping me all these years, and setting out such a good path for me."
"Of course, mijo," Mrs. García said, reaching out to give Santiago's hand a short squeeze. "All we've ever wanted is what's best for you."
Santiago nodded again. He felt as if he was swallowing pebbles; they piled up in his stomach, dragging down his resolve. Then pebbles turned to rocks, and they lodged in his throat and made it impossible to speak.
"Santiago?" his dad encouraged. "What's wrong, son?"
"What if --" he choked up as he spoke, afraid of the words that came next. "What if I don't think the future you've mapped out is what's best for me?"
If this was any other situation, it might've been comical how quick their faces changed. But right then, right there, in the silent living room, there was nothing funny about it.
"Santiago," Mrs. García said slowly, the beginnings of a warning in her tone. "What are you saying?"
Santiago swallowed; a boulder sank down his throat, leaving a throbbing pain in its wake. "I don't want to go to the University of Denver." His voice was hardly audible, but he couldn't speak any louder. "I don't want to play soccer forever. Maybe . . . maybe in college, but not after that. And I don't want to study medicine, or law, or engineering."
Slowly, his father rose to his feet. Mrs. García sat where she was, looking furious and horrified, but Mr. García edged closer. "What the hell has gotten into you?" he asked; his voice was low, hardly louder than Santiago's, but it carried. And it penetrated deep, down to the marrow.
"Nothing," Santiago sighed. "I just want to be honest."
"Honest . . ." Mr. García chuckled darkly. "You are not honest. Honesty is a trait held by men; you are clearly still only a boy. A stupid, naive, hopeless boy."
Santiago's shoulders stiffened. "I am not stupid," he said. "I am not naive. I know what I want is all. Isn't that enough?"
"No!" Mr. García raised his voice so suddenly, Santiago would have stumbled back had it not been for the table behind him. "No, Santiago, it isn't! And do you know why?"
"Papá --"
"Because you would be nothing without our planning!" Mr. García seethed. "Your life would have no direction if we hadn't held your hand through it -- and now you want to throw it all away? Do your mother and I mean nothing to you? Do you know how much money we invested in developing you into a son we could be proud of? How much time we spent figuring out what would be best for you? We have lived through life -- we know! You have no idea what the world around you is like, but you want to step into it blind? What kind of idiot --"
"I am not an idiot!" Santiago snapped, surprising himself and his parents.
"Do not speak over me!" Mr. García boomed. "You have no place to raise your voice when you want to disregarded eighteen years of our hard work!"
"Your hard work?" Santiago yelled incredulously. This had never happened before -- he had never spoken back, never argued against his parents. But everything was hanging in the balance now -- he had to make them understand. "I got the grades! I learned the skills! Shouldn't you be proud of me either way, knowing what I can do?"
"Do you even hear yourself?" this time, it was Santiago's mother who spoke -- she rose angrily to her feet, glaring like Santiago had never quite seen before. No motherly love, or anything close, was present in her gaze now -- her eyes burned with a blue flame, and Santiago's courage and determination melted beneath her gaze. "Looking at you right now, there isn't a single goddamn thing I could be proud of! You are nothing but ungrateful and selfish! Why couldn't God have given me another child, one who has a working brain in his head?"
She stormed away suddenly, but Santiago could tell he was expected to follow her. He walked on unsteady feet after her to the kitchen, his father on his tail, and watched as his mother pointed to two side-by-side photographs on the wall — one of the three of them when Santiago was a baby, and one they had taken just a few weeks before, mimicking the pose in the original picture. "We have given you everything, and all we ask is one thing in return!"
'We have given you everything.' Santiago was sick and tired of hearing that.
"But that one thing is my entire life!" he cried. "How is that fair?"
"Life isn't fair!" Mrs. García shouted. "In life, you make sacrifices, and you do what you're told!"
Santiago slammed his palms suddenly against the kitchen island, glaring at his parents with a futile anger.
"Will you two just let me live!" he shouted, his words a violent plea. "You are so . . . suffocating! Let me breathe, let me walk, let me be my own person! Do you know what I want to do? I want to study art! I want to move away from here! I want to play soccer for fun once I'm done with college, not for pay! And I want to be with . . ." he paused, swallowing a painful scratch in his throat. Holding himself up with his elbows on the counter, he put his hands over his face and dragged them into his hair with a shaky breath. "I want to be with Danny! I love him, you know — so much it hurts! I want to follow him the end of the world, even if that means leaving all of this behind!"
Santiago's father's eyes flashed with rage, and his mother stepped back in shock. There was unbearable silence for a few seconds too long.
Then, with his eyes focused on Santiago's face and his jaw set, Santiago's dad said, "If you leave to pursue this . . . disgraceful path of yours, just know that once you leave this house, you won't be allowed back."
Santiago stared at his father with parted lips, stunned by the weight of his words. For a long, excruciating moment, he couldn't find his breath, and acid dripped down his throat. A shudder passed through his body when he managed an inhale. "Why can't you just accept that I want to be happy?" he begged. "Why isn't that enough?"
Mr. García bellowed, "Because we don't care if you're happy!"
Seven words. Only seven words. But those seven words flipped Santiago's life upside down.
He didn't want to believe it. But he looked into his father's eyes, then his mother's, and he saw nothing like hesitation, or remorse. Nothing to tell him that that had come out wrong.
His mother was saying something. Pointing angrily, hair bobbing around her face as she yelled. Then his father cut in. Then his mother again.
Santiago couldn't hear them. His ears were ringing. He leaned heavily against the kitchen island with a gasping breath, clutching his chest and staring down at the floor. He felt his heart hammering, threatening to rip right out of his chest. Maybe things would be better if it did.
"He's not even listening," Mr. García growled after a while. He pushed Santiago's head roughly back, only for it to fall forward again, nearly limp. "You have a choice to make," he said. "You can remember who you are, and how you came to live such a blessed life. Or you can go follow your dreams," he spat mockingly. "But know that if you do, you will not receive a penny of support from me or your mother. Just know that I will feel no pity for you when it all comes crashing down, and you wish you were dead."
Santiago raised his head slowly. His eyes were narrowed in an impassioned glare, but it held no anger; it was all grief, but it was so potent that it burned like rage. Maybe it was a good thing, then, that his parents didn't care; they didn't have to feel it.
"I already do."
He sounded just as he felt: betrayed, dejected, stripped completely bare. His voice was as raw as the emotion that hung around him. Anybody would feel it.
But his father just shook his head, said, "You're pathetic," and turned, scowl-faced, to leave the living room.
Santiago's mother lingered a moment longer. He held on to the hope, fragile as it was, that she might pity him.
"You were never the son I wanted. I only wish I hadn't wasted my time."
Her voice was venom. That last thread of hope snapped as she, too, left.
Santiago didn't cry. Finally, after eighteen years, he had run out of tears for them.
+++
"You've been wonderful to have around for this last year," Danny's foster-mom, Lisa Carson, sighed, pulling Danny into one last hug. "Thank you for helping with the kids, and always being so kind. I hope New York is everything you want it to be."
Danny offered a melancholy smile. "I'm sure it will be," he lied. He wasn't sure at all, knowing he'd be making the journey alone.
He hugged everybody else goodbye. First, Howard Carson. He bid Danny good luck and handed him an envelope, which he told Danny not to open until he left. Then twelve year-old Taylor, who promised to send a postcard. Six year-old Lola, the Carsons' biological daughter, hugged Danny tight around the waist and tried to give him her favorite doll, but he made her keep it, telling her Kitty would be happier here. He gave a kiss on the forehead to one year-old Eve, who didn't know what was happening but, quieter than usual, seemed to know that it was bittersweet.
"Keep in touch," Mr. Carson said fondly, ruffling Danny's hair.
"I will," Danny said, but he knew already that he wouldn't. The Carsons and the foster kids had been nothing but kind to him for the last year. He appreciated them immensely. But they didn't love him. He hadn't given them any reason to. He had been closed off to them, and he hadn't gotten to know them as well as he could have.
Letting then love him would give him the chance to make them hate him. He preferred the easy way out.
This was a house to him -- and it was nicer than any house he'd ever lived in -- but it was no more a home than the sad shack he'd left behind, and he wanted to forget it just as much. He might miss the Carsons as a family -- not in sadness, but in remembering their warmth -- but he wouldn't be phased by leaving any of them behind. His heart wouldn't ache for any of them individually.
Except, maybe, for Ryan. At fifteen, he was the next oldest, and the only one Danny had spent any more time than necessary talking to. They weren't close, but they might've been if Danny had let them be. It was Ryan who Danny said goodbye to last, and who he hugged the longest. "Good luck with your adoption," Danny murmured into his shoulder. A widower, some Mr. Matthews, was looking to take Ryan in. Danny hoped he was a good man.
"Good luck with New York," Ryan said back. "Now get out of here -- go make your escape, loser."
Danny gave a small laugh. Then he left, towing his single suitcase behind him, and began the walk to the cabin. He went through the forest this time -- the same way he had on the day they first met. Ten years ago.
When the deep wooden walls and lopsided roof came into sight, Danny suddenly lost his breath. He had to pause for a moment. That moment turned into minutes; it seemed impossible to take another step when he knew he was walking closer to goodbye.
But he eventuallly forced his feet to move, because -- ironic as it was -- the only thing that made it easier knowing he was about to leave Santiago was knowing he was also about to see Santiago.
He walked slowly around to the front of the cabin, trying to prepare himself for something he could never prepare himself for.
To his surprise, Santiago wasn't inside. He was sat next to the door, his head tilted back against the wall and his eyes aimed up at the canopy of branches and leaves above him.
Danny stopped for a moment and gathered his nerve. Santiago didn't see him.
"Hey," Danny said, letting go of his suitcase to push his hands into his pockets.
Santiago lowered his head. Danny's lips parted, just slightly, in a soundless gasp.
Santiago had always had sadness in his brown eyes. Danny had noticed it the moment they met, and it hadn't gone away since. But it had never been this bad -- hopeless and despondent, wretched with heartbreak.
Before Danny could ask, Santiago said, "You were right."
Danny knew instantly what he meant. And for the first time, wished he had been wrong.
He sank to his knees and pulled Santiago against him. It was all he could do.
"I didn't even say goodbye," Santiago murmured against Danny's neck. "They have no idea where I'm going."
Danny shut his eyes tight and ran his hand up and down Santiago's back. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know it's not okay now. But it will be, eventually."
After a few moments, Santiago nodded. "I know," he said. "That's the only thing keeping me going."
Then he lifted his head. A second passed, and he looked at Danny, and his gaze was just as emotional, but now something else mingled with the sadness.
"I love you so much," Santiago said suddenly, and Danny didn't have the chance to respond before Santiago's lips covered his.
Danny felt it all. Santiago's despair. His regret. His bitterness. His fear. His love. His sincerity. His excitement for the future, uncertain as it was. Santiago was feeling everything at once, and so Danny felt it, too; none of it made sense, but all of it was real and all of it was necessary.
It was a kiss to move mountains. Danny felt it within him. Santiago felt it within him.
Life was shit. Life was a bully, who picked out innocent prey and tormented them relentlessly. Danny and Santiago were victims.
But this, this thing between the two of them, it had nothing to do with life. It extended past the reach of the living. It was greater than birth and death, bigger than comfort and pain. It was vaster than Heaven and Hell. It moved faster than fists and dug deeper than words.
"I love you too," Danny sighed against Santiago's lips. "More than anything."
Santiago nodded; his curls tickled Danny's forehead. "What's that?" he murmured, nodding toward the white envelope in Danny's hand.
"I don't know," Danny said. "Howard gave it to me."
"Open it."
Danny did as told. Inside of the envelope was a check for one thousand dollars.
"Oh god," he said with a sharp breath. "Shit, I shouldn't have accepted this — I didn't know —"
"Shh," Santiago chuckled, and despite his sadness, his laugh was honest. "Just be grateful."
Danny nodded numbly. A thousand dollars was so much money . . . the Carsons were rather well-off, but still . . .
That they would give him something like this touched Danny more than he would've expected. They really cared about him.
Maybe he cared about them, too. Maybe he would miss them. Maybe he would keep in touch. Maybe they'd be like parents to him someday.
The thought was daunting. But so was New York; Danny could handle daunting.
Santiago ran his fingers into Danny's hair. Danny closed his eyes at the touch, and a quiet sigh slipped through his lips. He kissed Santiago again, and again, falling in love with the way Santiago's fingers splayed across his back, falling in love with every part of it.
"I know I hurt you when I said no," Santiago said, looking right into Danny eyes with nothing to hide. "I chose to be blind . . . I didn't listen to you when I knew I needed to."
Danny shook his head. "It's alright," he said. "I know it was hard — it's still hard. I never blamed you."
Santiago smiled — small but sincere. "I have years of allowance saved up . . . a few thousand. I know you have a bus ticket, but we could take my car, if you'll have m—"
"Don't even finish that sentence," Danny's laugh was surprisingly joyous. "You know I want you to come. You know that's all I want."
The joy was contagious; it spread into Santiago's eyes, battling with everything already there. "You're my world, Daniel Emilio Alvarez."
"Then you're my solar system, Santiago Camilo Flores García."
Santiago made a face, annoyed at having been one-upped.
"Well you're my galaxy," he said, and they were kids again, indulging in meaningless competition.
"You're my universe," Danny said with a cheeky grin, laughing triumphantly when Santiago cursed in defeat. Santiago tried to push him away, but Danny laced his hands behind his neck and responded with a kiss.
"My bags are packed," Santiago said. His smile had vanished. "They're in the cabin. I — I'm ready to go when you are."
Inside the cabin, Danny and Santiago made the decision to leave nearly everything behind and preserve the mark they'd left on the place. Danny only took his favorite photographs and drawings, and Santiago pulled his favorite poems from the walls. Santiago went into one of his bags and pulled out his expensive camera, telling Danny, "I want to take a picture of my favorite place in the world, so that it will still exist even after this place has been destroyed . . . whenever that will be."
Danny crossed the room to stand behind Santiago, but Santiago gave him a peculiar look. "Go sit on the couch," Santiago said. "It's only my favorite place when you're in it, smiling like you do."
Santiago took his picture. When he looked at it — at their little escape in the woods, the place they had made for themselves when the rest of the world turned its back on them — he felt something like closure.
Santiago lowered his camera and opened his arms. When Danny embraced him, he finally believed what all of the movies and books had always told him. Things were bad now, and they would be for a long time as he tried to adjust to a new life and leave the lies behind him. But it would get better.
He and Danny had years of healing to do between them. But they would hold each other up, like they always had. Everything would be okay, eventually. As terrible as life could be, life had nothing on them.
Each other was all either of them had. And it was all either of them needed. So they held onto each other, like they knew they would for the rest of their lives, and put two fractured pieces together to make a whole. A splintered, imperfect whole, perhaps, but they had never wanted perfection.
Santiago lifted his head so he could look down at Danny, and Danny raised his chin so he could look up at Santiago.
Hopeful eyes met Brave eyes, and together they made a new Happy Place.