They Both Die at the End

by Adam Silvera

We take it slow, and out of all the ways I’ve lived today, maintaining eye contact with Rufus is really hard; it’s easily become the most intense intimacy ever I’ve ever experienced. He leans in to my ear, throwing me into this weird phase where I’m relieved to be free of his gaze but also miss his eyes and the way he looks at me, like I’m good enough, and Rufus says, “I wish we had more time. . . . I wanna ride bikes through empty streets and spend a hundred dollars at an arcade and take the Staten Island ferry just to introduce you to my favorite snow cones.” I lean in to his ear. “I want to go to Jones Beach and race you to the waves and play in the rain with our friends. But I want quiet nights, too, where we talk about nonsense while watching bad movies.” I want us to have history, something longer than the small window of time we’re actually sharing, with an even longer future, but the dying elephant in the room crushes me. I rest my forehead against his, the both of us sweating. “I have to talk to Lidia.” I kiss Rufus again before we break through the crowd. He grabs my hand from behind, following me through the path I’m clearing.