I pull out the camera from my coat’s pocket and snap a picture of Valentino. “What was that for?” he asks. “You’re the first guy I’ve brought to meet my parents.” Valentino is blushing, definitely not sun-kissed cheeks. “Hopefully I’m not the last, Orion.” Why does moving on feel so heartbreaking? He’s not my boyfriend, and we’re not in love. He’s going to die today, and I’m going to live. All this answers my question. We’re not going to get the chance to become boyfriends who fall in love. His journey ends here, and I’ll keep going until I can’t.
