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1.
Crickets chirp through the forest.
Occasionally, a lone car goes past, lighting up Nero’s instinct to run, but none stop, leaving him and Avilio in safety. For now.
Avilio sleeps. He wore himself out in silent tears, shaking back to Nero. As Nero sits, watching the fire dwindle, thinking, he realizes this is the first time he’s ever seen Avilio completely unrestrained. All this time, even when Avilio was casual, making jokes, when Nero thought they were on the same footing, there was always some evidence of control, of an impenetrable wall that could not crack―no matter what had been thrown at him. That wall is gone now, but Nero’s starting to build his own.
He hates Avilio. He hates Avilio with everything that he is. Nero could shoot him now, strangle him in his sleep, take advantage of Avilio’s lowered defenses. But he continues to sit. Sleepless, empty.
For as much as he hates Avilio, Nero knows he doesn’t hate him at all.
When the crickets fade and morning birds come, Avilio stirs in dappled early sunlight. He sits up and glances to Nero, not quite meeting his eyes. He exhales. Hands tied.
“Water,” Avilio says in a low, exhausted voice.
Wordlessly, Nero kicks the canteen to him.
2.
The car careens, Nero gripping the seat with blood pounding.
They make it around the turn, somehow, and Avilio merely plows ahead without a comment or apology. His freed hands clutch the steering wheel, relaxed and easy.
Readjusting in his seat, Nero sighs, and for a second, he glimpses a smirk on Avilio’s mouth. “Your driving makes me fear for my life like nothing else,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair.
“You can drive if you want.”
“Oh, I see. This is just a convenient way to place all the work on me. ”
The smirk is back. “Would I do that?”
Nero burrows down in his seat and glares out the window. Green countryside flies past, undisturbed and quiet.
They fall silent.
That night, they set up camp in a secluded grove of bushes and speak only marginally before spreading out a polite distance for sleep. Nero lies on his side, back facing Avilio. The fire pops and logs shift, filling the air with a comfortable hum.
Avilio’s voice slices through. “You can call me Angelo.”
Nero’s head jerks up. Avilio remains facing away from him, dying firelight illuminating the folds of his shirt moving with his breath. He could be asleep if Nero didn’t know better.
“I have no need to be Avilio anymore,” Avilio says. “He might as well be dead.”
Nero says nothing, studying the back of Avilio’s head. He waits for Avilio to say more, but Avilio doesn’t.
After a moment, Nero settles down again with an exhale, arms in front of his chest. He curls his fingers into his palm.
If everything were different, if none of this had happened, do you think we could have been friends?
He doesn’t get an answer because he doesn’t ask.
3.
Waves rush to shore, glittering, clear and blue and untainted.
They walk in the sand, Nero struggling to find his balance on the shifting grains. A constant swift breeze sweeps through, gently nudging them, guiding them forward.
Avilio sets ahead of Nero.
“The reason I didn’t kill you… is because I didn’t want to kill you.”
When smoke rises from Nero’s gun and Avilio crumples in the sand, Nero slowly lowers his arm. Foamy blue waves lap at Avilio, inviting him to join them. Nero eyes damp sand as water surges in and out. He doesn’t know much about science, or nature, or much of anything, really, but he’s heard of rising tides. He hopes they’re true.
He retraces his steps back to the car.
Inside, he heads down the road. Unlike the first time he tried to kill, the first time he tried to kill Avilio, his throat isn’t tight. His hands are steady on the steering wheel.
The can of pineapples beside him can only make him smile, because he has his answer.
A car in the distance follows him, likely one of the Galassias, but Nero keeps straight at a moderate speed, watching the car draw closer and closer in the rearview mirror.
It’s not goodbye, Angelo.
The engine rumbles forward. With pops of gunfire from behind, Nero prepares to say hello.