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The sound of gunshot is still ringing in his ear. He expects the bloom of red to spread on the front of his white shirt any moment now. He puts his hand across his abs and falls to his knees. The ocean rushes in to lap at his thighs, and sweeps out slowly burying him in the wet sand. He curls into himself and drops his head into the sand, uncaring of the salty grains entering his mouth and nose.
Another wave of the sea washes over him and he thinks this is not a bad way to go. There's sun behind his closed eyes and and his body surrounded by the warm embrace of the shallow waters.
A boot comes in and kicks him in the guts.
"Get up, you faker."
Angelo opens his eyes and raises his hand up from his abs. There's no blood. There's no gaping hole in his stomach spilling his innards onto the beach.
Nero is standing over him, blocking the sun from his view. He looks like a painting of an angel, or a blurred photo of a demon. Either way, they were both here, the last gunshot stripping both of their pretenses away.
Angelo looks at Nero, still laying in the salty waters, feeling them sting his eyes. The man standing over him reaches down with his hand, giving him a chance to pick himself up off the ground.
He eyes the hand, and closes his eyes. All the hands he couldn't take flashes before his eyes. Corteo's with his understanding smile, his mother's with welcoming embrace, his father's with reliable support, and his brother's with unconditional trust. He squeezes his eyes to stop the sea water from stinging his eyes more. They do anyways.
He throws an arm over his eyes and refuses to take the hand. He can hear the sigh from somewhere above him. Soon, he hears a splash and there's a body next to him.
"If you won't come to me, I'll come to you."
Nero's insufferable voice laps at his ears and Angelo finally looks over at him. The fool is laying next to him, half buried in wet sand. He can't help but let out a small incredulous chuckle.
"You are ridiculous, Nero."
He tells the man. The man shrugs. He takes his jacket off and throws it over both of their heads. The sun doesn't bother them anymore. The world was dark, small and it had only two of them in it.
His hand crawls in the sand, moves until he nudges into the hand he couldn't grab before. Belated, as he was with all things in life, and he knocked.
Nero opens his palm and takes his hand in, welcoming and holding it tightly. It says everything.
They lay there, side by side, on the beach where no one will find them, and wish the world closes in around them.
********
They wake up hours later. Their bodies and clothes caked in crystallized salt, mouth bitter from sand, but their hands were still in each other's.
Angelo wakes first, and he pushes the jacket covering their faces away. The sun was setting and their foot prints had been cleared away. They were in the middle of a pale white hand, with no sign of where they came from and where they will go.
He looks down at the man who is sound asleep, clinging to his bony fingers like they are his life lines. He looks at his dark circles and sees the hardship he inflicted on him. He brings up another hand and gently traces his finger along the man's scrunched up forehead, to his stout nose, his large and stubborn lips and his sharp chin.
He has no right being here, lying next to him peacefully, holding his hand, trusting his life into someone who dedicated his entire into making his life a hell, but here he was.
Angelo lays back down, just inches away from his face. He can feel Nero's breath against his skin. They are alive. He grasps Nero's hand and squeezes it tighter.
Nero opens his eyes, and locks eyes with him.
The idiot smiles.
Angelo allows himself to smiles back.