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They’ve been skirting around this idea of them since they met. The them having gone through iteration to iteration, version after version after version. They’ve seen strangers and enemies and allies and friends; they’ve held each other as teammates and as opponents, laying down a mark at every point of the spectrum they could.
But now they’re here, and the them hangs in the air like an always present cloud local to just the two.
It’s the end of the summer now, though, and in two weeks they’ll part to begin the rest of their lives on opposite ends of the earth.
It shouldn’t feel as dramatic as it is.
Because they’ve seen each other at their worsts; hell, they’ve brought out those worsts from each other time and time again. But they’re still brought back to one another, over and over again, like a ball to its tether. What will one be like without the other?
In two weeks the summer will end and one of them will board a plane while the other sits and watches. They’ll be separated by oceans and lands and mountains and seas; there will be timezones and language barriers and data plans that just won’t support them.
Their friends will say goodbye as well — there will be a party and a dinner and a ‘one-last’ version of everything they’ve done up until this point. They will go to movies and the mall and drive around the town they’ve grown up in one last time as a group. And then it will be over, and no one will understand.
How could anyone possibly understand?
They’ve spent the better part of high school totally entwined in each other. Not nearly has a second gone by where they haven’t plagued each other’s thoughts. And all that is expected to just go away?
Maybe it would be easier if they were still the versions of each other who had started off on the wrong foot; they could pretend to not know each other, or better yet, pretend like there is no history between them. Then again, who’s to say it wouldn’t just spiral back to the way it is now? Like an inevitability, they orbit the same star and clash and clash and clash.
The days will go by and fourteen will turn into ten will turn into five will turn into zero. The clock will strike midnight and the alarm will go off at eight and bags will be packed and loaded into a car to head to the airport.
They’ve taken too long, and time has run out.
Isn’t that just so predictable?
It’s late now, and the going away party for one of their friends is winding down. Kids are filtering out of the house, out of the backyard, the pool, the deck, the driveway. The guest of honor is loading his car with the few gifts he got, preparing to drive home before departing for the near forty-eight hour drive from LA to Boston. Neither of them makes a move from their spot beside each other at the edge of the pool.
“Hey!” Someone calls from the sliding glass door, sticking their head out. “Demetri’s leaving.”
Still, they make no effort to move. Maybe it’s ill-mannered of them; Demetri’s going to load up his car and depart the valley for maybe the last time in his life. He’s their friend and they should both get up to say something to him.
But giving up on this moment means giving up on their chance, and both of them know this.
The sliding glass door closes and once again they are left alone. On the driveway all their friends will be hugging Demetri and saying their well-wishes. Eli will hang back and pretend not to be emotional, Miguel will give him a hug and tell him to have a good time, and Robby will clap him on the back and make him promise to drive safely, both tonight and tomorrow during the long haul.
Mr. and Mrs. LaRusso will tell him they're proud of him and to enjoy college. Johnny Lawrence will grunt and say something well-meaning but clumsy. Moon will kiss him on the cheek and tell him to be good. Yasmine will roll her eyes despite her tears and tell him this isn’t goodbye because she’s coming to visit in three weeks and he’d better be on his best behavior, because he’s on thin ice as it is.
Everyone will wave as he boards his car and pulls out of the driveway. And then they’ll all make their own preparations to leave for the night, too.
So should they. Their toes are getting all pruney from being in the water so long, and the cool night air is settling in enough that their skin will be prickled with goosebumps in only a matter of minutes.
But getting up will mean they are letting it go, and neither knows how to do that.
Unfortunately, neither knows how to begin the conversation, either.
It’s already dark enough that their features are mostly faded into the night sky. Only the soft light from the pool is reflecting on their faces, a cool blue tint coating them.
What is there to say? In two weeks time, they’ll have this same party once again. Everyone will meet back up here, at the LaRusso residence, to eat food and listen to music and show off less than stellar pool dives. Mr. and Mrs. LaRusso will cry about their baby growing up and getting ready to jet set off to Japan, and that will be that.
The summer has run its course. Time has run out. This is where they’re left.
The resignation must be evident on her face, because just as she turns her head to the side and looks away, the voice that’s haunted her for the past two years speaks out and pulls her back in.
“Hey.”
Tory turns back and looks at Sam, her curly hair falling out of the loose ponytail it’s in and frizzing at the edges. It makes her heart twist and turn.
Tory still doesn’t know what to say, so she just says nothing. Her eyes are wide open and her attention is completely on Sam, but her jaw is locked tightly, clenched at the teeth so she doesn’t say anything yet.
“We should talk about it,” Sam says kindly nudging Tory’s pinky finger with her own.
Sam tries to be as calm and collected as she can be. It’s been building up between the two of them for— who knows how long, now. Avoiding the conversation has been the only thing they’ve ever solidly agreed on until now, but it can’t go on forever.
They’ve spent the entire summer entangled like this: hanging out in exceptionally close quarters, wordlessly, as the world moves on around them.
None of their friends or family has said a word on it, and for this they’re both entirely grateful. It’s enough trying to sort through it on their own. Neither of them is sure they’d make it through having to explain it to someone else.
But they can’t go on like this forever, so Sam says what she can.
“I’m not ready,” Tory admits.
Sam’s not ready either. But they can’t continue this way.
“We have to.”
Tory looks away again, eyes focusing on the brick pavers beneath her fingers. She wishes this were easier. She wishes this were last year; she’d have not wasted a second and moved to spill LaRusso’s blood on the fancy masonry. Fighting’s always been easier than talking, hasn’t it?
“Tory.” This time Sam’s hands move to delicately take Tory’s face and turn it towards her gaze. Sam looks at the perfectly manicured nails lacquered in a sparkly pink as it contrasts with Tory’s blue-tinted skin. “We can’t go on like this.”
“I agree,” Tory answers too quickly. Sam can tell by the urgency in her voice that Tory is pulling away. “We can’t go on like this. We won’t. You’re leaving in two weeks. That’ll be the end.”
Sam sighs and drops her hand. Tory immediately regrets the new lack of physical contact from the girl.
“Is that what you want?”
“It’s for the best.”
“Is it?” Sam asks.
Tory’s eyes flick between Sam’s. “Isn’t it?”
Before either can say anything else, the sliding glass door opens again. “Sam! Dad wants to know if Tory needs a ride home!”
Sam turns so she’s facing the door and the outline of her brother. “Tell him I’ve got it!”
Anthony doesn’t say anything else. The door closes and it’s the two of them again, only now Tory does make an effort to move. She hauls herself up and takes her ankles out of the pool, grabbing her discarded towel on the way up. She wraps it around her bare shoulders and starts heading towards the loungers where her clothes lay skewed about.
“That’s it?” Sam nearly scoffs.
Tory hums in response, back turned to Sam as she pulls her shirt and shorts on over her swimsuit. “I should get back anyway. Mrs. Henson can’t stay all night.”
It’s a copout and both of them know it; Tory’s neighbor has been watching Brandon for the past few months since their mom passed. She’s a kind old lady with nothing better to do since all her kids grew up and moved out of the city. She has few friends and fewer hobbies, so frequently she volunteers all on her own to take the boy out.
“Fine.”
Sam moves similarly and shucks on her own clothes. She straps her sandals on and grabs her phone.
The two of them silently make their way around the house and to the driveway. Sam unlocks her car and gets inside, turning the engine on immediately.
Tory makes no move to get in.
“Well?” Sam huffs. “Aren’t you going to get in?”
Tory stands still like a statue. Her eyes flicker, and for a moment Sam thinks she might have gone about this all wrong. But just as quickly does Tory recompose herself and heave open the door, plopping in the passenger seat and buckling herself in.
Sam makes no move to turn the radio on or plug in her phone. She wordlessly pulls out of the driveway and down the dark street, beginning the voyage from her house to Tory’s apartment complex.
It’s exactly as it always is between them; silent. They drive in complete wordlessness and without any music playing. Tory’s got the window cracked and Sam has to pretend not to notice the way her hair whips around her face like a halo.
They’ve known each other for two years, but it might as well be two decades with how much they’ve come to blows. They’ve fought against each other and for each other and with each other now. And this is how it’s going to go out.
No.
Sam won’t stand for it. She turns the steering wheel and swerves the car to the side, pulling over at the parking lot for a Burger King that went out a while back. It’s entirely empty, and no one can interrupt them. They will be having this conversation.
“What the hell, LaRusso?” Tory sputters.
Sam opens the car door and scrambles out, standing still at its side just as Tory does the same. The blonde gives her a look above the roof from the other side of the car, looking aghast.
“I’m leaving in two weeks.”
“I know,” Tory spits, an anger bubbling inside her.
“Yeah, well, I know you know. Why won’t you talk about this?”
Tory rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. It infuriates Sam. She moves towards the hood of the car as Tory does, meeting her halfway.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Yes there is!” Sam explodes, all the pent up energy from this conversation being shelved for months finally pouring out. “There is. And I’m not leaving until we talk about it.”
Tory clicks her tongue and tilts her head back to look at the sky. “You can’t just hold me hostage here.”
“Hold you hostage? Fine— take the keys.” Sam throws her car keys at Tory’s head, causing the girl to duck angrily.
“What is your problem?”
“You! You are my problem!”
Sam knows she must look like a lunatic right now. She’s behaving like a deranged animal. But she’s spent two years with this infuriating girl, and for it to go out like this? Being stonewalled without any sufficient explanation— she won’t take it lying down.
Tory watches Sam erratically move and throw the keys and scream at her. And she wonders — briefly — if this is what she looked like all those times she went after Sam. Thoughtless and acting on instinct, she was crazed.
It makes her soften, actually.
She sighs and takes a seat on the hood of the car. She’s glad Sam took Anthony’s training car tonight — it was a piece of shit sedan he was learning on, and Tory knows she won’t get crap for sitting on it.
Any other time she might fight LaRusso about it — what, was she taking this crapbox because she knows Tory lives in such a bad neighborhood that she’s afraid her precious beemer might get vandalized or something?
But now is not that time. Tory just sits on the hood of the car and sighs, swinging her legs back and forth. Sam joins her.
“You’re leaving in two weeks,” she says, looking at Sam for what feels like the first time all night.
“I know.”
“Japan’s really far.”
“I know.”
“And we’re not— we’re not anything to each other, you know?”
Sam frowns at this, because even if they haven’t done anything yet or put words to it, they don’t mean nothing to each other. They’ve never meant nothing to each other.
“That’s not—”
“You know what I mean,” Tory looks at her sharply. “You’re not— you’re not my girlfriend. We’re not dating. Alright? So… you can go to Japan and I’ll stay here, and that’s that.”
Sam’s brows furrow. “Is that what you want?”
Again Tory looks away, unable to keep staring at Sam’s big blue eyes. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters, Tory. Of course it matters.” Sam’s truly at a loss for words at how… detached Tory can be. Can’t she ever just state her feelings? Even if it’s not what someone else wants to hear, even if it’s selfish, Sam just wants to know what she thinks.
Tory’s lived her entire life fighting between doing what she can for her family and wanting something completely different. It makes Sam completely angry and exhausted and sad all at once. What she wouldn’t give to just exist in a vacuum with Tory and be completely themselves with nothing else.
But that’s not the world they live in, and they both know that.
They both know that in two weeks Sam will leave and this thing between them will be over — or, at the very least, shift irreversibly.
“You’re leaving for Japan and I’m staying here. I’m always going to stay here, okay? This is my life. And you— you’re just… leaving.”
“Not forever. Not for that long.”
Tory gives Sam a knowing look and Sam can’t help but shrink back. It’s always been like this between them, hasn’t it? Tory’s always known Sam, better than she’s known herself.
But Sam also knows Tory. And she knows if she wants to have this conversation — honestly, fully, completely have it — she needs to meet Tory halfway. Or, more accurately, like seventy five percent.
“It’s not what I want,” she finally says. She doesn’t miss the way Tory’s head snaps to hers almost comically fast. She doesn’t miss the way Tory’s eyes widen and looks so incredibly full in the moonlight. She doesn’t miss the unmistakeable look of… hope.
“It’s not?”
Sam shakes her head. “I know our timing is crap. I know I’m leaving in two weeks and Japan is far and a year is a long time. Probably too long considering we’re not— we’ve never— you know. But I don’t care. I don’t. Okay? This thing between us… it’s worth it to me. You’re worth it to me.”
If Tory’s eyes get glossy, Sam will pretend not to notice for her sake. And if Sam shrinks back in anticipation, cheeks tinged pink and an anxious look on her face, Tory won’t comment on it.
“Even after everything we’ve been through?”
“Especially after everything we’ve been through.”
“Even if you’re seventeen hours ahead and we can never talk because I have work and you have class?”
“How do you know the time difference?”
“I looked it up.”
Sam suppresses her smile. “Even then.”
“And even if all our friends make fun of us because we both dated Miguel and Robby before you realized you were hopelessly in love with me?”
“Well, I don’t think I said hopeless—”
“I did. I am. I love you, Sam.”
Because she does. And she has, for a long time, if she's being honest. And god, Tory wants to be honest with herself, and Sam, finally.
Sam can’t suppress her smile any longer; she breaks out into a full grin and kisses her, pressing her face into Tory’s and grabbing her by the shirt. Then just as quickly as she attacked, she retreats.
Tory looks at her with blown pupils and a confused look.
“Even then, to be clear.”
Tory kisses her back and Sam melts into it. How could they have gone this long? How could either of them fooled themselves into thinking it was either of the boys? It was them, it’s always been them, and it’ll always be them.
When they finally pull apart it’s with breathlessness and matching grins. Sam tucks a hair from Tory’s face behind her ear and Tory traces over Sam’s skin with her thumb.
“What’s a year, anyway?”
In two weeks they’ll load into a car and make the tense drive to the airport through LA traffic and smoggy gross weather. Sam’s dad will drive and give all kinds of travel tips, both for the flight and for the general Japanese experience. Sam’s mom will hide her tears behind a pair of sunglasses and tell her she expects photos and videos and everyday texts. Tory will grab Sam’s hand in the backseat of the car, staring out the window and desperately willing the car ride to last even a little bit longer. Sam will spend the ride staring at her mom and her dad and her girlfriend — she’ll be able to say that.
But before that happens, they’ll have two weeks together. They’ll go out to the movies and the mall and drive around in the town they’ve grown up in, just the two of them. Their friends will ask to join and they’ll tell them no; they need to spend as much time as they can, just the two of them, before their two weeks are up. They’re making up for lost time.
The two weeks will come and go, and the drive to the airport will come and go, and then Tory will be left standing in the drop-off line with Mr. and Mrs. LaRusso, hugging Sam goodbye and making promises to talk constantly.
They’ll share one last kiss and Sam will hug her parents. And then Tory will grab Sam for one more last kiss, and she’ll be off.
Neither of them will admit it, but they’ll both have their calendars marked for the end of August when Sam returns home.
Unbeknownst to Tory, Sam will come home one week for Christmas. And unbeknownst to Sam, Tory will be gifted a roundtrip ticket from the LaRusso’s for her birthday.
A year will come and a year will go, and they’ll be back in the valley hand in hand before either of them knows it.
But not yet.
For now, they sit on the hood of Sam’s car, kissing in the abandoned parking lot of a shut down Burger King.
For now, time may not be on their side. But it will be.