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The morning was still and bruised, the horizon washed in violet and smoke. The world felt like it was holding its breath. Somewhere down the road, a truck idled low, its engine a distant growl swallowed by the fog, but the space between them hummed with everything neither wanted to say.
Link stood by the river they used to bathe in, arms crossed, hair damp with mist. Collie was a few paces away, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared like he was bracing for weather. Neither spoke at first. The only sound was the water licking at the stones.
“You’re really going,” Link said. He couldn’t stop the tremor in his voice.
Collie nodded once, jaw tight. “Yeah.”
Silence stretched. The fog curled around them like breath. Link’s throat worked, but the words got tangled. “How long.. till they-?”
“They’re coming at sunrise,” Collie said. “I figured I’d watch it come up one more time.” His voice cracked, just a little, betraying the steadiness he tried to hold.
“You always hated mornings,” Link said, a humorless laugh.
“Guess I just needed the right reason,” Collie murmured. He stepped closer.
Link’s chest tightened. The heat radiating from Collie, the faint smell of rain on his jacket, made his stomach twist. The distance between them was suddenly unbearable.
Collie reached out, brushing a thumb along Link’s wrist. “You okay?”
“Are you?” Link asked, almost daring him to lie.
“No,” Collie admitted, and for a second, he looked younger than he had in weeks, just a kid from Joliet standing in front of someone he loved and leaving anyway. He offered a crooked, half hearted smile. “I’ll try to be.”
Link’s hands rose, brushing against Collie’s forearm, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth. Their fingers touched, tentative, lingering. Link’s breath caught.
Collie leaned in, and Link closed his eyes. Foreheads pressed together, their noses grazing. The mist curled around them, hiding the rest of the world.
“I don’t want to forget this,” Collie murmured.
“You won’t,” Link whispered. “Even if you try.”
Their lips met in a quiet kiss, gentle but deliberate, like memorizing a place you can’t return to. Link felt the press of it deep in his chest, the ache of knowing he might never feel this again.
When they broke apart, Collie rested his forehead against Link’s. “I have to go soon,” he whispered, voice low. “If I don’t-”
“I know,” Link said, voice trembling. “Just- not yet.”
Collie’s hand drifted up, fingers brushing the side of Link’s face. “Remember where I’m from,” he said softly, almost like a prayer. “It’s a long way from here, but I carried it with me. Carry me with it, too.”
Link nodded, eyes wet. “I’ll carry you, Pasmay. All of you.” The name came out like sacred fire, a promise in the half light.
Collie’s lips curved in a faint, sad smile.
They didn’t speak again. He rested his hand on the back of Link’s neck, tracing the line of his hair, memorizing him. The sky shifted from violet to gold. The world was waking up, but for that moment, time held them in place.
Finally, Collie drew back. He pulled a worn leather bracelet from his pocket and slipped it into Link’s hand. “Keep this.”
Link looked down, then back up. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Collie said. But the tone in his voice was gut-wrenching.
By the time the truck rolled closer, Collie took a step back, then another. Link wanted to run, to hold him, but he stayed rooted.
At the edge of the field, Collie turned. Sunlight touched his face. For a heartbeat, he smiled- soft, sad, real. Link lifted the bracelet. Collie mirrored the motion, pressing a hand to his chest, a silent promise.
Then the truck door opened. The moment shattered.
Link watched until dust and distance swallowed him. The bracelet felt warm in his palm. He wrapped it around his wrist, still smelling Collie’s jacket, still feeling his hand.
The river moved on, indifferent. The wind pressed through the trees. Link stood there long after the sound faded, holding onto the memory of a boy from Joliet.
And even as the day grew bright, he could still feel the weight of that last kiss, the brush of his forehead, the heat of his fingers- a promise that distance couldn't erase.