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They arrive at the town on an autumn day. Masky only knows it by the color of the leaves covering the floor in shades of red, yellow, and orange. Until recently, a few stayed on the branches of the withered trees, but they quickly fell. Great welcome, jokes Toby. Pretending not to hear him, Masky steps on the crunchy leaves with more strength than necessary. And so, their stay in a place whose name they don’t know begins.
When they arrive anywhere, and this isn’t the exception, exploring the area first is a must. The streets are always empty at three in the morning — a luxury found only in small towns, far from the city. Masky would be lying if he said he didn’t do it for his own amusement. It’s during those dark hours, when time seems to stop, that he’s able to forget everything but the cold on his face and Toby’s presence by his side.
Always Toby by his side. Quiet or restless, but capable of bringing him a warm, comforting feeling. Something so ridiculous to even think about, let alone saying it aloud.
Walking and walking, they end up at a park close to the residential area, which they don’t go near very often. It would take one person looking through the window to spot them, but who would go out with this climate? Toby almost runs towards the swings and Masky follows him. The rusted chains make a loud noise, so they move slowly.
Right on the center of this plastic fortress, peace is total. A couple of pines, another couple of bushes and the grass, damp with dew, make up the natural scenery; all probably selected with care by the community. He almost sees, a few meters away, the barbecue. Not to mention the noise: screaming, laughing and music all around. Kids playing and mothers talking, until someone falls, everything gets interrupted and then resumes just as easily. A clear image. The two of them, blurry, in the margin. Will they find their place, eventually? There or anywhere else?
“Can you believe we’re still alive?” Toby asks. “'Cause I don’t.”
“Everything feels like a dream at this hour,” Masky answers, uninterested. “But if it were, you wouldn’t talk, so it must be real.”
Toby laughs and dares to swing faster, the obnoxious sound reaching deaf ears. Masky smiles. Now they can do stuff like that, he thinks, but that doesn’t give them the right to let go of their past so easily. A past written with the blood of innocents. A past that will chase them, even after death.
Suddenly, his swing moves.
“What are you…?”
“No sad faces! Remember: we’re alive.”
Behind him, Toby pushes the swing. Every time he goes up, the sky seems ready to catch him. Masky wants to say something about all the noise and people watching, but every word falls dead on his tongue.
“Did you hear me? We’re alive!”
His hearty laugh probably resonated through the park.
After catching his breath, they keep on walking around. Is his idea, or are the streetlights brighter? He also feels light. Even if Masky has an idea about why it could be, he’d rather not think about it. They already have too much to deal with. They’ve been running and hiding for… what, three months? Very little time compared to… A sharp pain in his chest makes him stop walking.
“Shit, Masky, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he barely answers, closing his eyes. “It will go in a bit.”
Breath in, breath out. In, out. You’re okay. In, out. A pair of hands take a hold of his shoulders, gently pulling him until his head comes to rest on a chest. Confused by the pain, it takes Masky a few seconds to realize it’s Toby and tries to step back, but the hands keep him in place. Toby says something he doesn’t hear. Pain or nerves? Masky tries to concentrate again on taking deep breaths, shaking with every exhalation. Toby’s hand reaches his head and caresses his hair.
Masky feels weak, unbearably hot.
“Masky,” Toby whispers.
“Don’t call me that.”
He says it without thinking, his mind full with longing.
“What do you want me to call you?”
The name that came back to him a while ago was linked to a life he didn’t feel part of anymore. However, he never thought about a change. He’ll create a new identity with that name. A new identity full of life and worthy of a survivor.
“Tim. Call me Tim.”
It sounds almost like an order. Toby whispers it, then says it out loud and repeats it until Tim knows —a silent promise— that there’s just space for them in the forgotten world of the night. It was made for us, he decides. Our place. Stranded on a world that has cast them aside, they are free to choose who they want to be. They choose themselves. Even more certainly, they choose one another.
“Do you feel better… Tim?”
Better would be staying forever in your arms, he wishes to say.
“Yeah, you can now…”
Toby's arms don't let up, squeezing him even tighter. He doesn’t oppose either.
“Give me one moment,” Toby says. “Let’s… Just one more sec.”
Give me. Toby’s talking about himself. Tim tries to think in what he gets from this position, this kind-of hug. Warmth? But he can’t feel, and what are hugs even about? A need for intimacy, maybe; physical and emotional closeness. He thinks about belonging, or possession, but it seems silly to him to believe he could evoke those feelings in Toby.
No more thinking, he begs himself.
The second ends and they break off. Tim can look back at him, despite the tingling in his body. He has never seen this kind of expression in Toby’s face before: a bit of disappointment, a bit of expectation. They start walking again, his hands brushing from time to time.
If they’ve been going around for two hours, it will be at least another three hours before the sun comes up. Luckily, they ate before arriving, so hunger isn’t a problem. But they soon realize there’s not a lot to see. Eventually, they find themselves at the entrance of the town, the same floor covered with red, yellow and orange leaves. Toby keeps stepping on them, making a crunchy sound.
“Come on, Tim,” he screams without stopping, a big smile on his face. “You’ve done it before, why are you resisting the… crunch?”
This time, the leaf doesn’t make a sound and Toby whines. Tim covers his mouth to hide his laugh.
“Don’t laugh, you traitor!” Toby takes his hand and moves until they are at the center of the leaves, of autumn itself. “Come on, step on a few of them. It won’t kill you.”
“You will.”
But Tim obeys.
Neither lets go of the other’s hand. At some point, Toby starts to spin, and they both end up on the floor, shoulder to shoulder. They laugh until they can’t breathe.
“I’m thinking autumn is my favorite season,” Toby says, yawning.
“Spring is better.”
“Whatever you say, sunflower.”
Tim pinches him softly and Toby grabs his hand, intertwining their arms. They stay still.
Actually, Tim thinks, I would be dead if it weren’t for Toby. He’s the real motive behind their successful escape, the reason why there was a plan in the first place. Many times Tim wondered, back then, if all the pain and sacrifice were worthy, all for what? Why did he long for freedom so much that he was willing to die for it? What outcome could justify everything they went through?
This one. And because of this, exactly, Tim takes on the impulse to turn sideways, throw an arm across Toby’s chest and snuggle up against him. Because if he survived through horrors unknown to most people, he can do this. In any case, Tim closes his eyes and breaths deeply before saying:
“I’m glad to have you by my side, Toby.”
It might be the truest thing he has ever said in his life. A silence follows his whisper and Tim tries to convince himself that it doesn’t matter. He finally said what he had wanted for so long and he’ll wait for whatever is necessary.
But Toby’s answer doesn’t take long. With a sudden movement, he turns to look at him and hugs him back. Tim averts his gaze, overconscious of their closeness. He didn’t expect such a reaction. Without wanting, his mind goes back to the thoughts he discarded a bit ago: warmth, intimacy, belonging. Possession. Someone precious to take care of.
“Me too, Tim,” Toby says, sighing his name.
An invitation. An answer hidden in a glance, enough for Toby to pull their lips together, softly, when he has always been anything but cautious. Tim feels like melting when the kiss deepens.
Everything is unstable. On the verge of collapse. A miracle and a bad omen for someone who has walked too long over mined land.
“You’re beautiful,” Toby whispers against his face, once they part. “So beautiful…”
“Toby, I…”
Impossible to count how many kisses they had until Toby falls asleep, lying down comfortably against Tim’s chest. Darkness slowly fades away and the light comes. Tim distracts himself by playing with Toby’s hair. For the first time in a long while, he dares to picture a future: picking the next place to go, maybe getting a house… and a lot of kisses in between, moments together. Memories. And yet, no matter if they lived until tomorrow or a hundred years, Tim knew he would always remember this time.
After a couple of hours, they decide to search for food and a place to stay for a few days. Toby kisses him as soon as he wakes up, the most natural thing in the world. Walking side by side, Tim notices the shift in his life: far from perfect, but more than he could’ve ever dreamt of.
EXTRA
“Hey, Tim.”
“You don’t have to say my name every time we talk.”
“Whatever you say, Tim.”
“Did you actually want to tell me something?”
“Nothing, Tim. I just wanted to ask if you remember what you wanted to tell me right before I, so rudely, stuck my tongue down your throat… Tim.
“Nothing I feel like saying now.”
“Is that your way of asking for a kiss, Tim?”
“Forget it.”
“Come on, Tim. Tim, please. Tim? Please? Come on, Tim. Tim…”
“Holy shit…”
***
“Toby?”
“...”
“Are you asleep already?”
“...”
“You’re so weak.”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“Guess I can say it now.”
“¿...?”
“I’m happy to be alive just because I have you by my side. That’s what I was going to say.”
“¡...!”
“You’re not sleeping? Get off of me!”
“I’m happy, too, Tim! <3”