This is his first heart attack.
And last.
Orion
11:06 a.m.
This End Day isn’t about me, but I feel lucky to be along for the journey.
When I first met Valentino, I knew I wanted to be part of his life. Yeah, my dick was doing some of the talking because he’s gorgeous, but it was more than that, it was always more than that. He had stars in his eyes and wanted to grow up in this city. He’ll never be able to do it all, but I’m happy he’s hitting a lot of firsts.
Our next first: riding the bus, since a boat is too dangerous. Or at least it will be our next first if it ever arrives. I check the time on my phone to see how long we’ve been waiting when I realize something historic in the world of me and Valentino.
“Yo, it’s been twelve-ish hours since we met,” I say.
I wish I knew the exact minute.
“Really?” Valentino asks. “It feels . . .”
“Feels like what?”
“I was going to say it feels like yesterday.”
“Probably because it was.”
“Which is why I stopped talking.”
“No, don’t ever stop talking. You have a nice voice, and I like the stuff you say.”
I tried burying that compliment about his voice that I want to listen to all day and that I’ll miss, but I did a pretty shitty job covering it up. I’m feeling all these feelings, and I know I shouldn’t because this doesn’t make sense, but they’re fighting their way up anyway. I should write a story about a lovesick zombie crawling out of a grave, wanting a heart to hold, not eat. Oh, wait, zombies are gunning more for brains, not hearts, though I guess they’ll eat anything from the body that’s fresh. Fuck do I know, I’m no more a zombie dietician than I am a historian.
“You like the stuff I say?” Valentino asks. “What else would you like to hear me say in my nice voice?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Don’t be a dick,” he parrots with a smile.
“If the bus ever arrives, I’m going to push you in front of it.”
Valentino surrenders. “I’m kidding. What do you want to know?”
“I mean, so much. I remember thinking that I liked your name.”
“My name? My name is nothing compared to Orion.”
“No, I love your name. You’ve got tons of nickname opportunities. I got O, that’s it. Oh, actually, I also had people calling me ‘Oreo’ in high school. Hated that.”
“That’s bad, but at least you didn’t have to deal with ‘Valentino’s Day’ every Valentine’s Day. I had to ask out my friends’ crushes for them like I was Cupid.”
“I’m so sorry, Cupid.”
“It’s okay, Oreo.”
The bus finally pulls up, and I don’t shove Valentino in front of it. Instead, I take his picture as he pays the fare—the driver is confused as shit as to why this is worth documenting—and another as he chooses one of the few available seats in the middle. There’s no destination in mind, but we thought it’d be fun for him to get some sightseeing in. Maybe call something out if it interests him. Plus we can take a break from the sun and enjoy some air-conditioning.
“Tell me about Valentino, Valentino. How’d the name come about?”
He’s staring out the window. “I never told this to the other kids at school, but my mom was born on Valentine’s Day. She grew up loving the holiday because she was always shown love on that day, whether she had a valentine or not. Then my father went and proposed on Valentine’s Day like the original thinker he is. My mother wanted us to have names with ties to the day. Mine is obvious, and Scarlett because that’s the color of hearts.”