By Kris Loilo
It’d be a much smarter idea to just walk up to the door, knock and ask to be let inside, but the thing about that is that I’m not smart. So instead of taking the stairwell, I’m scaling the fire escape on the side of the complex and tiptoeing on ledges to get to a balcony on the fifth floor.
Things have changed. The balcony, I mean. Finn’s sunk some good time into making the place cozy. Two chairs look out at the skyline, there’s a coffee table and the rafters are half-lined with star-shaped string lights. He’s even gotten one of those high-maintenance potted plants seated on the parapet.
That would be nice and all—he’s got a better eye for decor than I ever will—but I can’t shake the fact that hours he’s burned decorating could be traded for three trips to the bar or time out in the wilds with nothing but ourselves, a tent and the night sky.
So here I am, awkwardly half-reclining, half-standing by the edge, trying to look mysterious when I hear shuffling from the other side of the glass door. Finn walks out in thrifted loungewear and a mug in hand, and he stares at me as if he’s not sure whether I’m actually there or not, then he makes himself another cup of instant coffee.
‘Hey,’ he says, stepping out. He puts on a smile, weary but still warm.
‘Hey,’ I say back. He probably expected me to show up.
Finn skirts around me as if he’d burn up getting too close, standing at the far end of the balcony. If the space were a little wider, it’d almost look like we’re re-enacting the standoff that got us tied in each other’s lives to begin with.
I loosen up with a shake and clap my hands. ‘So. Contract’s nearly up. I say it’s high time we pack our bags and get out before they decide to pull a fast one and throw us in the slammer.’
‘I don’t think that’s necessary.’ His eyes dart away.
I try to chuckle—emphasis on try—but you drown in fear, not the other way ‘round. ‘That’s a good one.’
He shoots me the “I can tell you’re playing dumb” look, aware that I know full well what he’s trying to say, but he’s generous enough to play along.
‘I’ve had some time to think, and I reckon it’d be better to stay here. Living like this,’ he says with a lazy gesture to the furnishings.
It’s not looking good.
‘But things can finally go back to normal, Blue! Maybe you’re just thinking that after bein’ chained behind a desk for too long. Why don’t we just leave and go on a little trip to… Mars! How’s that sound?’
When we were travelling off the grid, we’d stay up past midnight, talking about space. Navigation, patterns, and all the rules that let the whole thing run like clockwork. He wanted to be an astronaut when he was a kid. I told him that I wanted to be an astronaut too.
His smile fades and it snatches the warmth along with it. His arms unfold and I can tell that he’s rifling through words in his head like a deck of cards, whether it be to let me down slowly or to load his reasons like bullets.
‘Listen. I don’t think I can go back out there again. I know that it seems sudden and that I’ve gone turncoat on you, but I like it here. We have a place to stay. I’ve already been told that the Department is willing to extend—’
‘You’re throwin’ away ten years of work all for a cushy desk job?’ I start to pace circles but I’m not looking at him. I’m looking at the varnished floor. I’m looking at that stupid potted plant which I want to hurtle into the stratosphere. ‘For ten years you’ve risked your hide for the name Finn Joden to be revered in every stretch of this fucked up place, and when you finally make it, you just chuck it out like it was nothing.’
Thinking about pacing and years and planets makes the word orbit pop into my head. Funny how the two of us have been tangled in each other’s gravitational pulls for nearly a decade and finally, the thing that rips it apart is a job offer in a crowded hellhole that doesn’t even pay too great. I wish that it would’ve taken more than that.
‘Osrine,’ Finn says, gentle, and I wish that we should’ve just stuck to calling each other by the stupid code names we came up with ages ago, three drinks deep. We were “Blue” and “Shift” because put ’em together and they meant something that we thought was clever at the time. But no, he’s calling me by name and it’s a black hole in my gut, ripping me apart from the inside.
‘Yeah?’
‘I’m tired. I’m so tired of losing people, Osrine,’ he says, and there’s a sadness in his voice that I can only hope is there because he wishes that I was tired with him.
I look up to see heavy, hooded eyes and tension in his jaw, like he’s holding back words like sick in his throat.
‘This is the only chance we’re ever gonna get to wash our hands of everything we’ve had to do, Oz. No more living on the run, no more worrying about making friends because you’re going to have to accept that you might need to bury them…’ He swallows.
Sometimes other folks down on their luck end up walking the same orbital path as us before straying like the rogue planets that they were. Other times, they don’t make it out. And it happens a lot. But at the very least, Finn had me, and I had Finn.
I don’t want to bury you too, I imagine him saying, but it never comes. Not aloud.
‘I get it,’ I say. ‘I really do. It’s just that I… can’t do it. Staying here would kill me, y’know?’
It’s already killing him. I see the bags under his eyes, the packs of cigarettes, the out-of-the-blue coffee drinking. This life’s gonna bleed him painfully slower than anything we face out on the road.
‘I know,’ he replies, but the way his eyes settle on me tell me there’s something there, just under his surface. If only he had better ammunition to convince me to stay, if only our forces weren’t opposites, if only bonds between twin stars were unchanging. ‘I won’t force you to stay. You’ve got your own road ahead of you.’
‘Wouldn’t mind being your satellite for a little longer. Can’t imagine not havin’ you to tell me what to do.’
‘Satellite. You hated it when I used to call you that,’ he laughs like a puff of wind, smile brief like a brilliant solar flare. ‘Only one step up from being called “kid”.’
He looks at me, and I at him. He watches with owlish eyes, waiting for me to talk. And I want to, I want to say Finn, there’s something that’s been on my mind for years now, and this is a really bad time, but I want to tell you anyway ‘cause you deserve to know—but the distance feels too great. We’ve been friends, partners-in-crime, brothers-in-arms… but the way he stands so patiently tells me that maybe he doesn’t feel anything brewing under his exosphere.
Finn holds out his hand and I take it with my own. It’s no different from every time we’ve shaken on a bet, or after a job well done, or when he’s had to drag my sorry, drunk ass outside.
I take it, mapping the lines of his palm, pinning memories to each scar along his arm, stealing as much warmth as I can as if I’d be able to save it for later. This is my final perihelion, the last time I bask in sunlight before I leave, mouth full of secrets that’ll die with me.
If Finn were the sun, then I’d be Jupiter. His first satellite, and maybe his biggest. A violent and turbulent thing with a belly full of storms that it has held for four hundred years and maybe a few hundred more.
‘Earth to Oz?’
My head snaps to attention. I look down. I’ve grabbed his hand with both of mine, and the three of them have become melded with sweat.
‘You’re floating again,’ Finn says. He doesn’t withdraw. ‘You sure you’ll be alright?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say. Freed from my clasp, his hand falls slowly to his side. His fingers rub where I held his palm and I wonder if it’s his way of silently savouring it. ‘I best get goin’. Besides, you’ve got work in the morning.’
Finn nods like he’s drifting off and a sigh escapes him as he looks out to the skyline.
‘I just wanted to ask you something first.’ He pauses and runs his hand through his hair, but the stray waves fall back. His eyes skitter around, and he opens his mouth a couple times, but the words die on his tongue. Never seen him fumble the reload this much. ‘Where do you see yourself? Maybe ten years down the line?’
I hold up a finger to my chin, but I’ve already got my answer. ‘Swirling around in the Red Spot of Jupiter, I think.’
He looks at me, lips parted as if he’s holding onto a word. Or it’s an offer. Maybe I should take it… no, that’d be sudden. That’d be weird. He wouldn’t ask for it like that.
‘Take care, Osrine. Stay safe.’
I leave without looking back, not wanting to catch a glimpse of imaginary regret carved into his face. And I hold the vortex of overdue confessions and secrets in my core while I clamber back down. It’s not the smartest decision—I know—but I was never the smart half to begin with.