They Both Die at the End

by Adam Silvera

  “What do you think your Last Message would be?” Dahlia asks. “I’ll probably go with that Moulin Rouge! quote about how the greatest thing in the world is to love and be loved in return and yadda blah whatever.”

  “Yeah, you seem truly passionate about that quote, sis,” Dalma says.

  Dalma has given thought to this question, of course. Last Friend has been an incredible resource over the past two years, since its prototype stage, but she’ll forever be horrified by the eleven Last Friend serial killings last summer. She was tempted to sell the app, wash the blood from her hands. But there have been so many instances where the app has done good, like this afternoon on the train when she overheard a conversation between two young women, smiling at each other when one said she was so grateful she reached out over Last Friend, and learning the other loves the movement so much she tags the city with graffiti to promote the app.

  Her app.

  Before Dalma can answer, two teen boys run past her. One with a buzz cut, brown complexion shades lighter than her own, and another with glasses, fuller brown hair, and light tan skin like Dahlia’s. The first teen trips, the other helping him up, and they take off again, who knows where. She wonders if they’re half siblings with only a mother in common too. Maybe they’re lifelong friends constantly up to no good and constantly lifting each other up.

  Maybe they’ve just met.

  Dalma watches the teens run off. “My Last Message would be to find your people. And to treat each day like a lifetime.”

  MATEO

  6:24 p.m.

  We’re in the clear, sinking against a wall, like earlier when I was breaking down after running away from Lidia’s. I want to be somewhere safe, like a locked room, not out here where people can hunt down Rufus. Rufus holds my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulders, holding me close.

  “Props on punching Peck,” Rufus says.

  “First time I’ve ever hit anyone,” I say. I’m still in shock from all my firsts—singing in public, kissing Rufus, dancing, punching someone, hearing bullets that close.

  “Though you really shouldn’t punch people with guns,” Rufus says. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

  I stare out into the street, still trying to catch my breath. “Are you criticizing how I saved your life?”

  “I could’ve turned around and you would’ve been dead. I’m not having that.”

  I have no regrets. I go back in time and imagine myself being a little slower, maybe tripping, and losing valuable time and losing my valuable friend as bullets rip apart his beautiful heart.

  I almost lost Rufus. We have less than six hours left, and if he goes first, I’ll be a zombie who’s well aware his head is on the chopping block. The connection I have with Rufus isn’t what I expected when I met him around three in the morning.

  This day is unimaginably rewarding and still so, so impossible.

  I’m tearing up and there’s no stopping there. I finally cry because I want more mornings.

  “I miss everyone,” I say. “Lidia. The Plutos.”

  “Me too,” Rufus says. “But we can’t risk their lives again.”

  I nod. “The suspense of everything is killing me. I can’t take being out here.” My chest is tight. There’s a huge difference between living fearlessly, like I’ve finally been doing, and knowing you have something to fear while you’re out living. “Will you hate me if I want to go home? I want to rest in my bed where everything is safe and I want you to come with me, but inside this time. I know I spent my life hiding there, but I did my best to live, too, and I want to share this place with you.”

  Rufus squeezes my hand. “Take me home, Mateo.”

  THE PLUTOS

  6:33 p.m.

  Death-Cast did not call these three Plutos because they aren’t dying today, but their fourth did receive the alert and that’s just as devastating. The Plutos almost witnessed the death of their best friend, Rufus, as a gun was pulled on him. Rufus’s Last Friend appeared out of nowhere like a superhero and punched Peck in the face, saving Rufus’s life—for a little while longer, at least. The Plutos know Rufus won’t survive the day, but they didn’t lose him to a violent act from someone who had it out for him.

  The Plutos stand together on the curb outside Clint’s Graveyard as a cop car speeds off down the street, taking the gang with no name away.

  The two boys cheer and hope they spend more time behind bars than they did today.

  The girl regrets her role in all of this. But she’s relieved her insecure, jealous boyfriend didn’t deliver the killing blow. Ex-boyfriend.

  While they’re not facing Death themselves, tomorrow everything changes for the Plutos. They will have to restart, something they’ve grown used to doing; their youth is packed with more history than most teens their age. The death of their friend, however it unfolds, will stay with them forever. Entire lives aren’t lessons, but there are lessons in lives.

  You may be born into a family, but you walk into friendships. Some you’ll discover you should put behind you. Others are worth every risk.

  The three friends hug, a planet missing from their Pluto Solar System—but never forgotten.

  RUFUS

  7:17 p.m.

  We pass the plot where Mateo buried that bird this morning, back when I was still a stranger on a bike. We should be freaking out, big-time, because we’re gonna be on our way out soon too, like old meat, but I’m keeping it together by Mateo’s side and he seems chill too.

  Mateo leads the way into his building. “If there’s nothing else you want to do, Roof, I thought we could visit my dad again.”

  “You just call me ‘Roof’?”

  Mateo nods, and his face scrunches up like he’s told a bad joke. “Thought I would try it out. That okay?”

  “Definitely okay,” I say. “That’s a good plan, too. I’m cool with resting for a bit before making that run.” Part of me can’t help but wonder if Mateo is bringing me home so we can have sex, but it’s probably safe to assume sex isn’t on the brain for him.

  Mateo is about to press the elevator button until he remembers we’re not about that, especially not this late in the game. He opens the stairwell door and cautiously goes up. The silence is mad heavy between us, step by step. Wish I could challenge him to a race to his apartment, like he imagined for us at Jones Beach, but that’s a surefire way to never actually reach the apartment.

  “I miss . . .” Mateo stops on the third floor. I think he’s about to bring up his dad, maybe Lidia. “I miss when I was so young I didn’t know to be afraid of death. I even miss yesterday when I was paranoid and not actually dying.”

  I hug him because that says everything when I actually don’t have anything to say. He squeezes me back before we go up the last flight of steps.

  Mateo unlocks his front door. “I can’t believe I’m bringing a boy home for the first time and there’s no one here for you to meet.”

  How wild would it be if we go in and his dad is on the couch, waiting for him?

  We go inside and no one is here except us.

  Hope not.

  I tour the living room. Not gonna front, I got myself a little nervous, like some old family-friend-turned-enemy is about to pop out because they figured the place was vulnerable with Mateo’s dad in a coma. Everything seems good. I look at Mateo’s class photos. There’s a bunch of photos of him without glasses.

  “When’d you have to get glasses?” I ask.

  “Fourth grade. I was only teased for about a week, so I was lucky.” Mateo stares at his senior photo, cap and gown, and it’s like he’s looking at a mirror and finding some sci-fi alternate-universe version of himself. I should capture it on camera because it’s dope, but the look on his face only makes me wanna hug him again. “I bet I disappointed my dad by signing up for online classes. He was so proud of me when I graduated, and I’m sure he was hoping I would change my mind, get off the internet, and have the typical college experience.”

  “
You’ll get to tell him everything you’ve done,” I say. We won’t hang around here long. It’ll mean a lot to Mateo if we see his dad again.

  Mateo nods. “Follow me.”

  We go down a short hall and into his room.

  “So this is where you’ve been hiding from me,” I say. There are books all over the floor, like someone tried robbing the place. Mateo doesn’t seem freaked by it.

  “I wasn’t hiding from you.” Mateo crouches and puts the books into piles. “I had a panic attack earlier. I don’t want my dad knowing I was scared when he comes home. I want him to believe I was brave all the way through.”

  I get down on my knees and pick up a book. “Is there a system here?”

  “Not anymore,” Mateo says.

  We put the books back on his shelves and pick up some little trinkets off the floor.

  “I don’t like the idea of you being scared either.”

  “It wasn’t that bad. Don’t worry about old me.”

  I look around his room. There’s an Xbox Infinity, a piano, some speakers, a map I pick up off the floor for him. I’m flattening it out with my fist, thinking about all the dope places Mateo and I have been together, when I spot a Luigi hat on the floor between his dresser and bed. I grab the hat and he grins as I put it on his head.

  “There’s the guy who hit me up this morning,” I say.

  “Luigi?” Mateo asks.

  I laugh and pull out my phone. He doesn’t smile for the camera, he’s legit just smiling at me. I haven’t felt this good about myself since Aimee.

  “Photo-shoot time. Go jump on your bed or something.”

  Mateo rushes to the bed and leaps, falling face-first. He gets up and jumps and jumps, turning to the window quickly as if some freak bounce accident will launch him out there like a catapult.

  I don’t stop taking photos of this awesome, unrecognizable Mateo.

  MATEO

  7:34 p.m.

  I’m out of character and Rufus is loving it. I’m loving it too.

  I stop bouncing and stay seated at the edge of the bed, trying to catch my breath. Rufus sits beside me and grabs my hand. “I’m going to sing something for you,” I say. I don’t want to let go of his hand but I promise myself I’ll put both of mine to good use.

  I sit in front of my keyboard. “Get ready. This is a once-in-a-lifetime performance.” I look over my shoulder. “Feeling special yet?”

  Rufus fakes being unimpressed. “I’m feeling okay. A little tired, actually.”

  “Well, wake up and feel special. My dad used to sing this for my mother, though his voice is much better than mine.”

  I play the keys for Elton John’s “Your Song” with a pounding heart, though my face isn’t as hot as it was back at Clint’s Graveyard. I’m not kidding when I tell Rufus to feel special. I’m off-key and I don’t care because of him.

  I sing about a man making potions in a traveling show, how my gift is my song, sitting on the roof, keeping the sun turned on, the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen, and so much more. I turn during a quick break and catch Rufus filming me on his phone. I smile his way. He comes over and kisses me on my forehead while I sing with him by my side: “I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words . . . how wonderful life is now you’re in the world. . . .”

  I finish and Rufus’s smile is a victory. He’s tearing up. “You were hiding from me, Mateo. I always wanted to stumble into someone like you and it sucks that I had to find you through a stupid app.”

  “I like the Last Friend app,” I say. I get his sentiment, but I wouldn’t change how I met Rufus. “There I was, looking for some company, and I found you and you found me, and we chose to meet up because of gut instinct. What would’ve been the alternative? I can’t guarantee I would’ve ever left here, or that our paths would’ve crossed. Not with one day left. It would make for a great story, yeah, but I think the app puts you out there more than anything else. For me, it meant admitting I was lonely and wanted to connect with someone. I just wasn’t counting on what I have with you.”

  “You’re right, Mateo Torrez.”

  “It happens every now and again, Rufus Emeterio.” It’s the first time I’ve said his last name out loud and I hope I’ve pronounced it right.

  I go to the kitchen and return with some snacks. It’s childish, but we play house. I smear peanut butter on crackers for him—after confirming he’s not allergic—and serve them with a glass of iced tea. “How was your day, Rufus?”

  “The best,” he says.

  “Me too,” I say.

  Rufus pats the edge of the bed. “Get over here.” I sit down beside him and we get comfortable, linking our arms and legs together. We talk more about our histories, like how whenever he was acting out his parents would force him to sit in the middle of the room with them, kind of like how my dad would tell me to go take a shower and calm down. He tells me about Olivia and I tell him about Lidia.

  Until it stops being about the past.

  “This is our safe space, our little island.” Rufus traces an invisible circle around us. “We aren’t moving from here. We can’t die if we don’t move. You got me?”

  “Maybe we’ll smother each other to death,” I say.

  “Better that than whatever the hell is off our island.”

  I take a deep breath. “But if for some reason this plan doesn’t work, we need to promise to find each other in the afterlife. There has to be an afterlife, Roof, because it’s the only thing that makes dying this young fair.”

  Rufus nods. “I will make it so easy for you to find me. Neon signs. Marching bands.”

  “Good, because I might not have my glasses,” I say. “Not sure if they’ll ascend with me.”

  “You’re positive about a movie theater in the afterlife but not if you’ll have your glasses? Seems like an oversight in your heavenly blueprint.” Rufus removes my glasses and puts them on. “Wow. Your eyes suck.”

  “You taking my glasses isn’t helping my case here.” My vision is hazy and I can only make out his skin tone, but none of his features. “I bet you look stupid.”

  “Let me take a photo. Actually, lean in with me.”

  I can’t see anything, but I look straight, squinting, and smile. He puts the glasses back on my face and I check out the photo. I look like I’ve just woken up. Rufus wearing my glasses is a welcome intimacy, like we’ve known each other for so long that this kind of silliness comes easily to us. I wasn’t ever counting on this.

  “I would’ve loved you if we had more time.” I spit it out because it’s what I’m feeling in this moment and was feeling the many moments, minutes, and hours before. “Maybe I already do. I hope you don’t hate me for saying that, but I know I’m happy.

  “People have their time stamps on how long you should know someone before earning the right to say it, but I wouldn’t lie to you no matter how little time we have. People waste time and wait for the right moment and we don’t have that luxury. If we had our entire lives ahead of us I bet you’d get tired of me telling you how much I love you because I’m positive that’s the path we were heading on. But because we’re about to die, I want to say it as many times as I want—I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  RUFUS

  7:54 p.m.

  “Yo. You know damn well I love you too.” Man, it actually hurts how much I mean this. “I don’t talk out of my dick, you know that’s not me.” I wanna kiss him again because he resurrected me, but I’m tight. If I didn’t have common sense, if I hadn’t fought so hard to be who I am, I would do some dumb shit again and punch something because I’m so pissed. “The world is mad cruel. I started my End Day beating up someone because he’s dating my ex-girlfriend and now I’m in bed with an awesome dude I haven’t known for twenty-four hours. . . . This sucks. Do you think . . . ?”

  “Do I think what?” Twelve hours ago Mateo would’ve been nervous asking me a question; he would’ve done it, but he would’ve looked away. N
ow he doesn’t break eye contact.

  I hate to ask it, but it might be on his mind too. “Did finding each other kill us?”

  “We were going to die before we knew each other,” Mateo says.

  “I know. But maybe this is how it was always written in stone or the stars or whatever: Two dudes meet. They fall for each other. They die.” If this is really our truth, I get to punch whatever wall I want. Don’t try and stop me.

  “That’s not our story.” Mateo squeezes my hands. “We’re not dying because of love. We were going to die today, no matter what. You didn’t just keep me alive, you made me live.” He climbs into my lap, bringing us closer. He hugs me so hard his heart is beating against my chest. I bet he feels mine. “Two dudes met. They fell in love. They lived. That’s our story.”

  “That’s a better story. Ending still needs some work.”

  “Forget about the ending,” Mateo says in my ear. He pushes his chest away from mine so he can look me in the eye. “I doubt the world is in the mood for a miracle, so we know not to expect a happily-ever-after. I only care about the endings we lived through today. Like how I stopped being someone afraid of the world and the people in it.”

  “And I stopped being someone I don’t like,” I say. “You wouldn’t have liked me.”

  He’s tearing up and smiling. “And you wouldn’t have waited for me to be brave. Maybe it’s better to have gotten it right and been happy for one day instead of living a lifetime of wrongs.”

  He’s right about everything.

  We rest our heads on his pillows. I’m hoping we die in our sleep; that seems like the best way to go.

  I kiss my Last Friend because the world can’t be against us if it brought us together.

  MATEO

  8:41 p.m.

  I wake up feeling invincible. I don’t check the time because I don’t want anything to shatter my survivor spirit. In my head, I’m already in another day. I have beat Death-Cast’s prediction, the first person in history to do so. I put my glasses back on, kiss Rufus’s forehead, and watch him resting. Nervous, I reach for his heart, and I’m relieved it is still beating: he’s invincible too.