The Aftermath

It was snowing again. Big, fat flakes that covered the grime of the city.

They reached the Crown Vic, gasping for air. Silas checked Remy.

"You okay?"

"You came back," Remy said, breathless. "You actually came back."

"I forgot my receipt," Silas joked weakly, leaning against the car. His ribs ached. His hand was swelling.

Remy laughed. It was a wet, teary sound. He threw his arms around Silas’s neck, burying his face in Silas’s shoulder.

"You’re an idiot," Remy sobbed. "You’re broke now."

"Yeah," Silas said, wrapping his arms around Remy’s waist. "I’m broke. And I’m probably going to lose my apartment."

"You can sleep in my car," Remy offered. "Oh wait. I sold it."

Silas pulled back. He looked at Remy’s face—the hope, the kindness, the sheer, impossible light of him.

"We’ll figure it out," Silas said.

He kissed him.

It wasn't tentative this time. It was messy and desperate, tasting of adrenaline and snow. It was a promise.

When they broke apart, Silas opened the car door.

"Get in," Silas said. "I know a place that’s hiring. And I bet they have free refills on coffee."

"Is the heater fixed?" Remy asked, climbing in.

"Nope."

"Good," Remy smiled, shivering as he grabbed Silas’s hand across the console. "Guess we’ll have to keep each other warm."

Silas put the car in gear and drove out of the alley, leaving the money, the debt, and the lonely life behind in the rearview mirror.