Page 93 of If the World Was Ending

Colby had been back a few times when he knew Hunter was out of town, but not in the last four months. He had been too scared that he would show up here and find it belonged to someone else. And now Hunter confirmed the suspicion. He had moved. So why was Colby still holding onto a key to someone else’s place? Wearing it around his neck like a religious symbol, reminding him there was something bigger out there. There wasn’t. Not anymore.

He climbed the stairs to the right because they were closest to Bob’s apartment. He lived two units over from Hunter and Colby’s apartment. Nothing had changed in the outdoor hallways. Mrs. Yoon still had her hodgepodge of pots by her door with half-dead plants in them. On the landing, the macramé art Bob’s wife made was still hanging on the wall. It all felt so familiar and now painful.

Colby was definitely on the drunk side of tipsy, but he wasn’t stupid. It was after midnight, and he knew he couldn’t wake up Bob to return a key for an apartment that had never been his. But he had to get rid of it. His plan was to loop it around Bob’s door handle. Bob would eventually figure out which apartment it was for. He reached the second-floor landing, and the wind chimes Patti hung by the railing overlooking the pool tinkled in the breeze. Colby ran his fingers over the key and glanced toward the door that used to be…

There was a light on in the large living room window that overlooked the outdoor hallway. The gauzy curtains Hunter had bragged he got from the clearance rack at World Market for four dollars a panel were still on the windows. Had Hunter left the curtains? There was a space where they didn’t quite meet in the center…someone passed in front of them. Someone with dark, silky hair.

Colby walked slowly toward the window. He couldn’t stop himself, even though he risked a peeping Tom charge if it was a stranger. But it was Hunter in the living room, which looked exactly the way it had last time Colby stood in it. He could see Hunter’s profile staring down at the couch. No. He had his phone in his hands while facing the couch. Colby drank in the sight, and it brought him back to the night after they first touched each other, and Hunter came to where Colby was curled up on that couch to make sure they were alright.

Now, Hunter’s hand lifted, and he wiped at his cheek, like something was on it. Colby lifted his own hand and rapped on the windowpane. Their eyes met through the glass, Hunter’s wide with fear and Colby’s soft with nostalgia. “Let me in.”

Sure, he had the key, but he needed Hunter to do it. If Hunter opened that door, Colby would be let back in, and not just to the apartment. Colby didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Hunter started walking to the door and he finally filled his lungs with cool air. He moved from the window to the door.

Hunter opened the wooden door, but as his hand reached for the metal storm door, he hesitated, and Colby’s heart lurched. And then their eyes met through the gaps in the metal, and it fell into his expensive shoes. Hunter had been crying. His brown eyes were bloodshot and watery, and his cheeks were wet. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to give Bob the key back,” Colby replied, and his voice was almost hoarse for some reason. “I thought you didn’t live here.”

“I don’t. But I kept it.”

“Let me in,” Colby pleaded softly.

Hunter’s eyes flicked to the handle and back to Colby’s gray-blue ones, which burned with his own imminent tears. “It’s not locked.”

“Let me in, Hunter.”

Hunter took a breath so deep and long that Colby could hear it. And then wrapped his fingers around the handle and twisted.

Chapter 30

This had to be goodbye

Colby stepped inside, but Hunter barely moved, so they were on top of each other. Fancy shirts brushing, heat from underneath seeping through to warm each other’s skin. “I’m glad you kept this place.”

“Me too.” Hunter took a step deeper into the room, turning away from Colby.

Colby followed him, absently reaching back to swing the oak door closed. He didn’t think they’d yell at each other, but in case they did, they needed to make sure they didn't wake up their old neighbors.

“The superhero movie will be announced next week,” Hunter mumbled as he slipped around Colby and dropped onto the couch. “Then we start filming next month. In Croatia.”

“How long?” Colby asked.

“Two and a half months.”

“I’m going on tour starting in three weeks,” Colby said, and it was the first time he’d spoken about this huge career milestone and not been excited. “Two months. Four if they add European dates, which they’re working on. Ford says it’ll definitely happen. Apparently we’re huge in Spain for some reason.”

“He’s against us,” Hunter grumbled. “Ford.”

“The fucking world is against us, Hunter,” Colby said flatly, and Hunter’s shoulders tensed. Colby stepped closer and dropped a hand over one, squeezing. “You know it too. Action heroes don’t make out with lead singers in a rock band.”

Hunter didn’t respond, but he lifted a hand and dropped it on top of Colby’s on his shoulder. Colby’s whole body woke up at the touch. Hunter was always so warm. He ran hot, and being touched by him, even mostly platonically like this, made heat course through him too. He missed it. Life was cold without Hunter, even with all the praise, accolades, and accomplishments. They were supposed to be doing this together.

Hunter felt desperately sad but also resigned. He wasn’t going to argue with Colby. He knew Colby was right, even if it was so fucking wrong that he was right. “One day I’ll be able to hang out with you again without wanting you to be more than my best friend.”

“You believe that?” Colby asked. “Because I don’t think that will ever happen. Not for me. We left too much unfinished. I’ll always wonder about what we never got to figure out.”

Hunter looked away and sighed. “I’ve wanted this… hell, we’ve both wanted this, what we’re getting now, our whole lives, right? We can’t fuck it up.”

Colby took a step back and dug his hands into his hair. Scared he might just turn and leave, Hunter stood. He would stop him. They needed to talk this out, right into the ground, until there was nothing left to say. Maybe then they would both be able to let go of the darker, deeper part of this and be actual friends. Or nothing. But they couldn’t become nothing to each other if there were still things to confess. Colby didn’t move for the door. Instead, he dropped his hands lifelessly to his sides and his shoulders sagged as he whispered, “I get it. I do.”