The sand was cold. That was the first thing Eddie noticed, a sharp, biting chill that seeped through the thin rubber soles of his canvas sneakers. He wiggled his toes, feeling the grit shift and settle, a thousand tiny grains locking him into place. It was ironic, really. All summer, the sand had been warm, a golden mattress for lazy afternoons and spiked volleyball serves. Now, with the sun dipping below the jagged horizon line of the headland, it felt like concrete. Unforgiving.
He looked at his watch. The glow of the digital face was aggressive in the dim light. Seven-fourteen. His flight was at seven in the morning. Twelve hours. He did the math, even though he’d already done it fifty times since they left the rental house. Twelve hours minus two for security, minus one for the drive, minus... whatever. It didn't matter. The math always ended in zero.
"You're walking too fast," Martin said.
The voice came from behind him, low and steady. It wasn't a complaint. Martin never complained. It was just an observation, stated with that infuriating calm that made Eddie want to scream and curl up into a ball at the same time. He stopped, his sneakers skidding slightly on a patch of slick, wet shale.
He turned. Martin was ten feet back, hands buried deep in the pockets of his windbreaker. The wind was picking up, whipping Martin’s dark hair across his forehead, but he didn't reach up to brush it away. He just stood there, grounded, like a piling driven deep into the harbor floor. He looked... solid. While Eddie felt like he was vibrating apart, held together by cheap anxiety and caffeine, Martin was just there. Present.
"I'm not walking fast," Eddie lied, his voice cracking on the last syllable. He cleared his throat, hating the sound. "You're just... slow. You walk like an old man."
Martin huffed, a short burst of air that might have been a laugh. He closed the distance between them, his strides long and deliberate. He didn't stop until he was right in Eddie's space, close enough that Eddie could smell the detergent on his hoodie—that cheap lemon stuff the rental place used for the laundry. It shouldn't have smelled good. It smelled industrial. But right now, mixed with the salt spray and the damp wool of the evening, it was the best thing Eddie had ever smelled.
"We have time, Jules," Martin said. He didn't touch him. He never did, not really. Not like the other guys who shoved each other or wrestled for the front seat. Martin’s proximity was different. It was a perimeter. He stood close enough to block the wind coming off the water, shielding Eddie with his broader shoulders.
"We don't, though," Eddie said, looking down at his shoes. The canvas was darkening, soaking up the seawater. "Mom wants to leave by four to beat the bridge traffic. And I still have to pack the rest of my... stuff."
"Your stuff is packed. I watched you jam everything into that duffel bag three hours ago. You almost broke the zipper."
"I might re-pack. It’s messy."
"Jules."
Eddie squeezed his eyes shut. He hated how Martin said his name. Not 'Eddie'. Just that truncated, soft thing. *Jules*. It sounded like something precious. Something breakable. He felt a flush creep up his neck, hot and prickly against the cold air. This was the problem. This had been the problem for three weeks. The physics of it. Every time Martin looked at him, Eddie felt a physical impact, a thud in his chest like he’d missed a step on a staircase.
"I just hate the end," Eddie muttered, kicking a piece of dried kelp. It snapped with a dry *crack*. "It’s stupid. We had the whole month. And now it’s just... done. It feels like we didn't do anything."
Martin finally moved. He took his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms, leaning back slightly, studying Eddie's face. The light was fading fast now, turning everything into shades of bruised purple and charcoal gray. "We did plenty. We hiked the ridge. We fixed that broken taillight on your dad's truck. We ate enough fried clams to kill a horse."
"You know what I mean," Eddie snapped, the frustration bubbling over. He looked up, meeting Martin’s eyes. They were dark, almost black in this light, and unreadable. "We didn't... talk. Not about the real stuff. We just hung out. And now you're going back to the city, and I'm going back to school, and... that’s it. You'll be busy. You'll have... people."
"People?" Martin raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. You know. Art school people. People who wear scarves in September and drink espresso and talk about... texture. Cool people."
Martin actually laughed then, a real sound that rumbled in his chest. "I think you have a very skewed idea of my life, Jules. mostly I just sit in a studio covered in charcoal dust eating instant ramen."
"Still," Eddie insisted, his hands shaking slightly. He shoved them into his armpits to hide it. "It’s different. Everything’s going to be different."
Martin didn't answer immediately. He turned his head, looking out at the ocean. The tide was coming in, the waves crashing harder against the shore. White foam hissed as it rushed up the beach, getting closer to their shoes with every surge. It was loud, a constant, rhythmic roaring that filled the silence between them.
"Let’s walk to the jetty," Martin said suddenly. "Come on."
He started walking again, not waiting for an answer. Eddie watched him for a second, the back of his neck, the way his shoulders moved under the fabric of his jacket. There was a tightness there that wasn't usually present. Martin looked relaxed, but he walked with a tension, like a coiled spring.
Eddie caught up, matching his pace. They walked in silence for a long time. The only sound was the crunch of wet sand and the roar of the ocean. The air was getting colder, biting through Eddie's thin t-shirt. He shivered, a violent tremor that started in his spine and rattled his teeth.
Without a word, Martin stopped. He unzipped his windbreaker. Underneath, he was wearing a thick gray hoodie. He pulled the windbreaker off, the nylon swishing.
"Here," Martin said, holding it out.
"I'm fine," Eddie said, his teeth chattering.
"You're turning blue. Put it on."
"Then you'll be cold."
"I have the hoodie. Just take it, Jules."
Eddie took the jacket. It was warm from Martin’s body. He slipped his arms into the sleeves, and he was instantly enveloped in that scent again—lemon, salt, and *Martin*. It was overwhelming. He zipped it up to his chin, burying his face in the collar for a split second before he caught himself. He hoped the darkness hid the flush on his cheeks.
They reached the jetty, a jagged finger of black rocks jutting out into the churning water. It was the end of the line. Beyond this, there was nothing but open ocean. They scrambled up onto the first few boulders, finding a flat slab of granite that faced the horizon. They sat down, side by side, legs dangling over the edge.
The spray was heavier here, a fine mist that coated their faces. Eddie wiped his eyes, tasting salt.
"My dad thinks I should apply to the state college," Eddie said, breaking the silence. It was a safe topic. Boring. Academic.
"State's good," Martin said, staring at the water. "Good engineering program."
"I don't want to do engineering."
"I know."
Eddie looked at him, surprised. "You do? I never told you that."
Martin turned his head, resting his chin on his fist. His eyes locked onto Eddie’s, intense and focused. "You draw in the margins of all your notebooks. Not machines. You draw people. Faces. You spent three hours staring at that painting in the lobby of the movie theater last week. You don't want to build engines, Jules."
Eddie felt his breath hitch. He hadn't realized Martin was watching. He thought he was invisible most of the time, just the noisy, anxious sidekick to Martin’s calm protagonist. To be seen—actually seen—felt like a physical touch. It made his skin prickle.
"I... I didn't think you noticed."
"I notice," Martin said. His voice dropped an octave, rougher than before. "I notice everything you do."
The air between them suddenly felt very thin. The roar of the ocean seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the thudding of Eddie’s own heart. He gripped the rough granite of the rock beneath him, the stone digging into his palms. He should make a joke. He should say something sarcastic to break the tension. That was his role. That was how they worked.
But he couldn't. His throat felt tight.
"I don't want to go tomorrow," Eddie whispered. The truth spilled out, unbidden. "I really, really don't want to go."
Martin shifted. He turned his body completely toward Eddie, his knee brushing against Eddie's thigh. The contact was electric. A jolt of heat shot through the layers of denim and nylon, searing Eddie’s skin.
"Why?" Martin asked. "Is it just the summer ending? Or is it something else?"
Eddie looked down at their legs, at the point where they touched. He could move away. He could inch back to safety. But he didn't. He leaned into it, just a fraction of an millimeter. A microscopic surrender.
"I don't know if I can do this whole... year," Eddie said, his voice trembling. "Without... knowing when I'm going to see you. We've always been in the same school. Since kindergarten. And now you're three hours away. And you're going to change. And I'm going to be stuck here."
"I'm not going to change that much," Martin said softy.
"You will. Everyone does."
"Not about the important things."
"You don't know that."
"I do," Martin said. There was a steeliness in his tone now, that protective edge returning. He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before landing on Eddie’s knee. His palm was warm, heavy, grounding. "Look at me, Jules."
Eddie forced his head up. It took every ounce of courage he had. When he met Martin’s gaze, he felt like he was falling. Martin wasn't hiding anything anymore. The mask of cool composure was cracked. There was a hunger there, a fierce, terrified intensity that mirrored Eddie’s own.
"I'm not going to forget you," Martin said, his thumb rubbing a slow, agonizing circle against Eddie's kneecap. "I'm not going to replace you with 'art school people'. You think I put up with your neuroses for twelve years just to walk away?"
Eddie let out a wet, shaky laugh. "My neuroses are charming."
"They're exhausting," Martin corrected, but his eyes were soft. "But they're mine. I'm used to them."
"Yours?" The word hung in the air.
Martin froze. His hand stilled on Eddie’s knee. He looked like he’d said too much, stepped over a line he had drawn for himself. But he didn't pull back. Instead, his grip tightened, his fingers digging into the denim.
"You know what I mean," Martin murmured, but it sounded like a question.
"I don't," Eddie breathed. "I really don't. You have to tell me. I’m stupid, Martin. You know I'm stupid with this stuff. You have to spell it out."
Martin looked torn. He glanced at the ocean, then back at Eddie’s face. He looked at Eddie’s mouth, then his eyes. The wind whipped Martin’s hair into his eyes, and he shook his head impatiently.
"I'm not good at the words," Martin said. "I can't... I don't know how to say it without sounding like a bad movie."
"Try," Eddie begged. He felt frantic now. This was it. The window was closing. The sun was gone. The tide was coming. "Just try."
Martin took a deep breath. He moved his hand from Eddie’s knee, sliding it up, tracing the line of the zipper on the windbreaker he had lent him. His knuckles brushed against Eddie's jaw. Eddie stopped breathing. He went completely still, his entire universe narrowing down to the sensation of Martin’s rough skin against his own.
"I don't want to leave either," Martin said, his voice barely audible over the waves. "I tried to pack my car three times today. I kept finding reasons to stop. I kept thinking... if I leave, who's going to remind you to eat? Who's going to calm you down when you spiral? Who’s going to..." He trailed off.
"Who's going to what?" Eddie whispered.
Martin leaned in. It wasn't a smooth move. It was jerky, desperate. He crowded Eddie’s space, blocking out the cold, the wind, the world. His forehead rested against Eddie’s, their noses bumping. Eddie could feel Martin’s breath, warm and shaky, ghosting across his lips.
"Who's going to look at you like I do?" Martin finished.
Eddie’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. The realization hit him with the force of a rogue wave. It wasn't just him. It had never been just him. The silence, the staring, the protective hovering—it wasn't just friendship. It was this. It was this terrified, beautiful, electric thing that had been growing between them in the dark, under the surface.
"Martin," Eddie breathed.
Martin didn't wait. He closed the gap. His lips crashed into Eddie’s, hard and unpolished. It wasn't a gentle, cinematic kiss. It was messy. It was desperate. It tasted of salt spray and coffee and fear. Martin’s hand tangled in Eddie’s hair, gripping the back of his neck, holding him in place as if he thought Eddie might run away.
But Eddie didn't run. He melted. The tension that had been holding him upright for weeks snapped, and he sagged into Martin, grabbing handfuls of the gray hoodie. He opened his mouth, a gasp turning into a moan as Martin deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into Eddie’s mouth, claiming him.
It was overwhelming. It was too much sensation at once—the cold wind, the hard rock, the heat of Martin’s body, the rough slide of his stubble against Eddie’s chin. Eddie felt dizzy, drunk on it. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes—not from sadness, but from the sheer relief of it. The release of pressure.
Martin pulled back, just an inch, gasping for air. His eyes were blown wide, dark pupils swallowing the iris. He looked wrecked. He looked beautiful.
"Okay?" Martin asked, his voice rough.
"Yeah," Eddie managed, his lips tingling. "Yeah. Okay. More than okay."
Martin rested his forehead against Eddie’s again. His hand moved to Eddie’s cheek, his thumb brushing away the moisture there. "I should have done that weeks ago."
"Years," Eddie corrected, a hysterical giggle bubbling up in his chest. "You should have done that years ago."
"I was waiting for you to grow up," Martin joked weakly.
"Shut up."
They sat there for a long time, huddled together on the rock as the temperature dropped. The ocean kept crashing, indifferent to the seismic shift that had just occurred. The world hadn't changed. The flight was still leaving at 7:00 AM. The distance was still real.
But the terrifying emptiness of it was gone.
"We have to go back," Martin said eventually, regret heavy in his tone. "Your mom will be worrying."
"Five more minutes," Eddie pleaded. He grabbed Martin’s hand, interlacing their fingers. Martin squeezed back, hard.
"Five minutes," Martin agreed.
They watched the last of the light bleed out of the sky. The horizon was invisible now, just a black void where the sea met the sky. It was scary, looking out into that darkness. It felt like looking at the future.
But then Eddie squeezed Martin’s hand, and he felt the answering pressure. A signal. A tether.
"Hey," Eddie said softly.
"Yeah?"
"The math." Eddie swallowed. "The distance. It sucks. But... we can fix it. There are trains. There are weekends."
Martin turned to him, and in the darkness, his smile was barely visible, but Eddie felt it. "Yeah. There are trains. And I’ve got a car now. It’s a piece of junk, but it’ll make the drive."
"Every weekend?" Eddie asked, knowing it was impossible but needing to hear it.
"As many as I can," Martin promised. "And there's video chat. And..." He squeezed Eddie's hand again. "And this. This isn't going anywhere."
Eddie looked down at their joined hands. The blue sleeve of the borrowed windbreaker against the gray of Martin’s hoodie. Contrast. Grounded and reactive. Sturdy and shaking.
"Okay," Eddie said. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold, sharp air. It hurt, but it felt good. It felt like waking up. "Okay. I'm ready."
"To leave?"
"No. To walk back."
They stood up, stiff from the cold rock. Martin didn't let go of Eddie’s hand. They climbed down from the jetty, stumbling a little in the dark, their sneakers slipping on the wet stones. When they hit the sand, they didn't separate. They walked close, shoulders bumping, hands locked tight.
The walk back felt different. The sand was still cold, the wind still biting. The darkness was absolute. But the silence wasn't heavy anymore. It was full. It was vibrating with plans, with promises, with the terrifying, wonderful energy of a beginning disguised as an ending.
As they reached the wooden stairs that led up to the parking lot, Martin paused. He turned to Eddie one last time before the streetlights could bleach out the intimacy of the dark.
"Jules," he said.
"Yeah?"
Martin didn't say anything profound. He didn't make a grand speech about destiny or forever. He just reached out and zipped the windbreaker up a little higher on Eddie’s neck, tucking the zipper pull down so it wouldn't flap in the wind.
"Call me when you get through security," Martin said.
"I will."
"I mean it. Don't forget."
"I won't."
"Okay."
"Okay."
They climbed the stairs, the sound of their footsteps echoing on the wood. Above them, the streetlights hummed, casting a pool of artificial orange light on the asphalt. They stepped into it, blinking against the brightness. The vacation was over. The summer was done.
But as Eddie looked at Martin, illuminated in the harsh glare of the sodium lamp, he saw the way Martin was looking back at him. Like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like he was a coordinate Martin would always return to.
And for the first time in weeks, Eddie didn't feel afraid of the flight. He didn't feel afraid of the distance. He felt the cold canvas of his sneakers against the pavement, the warmth of the jacket around his shoulders, and the phantom pressure of Martin’s hand still gripping his own.
Love had come late. It had come at the very last second, with the bags packed and the car waiting. But it had come. And as they walked toward the car, Eddie knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that it was enough to carry them through whatever came next.