And the Tide, Its Long Retreat

They started at the handball court on Oriental Boulevard. The place was deserted, the green walls stained with graffiti and grime. A month ago, Alex had been teaching Nico how to play, his hands guiding Nico's, his body close enough for Nico to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Alex had laughed at Nico's clumsy throws, a bright, easy sound that Nico had mentally recorded and replayed in the quiet of his bedroom. Today, the court was just a slab of concrete, and the memory a ghost that made the air feel colder.

Neither of them spoke about it. It was an unspoken pilgrimage, a tour of their own brief, secret history. Alex was leaving in the morning. A scholarship to a boarding school upstate, a different life, a world without salt-flecked air and the rumble of the B train. They both pretended this was just another day, but the lie was thin and brittle.

From the court, they walked to the little Russian bakery where Alex had first bought Nico a flaky pastry, insisting it was a crime he'd never tried one. Alex had paid with a crumpled five-dollar bill, and the old woman behind the counter had smiled a knowing, gap-toothed smile that made them both blush.

Now, as they stood outside, looking through the window at the trays of golden-brown treats, the memory was sharp and painful. It was a perfect moment preserved in amber, and Nico felt a desperate urge to smash it before it suffocated him.

"Want to get one?" Alex asked, his voice carefully neutral. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie.

Nico shook his head. "Not hungry." Another lie. He was starving, but he knew if he tried to eat, he'd choke on it.

Their final stop was the beach. They found a spot near the old, dilapidated jetty, far from the few families still clinging to the last dregs of summer. They sat on the cool, damp sand, watching the waves roll in and collapse with a weary sigh. The tide was going out.

For a long time, they just sat, a foot of sand separating them—a chasm. Nico drew patterns in the sand with his finger, erasing them as soon as they were finished. Alex skipped stones across the flat, grey water, each 'plink' a small, lonely sound in the vast quiet.

"It's just school," Alex said finally, his voice aimed at the horizon. "It's not like I'm moving to Mars."

"Feels like it," Nico said, his own voice small and tight.

"I'll be back for holidays. Christmas, spring break..." Alex listed them off like a train schedule, as if logistics could patch the hole that was opening up between them.

"And what are we supposed to do until then?" Nico asked, the question sharp with a bitterness he couldn't hide. "Pretend this summer didn't happen? Pretend we're just friends who hung out a few times?"

Alex stopped skipping stones. He turned to look at Nico, his expression pained. "I don't want to pretend, Nico. You know that."

"Do I?" Nico snapped, looking at him fully for the first time all day. He saw the dark circles under Alex's eyes, the tension in his jaw. He was just as miserable as Nico was, and the realisation drained some of Nico's anger, leaving only a deep, aching sadness.

"This isn't easy for me either," Alex said, his voice cracking. "I don't want to go. But my parents... this scholarship... it's everything they've worked for. I can't just throw that away."

"I'm not asking you to," Nico whispered. "I'm just... scared."

The confession hung in the air between them. Scared of what? Of being forgotten. Of Alex finding someone else. Of this perfect, fragile thing they had built together dissolving like seafoam on the sand.

The Anchor and the Driftwood

Alex closed the distance between them, his knee brushing against Nico's. He didn't say anything. He just reached out and took Nico's hand, his fingers lacing through Nico's own. His hand was cold, but the grip was firm, an anchor in the swirling chaos of Nico's emotions.

"I don't know what happens next," Alex said honestly, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of Nico's hand. "I can't promise you anything, because that wouldn't be fair. All I know is that I don't want this to be over."

Nico squeezed his hand, a silent response. He looked down at their joined hands, then out at the endless grey expanse of the ocean. It was vast and intimidating, and they were just two boys sitting on the edge of it. The tide was still going out, pulling the water away from the shore, but for the first time all day, Nico didn't feel like he was being pulled away with it.

"Me neither," Nico said, his voice thick. He leaned his head against Alex's shoulder, a gesture of surrender and trust. Alex rested his own head against Nico's, and they sat there as the light began to fail, two small points of warmth against the encroaching cold.

The storm was still coming. They could feel it in the air, in the way the wind bit at their skin. They couldn't stop it. But they could face it together. At least for tonight. At least until the morning came and the tide turned for good.