I shake my head. “Doesn’t happen with everyone. I’m usually okay.”
He nestles into me again. “Good,” he says.
Suddenly, I feel like a puppy who’s been told he’s a good boy. I hold him closer. “Skin-to-skin contact helps the body adjust more quickly,” I explain, nuzzling his hair.
“Mmm, I dunno.” Santino slips his arms out from where they were pinned between us and slides them around my waist, plastering himself to me. “I think I’m gonna need a couple more hours of this before I feel adjusted.”
My eyes close, a spark of something I haven’t felt in a long time igniting inside me. Something that feels like peace, like contentment.
Eventually, we get cleaned up and put our clothes on. But we’re never more than an arm’s length away from each other. A hand on the waist, resting a chin on a shoulder, pressing into each other’s sides—every touch feels essential to my very existence.
Sebastian catches us before we leave and my stomach sinks. But instead of trying to interrogate me again, he simply claps me on the shoulder. “You did a good job today.”
I nod, not trusting my voice as big, unwieldy emotions well up inside me.
Santino and I cuddle on the car ride back to my apartment and we awkwardly squeeze in side-by-side as we walk up the stairs. When we get home, we head straight to the couch as if this is something we’ve been doing with each other every single day for the past decade. We lie down and curl up together, arms and legs tangled, faces so close our noses brush.
That’s how we fall asleep.
It’s dark when I wake up again. For a moment, I don’t remember what day it is or where I am. Then it all comes back to me. The shoot. Santino. The couch.
Santino’s sitting on the floor next to me, back against the couch. His face is illuminated by his phone screen as he scrolls through social media. I don’t recognize the people in the photos, but a few of them look kind of like Santino. There’s an older couple that could be his parents. Then two women in their latethirties with partners and children. Santino’s in a few of the photos too.
Is that his family? Does he miss them? Is he homesick?
Guilt lodges itself in the middle of my chest. It dawns on me suddenly that I know next to nothing about Santino’s life before he showed up in my apartment. I don’t know if he’s close to his family or if he’s got friends waiting for him back home. Maybe he even has a boyfriend he hasn’t mentioned.
All I’ve cared about is me, me, me. What can Santino do for me? How can he help me? I’ve never once stopped to consider he might have stuff he’s dealing with. He might be going through his own shit too.
You’re such a selfish prick.
I flinch at the voice and the movement catches Santino’s attention. He looks over his shoulder and a soft smile graces his lips when he sees I’m awake. “You good?”
As good as I can be with the darkness always lingering at the edges of my mind. “Yeah.” I nod toward his phone. “Is that your family?”
He glances at his phone again before dropping it into his lap. “Yeah, it is.”
“Do you miss them?”
He chuckles dryly. “More like I feel guilty.”
Defensiveness rises up in me at the thought of Santino feeling guilty about anything. “Why?”
He gives me a sheepish look. “They don’t know I’m here. I never told them.”
I turn onto my side to get more comfortable. Santino takes my hand and lifts it to his cheek. His stubble is scratchy against the back of my hand as he nuzzles it. The intimate touch pushes the voice back momentarily. “Why didn’t you tell them?”
Santino scoffs lightly. “They would’ve freaked out and tried to stop me from coming.”
“Why would they do that?”
He hesitates and when he speaks again, there’s a wistfulness to his voice. “I’m the baby in the family. Like, literally the youngest cousin in my generation. My two older sisters are ten and twelve years older than me. My whole family is really overprotective, but my mom is the worst. She almost disowned me for moving to San Francisco and that’s only a few hours away. She would actually disown me if I told her I was coming to New York. That or she’d fly out here and drag me back herself.”
I blink in the darkness. I have no idea what that would feel like. My family couldn’t care less where I live. I haven’t spoken to them in years and I don’t think anyone misses anyone else. “But you’re only here for a few weeks. It’s not like you’re moving to New York.” I nearly choke on the words as I say them. Santino’s only here temporarily. Then he’ll be leaving.
“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. Although I think there’s a silent “but” in there somewhere. His voice grows small and vulnerable. “My life isn’t really going anywhere back home. That’s why I jumped on the documentary thing when Bellamy called. It’s why I asked Sebastian if I could do more while I’m here.”
What does that mean? Does he want to stay in New York after he’s finished these projects? Seeds of hope plant themselves inside me before I can smother them. It's not a good idea to dream about Santino staying here permanently. It’ll only end in disappointment and hurt.
