Somewhere Only We Know - 13. Two Worlds, One Night

The kitchen at Javier’s restaurant roared with a kind of organized chaos that Kitt had never experienced before. Even on his first day, he could tell this was the heart of the building—loud, warm, frantic, and strangely alive. Steam rose in pale ribbons around the stoves, the music pulsed from a speaker tucked on a shelf, and spatters of oil jumped in the air like sparks. Every metal surface glinted under the overhead lights, every order shouted from the front was met with a flurry of movement behind the counter.

Kitt had barely finished tying the apron before Mateo leaned in close to him—closer than he needed to—his breath warm against Kitt’s cold cheek as he tugged at a knot Kitt had tied too tightly.

“Relax,” Mateo murmured, fingers brushing deliberately against Kitt’s wrist. “You’re strangling the apron like it owes you money.”

Kitt startled, almost stepping back, but Mateo steadied him with one hand on his shoulder, laughing softly in a way that made the tension in Kitt’s chest unwind by degrees.

“See?” Mateo said, tugging the knot loose and retying it. “Smooth. Easy. The apron is your friend.”

Kitt managed a small, breathy laugh. “I—I didn’t know how tight it should be.”

“Definitely not tight enough to cut off circulation,” Mateo said, then lifted his chin thoughtfully as he looked Kitt over. “But it looks better on you than it ever has on me, so maybe you’re onto something.”

Kitt’s face heated instantly.

He ducked his head and followed Mateo toward the sink station, trying to hide the flush spreading across his neck. The warmth of the kitchen contrasted sharply with the cold that had settled in his bones since the night before, and the shift in temperature almost made him dizzy with relief. His hands shook when he dipped them into the sudsy water—not from fear now, but from the simple process of thawing.

“Don’t drown in there,” Mateo teased, setting a stack of dishes beside him. “I can’t rescue you. I’m too pretty to die in a dish pit accident.”

“You’re… you’re really confident, huh?” Kitt said awkwardly.

Mateo’s grin widened. “Now that you’re warming up, you’re getting brave. I like it.”

Kitt nearly dropped a glass.

Mateo laughed again, the sound warm and unguarded, and Kitt felt something inside him ease—a knot loosening, a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying since stepping off the bus. Mateo didn’t treat him like a stray or a burden. He treated him like someone worth teasing. Like someone worth paying attention to. Like someone who wasn’t broken.

. . .

A hundred miles away—or just one town over—Matt Everest woke with a startled gasp, heart pounding, sheets twisted around him like restraints he’d fought all night. His room was dim, the winter morning filtered through gray light, and his pillow was still damp beneath his cheek. He didn’t remember the exact moment he’d fallen asleep; only the ache that had filled him until exhaustion finally dragged him under.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, palms pressed to his knees, breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

Today couldn’t be like yesterday.

He grabbed his jacket from the floor and left the house with a speed that startled his mother. She called after him—Matt? Honey, wait!—but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow, couldn’t breathe until he was outside searching again.

He started with the places that had once defined their friendship.

The old trail behind the middle school where they’d ridden their bikes until the sun dipped into the trees.
The narrow bridge under which they’d left a box of “secret stuff” in eighth grade—half a comic book, a broken watch, and a note Matt had written saying We’ll be friends forever, promise.
The clearing near the woods where they’d once camped with friends and pretended to get lost even though they’d been ten minutes from town.
The bench near the football field where Kitt waited after swim practice so Matt could walk him home.
The path behind the lake where they climbed stones in summer and dared each other to swim early in the season when the water was still ice-cold.

Each place was silent.
Empty.
Echoes of a life no longer whole.

Matt’s chest tightened until he could barely inhale.

Where are you.
Where are you.
Where are you.

The words throbbed with each step he took.

. . .

Back in Riverbend, Kitt fell into the rhythm of the kitchen faster than he expected. Maybe it was exhaustion sharpening his focus. Maybe it was hunger pushing him forward. Maybe it was the simple relief of having something to do—something structured, something that didn’t ask him to understand the inside of his own breaking heart.

But more than anything, he suspected it was Mateo.

Mateo never let him drown.

Every time Kitt struggled with the dish mountain, Mateo swooped in with a joke, a nudge, a smirk that made embarrassment tilt into something warmer. When Kitt nearly slipped on the wet tile, Mateo caught him by the elbow, hands lingering a second too long.

“Careful,” he said, voice dropping a note lower, eyes scanning Kitt’s face. “Can’t lose you on day one.”

Kitt’s breath hitched—not from attraction, not exactly, but from the foreignness of kindness that didn’t demand anything.

Mateo didn’t ask who he was.
Didn’t pry.
Didn’t judge the borrowed jacket or the shaking hands.

He just treated him like someone who deserved laughter and warmth.

It was disarming.
It was dangerous.
It was… healing.

. . .

Matt’s world tilted when he passed Lindsay—his ex—in the hall near lunchtime. She stared at him with wide, worried eyes, stepping closer like she wasn’t sure if talking to him would make things better or worse.

“Matt…” she began gently, “you look awful. Do you—do you want to sit for a second? Or talk? I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on, but it looks bad.”

He shook his head, jaw set too tightly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” she said softly. “Is this… because of Kitt?”

The name hit him so hard he had to grip a locker just to stay upright.

“I said I’m fine,” he whispered.

She stepped back, knowing she couldn’t push, but her eyes followed him long after he walked away. Rumors spread quickly—people whispered, teachers exchanged glances, coaches gave him longer looks than usual.

Matt ignored everyone.

He had one goal.
One direction.
One missing piece of his world.

He walked out of school early and headed straight to Kitt’s house.

. . .

Riverbend’s kitchen wound down slowly into the late afternoon lull. Javier barked fewer orders, the music turned down a few notches, and the heat softened into something steady rather than blistering. Kitt’s arms trembled from the hours of work, his back ached from standing, his shoulder burned from lifting trays too quickly—but he had stayed upright. He had made it through.

Javier clapped him on the back once—heavy, startling, but strangely reassuring.

“You work hard,” the older man said. “That’s enough for me.”

Mateo beamed at Kitt like this was the best compliment in the world.
Kitt almost smiled back—almost.

Then Mateo guided him to a stool near the prep counter and set a steaming plate of food in front of him—rice, beans, chicken still sizzling slightly from the grill.

“Eat,” Mateo commanded, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. “And don’t even think about saying no. I’ll feed you myself.”

Kitt’s ears burned again.
He ducked his head and obeyed.

The first bite hit him hard—so warm, so rich, so filling that tears welled instantly in his eyes. He blinked them back, embarrassed.

Mateo’s expression softened.
He didn’t tease.
Didn’t pretend not to see.

He just sat beside him silently, pretending to scroll through his phone, letting Kitt eat without an audience.

It was the kindest thing anyone had done for him since he’d run.

. . .

Matt stood on the Wellington porch gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white. Susan Wellington opened the door slowly, her eyes red-rimmed and exhausted. Her hair was unbrushed, her sweater wrinkled. She looked like someone who had been holding herself together for hours and was close to unraveling.

“Matt,” she breathed, her voice cracking slightly. “Sweetheart… what are you doing here?”

Matt swallowed hard. He couldn’t trust his voice not to break. “I need to know. Please. Do you… do you know where he went?”

Susan’s eyes filled instantly.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t. I wish I did. I wish—I wish I could tell you he’s safe. I wish I could tell myself that.”

Matt’s body went rigid, breath shuddering.

Susan reached out and put a hand on his cheek the way a mother might comfort her own child. “You loved him,” she said softly. “He loved you. I know he did. I know you mattered to him more than anything.”

Matt’s breath caught so sharply he nearly choked on it.

But Susan didn’t push the word loved further. She didn’t name it. She didn’t need to.

The truth hung in the cold air between them, fragile and trembling.

“Please,” Matt whispered, voice breaking. “If he calls—if he writes—anything—please tell me.”

Susan nodded with tears streaming silently down her face. “Of course I will. Matt… you’re the only person he trusted. The only place he felt safe.”

Matt’s heart cracked open completely.

He stumbled off the porch with tears blurring his vision, snow crunching underfoot as he whispered into the wind—

Kitt… come home. Please. Come home.

. . .

In Riverbend, the sun dipped low as Kitt and Mateo left the restaurant together. Their breath mingled in the cold air, footsteps soft in the settling snow. They walked in silence for several minutes—comfortable, steady, uncomplicated.

Then Mateo stopped abruptly, pointing upward.

“Wait,” he said, brows lifting. “You live in Riveredge?”

Kitt nodded slowly. “Yeah… second floor.”

Mateo blinked, then laughed. “No shit. I’m in 3B.”

Kitt froze. “We… we live in the same building?”

“Yup.” Mateo smirked. “Guess you’re stuck with me, pretty boy.”

Kitt shut his eyes for a second, overwhelmed—not by fear, but by the strangely comforting thought of not being alone in the building. Of someone—anyone—knowing he existed.

They parted on the stairwell, Mateo jogging up two steps at a time, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder.

“Don’t forget to show up tomorrow,” he called down. “I’ll miss your terrified little face.”

Kitt flushed.
Mateo laughed.
The hallway light flickered.

Kitt entered his room, set the leftovers carefully on the counter, and collapsed onto the mattress. Exhaustion washed through him like a slow tide, warm and heavy. But in the darkness, with the faint sound of Mateo’s TV playing above him, he finally felt safe enough to let the tears come.

They were quiet tears—less desperate than last night, more like the soft release of something unspeakably heavy. He whispered Matt’s name into the air, fragile as a confession, then curled into himself until the ache dulled.

Above him, a chair scraped softly. Someone laughed at a show. Life continued.

And in another town, Matt lay curled beneath his sheets, hoodie clutched to his chest, crying into the fabric until sleep finally dragged him under. His breath shook against the pillow, his whispered pleas fading into the darkness:

“Please be okay.
Please come home.
I need you, Kitt.”

Two boys.
Two beds.
Two worlds.
And a distance neither knew how to close.

. . .

After Mateo disappeared up the stairwell and the hallway quieted, Kitt remained in his room for a long moment with his back pressed to the door, as if holding it shut would keep the rest of the world out. The leftover meal sat cooling on the counter, and the faint scent of spices still clung to the air in the small room, wrapping around him with a comfort that felt almost like guilt. He had not earned any of this. He had not earned kindness today. He had barely earned breath.

He pushed off the door slowly and sank onto the edge of his thin mattress. The springs groaned beneath his weight, and a cold draft slipped through the window frame, brushing the back of his neck. He shivered, rubbing his palms up and down his arms, trying to chase warmth back into his limbs.

Then he pulled out what remained of his money.

He counted slowly.
Twice.
Three times.

Even using the light from the hallway seeping under his door, he didn’t need perfect visibility to know the truth:

He had barely anything left.

A handful of crumpled bills.
Some loose coins with dirty edges.
Not enough to buy a real meal.
Barely enough to cover next week’s rent if he somehow stretched every dollar into nothing.

His throat tightened.

He tried to imagine how he would manage. Maybe the restaurant would continue feeding him a staff meal. Maybe Javier wouldn’t mind if he occasionally asked for something small to take home. Maybe Mateo would slip him something again like he had with the burrito this morning. But the thought of relying on them—on strangers, on kindness he hadn’t deserved—made shame flare hot in his chest.

He needed to make money.
He needed hours.
He needed more work.
He needed everything he didn’t know how to get.

Kitt leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and dragged his hands down his face. The exhaustion that had been creeping at the edges of his consciousness all day finally surged in, heavy and unrelenting, pressing against him until he bowed under the weight of it. He had never felt so small. So breakable. So painfully aware of the world’s indifference.

He wasn’t safe.
He wasn’t fed.
He wasn’t stable.

He was surviving on borrowed warmth and chance.

He curled onto the mattress eventually, pulling his knees toward his chest, and let the truth settle over him slowly:

He wasn’t going home.
He wasn’t calling Matt.
He wasn’t stepping back into that life.

He didn’t know where he was going.
He just knew he couldn’t go back.

A soft knock sounded from upstairs—someone in 3B moving furniture or laughing at the TV—and Kitt closed his eyes, focusing on the small comfort that Mateo existed somewhere above him, close enough that his footsteps echoed in the ceiling.

It didn’t fix anything.
It didn’t solve hunger.
It didn’t fill the wallet in Kitt’s hand.

But it made the loneliness a little less suffocating.

. . .

Matt Everest did not sleep the next night—not really.
He lay awake listening to the faint hum of the heater and the occasional groan of the old house settling around him. Every hour, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, counting cracks he’d never noticed before.

His mind didn’t stop.

Where are you?
Are you cold?
Why didn’t you tell me?
Why didn’t I stop you?

Every question sharpened into another blade pressing against him.

Around midnight, he sat up abruptly, rubbing his face with both hands until his skin burned. His chest felt too tight—like someone was pressing a fist against it from the inside. He tried to take deep breaths, but each one trembled as though his lungs weren’t listening.

He couldn’t just lie here.
He couldn’t just breathe.
Breathing hurt.

He grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the house quietly, the front door creaking in protest. The cold slapped him as soon as he stepped outside, but it barely registered. He crossed the street and stood on the Wellington sidewalk again, staring at the silent house that had once felt like a second home.

No lights on.
No movement.
No shadows behind curtains.
Nothing.

A house missing its son.

Matt pressed his forehead against the cold porch railing, eyes squeezed shut, breath shuddering out of him. The weight of helplessness was unbearable.

He tried to walk away—he really did—but something pulled him back with invisible hands, dragging him to places where memories lived.

The lake.
Empty and frozen.
Kitt’s laughter echoing in his mind.

The school bleachers.
Silent.
But Matt could almost see Kitt’s small smile when he’d tried to pretend he wasn’t freezing waiting for Matt after practice.

The woods trail.
Dark now, branches bending under snow.
But in Matt’s memory, Kitt walked beside him with a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, asking about constellations or homework or something random that always made Matt smile.

He walked all night.

His legs went numb.
His fingers hurt.
His throat burned from biting back sobs.

The sky lightened slowly, flickers of dawn breaking through, and Matt felt something inside him snap. He stumbled onto the bench outside the library—one they used to sit on after study sessions—and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.

He cried.
Silently at first, then harder, breath hitching painfully.

“My God, Kitt…” he whispered to the morning air. “Please… where did you go?”

He didn’t know how long he stayed there.
Long enough for the tears to dry in cold streaks on his face.
Long enough to feel small.
Long enough to feel the truth settle in:

He was losing himself without Kitt.

. . .

In Riverbend, Kitt woke to hunger gnawing at him again. His stomach clenched violently, reminding him that survival didn’t pause when sleep did. He sat up slowly, rubbing his hands against his face, and stared at the remaining money spread on the mattress.

He didn’t have enough.
He wouldn’t have enough soon.
He would have to talk to Javier.
He would have to work more hours.
He would have to swallow pride he hadn’t realized he’d brought with him.

Fear—quiet, cold, insistent—coiled inside him.

He didn’t know how many days he could do this.
But he didn’t have another choice.

He stood, pulled his jacket tight, and stepped into the hallway where the chill met him like a living thing.

Downstairs, the landlady’s television blared through her half-open door. Someone was swearing loudly at a game show. Kitt avoided her gaze, kept his head down, and walked out into the winter morning.

Riverbend felt different today—sharper, harsher, more real.

Survival had a price.
Every morning would remind him.

And upstairs, in 3B, a door opened.

Mateo stepped out yawning, hair messy, hoodie half-unzipped. He spotted Kitt on the stairs and blinked sleepily before offering a soft smile that carried warmth through the cold air like a match lit in the dark.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “Did you eat?”

The question hit Kitt so hard he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

He shook his head.

Mateo nodded slowly, eyes scanning him with something like concern. “Come on. We’ll make something before the shift.”

Kitt’s throat burned.

Not with tears.
Not with shame.

With something else—
A strange, aching gratitude for a kindness he wasn’t sure he deserved.

He followed Mateo down the stairs into the warmth of the restaurant kitchen.

As the door closed behind them, Kitt didn’t see the way Mateo glanced back—soft, careful, already protective.

And miles away, Matt didn’t see the sun rising over a world that felt emptier without the boy he loved.

Two boys struggling to survive different mornings.
Two hearts aching for the same missing piece.
Two lives drifting…
for now.