Somewhere Only We Know - 25. Two Worlds

Kitt didn’t remember walking home.

One moment he was in the restaurant restroom, knuckles pressed to his eyes, breath unraveling in sharp, uneven bursts— and the next he was letting himself into his apartment with hands that barely worked, the faded light of late afternoon smearing across the narrow hallway.

He closed the door quietly behind him, as if making noise might shatter the fragile shell barely holding him together. The room smelled faintly of detergent from the laundry load Tom had helped him with the night before. His blanket lay crumpled at the foot of his bed, the corners of the mattress lifting slightly from how rushed he’d been that morning.

Kitt stood in the middle of the room for a long time.

Then the reality hit him.

Matt had been right there.
Right in front of him.
In the same building.
Breathing the same air.

And he had run.

His chest tightened violently. He pressed both palms to his sternum, as if he could hold something broken inside him still enough to stop it from hurting. His breathing turned shallow. He stumbled backward to the bed and sat, elbows digging into his thighs.

The tears came fast.

He dragged his hands over his face, trying to hold in the sound, but a strangled sob still escaped before he could swallow it.

A light knock sounded a moment later.

“Kitt?” Mateo’s voice, muffled through the door. “Hey, you home? I brought you… uh… food. Again.”

Kitt wiped at his eyes and tried to steady his breath. “Yeah,” he managed. “Come in.”

Mateo stepped inside with a plastic container in one hand and worry written all over his face. His hair was damp, like he’d rushed down from the shower. The second he saw Kitt’s expression, he froze.

“Oh shit,” he whispered. “What happened?”

Kitt tried to speak, but the words broke apart in his throat. Mateo dropped the food on the small table and crossed the room in two strides, sitting beside him on the bed.

“Hey. Hey—talk to me.”

Kitt inhaled shakily, then pressed the heel of his hand against his mouth as another sob shook through him.

Mateo eased an arm around his shoulders. “Kitt. You’re scaring me.”

Kitt swallowed, voice thin. “I saw Matt.”

Mateo blinked. “Matt… Everest? From your hometown?”

Kitt nodded. Tears streamed down again, hot and unstoppable. “He—he said he loves me,” he choked out, voice breaking on the last word.

Mateo’s eyes widened, but the look that crossed his face wasn’t jealousy—not anymore. It was something like grief for someone else’s pain.

“Oh, man,” he whispered. “Oh, Kitt.”

Kitt sagged forward, leaning into his hands. “I ran. I panicked. He—he was with Lindsay, and I saw them together, and I just— I couldn’t breathe.”

Mateo rubbed his back slowly. “Everyone runs from something too big for them.” He hesitated. “But you’ve been running alone for a long time.”

Kitt didn’t answer. The tears kept coming.

A new knock startled them both.

Mateo stood, wiping his palms on his jeans. “That’s probably Tom. He said he might stop by after walking Harbor.”

He opened the door and stepped aside. Tom stood there with Harbor at his heel, the dog sniffing the air curiously. Tom’s face shifted immediately when he saw Kitt—his gentle, middle-aged calm replaced by concern.

“I saw you leave early,” Tom said softly. “Is everything—”

Before he could finish, the landlady’s shrill voice echoed down the hallway.

“I told you—no visitors! Not on my floor! You boys think this is a hotel?”

She stomped down the hall, arms crossed, gray hair pinned too tightly to her scalp. Her eyes darted between Tom, Mateo, and Kitt like she was waiting for them to cause trouble.

Tom kept his voice polite. “We’re leaving now. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

The woman glared another moment, then stomped off muttering about “kids” and “noise.” Mateo rolled his eyes so hard his head tilted.

Tom turned back to Kitt, expression kind. “Why don’t we go to my place? We can talk there.”

Kitt nodded, exhausted. He grabbed his jacket with shaking hands. Mateo took the container of food and followed behind.

The walk up to Tom’s house was quiet except for Harbor’s tail thumping. Tom unlocked his door and led them inside. The living room was warm and familiar—soft lighting, an old beige couch, books stacked in uneven piles, and Harbor’s toys scattered across the rug.

Kitt sat down on the couch immediately, elbows resting on his knees, shoulders tense, breath still uneven.

Tom sat in the armchair next to him. Mateo plopped onto the floor, leaning against the couch.

“Kitt,” Tom said gently, “tell us what happened.”

Kitt closed his eyes.

“I saw him,” he whispered. “I saw Matt. In the restaurant. He—he looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was real. And I just… ran.”

Mateo frowned. “You ran because you were scared, not because you didn’t care.”

Kitt shook his head, voice breaking. “I hurt him. He saw me drop the tray. He saw me cry. He saw… everything.”

Tom leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice soft but firm. “And what do you think he felt? Relief. Because you’re alive.”

Kitt dragged his hands down his face. “He said he loves me. I haven’t heard that word from anyone in so long it feels like a lie.”

Mateo’s voice lowered. “You’ve loved him for a long time too. You don’t have to be ashamed of that.”

Kitt swallowed thickly. “I can’t go back. I can’t face my dad. I can’t drag Matt into this again. Dad would—” He broke off, voice splintering. “I still hear him. Every time I think about Matt, I hear my dad calling me wrong. Dirty. Ruined.”

Tom shook his head slowly. “Shame is not love, Kitt. Fear is not protection. Running is not survival.” His gaze softened. “You endured something cruel. But this—your fear—is not the truth. It’s the wound.”

Kitt choked on a sob and covered his face again. Harbor nudged his knee gently, warm and steady.

Tom continued, voice low and warm. “If someone loves you, you cannot ruin them by existing. But you have got to think about their feelings too.”

Kitt cried harder.

At some point, Mateo took his hand, squeezing once—not flirtation, not suggestion, just the kind of grounding touch that anchored someone who was drowning.

“You deserve someone who looks at you the way he looked at you today,” Mateo said quietly. “And you deserve to stop being scared.”

Kitt shook his head weakly. “I’m not strong enough.”

“You are,” Tom said. “You survived the worst night of your life alone. You built something here. You found work. Friends. Safety. That takes strength most people never learn.”

Kitt wiped at his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie, exhausted and trembling and yet… lighter.

He felt something shift inside him.
Not a decision.
Not certainty.
But a seed of wanting something he had been denying himself for months.

A future.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Someday.

. . .

Across town, Matt entered his home quietly, shoes damp with dust from Riverbend. The moment he closed the door, his mother appeared from the kitchen, her brows knitting with concern at the sight of his eyes.

“Matt?” she asked softly. “Honey… did you find him?”

Matt swallowed. The lump in his throat was so big he had to force the words out. “I did. I saw him.”

His father glanced over from the living room, alarmed by the tremor in Matt’s voice. “Is he alright?”

Matt sat down heavily in the armchair, hands clasping and unclasping. His breath shuddered.

“He ran,” Matt whispered. “He saw me and—he panicked. I think he thought I was still with Lindsay.”

His mother’s expression softened with a grief-laced tenderness. “Oh sweetheart…”

Matt closed his eyes.

Something inside him broke open.

“I’m in love with him,” he confessed, voice trembling. “I’ve been in love with him for a long time and I didn’t realize how much until he wasn’t here. I’m not giving up on him. I can’t.”

His mother placed her hand on his cheek with a warmth that anchored him. “We know,” she said gently.

Matt blinked. “You… knew?”

His father’s voice was quiet but steady. “Son, parents see things. We saw how you looked at him. How you talked about him. You don’t have to hide from us.”

His mother squeezed his shoulder. “And nothing about this changes how much we love you.”

Matt’s chest tightened again—this time not with grief, but relief so sharp it hurt.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “He looked terrified. Like I was something that might destroy him.”

“Then you go slow,” his mother said. “You make him feel safe.”

Matt nodded.

Her voice softened further. “Will you tell Susan?”

Matt’s breath caught. “No,” he said immediately. “Because Kitt looked like he was running from her as much as from Stephen. I’m not… I’m not going to force anything. It’s not my place to do that yet.”

His father nodded approvingly. “That’s probably the right call.”

Matt wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie. “I just want him to know he’s not alone.”

His mother kissed the top of his head the way she used to when he was small. “He’ll know. When he’s ready.”

Matt went upstairs, pulled the sweatshirt Kitt had left at his house months ago from the back of his closet, and held it against his chest.

He whispered into the sleeve: “I’m not giving up. I won’t leave you.”

. . .

By the time Kitt finally fell asleep on Tom’s couch—exhausted, eyes swollen, Harbor curled protectively at his feet—the world felt unbearably fragile, but not hopeless.

Matt slept too, fingers curled in the fabric that still faintly smelled of chlorine and summer air.

Both boys drifted into dreams heavy with the same image:

A lake.
A summer that once felt endless.
A boy they loved so much it hurt.

Two hearts in two different towns.

Beating toward each other, slowly and inevitably.

. . .

Kitt slept fitfully.

Even exhaustion couldn’t quiet his mind. His body rested, but his dreams were fractured—broken scenes stitched together with fear and longing. Matt’s voice echoed faintly through them, so real he flinched in his sleep. The rhythm of Harbor’s breathing by his feet kept pulling him back from nightmares, grounding him just enough to stay afloat.

Tom checked on him every little while, the soft creak of the floorboards a comforting constant. Around midnight, he draped a blanket over Kitt’s shoulders when he noticed him shivering.

Mateo had fallen asleep on the guest-room floor, curled under one of Tom’s spare quilts, his hoodie pulled up to his nose. Tom had tried to convince him to take the couch, but Mateo insisted he wanted to stay close “in case Kitt freaks out again.” Tom didn’t argue—he understood the language of worry as deeply as anyone.

Sometime around dawn, Kitt stirred with a small, pained sound. Tom was there almost instantly, sitting beside the couch, gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Kitt,” he murmured softly. “You’re safe. It’s morning.”

Kitt blinked awake, disoriented at first, then crushed by the memory of everything that had happened. His throat tightened as his eyes welled again—not with panic this time, but with a slow, weary ache.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to… fall apart.”

Tom shook his head. “You didn’t fall apart. You survived something difficult.”

Mateo sat up at that moment, hair sticking out in every direction. He squinted blearily. “Morning. You alive?”

Kitt managed a tiny, watery laugh. “Barely.”

“Good,” Mateo mumbled, stretching like a cat. “We need you alive. Javier worked my ass yesterday, and I need someone else to complain about it to.”

Kitt covered his face with both hands as a small, helpless smile broke through. It was the first one since the alley.

Tom stood. “Let me make breakfast before I head out to the university.”

“I can help,” Kitt said immediately, pushing himself up.

“You can sit,” Tom corrected gently. “That’s the help I need.”

Kitt hesitated, then nodded.

Harbor trotted over and nudged Kitt’s knee before hopping up onto the couch beside him, laying his head on Kitt’s lap like he’d decided the boy belonged to him now. Kitt stroked the dog’s ears, grateful for something warm and simple to touch.

In the kitchen, Tom started whisking eggs, and Mateo leaned against the counter, yawning loudly.

“You think he’ll go back?” Mateo asked quietly, glancing toward the living room.

Tom didn’t look up. “He will when he’s ready. Not before.”

“And Matt?” Mateo pressed.

Tom flipped the eggs, thoughtful. “That boy is relentless in a way that comes from love, not ego. But if he wants Kitt to come back, he’ll have to learn patience.”

Mateo huffed a laugh. “Good luck to him.”

Tom smiled faintly. “He’ll need it.”

When breakfast was ready, Kitt offered a quiet thank you as he ate. His face still showed remnants of last night—dark circles, swollen eyes—but there was a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there when he arrived.

He looked tired, yes.
But less alone.

After breakfast, Kitt insisted on helping wash the dishes despite Tom’s protests. Mateo dried and stacked them in the cabinet. The domestic rhythm of the three of them moving around each other made the apartment feel like something warm and temporary and safe—something like a home Kitt never thought he’d have again.

When the dishes were done, Mateo shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and rocked on his heels. “So, uh… what’s the plan?”

Kitt paused.

The truth was: he didn’t know.

His heart felt like a bruise. His mind felt like a cracked window—letting in light but also cold. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Matt’s face in the alley: shocked, hopeful, desperate.

Kitt exhaled slowly. “I don’t have a plan.”

Tom leaned against the counter. “You don’t need one today. Just breathe.”

“Breathing sounds fair,” Mateo added. “Low expectations. No chance of failure.”

Kitt huffed a laugh despite himself.

But when he grew quiet again, Tom stepped closer, speaking softly without pushing. “Whatever happens next, you don’t have to decide it alone.”

Kitt nodded, throat tight.

Back at Kitt’s apartment, Mateo walked with him down the hallway toward his room, only to find the landlady already standing there, hands planted on her hips.

“Rent’s due tomorrow,” she snapped. “And don’t make me remind you again about visitors and noise.”

“Yes, I know,” Kitt murmured.

“Good.” She huffed and marched back to her own door.

Inside his room, Kitt sank onto the bed, face flushing with humiliation. Mateo muttered something in Spanish under his breath about her being a “vieja amargada.”

“Rent,” Kitt murmured, fingers twisting into his shirt. “I… I’m not sure if I’m going to manage this month.”

Mateo sat beside him. “I’ll ask Javier if he can give you more hours. And I’ll ask the guys at Lavender Light if they need a barback this weekend.”

Kitt’s head snapped up. “No. I’m not—Mateo, I can’t work there.”

Mateo shrugged lightly. “Not saying you should. Just giving options.” Then he nudged Kitt’s shoulder. “I’m not letting you starve, dude. You’re stuck with me.”

Kitt blinked rapidly, overwhelmed.

The kindness hit him harder than anything else that week.

He lowered his face into his hands—this time not from despair, but because he didn’t know how to hold so much gentleness without breaking.

. . .

Later that night, in Lakehurst, Matt lay awake on his bed long after midnight, staring at the ceiling, the sweatshirt clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

His parents’ acceptance from last night had steadied him, but the ache in his chest remained—deep, pulsing, relentless. He replayed Kitt’s face over and over: the shock, the fear, the tears.

He wished he hadn’t scared him.
He wished he had said everything differently.
He wished he could take that moment back and replace it with one that didn’t hurt.

But he also knew one thing with absolute certainty now, stronger than anything he’d ever felt:

He wasn’t going to lose Kitt again.

His mother cracked open his door gently. “Matt? You need anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay.”

She hesitated before asking softly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Susan?”

Matt swallowed hard. “No. Not yet. He looked… terrified. It’s not my place. I won’t push him back into something he ran from.”

His mother nodded, pride and sadness mixing in her eyes. “I think Susan should know but I’ll trust your judgment. You’re a good boy, Matthew.”

When she left, Matt closed his eyes and whispered into the dark: “I’ll be patient. I’ll be gentle. But I’m not giving up.”

And somewhere in Riverbend, curled on a couch that wasn’t his, Kitt whispered into his pillow with the last strength he had:

“Please find me when I’m ready… not before.”

Two boys.

Two towns.

One slow, inevitable gravity pulling them back together.