The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(99)

“Thanks for saving mine.”

“Thanks for saving mine,” Orion repeats.

We kiss like it’s a challenge to see how long we can before death breaks us apart.

Then as we get more excited, we give in to a special first for both of us.

I flip Orion to the bed, and he fakes concern over the unlit candle but he’s speechless when I lift off my shirt. His fingers trail down from my collarbone and through my pecs and trace my abs before unbuttoning my pants. It’s much smoother than me wrestling with his skinny jeans that cling to his legs for dear life. But once we’re both fully naked, we stare at each other with the biggest smiles.

“Best day ever,” I say.

“Best motherfucking day ever,” Orion says.

Then we move as if the world could end in the next minute.

He passes me a condom, and I slide it on and slowly move inside him, and it feels so good that I can’t believe I’m only going to be able to experience this once.

The only thing I can do is no different from what I’ve done all day: live in the moment.

Our hands are pressed to each other’s beating hearts as Orion and I continue living this incredible first together.





PART FOUR


The End


On behalf of everyone here at Death-Cast, we are sorry to lose you.

—Joaquin Rosa, creator of Death-Cast





Orion


6:06 p.m.

That first time was better than I could’ve imagined—and I’m a fucking writer!

Seriously, I’m surprised I survived it. I’m not saying the sex was wild or anything like that, it’s just been tricky dealing with all these hormones as my heart stuff worsens. I was starting to swear sex was going to be too risky, like skydiving or rock climbing. I’m not interested in jumping out of planes or scaling mountains, but sex has always been pretty high on my to-do list, and Valentino was the perfect first partner. It was slow, like I always thought it would be, and he checked in on me every step of the way, never trying to rush through it even though the clock is ticking louder and louder on his End Day. He wanted to live in that first time as long as I did, and it’s as if we turned minutes into hours.

But real talk, we’re talking minutes here.

Some of my favorite minutes ever.

Now, I’m showering down the hall from my bedroom, wanting to get back to Valentino. The whole time I’m rinsing my hair and body I’m torn between memories of how good everything felt and how bad everything will feel when he’s gone.

Something that’s only just beginning will be ending just as soon as it started.

His death can happen at any moment.

It could be happening right now.

It could have happened already.

The thought of Valentino being dead in my bedroom scares me.

I get out of the shower, barely drying off even with the sudden memory of Valentino busting his ass this morning at his apartment because he was dripping from his own shower, and I remember that I’m not in the clear yet either, that today could be my End Day too, but I can’t stop myself from needing to see him alive, alive, alive, alive, alive. I open my bedroom door, and Valentino is sitting at my desk and talking into the camera.

Or he was talking into the camera until I busted in like the house is on fire.

“What’s going on?” Valentino asks, fear in his blue eyes.

“Nothing, nothing.” I almost drop the towel wrapped around my waist, which wouldn’t be the end of the world now that we’ve seen every inch of each other. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I had a bad feel— I got nervous.”

Valentino lets out a deep breath and sits. “I’m okay. I’m just recording a message for Scarlett. Something for her to have after I’m . . .” A small, knowing nod. “Do you mind if I finish? I need a minute.”

“Take your time,” I say. Then: “And don’t die.” Then-then: “You know what I mean!”

I leave my bedroom, and I’m half tempted to punch myself in the mouth so I can’t say anything stupid again. Instead, I return to my bathroom, where I towel-dry my curls because a hair-dryer feels too risky now that my own fate is up in the air again; I’m not trying to get electrocuted. I change into fresh jeans, a bit baggier than my last pair so I won’t have to fight my way out of them. And on top of my undershirt I put on Valentino’s gray button-down he’s been wearing, breathing in the collar that smells citrusy, kind of like his hoodie. If Valentino has a problem with me wearing it, then he’s going to have to wrestle it off me, and then maybe he dies or we die together because of a fight over a shirt that I want to keep like a championship belt, like a trophy that will always remind me of the victories on this End Day.

I step on a towel and drag it from the bathroom to my bedroom, drying the puddles.

Then I knock on my bedroom door, which feels weird. “You good?”

Every millisecond he doesn’t answer I get nervous.

“Come in,” he says after one whole second, alive and well. I open the door and he smiles when he sees me in his button-down. “It’s a good look on you.”

“You wear it best, but I want to keep it, and you should know I’m willing to fight you to the death.”

Valentino rises from the desk and pulls me into a kiss. “It’s all yours,” he says after.