It's hot, the kind of humid, sticky weather you always get in New York in July. They're half-drunk and being loud on the roof when Antonio stops, turns to Dito and says, "It's fucked up that you wanna leave, man."
Antonio's voice sounds broken in the silence of Queens at three in the morning. Dito watches him, light from the streetlamps casting shadows against Antonio's sweat-slick skin and Dito leans back against the solid brick wall behind him. "What're you talkin' about, Tony?"
"I remember what you said, Dito. I'm not stupid." Antonio steps forward, voice raised, arms outstretched - fighting stance because it's the only thing he knows. "I didn't forget."
"It's just like, a plan. Like, maybe one day I'm gonna go to California." Dito says, stumbling over words and Antonio cuts him off.
"Man, it's just." Antonio looks away, scratches at his chest. "It's whatever."
Antonio steps closer, pressing against Dito and Dito leans back against the ledge. Antonio licks his lips, braces his hand on the ledge behind Dito and says, "Just, c'mon."
He kisses Dito fast and messy, hands making fists in Dito's shirt and teeth biting down on Dito's lip. Dito thinks it makes sense that this is happening here in New York, in Queens on this rooftop where Dito thinks about getting away. Antonio pulls away, their mouths parting with a sticky sound. He's breathing heavy against Dito's skin and he says, "Don't think I'mma make it without you."
Dito wants to say Tony, you'll be fine, but he knows Antonio and he can't make any promises. Antonio lets go, hands falling to his sides and Dito instantly misses those hands against his stuttering heartbeat. Antonio steps back, looking up at the blackened sky and Dito thinks about all the ways he knows Antonio; as a best friend and a fighter and a savior, as everything New York will ever mean to him. Dito thinks about one day leaving him behind.