"I'm leaving next week."
"Oh."
"We'll probably never see each other again."
Cars pass overhead, the roar of the engines distorted by the tunnel as they sit under the overpass and compare bruises. Hers have long since bloomed dark and purple on her knees, but his spread new and bright and ugly from a gash on his elbow. She laughs and says, "I should have worn knee pads, but where's the fun in that? I want to just get on my board and go."
Odd watches the curve of her smile as he pulls his sleeve back down, the fabric brushing uncomfortably against his elbow. Sam leaves her jeans all bunched up above her knees and leans forward to brush a thumb across her worst bruise. Eyelids flickering, she presses in against the skin and he reacts, reaching up a hand to touch the back of her hand. She turns her palm and twists her fingers with his, sending another private smile his way.
Sometimes she makes him feel suddenly out of his element, all tongue-tied and caught on her words, his cleverest comments and undeniable charm caught between the fingers tangled with his. Her words keep repeating through his head: never see each other again. "I want to spend the last of my time here with you," she adds, voice dropping an octave.
"When did you find out?" he replies, frowning.
She shrugs, and looks down to their hands, tracing a finger across the back of his. "A few days ago. My dad wants to stay with his brother. He thinks things will be cheaper there." She laughs, dry and harsh.
Odd's frown deepens. "Why didn't you tell me until now?"
"I didn't want to ruin our time together," she says. "I never want to keep secrets from you, Odd."
Something twists painfully in his gut, and of course he can forgive her — he understands, after all, what it's like to keep a big secret from her. She's seen the lab, he thinks, she just doesn't remember. If things had gone differently, maybe she could be one of them.
"Are you mad at me, Odd?" She's stopped tracing the back of his hand and is staring straight at him, hurt already guarded in her eyes. His chest twinges painfully again and he says, "no," leans in and kisses her. His hand presses against her knee without thinking and she flinches, then digs her nails into his bicep and pulls him closer.
When he leans back, his nose still touching hers, he says, "I'll always think about you, Sam."
"Like this," she says, fingernails still biting into his arm and her breath warm against his mouth. "Remember me like this." She turns away and he can hear the sharp intake of breath, and misses the feel of her hand against his arm as she lets go and wipes at the corner of her eye.
I'll never forget you Sam, he promises.
It's only like pressing against a fresh bruise when he thinks about how much she's forgotten about him already.