Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

finding the truth within himself. Whatever the reason, he didn’t try to stop
himself when he said, “I wish I’d met someone like you before.”
Hugo was quiet for a long moment. Then, “Before?”
He shrugged, refusing to meet Hugo’s gaze. “Before I died. Things might
have been different. We could have been friends.” It felt like a great secret,
something quiet and devastating.
“We can be friends now. There’s nothing stopping us.”
“Aside from the whole dead thing, sure.”
He startled when Hugo stepped back from the railing, a determined look
on his face. He watched as Hugo extended his hand toward him. He stared at
it before looking up at Hugo. “What?”
Hugo wiggled his fingers. “I’m Hugo Freeman. It’s nice to meet you. I
think we should be friends.”
“I can’t—” He shook his head. “You know I can’t shake your hand.”
“I know. But hold out your hand anyway.”
Wallace did.
And so, under the field of stars, Wallace stood before Hugo, their hands
extended toward each other. Inches separated their palms, and though it still
felt like an endless gulf between them, Wallace was sure, for a moment, he
felt something. It wasn’t quite the heat of Hugo’s skin, though it felt close. He
mirrored Hugo, raising his hand up and down, up and down in the
approximation of a handshake. The cable between them flashed brightly.
For the first time since he’d stood above himself in his office, his breath
forever gone, Wallace felt relief, wild and vast.
It was a start.
And it terrified the hell out of him.