They'd been inseparable since anyone could remember, Faye with her skin like moonbeams and Dante with his eyes like a star-filled night sky. They ran through forests and came back with dirty feet, briar-scratched arms and hands full of berries or flowers. They slept in each other's beds and held hands everywhere they went. They were like twins, finishing each other's sentences. Nothing could tear them apart.
When they got older, Dante would drive his car over to Faye's and they would go to the city to listen to tales told by men who chain smoked, their fingers shaking as they drew on their cigarettes. They bought beaded moccasins, dream catchers, glass flowers, and any fruit that they loved or had not tried before. They came home laughing and happy, their hands stained by pomegranate. He would get out his guitar and play while she twirled around him. He wanted people to hear him someday, to share his music with the world, but they didn't talk about that. They simply could not imagine a future where they may not be together.
Time went on, and they no longer slept in the same bed. Faye still kept an extra red toothbrush on her bathroom sink, and Dante kept honeysuckle peach shampoo in his shower. She always watched him when he went out to play shows but she never danced anymore except for that first time when he'd called her onstage, pulled her into his lap, and announced that she was the reason he'd made it here, his best friend and also the most beautiful dancing goddess he'd ever seen, and that he hoped she wouldn't mind dancing for everyone now. They spent that night in the most expensive hotel room they could afford, completely ignoring the beds because the carpet was so soft, and she slept curled against his side.
Then one day Faye came home with some other boy's phone number on the back of her hand, and he knew that everything had changed.