Valentino sighs as he unboxes a couple jackets and sweaters. “I appreciate that, but just so you don’t feel weird, I don’t see her as the enemy. I actually understand where she’s coming from. I would’ve behaved the same way if you had the magical organ that could save Scarlett’s life.”

If the tables were turned, I like to think I’d do exactly what Valentino is doing for me. Maybe if Scarlett does need some saving one day I can be her hero. If she ever needs a heart and I got Valentino’s, then it’s all hers, no questions asked.

As I’m opening the box for the air mattress, I’m really taking in what a fresh start this move was for Valentino. He didn’t even have a proper bed to sleep on. It’s not like when I moved out of my childhood apartment and into Casa Young. I had options between the pullout couch in the brownstone’s living room, the sleeping bags from Dayana and Floyd’s overnight camping trips, and obviously the guest room bed that became mine. Meanwhile, Valentino has the world’s loudest air mattress. I almost unplug it from the wall because I don’t want to disturb his neighbors at this hour, but I don’t give a shit, because Valentino deserves a bed on his End Day—even if it’s just an inflatable one.

In a world that currently has no problem leaving people to sleep on the streets, I’m already nervous how Deckers are going to be treated as time goes on.

It’s a good thing Valentino won’t have to suffer from that nonsense.

Valentino

3:41 a.m.

The last box is full of footwear I won’t ever wear around New York City.

My Timberland boots did great work tonight, but I was really looking forward to stepping out with my favorite oxfords and blue Chucks and tan loafers. And also going for many morning runs in my Nikes, exploring Central Park. I pull out two pairs of white sneakers, one scuffed up from casual outings and the other reserved for parties where I’m dressing down but want to look fresh. My parents always thought I was ridiculous for owning identical sneakers with different purposes, but they’re not as involved in their appearances as I am. When I think I look good, I feel good. I stand by my fashion choices, even now when it might look silly to have been so protective of shoes that won’t see the light of day.

Not on me, at least. They’ll find new homes on someone else’s feet.

Until then, I line them up by the door.

“All done,” I say. It’s not much, but I’ve created the illusion that someone is living here.

“What’s next?” Orion asks behind a yawn.