He looked at Aiden’s smile, which Aiden was wearing even though he was in pain. For Harvard’s sake. Harvard felt something almost like seasickness. The ground he’d stood on all these years was gone.
This was the person he loved best in the world, the person Harvard would have sworn he’d never hurt. But he had hurt him. He had, and until he told the truth, he would still be hurting Aiden.
Harvard gathered all his courage, and confessed, “I lied to you.”
Amusement died in Aiden’s voice. “What?”
“I’m so sorry, Aiden,” said Harvard. “I know you rely on me to tell you the truth, to always be there for you. I always intended to be that, to be a safe place for you, but I didn’t manage it. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to get hurt. Do you remember when I told you that I only wanted to be friends because I didn’t want to fall in love with you?”
His voice distant now, Aiden answered, “Of course I remember.”
Of course he did. Aiden had trusted him, and Harvard had lied, but it was time to tell the truth now. He was so scared of what would happen when he said it, scared of what might change, scared he was too late. But he had to face the truth.
He couldn’t watch Aiden’s face when he told him. So he fixed his eyes on the ballroom floor instead, and began to speak.
“That was the lie I told you. I’d only realized what I wanted the night before. I was terrified of losing you. I should have realized how I felt about you before, but how do you see the planet you live on? The air you breathe? It was always there. It was too big for me to see. You were always just there. I could look at you every day, the same way I can look at the stars every day. I never had to think about how much I wanted to look.”
“I don’t—I don’t understand.” Aiden sounded fraught. “What are you saying?”
“I love you.” Desperate to avoid any further terrible and painful confusion, frantic to get it all out, Harvard clarified: “I’m in love with you.”
Quiet followed, broken only by the sound of the boat rocking.
Harvard waited, his heart a hammer counting the silent seconds. There was a pit in his stomach threatening to swallow him whole. The more the silence grew, the wider the pit yawned. He’d said it wrong, he was too late, he’d missed his chance, their friendship was over, he—
“You mean it?”
Aiden’s voice was trembling. He must be really upset.
Harvard had hurt him too much. He couldn’t make up for his lie or for the years of accidental cruelty before that. All Harvard could do was be truthful and apologize and leave.
“I do,” said Harvard. “I really do. I’m so sorry, I wish I was saying it better. I’m not great at making speeches. But I’m good at meaning them. I love you so much. If I meant it less, I could have told you before.”
“That’s all I need to hear,” Aiden said abruptly. “You don’t need to say anything else.”
“Okay,” said Harvard. “I—thanks for listening. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
His plan was to get out of there as fast as he could. But something stopped him. There were arms around his neck suddenly, a body against his chest blocking his way, Aiden sliding in close. When Harvard looked up from the gleaming ballroom floor, startled, Aiden leaned in and kissed him.
Harvard had barely been able to think before, with panic running riot through his veins, and now thought became entirely impossible. Everything was drowned out, as if he were submerged, every sense flooded with the taste and scent and feel of Aiden. Harvard didn’t want to surface. He resented it when Aiden pulled back, even a little.
“Fool,” murmured Aiden against his mouth, so sweet. “I love you back. I loved you first. You’re not going anywhere. You’re never getting rid of me now.”
“What?” Harvard whispered, not daring to believe it was still true, hardly able to believe it was true at all. “Aiden. You can’t mean that. Don’t—don’t pity me. It’s fine, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to lie. Since when?”
He tried to pull away. Aiden wouldn’t let go.
“Hmm,” said Aiden. “Let me think. Since about the time when you gave me a teddy bear, believing I wanted it because I couldn’t stop following you around.”
He sounded serious, but he couldn’t possibly be serious.
“But—but…,” stammered Harvard. “That was—”
“A long time ago. Yeah.”
“You could have had anyone. There were all those guys.…”
Aiden began to look not only serious but annoyed. “When did I ever care about any of them? I could not have been more transparently indifferent! I get name amnesia!”
“That’s not because—that’s just how you are. You never remember anybody’s name!”
“Don’t I?” Aiden drawled, and the amusement was back in his voice. “Harvard. Harvard. Harvard. I love you.”
He was walking backward, pulling Harvard in, pulling him close and still closer. Hearing his own name in Aiden’s voice, repeated in that way, let Harvard open his eyes. For just a moment, he let himself believe what he saw. Aiden’s eyes were on him, clear, green, and profoundly, shockingly tender. Harvard had been so afraid.
Now Harvard dared to look into the depths of dark troubled waters and found them unexpectedly illuminated. Everything was brilliant and clear.
“Why…” Harvard swallowed. “Why did you always send me postcards when you went away, that said, Thinking of you?”
“Because I’m always thinking about you,” Aiden answered.
He looked as though he might kiss Harvard again, so Harvard foiled his plan. Harvard kissed him first. Aiden was only a shade shorter than he was, but Harvard wanted to keep him close, so he tucked his head down to kiss Aiden and keep him close at the same time. Somehow wanting to cherish and keep Aiden turned a little wild, a bright feeling with burning edges, and Aiden was undoing his shirt buttons as they tumbled down onto the bed.
Aiden’s hair, starlight bright, obscured the rest of the world, and he spoke as though he were reading the words written on Harvard’s own heart.
“My whole life,” he said, “this is all I ever wanted.”
He kissed Harvard and twined around him, while Harvard tangled his fingers in Aiden’s hair and started to believe.
“Really?”
“Really. And now I have it,” Aiden murmured. “You can’t take it back. You have to promise.”
He rolled Aiden over on the bed, safe in the shelter of Harvard’s arms, and captured Aiden’s face in his hands. Beautiful and his. He wasn’t taking starlight for granted, not ever again.
“I promise,” whispered Harvard. “I mean it. You can trust me.”
Aiden smiled, grasping hold of Harvard’s shirt collar, pulling him down. His hands slipped inside Harvard’s shirt. When Aiden’s fingers brushed skin, Harvard gasped, and Aiden made a soft noise, wordless encouragement, only the first of many loving, lovely sounds to come.
Aiden said, “Always have.”
41 SEIJI
Just because they had been up all night and were going on an international flight, that was no reason for Seiji to give up on discipline and fail to rise at four AM to train.