“There,” Aiden hurled at him, defiant. “That’s what I would say to you if this was real, and I really liked you. Happy now?”
As if Harvard could be happy when Aiden sounded miserable and Harvard didn’t even know why. But Harvard didn’t want to seem ungrateful when Aiden was doing him a favor. When the favor had clearly cost Aiden something.
“I… I don’t… Thanks,” Harvard said. “Come here.”
Aiden was only an inch away, but it felt like an impossible distance. Harvard missed him, even though that made no sense. Aiden shouldn’t be so far away. Such terrible things shouldn’t be allowed.
Aiden came willingly. More than willingly. More than eagerly. His body flowed in toward, then all along Harvard’s. Like water to the shoreline, his arms twining right around Harvard’s neck. Aiden nuzzled his face in against Harvard’s cheek. Harvard felt Aiden’s eyelashes fluttering shut against his skin. He ran a hand up along the curve of Aiden’s back, and felt him shudder.
“Can I please stop talking now?” Aiden said, his voice raw with pleading, as though someone had been making him talk. As if Harvard could, or would, make him do anything.
He didn’t think he’d ever heard Aiden say please before.
Aiden said it again between kisses, begging naturally and easily. “Please,” as his mouth slid against Harvard’s. “Please, please” again, as his mouth trailed up to Harvard’s ear. “Please.”
“Yes,” Harvard murmured. “Aiden, yes.”
Yes, yes, yes, anything you want, only stop, and never stop.
Given explicit permission, Aiden pounced. They were rolling together in a wild tangle of bedsheets and limbs, kissing even more wildly, Aiden pulling Harvard’s shirt open and sliding his hands inside was a welcome shock. Harvard was arched over Aiden, his body almost touching Aiden’s all over. One of Harvard’s arms was held over their heads to support some of his weight, his fingers knotted in the loose tumble of Aiden’s hair. Aiden surged up and kissed him again.
Nothing made any sense, except the one truth that always did: Aiden shouldn’t be unhappy. He often was, and it made Harvard wild with misery, too, made him wish there was something he could do to make Aiden happy again. Aiden had seemed ferociously unhappy only moments ago, but now he was smiling, eyes open again and bright.
When Aiden threw back his head, Harvard kissed the bared line of his throat, then his jaw. Aiden slid his palm down Harvard’s chest to rest against Harvard’s bare hip, and then hesitated.
Somewhere in the background, the movie was still playing. The world probably still existed. It didn’t seem to matter much, past the white square that was their beds, pushed so close together they might as well be one.
“If this was a real date,” Harvard whispered, “what would happen next?”
He saw, very clearly, that Aiden understood what he was asking. He saw Aiden’s teeth slide carefully over the swollen curve of his own lower lip. Without meaning to, Harvard bent down and kissed his mouth again.
“We should stop,” murmured Aiden, who usually sounded immensely sure of himself. Right now he didn’t sound certain at all.
“I don’t want to stop,” said Harvard.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Harvard answered.
He shouldn’t have been sure, but he was.
“But—Neil,” said Aiden, very low.
“Who the hell is Neil?” Harvard asked, kissing Aiden again.
Aiden was the whole world stretched out beneath him. Aiden’s hair spread out on the sheets, Aiden moaning in his ear. The magnitude of his certainty tipped Harvard over the edge into terrifying and unwelcome knowledge.
Terrible realization dawned, remorseless illumination shed on a whole landscape. Harvard found himself looking at his entire life in a new light.
Aiden on their first day of school, on their first day of fencing class, on their last day in the hospital, on their first day at Kings Row. Inextricably part of every important moment in Harvard’s life. The bright and shining center of Harvard’s life, ever since he’d turned around and seen Aiden and thought, That boy looks sad, and wanted nothing but to give Aiden everything.
Finding Aiden and being too young to understand what he’d found. Only knowing Aiden was necessary to him and wanting Aiden there always. Of course he loved his best friend, of course he did. That was always such an absolute truth that Harvard could never question it.
Harvard gasped against Aiden’s mouth. He should have questioned it before now. He should have asked himself what he was feeling. Only he’d been afraid.
Dating someone else hadn’t been Harvard’s idea, and with this new clarity he realized he didn’t actually want to do it. He hadn’t wanted to be alone, hadn’t wanted to be left behind, but it was impossible and distinctly horrible to think of being like this with anyone but Aiden.
Only very recently, as Aiden dated more and more people and the potential for distance between them started to feel far more real, had Harvard started to feel lonely. If it hadn’t been for Coach suggesting dating, it might never have occurred to him.
Why would he go out and look for a partner when he had one at home? Why would he go searching for a lightning strike when there was all the brightness and all the pain he could wish for, always with him?
He’d never cared about dating, never really felt the need to find someone, because he’d been otherwise emotionally committed all along. Apparently, Harvard’s subconscious was insane, bent on his own ruin. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d just decided he was Aiden’s boyfriend, without consulting Aiden. Without even consulting himself.
He’d been in love with Aiden the whole time.
This was an emotional natural disaster, the equivalent of an earthquake. This could level every carefully built structure in Harvard’s life.
“We have to stop,” Harvard said, abrupt and desperate.
“Wait, why?” Aiden murmured, reaching to drag Harvard back when Harvard pulled away, barely seeming to understand the words Harvard had spoken. “I don’t want to. You said you didn’t want to…”
He trailed off, hands still grasping Harvard’s shirt, exerting pressure to bring Harvard back where he had been. Aiden’s eyes were heavy-lidded, almost as if he was drowsy, but it was an electric drowsiness.
For a terrifying moment, Harvard looked at Aiden and couldn’t remember why they should stop. Then he looked at Aiden and did remember.
“I don’t want to, but we have to,” Harvard tried to explain.
Aiden looked suddenly wide awake and affronted to be so, like a cat disturbed from his rest.
His voice as sharp this time as it had been soft before, he said, “Why?”
When Aiden had agreed to help Harvard with practice dating, Harvard remembered vividly the exact words he’d used. I know how dating works. It doesn’t matter, and this wouldn’t even be real dating. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t change anything.
He looked at Aiden, his chest feeling cold and empty, bleak with despair. Harvard was just like all the rest of Aiden’s guys, only worse. He was the one who really knew Aiden, and he should know better.
Harvard said, “Because this means nothing.”